Life goes one. Whether you are struggling with cancer, post workplace abuse, whatever, life goes on.
It never stops.
Adding this to the mix. Maybe subtracting that.
But always, it goes on.
For me, in my journey, life going on has included the last birthday and six weeks later the death of my mother, almost exactly a year ago.
Also the long anticipated wedding of my nephew lsat year.
Throw in our entire nuclear family's birthdays and anniversary plus a long road trip to bury my mom (and back again), you've got quite a scenario.
Many stressors all converging in one small slice of time.
As I struggled through that six week period, some events good, some bad, all stressful especially to a body already overwhelmed with stress affects, it became a pivotal point or milestone in my journey.
A point where the rubber met the road.
A point where God somehow gave me the grace and strength to make it through that slice of time.
Yet, after all was said and done. The wedding, the death, the burial and I was back home, all the feelings I'd set aside, all the grief, all the tiredness came pouring back in like a flood that could not/would not be stopped.
I was like an electrical grid that got completely overwhelmed and overloaded with too much demand and too little supply.
Much of the months after that slice of time I simply don't remember.
I remember bits and pieces. Certain events. Most certainly I remember the day I broke my wrist. I remember our Canadian Thanksgiving where I tried to shop for supplies needed for the meal and was so overwhelmed that I had to call my daughter on my cell phone to talk me through. I remember feeling so exhausted that I could not even think of Christmas. So we had a "Charlie Brown" christmas. I bought a "Charlie Brown" Christmas tree, we had a bonfire on Christmas Even, sat around and enjoyed Christmas DVD's on Christmas day. Nothing to get up in the middle of the night about. Low-keyed. But enjoyable nonetheless.
But for the most part, each day melded into the next in a sameness of grey. Overwhelming fatigue. Affects that mimicked brain injury. Not being able to think, to talk accurately. Being out in public was difficult as sometimes I was so overwhelmed I could not even choose what drink I wanted. My daughter would thankfully intervene and choose for me. But I've never forgotten the looks on people's face when that happened. How they would suddenly look down. Stop interacting with me totally. The perception was that I was mentally deficient. That hurt. That hurt a lot.
Fear, especially of people, became overwhelming.
I stayed home, for the most part alone as my husband had to work.
In fact, not only did I stay mostly at home, but within the house I was comfortable only in two rooms: my bedroom and what we call "the office": the computer cum knitting/craft room.
My world shrunk.
Now, a year later, I still struggle with the after effects of not only that time in my life when life so rudely interrupted the recovery process from workplace abuse, but I also struggle with all the added injuries/affects from that time.
Yet, life goes on.
Recovery goes on.
And I've found that life, even life altered by unpredictable events, can still be good.
Different, to be sure.
But still good.