Well, duh.

You know, there are days when I realize that for however smart I was in grade school, that may well be how completely clueless I am as an adult about common sense things.

smart-vs-dumb

Gorgeous, either way, though, right?

See, I’ve been living in Orland Hills, IL for a little over a year now.  The town is so small that in order to use public transportation, you actually have to call a phone number more than 24 hours in advance and set up your ride.  It’s like paratransit, but for everybody.

When we moved here, I walked over to the town hall to get all of our paperwork in order, and I was told by some of the ladies who work there that I couldn’t bring my baby on the bus because they don’t allow car seats.  Thus began my year of walking everywhere and having absolutely crushing stir-craziness in the winter, wondering how I would make it until my son turned 8.

Well, today, I had enough of it.  It’s gorgeous outside (but -5 degrees wind chill), and despite having time travel seizures yesterday, I decided I was tired of feeling like a middle schooler who was impatiently waiting for one of her friends to get a drivers license. I decided to ask the hivemind — my friends on FB and the folks in one of the local parenting groups on there.

And do you know what they suggested? A taxi service.

benny

I’m not sure why it didn’t occur to me earlier, and I feel totally dumb for not thinking of it. It’s so simple and straightforward that it makes my head hurt.

For some reason, I thought that since we’re living in the suburbs, we wouldn’t have access to taxis out here… but we do! I even thought, “Hey! Uber might work!” but riding in an Uber with a baby and his car seat only works if the Uber driver is cool with it — and most of them aren’t. (Who can blame them? If my baby pukes, Uber’s not gonna clean it up for them, and if we are in an accident, the liability for them is too great.)

So, one of the ladies in the parenting group suggested a specific driver who works with her elderly mom, and I’m going to be giving him a call tomorrow.

I’m tired of feeling like less than an adult, simply because I can’t get where I want to go when I want to go. Henry deserves to go to the library, regularly. He deserves to go on playdates. He deserves a life outside of this house, and a mommy who has more self-esteem than I do right now.

Cabbing it might seem kinda costly, but I’m going to do everything I can to remind myself, when I’m feeling too cheap to give us freedom, that if I had a car, I’d be paying more for gas, maintenance, licensing, and insurance. Not to mention how much we’ll save on psychological therapy in the coming years for me and Henry. (No agoraphobia allowed!)

So, I’m now looking very forward to going to pilates or yoga classes during the day at our gym like I’ve wanted to for so long. I’m going to make friends here and be a functional member of this community. I’m going to stop using my inability to drive as a reason to feel sorry for myself. I’m taking back at least some of the freedom I’ve unconsciously given to seizure disorder.


On a completely different note, I was approached by an employee of Earnest a few weeks ago who asked me to write an entry on holiday budgeting. Over the course of our emails it appeared that they wanted me to suggest to my readers that they refinance their student loans. They didn’t offer me any compensation to promote them, so my link above exists out of nothing more than goodwill towards someone who may have read one of my entries, but who definitely has a tough job if they’re trying to get sporadic writers like me to pimp their product.

Anyway, I have a ton of tips that I would be happy to share about how I personally save money, but I also have a massive amount of respect for my small and dedicated group of readers. I don’t believe that y’all care one iota about reading about that sort of thing here.  If I’m wrong, let me know, and I’ll happily write it up for you.

Hope everyone’s feeling well, and that 2017 isn’t half the shitshow that the Great Dumpster Fire of 2016 was.

2016dumpsterfire

Out Of Control, And That’s OK

There’s been a lot going on recently that has been anxiety-producing…an unusual amount of mass murder, a trainwreck of a political circus, and, of course, personal stuff.  There are so many things that I would change if I could. The inherent unfairness of life weighs on my spirit.  I desperately want to help make the world a better place — or at least a kinder one… but I am one Rachael. I can only do so much.

