A couple of days ago, I had a bout of anxiety. This is not unusual for me, but it's less usual lately, now that I'm back in America. I'm also medication-free now, which sometimes means dealing with more heightened emotions than I've been used to for a few years.
I try to go walking when I feel anxious. Actually, I try to walk most days to prevent anxiety, but it doesn't always happen. I went for a really long walk the other day, and I thought about a lot of things. I tried to "self-soothe" by reminding myself that I don't have to have it all figured out, and that what I have for today is enough for today. I try to talk to myself like I would a friend,or a child, because I know I would do my best to comfort an anxious friend or child in as healthy a way as I could.
Feelings of displacement come when I least expect them. It's hard to explain what this feels like. I guess it's a little like that feeling of coming out of the store and forgetting where you parked. You know your vehicle is somewhere in the parking lot, but you have no idea where because you weren't really thinking about that when you arrived; you were thinking about the groceries. Take that tiny, niggling sense of panic and multiply it times a thousand and you have displacement. I don't feel it all the time. I wouldn't even say that it happens often. But when I do feel it, it can be crippling.
I could be happily crocheting or reading or writing, and suddenly I'll feel a tightening in my chest or a heaviness in my stomach, and I'll be overcome with a sense of fear or panic. I can't explain it or justify it. I simply feel as though I don't know who I am, where my life is headed, or where I belong.
Where do I belong? America, yes, I know that much for sure. That sense of peace that comes from being among my own people, and in my own culture, is very solid. The first few months I was here, I was happy and wide-eyed and simply
joyful. And most of the time I would say I am still happy, and if not
wide-eyed and joyful, at least engaged and grateful.
However, life is more complicated than that. At 33, I find myself living with my parents again, saving up for my first car (no, I have never owned a car!), and wondering where my life is headed.I built a life, such as it was, for myself over the last seven years that no longer exists.And I've returned to a life that is only an echo of what I left behind. None of my family live in the state I was born and raised in anymore, and my parents moved to an entirely different part of the country five years ago. I am not the carefree girl who left America for England, nor am I any longer the jaded and sad woman whom England spat back out. Who am I?
I'm from Maine. I'm a Yankee in the truest sense of the word. I like snowy Christmases and wood-burning stoves and waking up to see a moose in the pasture. Kentucky is not a place I ever thought I would live.Yet here I am in the heartland, or the "top of the south," trying desperately to become accustomed to another place with weird weather and weirder accents. I am trying to like where I am, even when I don't, though often I do. It's complicated.
There are things I like about this place a lot. Things that surprise me, like wildflowers I've never heard of and hazy October evenings, warm enough to sit outside in short sleeves. There are also things I don't care much for, like hot, hot summers that make me feel faint when I step outside the door, cicadas, poisonous snakes, and foods like grits and boiled peanuts. Living here is like living in any new place; there is much to learn and much to get used to.
I don't know how long I'll be here. I could be here for years, or I could leave in a few months. I often find myself wishing for answers and clear direction, even when I'm not particularly anxious. I'm trying, however. Trying to be content. Trying to just be, and to realize that I have what I need to survive right now. I've survived so much already, so much worse, and I'm stronger than I sometimes believe.
As I was walking and fighting this anxiety, I suddenly thought about the jacket I was wearing. I don't know why. I just did. I've had it in my closet for months, since I flew into Boston in May and went up to Maine with my dad, because he was working on the old house at the time. It was still a little chilly up there. I haven't worn it at all down here until a few days ago when the temperature finally dropped a bit to more fall-appropriate levels.
This jacket is a sweet, floral, lightweight trench-coat that my friend Kristen gave me in England when I didn't have a coat that fit or the money to buy one. I really like it. It's one of the very few warmer clothing items I brought back with me. Wearing it reminds me of her, and how grateful I am that we became friends. Our friendship is one of the bright spots during my time over there.
As I was thinking about that, I tried to self-soothe again, addressing myself as I would a little child who needed calming. "Today you have a jacket, and that is enough. It's getting colder, and you need it, and you have it. That's enough for today."
And it was. It was nowhere near enough for the next day, or the rest of the week. But it was enough for that day. One foot in front of the other, with a jacket to wear in the cold. I can do this. I've done it before and I'll do it again. Life is messy and complicated. There are no absolute "right answers." What is true today may not be true tomorrow. What is a comfort today may be disillusioning by the end of the week. Who I am now, I will not always be. But all of this is okay. It's life. Life is good and precious and wonderful.I know this.
