“That’s a wrap!” The movie director in my head bellows as I struggle for air and surrender myself to the reality that this season of my life is officially over. I close my eyes and try to remember the original plot. Wasn’t this supposed to be an “inspirational, against-all-odds, rom-com, happy-ending adventure”?
I mean, I expected to have some challenges and obstacles along the way, but like every hero, I’m supposed to end up with minimal scars and ultimate victory. I painstakingly open my bloodshot eyes and stare at the unrecognizable, tear-stained face staring back at me. Surveying my surroundings, I have to admit that my messy bathroom currently looks like a war scene from a Marvel movie. Sure, I survived, but WHAT THE ACTUAL [insert your favorite expletive here].
This cannot be my life!
I’ve embraced the unexpected and incredible journey of overcoming the challenges of autism with my oldest son, yet I can’t help but feel my youngest son doesn’t always get my best. Now, after 20 years, my hopelessly romantic self is divorced? NO WAY! How are my businesses and my mental and emotional wellness barely hanging on by a fragile, spider-web thin thread? I’m definitely hiding and not answering calls from bill collectors asking me for imaginary money. And who the hell authorized these 30 extra pounds of back fat I’m lugging around? Seriously! WHO?! Hey, God! None of this was in the script! There’s gotta be a glitch in the matrix.
I slide down the wall and curl into a ball on my shower floor. There, I allow myself to feel every painful emotion. And I let myself cry. I cry for the disappointments of my big dreams and the plans that fell through. For the little girl who believed love and marriage would be like a Disney movie, only to become a contributor to the divorce statistics.
I shed tears for the challenges that I secretly fear my overcomer will face in a world that is not always accepting or understanding. I cry for areas in which I’m sure I’ve fallen short as a mother to both of my sons. Finally, I cry for the strong woman within me who is graciously allowing me this uncharacteristic moment of vulnerability. I let myself feel. So I can begin to heal. And leave it all on the shower floor.
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As I settle into bed, I am presented with a choice. My circumstances are tempting me to cozy up to anger, fear, bitterness and depression. But as I replay the highlight reel of my 42 years of life, I’m humbly reminded that trouble doesn’t last forever. My children are vibrant and healthy. Their father and I are co-parenting and partnering with intentionality. And despite my setbacks and slight body dysmorphia, I know I am still a creative and impactful woman who is beautiful inside and out. Every lesson is a blessing. This too shall pass. So, with renewed optimism and deep breaths of gratitude … I choose joy.
“Today is still the best day ever,” I whisper to myself. “And tomorrow will be even better.” Wrapping the comforter around myself like an embrace full of love, calm and peace, I close my eyes and dare to dream of the amazing future I know is coming for me.
“Today is still the best day ever,” I whisper to myself. “And tomorrow will be even better.”
When you accept the gift of a new beginning each day, search for and find your gratitude. Shine bright — because even the smallest glimmer will eliminate the darkness around it. Choose to see through the eyes of possibility. Calmness will reveal solutions and bring clarity. Be kind and speak well to and of yourself. And no matter what, YOU BETTER NOT QUIT! One new beginning at a time. We got this.
I’m rooting for you. Be great today!