I cannot:

  • Stop complete strangers from shooting, stabbing, or running over people.
  • End systemic racism.
  • Fix end-stage capitalism or neo-feudalism.
  • Make the geopolitical landscape either make sense or work the way that I want it to.
  • Force anybody’s political ideals or morals to match my own.
  • Make any decisions about American domestic or foreign policy.
  • Disarm all the nuclear bombs in the world.
  • Make teething less painful for my son.
  • Force the higher-ups at anyone’s place of employment to make wise decisions for the health and morale of their workers.
  • Make it any easier or more fun for anyone to look for a job.
  • Know whether or not the estriol treatment is having a positive effect on my MS.
  • Know whether or not it would be more beneficial for me to get back on Copaxone or if I should try to convince my neurologist to let me try Lemtrada or Ocrevus… or if I should just keep doing Vitamin D and estriol.
  • Know when the optimal time actually is to have a second child. (I have been thinking about this particular question way too much recently.)
  • Make Humana stop messing up my medical billing from over a year ago.
  • Make the muscles in my arms and legs stop randomly, painfully spasming (though cannabis does a good job of quieting it down for a few hours at a time)
  • Cure MS or seizure disorder… or any other medical condition, for that matter.
  • Blow thousands of dollars and hire a full staff.  All I want is a maid, a gardener, a contractor to renovate our home, a nanny, a full-time driver, and an on-call masseuse, so that I can get all the things done that I feel need to be done. Totally reasonable, right?

Panic and despair don’t help anything, and no one else can “fix” life either.

relax

I recognize that I’m not helpless to be at the effect of these worries and situations.

I can:

  • Meditate and let the fear pass.
  • Exercise.
  • Take all my prescribed medicines as scheduled.
  • Talk with my therapist when I need to.
  • Hold my baby tight, love him with all my heart, and teach him to be compassionate to himself and others.
  • Do as much housework as possible to help relieve some stress for my husband while also showing myself in a clear way that I make a visible difference in the world around me.
  • Make healthy food choices for my family.
  • Comfort friends who are sad.
  • Find a way to compliment or show appreciation to every person I talk to.
  • Make music and art.
  • Share my experiences so that others who face similar challenges don’t feel so alone.
  • Be an ally, an advocate, and involve myself in the community
  • Do my best to both give myself credit for what I already do and still be ambitious.
  • Choose optimism.
  • Focus on gratitude.
  • Consciously look for the good in life.
  • Remember that I don’t have to read my FB newsfeed like it’s my part-time job. I don’t need to internalize anyone else’s stress.

My mantra for the last few weeks has been this, and it’s serving me very well:

doit

 

 

Good Enough.

Well, 6:30 a.m. rolled around this morning, and Henry decided that since Daddy was very obviously awake, he needed to be doing things too.  I would still be cranky about this if not for the fact that he is, mercifully, napping right now, which puts us on schedule for him to attend a Gymboree class at 12:30, assuming it doesn’t rain.

You know, life is funny. When you’re little, you rage against naps and against sleep. Fear of missing out is so strong that you can’t even comprehend why your parents want you to rest.  As a grown up,  I know that what I’m actually missing out on most of the time is… a restful nap.

The irony that I could be taking one right now instead of writing is not lost on me.

Ghosts of the Past

Social media never ceases to amaze me. Several days ago, I got a friend request from someone who used to be my best friend in the whole world.  When I say “used to be,” I mean that it’s been 25 years since I last saw her. We went to elementary school together, and after my family moved to Collierville, for all intents and purposes, I never saw anyone from elementary school again, and I was more than okay with that.

See, I went to a prestigious (read “snobby”) private school.  From 2nd-6th grade, my daily thought processes were consumed not primarily with learning, but rather, with an unrelenting psychological struggle for acceptance. On the one hand, I would desperately try to convince a bunch of rich little girls that I deserved acceptance, despite being of a different religion and socioeconomic background than almost all of them — and on the other, I would desperately try to convince myself that their acceptance was completely meaningless and empty.

