"(Stay with me on this.)" We will. (We always will stay with you on this.) Reading your writing about your quest to be found living feels, to me, like oxygen. I opened a new window, made your post Full Screen, and breathed. Truth in the light. The series of what this looks like especially got me.
I have found for myself that anger is always easier and safer to feel than grief. It is such hard work to sift through that protective layer of justified anger and rage, only to realize it’s really grief. Again. But what I’ve found in my own life is that if I keep going all the way down to the grief, there is slow healing and I get to live free - not easy, not painless - but free. Will keep praying. Keep on writing.
This is everything I needed today and the last year and a half since our daughters death. I’m about to print this out as a reminder on the days I just am stuck. Thank you.
Thank you for continuing to write through the pain. Your courage to be honest here, and to choose who you want to be after this, even when it seems impossibly difficult, are tremendous gifts. I’m so thankful to you for sharing them with us.
This is SO exactly what I need right now in the midst of so much grief, anger, resentment and fear. And hard, hard life. What I say similarly to your “to be found living” is that I will live in the in-between moments, as few of them as there are sometimes in between the absolutely awful times that haven’t abated because, well, parenting is forever, and some kids (young adults) are SO hard. That’s just one of the things. But-God shows up for me in words, and through other people. And, loveliest of all, in the words of people like you. May there be a little ease in your life, and plenty of love, and plenty of living in the in-between.
Wow, Katie. Thank you for your words and authenticity during such a difficult season. Also, THIS: "I can sense even now how the habits I practice in the middle of what’s hard will set up the trajectory of who I will be for the rest of my life." This is something I wish I had recognized years ago. So very wise.
Thank you for sharing this, Katie. I resonate so much with the reality of the slow fade of people checking in when things are hard, and the bitterness/anger that can creep in when we start counting it all out in our heads. But even more, I loved the reminder that we need to keep living. Grief and heartache can make us feel like the world stopped while everyone just keeps going on with their lives, and sometimes we just have to keep going too. So grateful for your wisdom and your sweet words 🤍
Katie, I empathized with your feelings about pain and anger and it needing a place to go. When I was going through my divorce over 10 years ago, I remember being so angry and hurt and betrayed and having nowhere to put those emotions. They would come out in the most explosive and destructive ways and it was heartbreaking. I don't know if this helps, but it does get easier. Each day gets a little bit better after divorce and I have found that the farther I am from those heartbreaking days, the more clarity I have on that whole marriage. I hope you know how often I think of you and wish I could give you a hug, buy you a coffee and remind you that you are stronger than you even know.
Thank you for being vulnerable and sharing all of the parts, even the blaming judgemental parts of putting your life back together in a different arrangement. The whole piece was beautiful but the footnote got me the most "I've always been better at writing than living". May you continue (and may we all) find the space to use writing as one of the tools that not only keep us alive but to help catch and process all those moments...the ones of doing better and the not so much....to catch ourselves living, not just surviving x
Thank you, Katie. Thank you for sharing your beautiful, much needed words. Thank you for sharing your heart and your pain. You say that writing is part of your healing process, well reading your writing is mine.
I'm coming your way this weekend! If you're able (I know this is a stretch) to get away for a college football game to watch two teams you don't care about, let me know! ;) But, it's college football! And tailgating!
“...I walked out the door on my three best friends because they were late for a playdate. Was it a big deal that they were late? No. Was I drowning trying to keep my son occupied for those extra minutes, and needing in that moment more than anything to feel something different than sadness over my reality? Yes.”
I’m honestly inspired by this. I feel like, more often than not, I’ve carried the weight of other people’s shortcomings, along with the difficulties of caregiving, and absorbed all of it to the point of physical illness. I’m impressed that you set boundaries like this, honestly. I am only just beginning to set these kinds of boundaries and my autistic son is now twelve years old. I think this was actually a very wise move on your part. You invited people into a deeper understanding by showing them what you could not do. Too often, I’ve pretended I could do things we truly couldn’t do. My son and I absorbed the resulting pain. I sold people a false bill of goods, too, because they didn’t understand why I couldn’t do a play date again the following week. I didn’t know how to explain that the previous play date led to a three-day nervous-system shutdown. I’d try. I’d talk about my son needing “recovery days.” It largely went over people’s heads, though. I was perceived as a bad friend, and discarded, when I couldn’t participate at the level other women could participate. As a form of self-preservation, I started pulling a Taylor Swift (“You gotta leave before you get left”). I’d purposefully pull away so that nobody could hurt me. Anyway, thank you for sharing these things. I relate.
"(Stay with me on this.)" We will. (We always will stay with you on this.) Reading your writing about your quest to be found living feels, to me, like oxygen. I opened a new window, made your post Full Screen, and breathed. Truth in the light. The series of what this looks like especially got me.