And that's enough for today.
Tuesday, October 6, 2015
Saturday, August 8, 2015
Take Your World War II
"He's not a hero because he survived being a POW."
Yes, I overheard someone say that. "He is not a hero because ..." Because why? Says who? And why are you so afraid of the word hero?
A hero is not going to campaign for the "God-shaped-hole" in your heart. He is not going to love your children more than you know how. He is not going to steal your wife or even bruise your ego. He is not a hero because you do or don't say so, or do or don't like him. He is a hero because he has done something for someone else, probably someone who has nothing to do with you. And survival against all odds is heroic, because it gives hope to others.
In Don Knotts style, let's get technical. "Take your World War II. There were many heroes in World War II. What were your heroes? Who were your heroes?" (The Ghost and Mr. Chicken. Great movie, by the way.) But seriously. What is a hero, anyway?
According to dictionary.com, the first meaning of the word is:
"In the opinion of others." This second meaning allows anyone to be a hero, regardless of what those deeds might be, and whether or not anyone else recognizes him as a hero. This definition allows your mother to be your hero, because you say so. It allows the homeless man outside Wal-Mart to be a hero because that's your opinion. It allows an ordinary human being to be a hero because he has touched you, or someone you know, in a way that no one else has, and maybe no one else would understand.
Yes, I overheard someone say that. "He is not a hero because ..." Because why? Says who? And why are you so afraid of the word hero?
A hero is not going to campaign for the "God-shaped-hole" in your heart. He is not going to love your children more than you know how. He is not going to steal your wife or even bruise your ego. He is not a hero because you do or don't say so, or do or don't like him. He is a hero because he has done something for someone else, probably someone who has nothing to do with you. And survival against all odds is heroic, because it gives hope to others.
In Don Knotts style, let's get technical. "Take your World War II. There were many heroes in World War II. What were your heroes? Who were your heroes?" (The Ghost and Mr. Chicken. Great movie, by the way.) But seriously. What is a hero, anyway?
According to dictionary.com, the first meaning of the word is:
1. A man of distinguished courage or ability, admired for his brave deeds and noble qualities.
But it's the second meaning, I think, that's more poignant:
2. A person who, in the opinion of others, has heroic qualities or has performed a heroic act and is regarded as a model or ideal: He was a local hero when he saved the drowning child.
"In the opinion of others." This second meaning allows anyone to be a hero, regardless of what those deeds might be, and whether or not anyone else recognizes him as a hero. This definition allows your mother to be your hero, because you say so. It allows the homeless man outside Wal-Mart to be a hero because that's your opinion. It allows an ordinary human being to be a hero because he has touched you, or someone you know, in a way that no one else has, and maybe no one else would understand.
A hero is not a hero because the world notices what he did. He's a hero because I think so, you think so, or your neighbor thinks so. Stop being afraid of people who touch lives. Stop feeling like you have to correct how other people feel.
My suspicion, deep down, is that if you fear the word hero, you are afraid not only because no one has ever been your hero, but you have never allowed yourself to be a hero for someone else. It does not take "great deeds" (although those who do great deeds are often heroes for it!); all it takes is a little compassion, empathy, or notice. All it takes is to keep pushing when you've run out of strength. All it takes is to live another day when you want desperately to die.
A guy named Ronald Regan, some of you still know the one, said, "Those who say that we're in a time when there are no heroes, they just don't know where to look."
Start looking, Stop begrudging. Heroes are everywhere, and they make the world--your world--a better place.
A guy named Ronald Regan, some of you still know the one, said, "Those who say that we're in a time when there are no heroes, they just don't know where to look."
Start looking, Stop begrudging. Heroes are everywhere, and they make the world--your world--a better place.
Thursday, July 23, 2015
Aquainted With The Night
I have a fun blog almost completely ready to publish, but tonight I need to write about something else. I have to write about something that I don't like talking about, thinking about, feeling, or even acknowledging. But I know that writing about it will help me, and I hope that by me being open about it here, my personal struggle might help someone else too.
Right now, I'm in about my third month of going off anti-depressants. I have been on this drug for several years, for many reasons that I won't get into here. The drug itself isn't really important, unless you, as a reader, would like more information for personal support or help as you go off it too. (Comment or email me.) What matters is that stopping medication like this is hard, even when you do it responsibly and slowly.