In my ideal imaginary world, where I never ended up with MS or seizure disorder, I’d have made my mark by now as a rich and powerful entertainment attorney who also just happened to be happily married, beautiful as an adult, and energetic enough that I could still perform music on the weekends — you know, just for fun.  I could totally talk to the girls I grew up with and be like, “See. I am your people. Aren’t you glad you grew up with me now?”

…but I’m not.

I’m a disabled stay-at-home-mom who writes sporadically and doesn’t wear pink on Wednesdays. Mercifully, I’ve not only come to terms with that, but I’m actually pretty proud of it. It took years to get healthy enough to have Henry, and it takes concerted effort to carve out time to write.

Surprisingly enough, after I accepted her friend request, I found myself worrying about whether or not my life was “good enough.”  I openly questioned whether this person genuinely wanted to rekindle a long-lost friendship or if she was going to be headed to a reunion and she wanted some good gossip for everyone.

A day later, another elementary school classmate requested friendship, and I had to really consider whether or not I was going to accept.  It’s not like this request was from a former bully. This woman was the nicest (and prettiest) girl in class, and I didn’t even have an inkling of bad intention on her part — which really gave me pause.

In that moment, it hit me square in the face just how toxic and deep my shame is over the direction my life took after I was diagnosed with seizure disorder… and I had to figure out both why I was shaming myself and what I could do about it. My life is not a trainwreck people can’t help but stop to look at. It’s performance art.

Turns out that despite all of my years of growth as a person, my inner child is still classist, ableist, and misogynistic. She attended enough ballet classes, watched enough TV, and read enough magazines to know that she’s only pretty if she’s thin, important if she’s rich or in a position to help someone else social climb, and worthwhile as a person if she’s “contributing to society” through paid work, glamour, or widely-accepted art or music.

It’s a damn good thing that I’ve grown past those old ways of thinking as an adult.

So Much More Than Good Enough.

I accepted both friend requests, and I’m glad I did. It’s cool to know that my old bestie and the girl I was most impressed with while growing up actually care to know me as an adult. I’m curious to see who they’ve become too!  We’re all mommies now. That alone changes you a lot.

It’s even cooler to know that the good side of my early-life struggle finally won out. I give zero fucks about what other people think of me at this point. I would actually give negative fucks if that were possible. (Like, my fuck deficiency is so pronounced that I could really use some of yours. I might have to declare fuck bankruptcy.)  I’m also entirely certain that my father, upon reading this, will pump his fist in the air, and think, “That’s my girl.”

What matters is what I think of myself… and my record for awesomeness is pretty good. I’m well educated in interesting topics. I’m relentless in the pursuit of bettering myself as a person. I engage in community service, and I make an effort to have fun too. I’m raising a kid who’s not a little asshole, and my husband still grabs my butt after 10 years.

Altogether, I know that I am more than “good enough” for myself, even if I have to remind my insecure inner child of that. I try hard to be the kind of person I’d want to hang out with. And sometimes, that person needs to be someone who reminds you of how special you are.

I’m happy that these very old friends unintentionally gave me the opportunity to take a good hard look at the life I’m leading. I’m even happier with what I saw… because, really, how could I be anything but happy when I get to see this face all day?

hugabug1

 

And today I’m fine. (So far.)

MS is so weird. One day, I’m damn near immobilized by fatigue and seizures, and the next, I’m feeling great and am having a genuine debate as to whether it’s smarter for me to blog or fold and put away ALL. THE. THINGS. (It can’t be some of the laundry. That’s just not enough. I’m adulting so hard today!)

fold

Happiness > Folded Laundry

Of course, since you’re reading this, you know what choice I’ve made. Surely, I’ll make a dent in the mountain of clean laundry at some point today, but I felt like writing was a better use of the short time that I have while Henry naps.  Why?  Because writing is one thing that makes me genuinely happy, even if I’m writing about tough stuff… and if I don’t do simple things that make me happy, I have no one to blame but myself.

