“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. 

The human mind is more powerful than we can ever fathom. When you start to filter in positive thoughts, your life will begin to transform. ~Buddha

Life tends to either build you up or knock you down, and we never know which one it will be at any given moment. The latter seems to be happening to me lately. I am caught in a chaotic swirl of the universe’s energy that caused a series of bad luck events. All of them happening within a three-month span knocked me down for the count. I didn’t want to get back up. I wanted to lay on the ground, hiding from the world so that nothing else could get me.

When one negative event after another gives you the proverbial punch in the face, it can be hard to think clearly or rationally. Emotions tend to take control and make everything worse. The mind starts spiraling into a paranoid view of the world. “What else is going to happen?” haunts your thoughts, despite your best efforts to remain positive.

I started this website to focus on loss and the complicated relationship it has with grief, depression, and loneliness. The rollercoaster of emotions that naturally comes along with losing a loved one or something in your life that you cared deeply about sends you to parts of yourself that you would rather forget existed. The grief inevitably brings out feelings that once lay dormant and then hijacks every part of your body, brain, and heart.

I have also written about how I have learned to use new-found tools and support from others to overcome the challenges and paralyzing effects grief creates. From podcasts I have listened to, to books I have read, to supportive friends, family, colleagues and healing retreats, I spent the better part of two years trying to figure out how to heal.

There have been very few Christmases that I haven’t spent with my family in Pennsylvania. Growing up in a small town, the holidays were some of the highlights of my childhood. A crisp morning greeted us on the short walk to the humming car, pre-heated and all ice crystals melted from the windshield. The air smelled fresh and clean, as if the snow and cold hit a reset button on the usual scents of, where I grew up, nearby cattle farms.