The gift of misfortune.

I shared a bit about this experience back in November of 2024, and to be candid, I was struggling more than I realized at the time. This time last year, it felt like my entire existence was collapsing. But, for the last few weeks, I have come to realize that my head is finally above water and I am prospering. Here's why:

A year ago today, my mom was diagnosed with cancer.

My mom’s diagnosis represents the prologue of a year long saga that I now call the hardest year of my life. It takes a lot to earn this title, as I have overcome adversity time and time again. Strange to say, the hardest time in my life was not when I was actively using substances, or I had hit "rock bottom", but rather when I had 7 years in long term recovery. This year was unique in the fact that I encountered an array of obstacles, and it seemed as though I was playing a game of survival. I did not know it at the time, but in April of 2024, I was embarking on a journey that would shape me in ways I didn’t know possible.

 To give some context, my second daughter was born on January 11th, 2024. I suffered from severe postpartum depression with my first baby, so naturally I was dealt postpartum anxiety with my second baby (it’s only fair). I am already someone who struggles with “FMC” (fix, manage, and control), but that was sent into hyper-drive when I returned home from the hospital this time. I also had an extremely traumatic birth experience that left me with an extensive recovery process and a few gnarly scars. Postpartum is the most vulnerable period of a woman’s life and it is something I gladly choose to never experience again. The fatigue set in around 3 months postpartum this time, but being gravely anxious kept me pushing, and though going from one child to two was a bit easier than I expected, the ease was short lived. And as I started to think “I got this”, my mom headed into the hospital for day one of 105 long days on the oncology unit.

Obviously, I am stunned by my mom’s diagnosis, but between pumping breast milk, working full time, raising two kids full time, cooking, cleaning, and all the other things, I can hardly process what I’ve just been told. The mental load had reached its full capacity and from that point on I was in survival mode. Autopilot. With little to no conscious thoughts, I proceeded to manage all the things, and it got heavy. The labor piled up and shortly after my mom’s passing in August, I found myself unable to function without psychiatric medications that I continue to take today. My therapist says that some people don’t realize the weight they are carrying until they put it down. How true this was. When my mom passed, I picked up more responsibilities and it seemed never-ending. I found myself unable to manage my relationships, I couldn’t hold commitments, I was in a constant state of irritability, restless and discontent, and my pity party had turned into a debauchery. This felt miserably familiar.

I shared before that I did not want to drink or use any illicit substances, as it was clear that would make things far worse, but I did in fact need to change the way I was feeling. Around the beginning of 2025, I began being honest with myself, my therapist, and those around me about how I was feeling and what I was thinking. I continued taking my medication, meeting with my psychiatrist, and accepting any help that came my way. I forced myself to show up to meetings and events, and I actively put in the work to develop new relationships and reconstruct old ones. I started to go to the gym, prioritized myself and my needs, and asked for help. My community elevated me in a variety of ways, and this was the first time I let people “love me back to life” since I was in a detox unit, and it felt astounding.

When I lost my mom, I lost so much. I lost the person I called on my way home, I lost my babysitter, I lost the person I relied on for medical expertise, recipe measurements, or relationship advice, I lost the one person who loved me unconditionally, and I lost a huge part of myself. It took me an entire year to redefine, renovate, and recreate these vital aspects of who she was in my life, and I am sure I have only scratched the surface. I realized that my mom is entirely irreplaceable, but somehow, I would have to figure out how to incorporate who she was into my life without her. This looks different every day, whether it’s listening to a podcast on my way home, creating Pinterest boards with new recipes, or looking for love in new spaces. I learned to fill these gaps while simultaneously keeping my mom’s spirit alive.

You hear lots of clichés about grief, and one that I truly never understood until I went through it is “grief never ends, but it changes, it is not a place to stay, but rather a passage.” If I could summarize my experience with grief, this would be as close as possible. I am incredibly proud of myself for surviving this last year. Between postpartum, grief, and everything in between, I never gave up. My recovery has taught me to have faith, which is defined as “trust in something without direct evidence”. Throughout the last year I knew that things would be okay, and I would eventually tread water again, though I had no idea what it would look like.

I also learned much about myself and became incredibly self-aware, which if you are also someone who is self-aware, this is not always a cozy feeling. In this time, my character defects were awakened, and I faced parts of myself that I hoped I never would again. As I stepped off the plane no longer running on autopilot, I worked with my therapist to become conscious of my feelings and motives. My character had been warped through these traumatic experiences, and I had to become vulnerable to grow beyond what I had become. This is when I started to set down some of the weight of what I had been carrying since early 2024. Therapy is the biggest part of my recovery today, and without it, I am sure I would be in a much different place. Working with a therapist allowed me to identify my emotions and understand how they impact my reactions. I learned to ask for feedback from those around me and accept the suggestions given, putting them into practice. We do quite a bit of reflection and in my own way this has become a sort of inventory process for me. I recently found myself in a place where I feel capable of stepping outside of my comfort zone again to find things that bring me joy, prioritizing myself and remembering what life is about. Simplicity. Serenity. All the things I focused on in early recovery, I had to run back to, to find diversify my horizon again.

I would also like to mention how patient and kind my children were throughout this past year, and always. I am incredibly blessed to have them in my life and the purpose that they give me kept me going some days, and still does. They give me a safe space to be myself and practice expressing my emotions without judgement. I never hide from my children and we have endless conversations about emotions. If my girls grow up to read this one day, thank you for your patience and unwavering love.

Though the past year is not what I would have wished for myself, I can frankly say that it shaped me in a multitude of ways and I am grateful for all that I learned. The indication that I am able to overcome just about anything, the reminder that life is far too short, and the nudge that God’s will for me is hardly ever what I think it should be. I am far more resilient than I imagined, and unfortunately that is something we must learn through facing tough times.  Ultimately, if you find yourself in the shadows, know that there is always a way out. There is no one universal way to rise above, but if you persist, you will find the light again. To my postpartum moms, my grieving moms, the moms who feel like they simply cannot get a leg up, and my dear moms who never give themselves enough grace, know that you are brave, incessantly valuable, and capable of overcoming whatever life throws at you.

May this next year bestow new lessons, less demanding and far less complicated.