I think that’s one of the hardest things about being a SAHP (Stay-At-Home Parent, for the uninitiated). It’s way too easy to spend the entire day focusing on your child’s needs and housekeeping and to completely neglect yourself.

If you can sing every jingle from every Daniel Tiger episode, but you haven’t listened to a new release from one of your favorite artists that was released almost a year ago (like this one for me), you just might have your priorities slightly out of whack. (And that’s ok.  Friends help each other. Yes, they do. It’s true!)

If you don’t carve out time for things that make you smile, you can become overwhelmed and sad so easily. Heck, when I first started this gig, I had to set alarms to remind myself to eat (Ok, I’ll be honest. I still use those alarms.) and take showers. (More than 1 a week! It’s important!)

After going back to therapy, this time for postpartum depression, I realized something: I’m doing a fantastic job of challenging automatic negative thoughts… but I’m doing a crap job of giving myself credit for the things I do and an even worse job of having fun.

A thought really struck me hard the other day — Henry is learning how to be a person from watching me.  If I don’t do things that make me happy, I’m teaching him (by example) how to be miserable. We can’t have that. I refuse.

domorehappy

So, I’m gonna keep doing my best to show him that you rest when you feel bad, and you do whatever you can when you’re feeling well.

On that note, I’ll be busting out the guitar this week…finally bringing it out of retirement. It’s been almost a year and a half now since I played. (Baby belly bumps get in the way!)  I’m not expecting that it’ll sound particularly good — but something is so much better than nothing. I’ve been thinking about it for weeks now, and I think he’s finally at an age where I could play it and he wouldn’t automatically try to wrestle it away from me.

Truth be told, I miss parts of my identity from before I became a mommy… from before MS made my life wonky… from before I stopped thinking that I could be and do anything I wanted to do be and do. It’s time for that thinking to end. My mindset is in my control. Self-empowerment is about owning your bullshit and choosing to powerfully move past it.  You can’t be proud of yourself and be mired in self-pity at the same time.

How do you kick self-pity’s ass?  Gratitude and credit.

The Sticker List

Y’all have heard me talk about how important Gratitude Rampages are, and how you can rewire your brain to be more positive by writing down 3 great things that happened yesterday, every day.  Well, we can add another exercise — one that I made up myself that is helping me out loads.  The Sticker List.

What’s “The Sticker List?”  It’s a simple list of everything that you believe you deserve a sticker for.  See, we give kids stickers (or other little treats) when they behave well, in an effort to give them positive feedback and attention so that they will develop good habits. Some kids gets stickers for using the potty. Others get them for brushing their teeth or doing basic chores.

Today, I believe I deserve a sticker because I’ve chosen to write… and I think I probably also deserve a sticker for:

  • changing 3 poopy diapers before noon
  • remembering to take all of my morning meds
  • eating within an hour of waking up
  • not being ashamed of sharing this. 🙂

It’s like a to-do list in reverse… a “Done” list, if you will.

poopsticker

This would be the sticker I would give myself for changing diapers. Have you ever seen such a happy crap?

And, now that I’ve shared this, I actually want to go fold clothes. (Who am I becoming?!?)

Hope you’re all having a wonderful day. ❤

 

#11 is free, right?

Looking for Answers

Welp, the ultrasound didn’t show any stones… but it did show fat deposits on my liver. Now, I have to go get an MRI (w/ and w/out contrast) of my liver so that my gastroenterologist can figure out whether or not I have nonalcoholic fatty liver disease. I’m 99% sure that I have it, because it would explain the pain in my upper right abdomen… and if I don’t, then who the fuck knows. I’m all about some answers.

For those of you playing along at home, this is my current medical condition.

  1. Multiple Sclerosis
  2. Seizure Disorder
  3. Hypertension
  4. High Triglycerides/Cholesterol
  5. GERD
  6. Gastritis
  7. Colitis
  8. Postpartum Depression
  9. PTSD

I joked with Adam that NAFLD would be #10, so my punch card should be full and #11 will be free.  He didn’t laugh. Probably because I haven’t made a punch card yet… but I might, just to keep myself laughing. I keep looking on the bright side. No stones means no gallbladder surgery.