I have found for myself that anger is always easier and safer to feel than grief. It is such hard work to sift through that protective layer of justified anger and rage, only to realize it’s really grief. Again. But what I’ve found in my own life is that if I keep going all the way down to the grief, there is slow healing and I get to live free - not easy, not painless - but free. Will keep praying. Keep on writing.
This is everything I needed today and the last year and a half since our daughters death. I’m about to print this out as a reminder on the days I just am stuck. Thank you.
Thank you for continuing to write through the pain. Your courage to be honest here, and to choose who you want to be after this, even when it seems impossibly difficult, are tremendous gifts. I’m so thankful to you for sharing them with us.
“I want to be found living.” ❤️❤️❤️ You model this fight better than anyone I know, a true testament to God’s strength alive in you. I love you.
This is SO exactly what I need right now in the midst of so much grief, anger, resentment and fear. And hard, hard life. What I say similarly to your “to be found living” is that I will live in the in-between moments, as few of them as there are sometimes in between the absolutely awful times that haven’t abated because, well, parenting is forever, and some kids (young adults) are SO hard. That’s just one of the things. But-God shows up for me in words, and through other people. And, loveliest of all, in the words of people like you. May there be a little ease in your life, and plenty of love, and plenty of living in the in-between.
Wow, Katie. Thank you for your words and authenticity during such a difficult season. Also, THIS: "I can sense even now how the habits I practice in the middle of what’s hard will set up the trajectory of who I will be for the rest of my life." This is something I wish I had recognized years ago. So very wise.
Thank you for sharing this, Katie. I resonate so much with the reality of the slow fade of people checking in when things are hard, and the bitterness/anger that can creep in when we start counting it all out in our heads. But even more, I loved the reminder that we need to keep living. Grief and heartache can make us feel like the world stopped while everyone just keeps going on with their lives, and sometimes we just have to keep going too. So grateful for your wisdom and your sweet words 🤍
“Jesus had a moment of anger, not a ministry of one” was what I needed to hear this week ❤️
“Jesus had a moment of anger, not a ministry of one.” Oh, man is that a good reminder 😉
Katie, I empathized with your feelings about pain and anger and it needing a place to go. When I was going through my divorce over 10 years ago, I remember being so angry and hurt and betrayed and having nowhere to put those emotions. They would come out in the most explosive and destructive ways and it was heartbreaking. I don't know if this helps, but it does get easier. Each day gets a little bit better after divorce and I have found that the farther I am from those heartbreaking days, the more clarity I have on that whole marriage. I hope you know how often I think of you and wish I could give you a hug, buy you a coffee and remind you that you are stronger than you even know.
Thank you for being vulnerable and sharing all of the parts, even the blaming judgemental parts of putting your life back together in a different arrangement. The whole piece was beautiful but the footnote got me the most "I've always been better at writing than living". May you continue (and may we all) find the space to use writing as one of the tools that not only keep us alive but to help catch and process all those moments...the ones of doing better and the not so much....to catch ourselves living, not just surviving x
Thank you, Katie. Thank you for sharing your beautiful, much needed words. Thank you for sharing your heart and your pain. You say that writing is part of your healing process, well reading your writing is mine.
I'm coming your way this weekend! If you're able (I know this is a stretch) to get away for a college football game to watch two teams you don't care about, let me know! ;) But, it's college football! And tailgating!
You’ve called me into living, too. Thank you Katie.
“...I walked out the door on my three best friends because they were late for a playdate. Was it a big deal that they were late? No. Was I drowning trying to keep my son occupied for those extra minutes, and needing in that moment more than anything to feel something different than sadness over my reality? Yes.”
I’m honestly inspired by this. I feel like, more often than not, I’ve carried the weight of other people’s shortcomings, along with the difficulties of caregiving, and absorbed all of it to the point of physical illness. I’m impressed that you set boundaries like this, honestly. I am only just beginning to set these kinds of boundaries and my autistic son is now twelve years old. I think this was actually a very wise move on your part. You invited people into a deeper understanding by showing them what you could not do. Too often, I’ve pretended I could do things we truly couldn’t do. My son and I absorbed the resulting pain. I sold people a false bill of goods, too, because they didn’t understand why I couldn’t do a play date again the following week. I didn’t know how to explain that the previous play date led to a three-day nervous-system shutdown. I’d try. I’d talk about my son needing “recovery days.” It largely went over people’s heads, though. I was perceived as a bad friend, and discarded, when I couldn’t participate at the level other women could participate. As a form of self-preservation, I started pulling a Taylor Swift (“You gotta leave before you get left”). I’d purposefully pull away so that nobody could hurt me. Anyway, thank you for sharing these things. I relate.