On Being Home....
I wrote this about a week ago, before the election. With Facebook and the media melting down, I decided to take a break. I adopted the "glitter bomb" approach, which is to quickly find something positive and happy, share it, then run. It's worked out pretty well for me. Until we've fully processed what I'm calling The Election (capitalization is very important to me), we won't be speaking about it here. We're gonna talk about something I do have a little bit of control over.
And I'm gonna do something that blog writers shouldn't do: I'm gonna talk about my raw, gaping wound.
I got the most awesome opportunity to spend part of the first week of November with my mom in Charlotte (who I know I give her a lot of shit, but she is honestly the greatest mom ever). Getting to see Glennon Doyle Melton speak was an added bonus, and I have a ton of great blog posts lined up for that. But I realized I had never spoken about my feelings on being home, and my weekend trip presented the perfect opportunity.
While purchasing my tickets to Charlotte, I decided to surprise my friends in Chicago. I told only one person I was coming, and only barely did I manage to keep my visit a secret until I walked in the door. There was a lot of screaming and hugging. It was amazing and I nearly cried, because I had missed them all SO MUCH. I got to spend the whole weekend with them, just hanging out, watching movies and making cookies.
But it was also ridiculously hard. It reminds me of how much I'm missing, and that my entire life is radically different. A year ago, I thought my body was just a little weird, and pain and nausea was something I endured just a little more often than the rest of the world. I had never heard the term "spoonie", and I thought that you went to doctors and they fixed it. I didn't plan on a physical illness totally derailing my life. But that's what life does. You finish high school, go to college, and get a job, right? I mean, isn't that how everyone does it?
Everyone told me I was so brave for making the choice to go home. I thought I was weak. Then I found people my age, going through the same things, having to make the same hard choices. There were people older than me who had already been through it all, and told me, "no, you ARE brave. You will not regret this choice." It might be rough, but this is my life and I will love and appreciate it. I will listen to that voice in me saying, "your soul might be ready, but your body isn't. Be patient." I've been blessed with amazing parents, a phenomenal group of super supportive friends, and I'm surrounded by more love than I know what to do with. I WILL have my dream, maybe not on the traditional path, but that's okay. I have my people, and that's all I need right now.