The first line of treatment both for high triglycerides/cholesterol and NAFLD is to lose weight, a minimum of 10% of total body weight over 6 months. (So, for me, that would be 21 pounds.) In theory, that’s totally doable.  I honestly would *love* to lose weight.  I’ve been trying for years now with no success.  It doesn’t matter if I’m on the paleo diet or not. Or if I’m active or not. Or if I’m both paleo and weightlifting.  Even pregnancy didn’t change my weight by more than 15 pounds.

Fortunately, at the beginning of May, I’ll actually finally be seeing an endocrinologist, and hopefully, she’ll be able to help me figure things out.  I mean, someone’s got to be able to help.  I don’t want to die from a heart attack (triglycerides/cholesterol), a stroke (hypertension), or liver failure (NAFLD) – all of which are caused by my being overweight. I’m willing to do whatever’s necessary.

In the meantime, Adam and I are getting back to the gym starting today. Being active never hurts. We took about a month off because Adam burnt his hand terribly on a hot pan, and I was having tons of seizures because of tummy troubles and hormone imbalances.  I’m not expecting magic or anything, but I’m really looking forward to just going for a 30 minute walk on the treadmill if nothing else. I hate being as sedentary as I have been. I’m tired of my tummy hurting, and I’m tired of feeling gross.

12963873_10209025515017754_2491198053406512411_nOn a totally different note…

I was lucky enough that my mom came in for 10 days to help out and hang out with me and Henry while Adam was in and out of town for work.  I always appreciate my mom’s help, and am honestly flabbergasted at where she gets her energy.  To be honest, I’m ridiculously jealous. The lady’s 22 years older than me, and runs circles around me. She cooks and cleans and gets on the floor with the kiddo and doesn’t bat an eyelash…whereas I have given myself numerous mental high-fives just for remembering to transfer the laundry last night.

She also takes great pictures of her grandbaby. Here’s Henry in his Graco Bumper Jumper. He’s too tall for it, but he still can’t get enough. I’m really looking forward to Mom and Dad putting together his rocking horse for his birthday.

Celebrations

Speaking of… Adam’s birthday is tomorrow and Henry’s birthday is in 2 weeks, and I really haven’t done anything to prepare. Yes, I bought Adam a present, but he already got it – so that’s sorta anticlimactic.   And as for Henry… I have got to get my shit together.

Ilovetrash

Patterned tableware is 50% off at Party City right now.  I just have to force myself to stop being such a lazy curmudgeon. I’m like, “How the fuck are these paper plates this expensive even when they’re on sale? I can get 100 plain white paper plates for the cost of 8 of these ‘Wild at One’ plates, on sale.  Why do we need a tablecloth and paper cups?  Will he even CARE if I make him a smash cake? He can’t eat solids other than purees yet, and he won’t have any memory of it… It’s all just gonna be garbage!”

And then I have to remind myself that this is 100% postpartum depression talking. It’s the same inner voice that has dealt out other helpful advice such as, “Henry and Adam would have more money and be better off without you. You should just kill yourself.” I don’t listen to that voice. I treat it like the mental flatulence it is – odious and ephemeral.

Equally ephemeral… the quiet solitude of naptime.  Kiddo’s been down for almost an hour, so I’m gonna see if I can get a few things done before he stirs, and it’s time for me to feed him lunch.

12931135_10209025514217734_1111931706695910258_n

My one real talent: Getting Henry to sleep. 

 

*waves*

Hey there.

Life’s been crazy. I have been writing – just not on this blog. I’ve been writing here.

modern-day-ms

Here’s a link to my most recent stuff.

I was actually just featured in an interview on that site yesterday.