And unless you have experienced it yourself, you probably won't understand. But please try, because you probably know several people who have either gone through this, or will at one time or another, even if they have never told you about it.
People take anti-depressants for many reasons. Depression can be chronic, and it can be temporary. It can be mild and it can be severe, or somewhere in between. It affects people differently. It can have environmental causes and genetic causes. It also often comes hand in hand with ugly friends, like anxiety, addictions, PTSD, eating disorders, paranoia, bi-polar, CFS, and more. People with chronic physical illnesses also often struggle with depression.
Some people with depression find that medication is helpful enough to them that they are happy to stay on it long term, or even for life. And there's nothing wrong with this, if it's right for you. However, others, like me, may in time decide that it's not a permanent necessity. Sometimes a change in circumstances, relationships, diet, lifestyle, or even location can make medication no longer a must. For some, the side effects might be worse than the benefits. Others simply don't like the feeling of taking any kind of mind-altering drug.
Personally, I have been wanting to stop taking my anti-depressants for about two years, but the timing was never really right before. Doctors warn you not to stop medication like this during the fall or winter months, because, even if you don't suffer from SAD (season affective disorder), like I do from time to time, on top of depression, most people still find withdrawal harder when there's less sunlight.
You could say that when I started cutting back on my medication, it kind of happened by accident. I would forget to take pills, and eventually simply started taking one instead of two every day, or every other day, anyway. Then I made the decision to leave the UK and move home. As soon as I made that decision, one that had been a long time coming, I knew it was the right time to officially go off my meds. After all, I wouldn't be able to get them for free anymore anyway!
The first few months were easy. I cut back by half a dose and flew through weeks without really feeling any withdrawal symptoms aside from dizziness and a little trouble concentrating. But after I had cut down to around 10 mg (1/4 dose) every two days, I was starting to feel a few more of the 'crazies.'
The hardest part about withdrawal for me has been determining the difference between symptoms and reality. Since I've been back in the US, I have felt more myself than I have in years. I've been happy almost all the time, and I know that all of this is reality, sweet reality. I am a truer me than I have ever been.
However, withdrawal symptoms sometimes mean I feel anxiety, panic, and paranoia, for no apparent reason. Mostly it's the anxiety that gets to me. I am currently generally a very relaxed and calm person who is happy to be home and happy to be alive. But the anxiety comes right on schedule every few days when I'm due for a tiny dosage. I hate the feeling because I know it means my mind is still being controlled by the meds, even though it's such a small amount. I want complete control of my mind back.
Tonight I feel anxious about things that I know are true, but my altered mind wants to tell me are not. I also feel weepy, like something is wrong, even though I know that nothing really is. In fact, nothing in my life has been more right for going on eight years. But believing all of this is hard right now, right this second. I will go to sleep in an hour or so and I'll wake up okay again and go about my business fairly happily. But tonight--tonight I feel crappy. And I don't like feeling crappy. I want my happy back right now.
There are some things I can do to ease my symptoms, but sometimes when I'm anxious, I don't think to do them, or don't feel like doing them. Occupying my mind by reading, or writing like I am now, is often a good choice. Exercise helps too, especially if I can get outside to do it. Deep breathing and meditation are also extremely helpful.And connecting with other people. I'm grateful to be in a place now where I feel I can connect with so many people, and I am nearer to a lot of people who care about me. I've not had that support network in a long time.
I know that this blog isn't going to solve my problems, and it's not going to solve anyone else's. But I feel better for having said what I've said, and I hope that something, anything, in here helps someone else too.
I have to keep reminding myself that I'm a stronger person now than I have ever been, and I know deep down that I can handle life without these pills. I will not let this kick me. I will not let anything stop me from being my best self, and reaching for all the good I can find. I am better than my worst fears and my darkest hours.
Oh, and poetry always helps too--
"Acquanited With The Night"
by Robert Frost
I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.
I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.
I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,
But not to call me back or say good-by;
And further still at an unearthly height,
One luminary clock against the sky
Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.
Right now, I'm in about my third month of going off anti-depressants. I have been on this drug for several years, for many reasons that I won't get into here. The drug itself isn't really important, unless you, as a reader, would like more information for personal support or help as you go off it too. (Comment or email me.) What matters is that stopping medication like this is hard, even when you do it responsibly and slowly.
And unless you have experienced it yourself, you probably won't understand. But please try, because you probably know several people who have either gone through this, or will at one time or another, even if they have never told you about it.
