Typically during the last weeks of the old year, people set goals or intentions for themselves to carry through into the next. The most common ones include weight loss, exercising more, saving more money, watching less television or social media, or drinking less caffeine. Some less common ones might be being more mindful, starting a meditation practice, or getting more sleep. 

Sometimes we say we want to work on ourselves, but it’s normally in a vague sense of, perhaps thinking more positively or communicating more effectively with the people in our lives. We even may set our sights on altering a personality trait that has been our vice for a long time. Granted, we can’t change everything about ourselves, nor would we want to completely. However, we can work on cultivating more positive attributes from what we already have, or amplifying those areas where we may lack. 

Once in a while, it can be reaffirming to travel back in time to a point in our life that seemed devastatingly hard in order to see a clearer version of just how far we’ve come. After all, progress would not happen without pain. Growth would not happen without suffering.  

The end of the year brings with it reflections and a look back into the past. I have been thinking back to how much inward progress I have made since my divorce in 2021. This isn’t meant to be a humble brag, only a promise of hope to anyone who has or is going through what seemed like the worst time of your life. These “worst times” changed me for the better. What follows is meant to be inspiring for anyone experiencing the kind of devastation that makes them question its ending and wondering if they will ever see the light at the end of the tunnel. 

We all have good intentions when it comes to our goals in life. When we first set out to accomplish one, we feel motivated and energized. They create a purpose for us and we can even picture what life would be like when it is completed. Think about a few of yours. Maybe it’s to fix up your home. Or to build a garden and plant vegetables. Or to write a book. When I began writing my memoir, the writing flowed like water in a river. I cranked out scene after scene and continued with this momentum for the better part of a year. But after about a year, my writing trickled to the equivalent of a dried-up creek. Why does that happen? What occurs in our lives or blocks us from successfully completing one of our well-intentioned and important goals? 

“It is the problem of the human heart in conflict with itself which alone can make good writing.” ~William Faulkner

I have a problem and it is two-folds. I am a perfectionist with the awareness that I am a perfectionist. Why is this a problem? Because once you are aware of somthing you deem a flaw about yourself, then you have the responsibility to change it. Unfortunately, it isn’t so easy.

Do you remember when you were in school there was always that quiet kid in class who barely spoke but always seemed to excel on tests and projects? They normally kept to themselves and had few friends, yet aced quizzes and tests. Maybe they were called weird or shy. They were the ones that the popular kids didn’t associate with. I remember those kids in school, mostly because that shy kid who barely spoke was me. Maybe you can relate.

We’ve all been there. Surfing the web and being hit by non-subtle advertisements for something that you had no idea existed but now are ready to make a spontaneous purchase just because it looks so darn cute. Or practical. Or efficient. 

We all can remember the last time our equilibrium fell by the wayside. Maybe it was overindulgence in some tempting libations or fancy food one night. Maybe it was an overzealous gym workout and the next day the soreness in your muscles caused slow and cumbersome movements. Maybe it was even that one time (or several) when Netflix got the better of you and before long, you lost track of time and watched the entire season of a show in one sitting. Whatever the vice, I bet you could kick yourself afterwards.  

On a recent walk in my neighborhood, I noticed something that got me thinking of the human condition. I live in an area where the houses sit side by side and an unlined road cuts through the neighborhood. Driveways lead to garages or front doors and the grass on some lawns is so high that outside cats lounge in the grassy fields without having to worry about being seen. There aren’t any designated sidewalks for pedestrians so I have to walk on the roads that wind throughout the neighborhood, vigilant of cars that appear from all the intersections.

My boyfriend, who would eventually be my ex-husband years later, and I approached several of the cats at the humane society in hopes of finding one that would make a good fit for us in our first apartment in Florida. We had just moved from Pennsylvania in July of 2012. 

Several of the cats were sleeping as we looped the area. Some cats were awake but didn’t seem interested in socializing. Then we came to a small, black kitten. She reached her tiny paw through the bars to play and I gently squeezed it.

Glancing at her identification card I saw the name “Jinx" and she was born June 24, 2012. Her friendliness and energy were infectious as we watched her continue slipping her tiny paw between the bars like she was marking us for her own. It was hard for me to step away to continue searching, but we left and went home.  

The first time I noticed it was in second grade. I was laying in my childhood bed, staring at the shapes that looked like faces on the wooden wall next to me, sobbing. I missed my best friend and couldn’t wait to see her again at school on Monday.

It was Saturday morning and she had just left minutes ago from a Friday night sleepover at my house. The night before we ate pizza and watched Disney movies in the basement, then we played with my collection of My Little Ponies, which I had meticulously spaced out in rows and columns by color on the basement floor. If we slept at all, it was in sleeping bags in front of the fireplace. Mostly we stayed up, giggling and laughing, me not wanting the night to end because of the emotions that would come for me when she left. 

As a child, I couldn’t begin to understand why I felt immense sadness after my friend left on Saturday. I just knew that I missed her and missed what I thought was the best night of my life. 

Recently, I have felt as if I am unraveling. I am watching myself fall apart mentally, emotionally, and maybe even physically. It’s uncomfortable and I am resisting. I want to feel whole again. I want to be in control of my life again. Just when I feel that I have a grasp on this thing we call life, another wrench is thrown into the proverbial smooth running machine. 

I’ve been on an official healing journey for over three years, but really, the journey began many years before that.