Love That Hugabug!

hugabug

Henry is growing like crazy. 10 months old, wearing size “18 month” clothes. He’s babbling all the time, blowing raspberries, and pulling himself up on furniture. He’s so close to walking that I’m trying my best to appreciate how easy it is to keep up with him these days.

I’ve started working on planning his 1st birthday party, which will be a joint party with his Grandpa (my dad), since they share a birthday weekend.  I think I’m actually more excited about my parents, my brother and his awesome wife coming in town to celebrate than I am about the fact that we managed to make it a full year without accidentally killing our beautiful, amazing baby. Being a parent is hard, yo.

I’m a mess, but I’m doing my best.

My health has been frustrating and upsetting, so I’ve been doing my best to minimize the struggle while responsibly handling it.

I believe I had an early miscarriage a couple of months ago. I’m usually very regular, but had a couple of very faint positive pregnancy tests and then didn’t bleed for 50+ days.  When I did get my period, it was the heaviest, most awful period I’ve ever had.  Dr. Dad thinks I might have just missed a period. He said it happens all the time, and not to worry about it. Adam has decided Dad’s right, so I’ve jumped on the “don’t mourn something that never was” bandwagon with my conscious mind and have been dealing with terrible depression and nightmares because of the choice to repress my feelings of guilt and sadness. I see my therapist on Saturday, thankfully.

Of course, just afterwards, I had a MS relapse, complete with tons of seizures, neuropathic pain in my legs, muscle spasms, and tingling/burning on various parts of my back. A medrol dose pack seems to have done the trick to quiet most of it. Come to think of it, it’s been almost 6 years without a drip — so that’s pretty good, I guess.

My stomach is still up to its shenanigans, reminding me after almost every meal that eating is not a good idea… and that’s despite my gastroenterologist doubling the amount of Prilosec I take. I am scheduled for an upper and lower GI scope on St. Patrick’s Day.  (Fun, right?)

After 2 years of not seeing a dentist for a myriad of reasons, I finally went in for a cleaning and exam. I have 2 cavities to get filled this month as well, in 2 separate visits.

I honestly don’t remember the last time that I went to the gym to work out (though I did see a nutritionist), and today, I’m fantasizing about finding a chiropractor because my neck is super-sore from my head dropping thanks to seizures. Unintentional headbanging FTW. Honestly, I’m tired of hurting. Apparently, not tired enough to use my foam roller, but just enough to think about it and then whine to myself you.

cantwin

The bright spot in the health area is that I finally got glasses.  They’re cute and helpful. I had no idea how badly I needed them!  I now look forward to the day when Henry stops wanting to rip them off my face and throw them. I’m sure that will eventually happen someday.

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Anyway, that’s all for now. The little one is stirring, and I need to change and feed him.  Hope you’re having a good day! Be well!

Do It Anyway.

My drooly dragon on Halloween.

My drooly dragon on Halloween.

Hard to believe it, but Henry’s 6 months old now.  Right now, I’m lucky enough to have a moment to write because he’s taking his morning nap.

Today, I was published on another blog — Modern Day MS. I wrote a piece about how to improve your sex life, since the great majority of folks with MS have to deal with sexual dysfunction at some point.

Surprisingly, the hardest thing about writing that guest post was keeping my word count down!  There was so much more I could have written about because, let’s face it, there’s a lot of great information out there about having good sex.

One thing that surprised me was how much it helped to have a specific audience to write to, though. I think one of my downfalls here on In It For The Parking is that I have made this much more of a personal journal and much less of an MS-centric blog.  Ah well. If I cared about making money from my blog it might matter, but I don’t. It’s not why I write here.

So About That Title…

You may have noticed that the title of today’s blog entry is, “Do it Anyway.” It’s the title of one of my favorite Ben Folds songs, and has become a huge part of my current way of being.

Being a mom is tough. It’s especially tough when you have seizures and sometimes don’t have an aura. It can be really scary.