People take anti-depressants for many reasons. Depression can be chronic, and it can be temporary. It can be mild and it can be severe, or somewhere in between. It affects people differently. It can have environmental causes and genetic causes. It also often comes hand in hand with ugly friends, like anxiety, addictions, PTSD, eating disorders, paranoia, bi-polar, CFS, and more. People with chronic physical illnesses also often struggle with depression.
Some people with depression find that medication is helpful enough to them that they are happy to stay on it long term, or even for life. And there's nothing wrong with this, if it's right for you. However, others, like me, may in time decide that it's not a permanent necessity. Sometimes a change in circumstances, relationships, diet, lifestyle, or even location can make medication no longer a must. For some, the side effects might be worse than the benefits. Others simply don't like the feeling of taking any kind of mind-altering drug.
Personally, I have been wanting to stop taking my anti-depressants for about two years, but the timing was never really right before. Doctors warn you not to stop medication like this during the fall or winter months, because, even if you don't suffer from SAD (season affective disorder), like I do from time to time, on top of depression, most people still find withdrawal harder when there's less sunlight.
You could say that when I started cutting back on my medication, it kind of happened by accident. I would forget to take pills, and eventually simply started taking one instead of two every day, or every other day, anyway. Then I made the decision to leave the UK and move home. As soon as I made that decision, one that had been a long time coming, I knew it was the right time to officially go off my meds. After all, I wouldn't be able to get them for free anymore anyway!
The first few months were easy. I cut back by half a dose and flew through weeks without really feeling any withdrawal symptoms aside from dizziness and a little trouble concentrating. But after I had cut down to around 10 mg (1/4 dose) every two days, I was starting to feel a few more of the 'crazies.'
The hardest part about withdrawal for me has been determining the difference between symptoms and reality. Since I've been back in the US, I have felt more myself than I have in years. I've been happy almost all the time, and I know that all of this is reality, sweet reality. I am a truer me than I have ever been.
However, withdrawal symptoms sometimes mean I feel anxiety, panic, and paranoia, for no apparent reason. Mostly it's the anxiety that gets to me. I am currently generally a very relaxed and calm person who is happy to be home and happy to be alive. But the anxiety comes right on schedule every few days when I'm due for a tiny dosage. I hate the feeling because I know it means my mind is still being controlled by the meds, even though it's such a small amount. I want complete control of my mind back.
Tonight I feel anxious about things that I know are true, but my altered mind wants to tell me are not. I also feel weepy, like something is wrong, even though I know that nothing really is. In fact, nothing in my life has been more right for going on eight years. But believing all of this is hard right now, right this second. I will go to sleep in an hour or so and I'll wake up okay again and go about my business fairly happily. But tonight--tonight I feel crappy. And I don't like feeling crappy. I want my happy back right now.
There are some things I can do to ease my symptoms, but sometimes when I'm anxious, I don't think to do them, or don't feel like doing them. Occupying my mind by reading, or writing like I am now, is often a good choice. Exercise helps too, especially if I can get outside to do it. Deep breathing and meditation are also extremely helpful.And connecting with other people. I'm grateful to be in a place now where I feel I can connect with so many people, and I am nearer to a lot of people who care about me. I've not had that support network in a long time.
I know that this blog isn't going to solve my problems, and it's not going to solve anyone else's. But I feel better for having said what I've said, and I hope that something, anything, in here helps someone else too.
I have to keep reminding myself that I'm a stronger person now than I have ever been, and I know deep down that I can handle life without these pills. I will not let this kick me. I will not let anything stop me from being my best self, and reaching for all the good I can find. I am better than my worst fears and my darkest hours.
Oh, and poetry always helps too--
"Acquanited With The Night"
by Robert Frost
I have been one acquainted with the night.
I have walked out in rain—and back in rain.
I have outwalked the furthest city light.
I have looked down the saddest city lane.
I have passed by the watchman on his beat
And dropped my eyes, unwilling to explain.
I have stood still and stopped the sound of feet
When far away an interrupted cry
Came over houses from another street,
But not to call me back or say good-by;
And further still at an unearthly height,
One luminary clock against the sky
Proclaimed the time was neither wrong nor right.
I have been one acquainted with the night.
Wednesday, July 15, 2015
Girls Become Lovers
Something is weighing on me today; girls and their precious little hearts. Baby girls, toddlers, big girls, teenagers, young women, middle aged women, old women. We're all girls, and we all have hearts that start small, and grow and grow. But what do we grow on? And how does what we grow on impact the way we love and allow ourselves to be loved?
