I don’t really like the cold, yet here I am at 6:15am on my deck, in 45 degree temps. I’m in my pjs, with the softest wrap sweater that was a beautiful gift someone gave me and a cozy blanket wrapped around me, fuzzy slippers on, fleece lined hat covering my bald, cold head and of course, a mug of steaming hot coffee. Laying in bed, at 5:30am with Derek’s arms wrapped around me, I couldn’t stop the thoughts running through my mind. Something called me outside, so I followed it.

Thoughts about where I am in my cancer journey. More to come on that, but in a gist, I’m feeling like I’m back at the beginning again. Well, the beginning of treatment, I guess I should say.

Thoughts about my book…things I want to include, things I’m not sure belong in the story….and then those thoughts crept in of, how in the hell am I going to write this book? I love to write, but I don’t know the first thing about writing a memoir. Do I google “how to write a memoir?” Do I start at the beginning of my story? How do I want the book to flow? I have so much to say, but how do I get it all organized?

Thoughts about how my 8 year old has been saying that I’m never around anymore. I’m either at doctor appointments, acupuncture or upstairs resting. I know this isn’t true, but it’s how he sees it right now. It’s HIS truth. And it makes me sad.

And then the tears came. I don’t know where they came from or what they were telling me. I laid there in bed, doing my box breathing, and crying. But within a matter of minutes, rather than sitting in that space, I followed the voice that was telling me to go outside and write. 

Was I escaping the feelings or following my intuition? Who knows, but here I sit, writing and allowing the words to simply flow. 

It’s all so much. Too much sometimes. All these feelings we have. All the the thoughts we think. We’re trying to do right, be good people, raise decent humans, be a good spouse, a good daughter, a good sister, a good friend, and somewhere in there, be good to ourselves.

Life is hard y’all. Life is also a beautiful gift. As a wise friend of mine recently said “finding peace, isn’t always peaceful.” We must travel through the hard, the sticky, the ugly. And I believe it can be beautiful at the same time. It all depends on how we choose to look at it, process it and react to it.

My coffee mug is now empty, my hands are freezing and my fingers are numb. I’ll take these thoughts with me, as I head inside to warm up, wake my precious babies and move into another day. ( yes, they’re 8, 12 and 16. and they’re still all my babies!)