For years — way too many years — I spent my days on the couch and didn’t do a whole lot because I was afraid of hurting myself. I didn’t cook. I didn’t exercise, for fear of falling off a machine or embarrassing myself. I didn’t leave the house without someone else.  It’s only in the last 2 years that my seizures subsided enough for me to be brave enough to go out in public alone.

And now, as a mom, sitting on the couch and hiding from life really isn’t an option. So, I take the kiddo on walks to and from the store. I carry him up and down stairs. I have begun cooking again, and today, I think I might even be brazen enough to try to shower while my husband’s at work. (It smells like a good idea.)

There were a lot of people who asked me why I wanted to have children, and whether or not it was safe. They suggested that it wasn’t a good idea because they were worried about how I would take care of the kids and deal with my condition.  My response to them was always that I wasn’t going to let MS steal motherhood away from me.  So, even with all the fear, we did it anyway.

Why? Because one of the biggest, most important things I’ve learned is that even if you’re afraid, you need to do things anyway.  Sometimes, the more afraid you are of something, the more important it is that you do it.  That’s why bravery is a virtue.

Do I seize when I get overheated? Yeah, every time.  But the dishes? Those need to get done anyway. And this body? It doesn’t like carrying this much extra weight, so exercise is going to happen.

Don’t get me wrong — I’m not trying to cause seizures. I’m learning how to do things despite them.  For instance, it’s safer for me to swim (because it keeps your body cool) with Adam than it is for me to try to run on a treadmill. It’s safer for me to soak dishes in the sink and rinse in tepid water before putting them in the dishwasher than it is to use hot, soapy water. And it’s safer for me to keep the house at a crisp 68 degrees and only carry Henry for a few minutes at a time than it is for me to be afraid to pick him up.

For a long time, I thought that Kayla Montgomery was insane.  I mean, who wants to run races and trigger pseudoexacerbations over and over again, falling into her coach’s arms at the end of each race, just so she can keep running?  It sounded insane to me. But now, for some reason, I get it. She knows that someday, she’s not going to be able to feel her legs. She’s making the most of every moment she has control of them, and refuses to let this disease take any more from her than it absolutely has to.  And that takes a lot of guts.

I’m more than a little ashamed to think about how much time I wasted because of fear.  Sure, it was legitimate fear, but it was also depression. It wasn’t just that I wouldn’t push myself, I couldn’t. After failing the bar exam twice, I didn’t see the point of trying anything anymore. I didn’t want to find my physical boundaries, because I didn’t want to get hurt.

But, that’s pretty much what life is — getting hurt and getting over it and learning new ways to be… over and over again.

I’m tired of the internet being my only social outlet (aside from seeing my in-laws). I’m tired of defining myself by this disease. I’m tired of wallowing in how tired and/or afraid of seizures I am to the point that I allow myself to not be ambitious. It’s a waste. Not only of my potential but of the time I have here to enjoy life.

So, I’m fucking tired and scared. That’s great. It means I’m human. Big deal. Do it anyway; whatever “it” is. Acknowledge the fear and move forward thoughtfully.

Today, “it” is writing this blog entry and doing whatever I can to get up and be active. I can’t let my son learn that being an adult is comprised of sitting on your butt staring at a screen all day long every day. I won’t. Unfortunately, we can’t go to the gym today because the little guy is sick, and they’ve got rules against bringing sick kids to the gym.  So, I think I’m gonna walk to the store and get stuff for dinner and return a toy that I wish I hadn’t bought. (Toys with lights and sound aren’t always the best idea. Gotta find the right ones.)  Don’t worry, I always wear my medical alert bracelet and have an ICE app on my phone in case I seize in public.

If, at some point today, I’m able to vacuum the living room, make the MRI appointment I keep postponing because I’d rather not know how my MS has progressed without DMDs, and find a good dentist in the area, I’m giving myself all kinds of bonus points. Mostly because I don’t want to do any of that, but it all needs to be done.

So, I’m going to do it anyway.

Do-It-Anyway