For hundreds, if not thousands, of years, girls have been taught by society that in order to be happy, we need to snare a man. And by snare, I mean that we're expected put our best foot forward in hopes of getting his attention and keeping it: Put on your best dress, smile, say nice things, but never express too much opinion, and certainly never be overly confident or independent. Don't be yourself. Be what he wants you to be. And do what he expects.
Don't misunderstand me. Some of these lies come to us from unexpected places. Many girls are raised by wonderful parents, but still have a misconstrued concept of what it means to love and be loved. Equally, some women who were raised in an unhealthy environment can have the most healthy view of love. Both nature and nurture have an influence on our hearts, and the way we understand and experience love can change drastically throughout our lives.
Here's what's bothering me. Girls need to know that they are enough, and yet most of us often don't know that. We need to be taught, told, and shown regularly, by anyone and everyone who has any kind of a healthy presence in our lives, that true love means someone respects you. A man (or woman!) who is respects you will be attracted to you, like you, care about you, and want to be in your life no matter what you say, how you dress, who you associate with, what your job is, where you live, what color your skin is, what color your hair is, how much or how little money you make, if you have kids or you don't, if you want kids or you don't.
If he or she makes you feel like you deserve love, then that's when you know you have found someone special. You should never be made to feel like you don't deserve love. If you feel that way, you are with someone who wants you to feel that way because it gives them the power to keep you exactly where they want you. And the longer they keep you, the more they can influence you and break down the last vestiges of your once sound concept of love.
Please, mothers and fathers, please show your girls what love is really like, every single day. You are their first picture of love, and often their most formative. You show them what it means to be human.
Love is not simply "you are beautiful," but rather, "hello, how was your day?" Love can be, "I made you a cake," "I'll do the chores," or, "your soul matters." Love answers, mirrors, and grows. It does not rust, erode, and dissolve. A heart full of love is strong and powerful, and if you have such a heart, please share it with everyone you know, especially girls, old and young, because we need a new picture of love. We need a new standard.
In the words of John Mayer--
Fathers, be good to your daughters
Daughters will love like you do
Girls become lovers who turn into mothers
So mothers, be good to your daughters too
Boys, you can break
You'll find out how much they can take
Boys will be strong
And boys soldier on
But boys would be gone without the warmth from
A womans good, good heart
On behalf of every man
Looking out for every girl
You are the god and the weight of her world
For hundreds, if not thousands, of years, girls have been taught by society that in order to be happy, we need to snare a man. And by snare, I mean that we're expected put our best foot forward in hopes of getting his attention and keeping it: Put on your best dress, smile, say nice things, but never express too much opinion, and certainly never be overly confident or independent. Don't be yourself. Be what he wants you to be. And do what he expects.
Don't misunderstand me. Some of these lies come to us from unexpected places. Many girls are raised by wonderful parents, but still have a misconstrued concept of what it means to love and be loved. Equally, some women who were raised in an unhealthy environment can have the most healthy view of love. Both nature and nurture have an influence on our hearts, and the way we understand and experience love can change drastically throughout our lives.
Here's what's bothering me. Girls need to know that they are enough, and yet most of us often don't know that. We need to be taught, told, and shown regularly, by anyone and everyone who has any kind of a healthy presence in our lives, that true love means someone respects you. A man (or woman!) who is respects you will be attracted to you, like you, care about you, and want to be in your life no matter what you say, how you dress, who you associate with, what your job is, where you live, what color your skin is, what color your hair is, how much or how little money you make, if you have kids or you don't, if you want kids or you don't.
If he or she makes you feel like you deserve love, then that's when you know you have found someone special. You should never be made to feel like you don't deserve love. If you feel that way, you are with someone who wants you to feel that way because it gives them the power to keep you exactly where they want you. And the longer they keep you, the more they can influence you and break down the last vestiges of your once sound concept of love.
Please, mothers and fathers, please show your girls what love is really like, every single day. You are their first picture of love, and often their most formative. You show them what it means to be human.
Love is not simply "you are beautiful," but rather, "hello, how was your day?" Love can be, "I made you a cake," "I'll do the chores," or, "your soul matters." Love answers, mirrors, and grows. It does not rust, erode, and dissolve. A heart full of love is strong and powerful, and if you have such a heart, please share it with everyone you know, especially girls, old and young, because we need a new picture of love. We need a new standard.
In the words of John Mayer--
Fathers, be good to your daughters
Daughters will love like you do
Girls become lovers who turn into mothers
So mothers, be good to your daughters too
Boys, you can break
You'll find out how much they can take
Boys will be strong
And boys soldier on
But boys would be gone without the warmth from
A womans good, good heart
On behalf of every man
Looking out for every girl
You are the god and the weight of her world
Saturday, June 20, 2015
For My Ladies Who Are Stuck
And so, home again. My dear friends, my dearest countrywomen, my heroines--
Where shall I begin?
Some of you know my full story, and others don't know much more than the basics. I won't get into the details now, but suffice it to say that I was never really happy living in the UK, and deep down I knew I had made the biggest mistake of my life.
However, gathering the courage to admit what I already knew was the hardest thing I have ever done. Putting myself first, risking breaking another's heart, and taking what I needed for my own survival instead, nearly broke me. But once I made the decision, the greatest peace I have ever known came over me. Suddenly, I knew myself, and I was myself again. Love is never love if you have to compromise yourself to be what someone else needs.
Flying into Boston was surreal. I felt like the prodigal son. The lost lamb. The man without a country. But after seeing my daddy's face, and getting a hug from him, it was almost as if I had never left. If it weren't for those dark places in the corners of my mind and heart, stains that will never come out, I can almost imagine it was all a bad dream.
Many of you reading this are like sisters to me. Or mothers. Or both at once. I cannot even begin to tell you how close I feel to all of you right now, even though I am so far away. There were days that I do not think I could have survived without you.
I don't want to make you feel sad, because I know most of you are still feeling the pain, frustration, anxiety, and fear that I was imprisoned by only a few weeks ago. I truly wish that I could make you all as happy as I am feeling right now. My little heart is so full, and I want to give you all that happiness.
After seven years of living in an alternative universe, where up is down, and not in the pretty Alice-in-Wonderland-way we all dreamed of when we took to our wings and sailed away, all I can say without losing all sense of how to speak, is that I have woken from a dream, and I am feeling, seeing, believing, and breathing things that I thought I would never know again.
"I hear America singing" and I want to sing along.
Hang on, dear, brave ladies. You are heroines. Like soldiers, you have given away so much of yourself to others, without even being asked, because you love more deeply than some people could ever fathom.
Remember that you are not smaller or weaker or spread thin because of what you have given up. You are bigger and better and braver.
I miss you all. Stay in touch! I will be here for you.
Where shall I begin?
Some of you know my full story, and others don't know much more than the basics. I won't get into the details now, but suffice it to say that I was never really happy living in the UK, and deep down I knew I had made the biggest mistake of my life.
However, gathering the courage to admit what I already knew was the hardest thing I have ever done. Putting myself first, risking breaking another's heart, and taking what I needed for my own survival instead, nearly broke me. But once I made the decision, the greatest peace I have ever known came over me. Suddenly, I knew myself, and I was myself again. Love is never love if you have to compromise yourself to be what someone else needs.
Flying into Boston was surreal. I felt like the prodigal son. The lost lamb. The man without a country. But after seeing my daddy's face, and getting a hug from him, it was almost as if I had never left. If it weren't for those dark places in the corners of my mind and heart, stains that will never come out, I can almost imagine it was all a bad dream.
Many of you reading this are like sisters to me. Or mothers. Or both at once. I cannot even begin to tell you how close I feel to all of you right now, even though I am so far away. There were days that I do not think I could have survived without you.
I don't want to make you feel sad, because I know most of you are still feeling the pain, frustration, anxiety, and fear that I was imprisoned by only a few weeks ago. I truly wish that I could make you all as happy as I am feeling right now. My little heart is so full, and I want to give you all that happiness.
After seven years of living in an alternative universe, where up is down, and not in the pretty Alice-in-Wonderland-way we all dreamed of when we took to our wings and sailed away, all I can say without losing all sense of how to speak, is that I have woken from a dream, and I am feeling, seeing, believing, and breathing things that I thought I would never know again.
"I hear America singing" and I want to sing along.
Hang on, dear, brave ladies. You are heroines. Like soldiers, you have given away so much of yourself to others, without even being asked, because you love more deeply than some people could ever fathom.
Remember that you are not smaller or weaker or spread thin because of what you have given up. You are bigger and better and braver.
I miss you all. Stay in touch! I will be here for you.
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