Slow Suicide

Flashback to 25 years ago: My mom, "When you are sad, you need to think about all the people who are worse off than you. Count your blessings."

What my #autistic brain heard: "Stop complaining about your pain, it isn't as valid as everyone elses. They have it worse."

Regardless of what my mom's intention was. Regardless of whether this was #toxic #positivity.

It changed the way I would view life's challenges for the rest of my life. She didn't say this once, she said this many times because that is what her mom told her too. #generationaltrauma

But that isn't what this post is about. In a few days it will be the anniversary of the day my mom died. There is a student in my 12th grade speech class that was born on the day she died. It has been an entire person's lifetime since I heard her voice. As I reconsider my last 18 years, I realized that she had died before that time.

I am going to suggest a term and explain something I have been been considering for a while as I have been reflecting on my life and my mom's which were both full of #trauma and #resilience

I believe my mom committed #slowsuicide 

What is slow suicide?

It is when someone's altruistic nature provides them with the perfect excuse to never care for themselves. 

What does it look like?

When a person doesn't seek medical care even when they don't feel well, because they prioritize caring for someone else. It's cancelling those yearly check ups and not priorizing their own personal health. It's never going in for routine bloodwork. It's never seeing the doctor because you already know there will be criticism and you feel fine. It's the little things that a person does, who has given up on actually living - when they are just going through their daily routine and ignoring the obvious signs that something is wrong.

Who does it effect?

People without support networks. Single parents. Those with disabilities. Those caring for people with disabilities. People who are at an economic disadvantage. And many more...

Look around...

I can guarantee if you look around, you know someone doing this. You know young woman, who takes care of her kids plugging away without asking for support. You know a young man, taking care of his ailing father and that is all he has time for: work and caretaking. You know a grandmother who is caring for her grandchild because some tragic event has left the child without parents. You know a cousin who is suffering from addiction, while the spouse tries to support the family on a single income and is holding in all the emotions of the world on their shoulders.

If we want to prevent #suicide we need to look deeper into the #trauma that causes it and identify the family, friends and colleagues who are suffering in silence. #slowsuicide is how one ends up with a terminal illness because they neglected to care for themselves regularly over time. When one burns the candle at both ends, there is no candle that remains.

I know that this post is leagues outside of my comfort zone when it comes to sharing, but I am hoping the #vulnerability that I share today helps save a life. And as Bréné Brown puts it, “Vulnerability is not winning or losing; it's having the courage to show up and be seen when we have no control over the outcome. Vulnerability is not weakness; it's our greatest measure of courage.”

Thoughts on Trauma in Work Situations

 I was relieved from my full-time position at the beginning of this month. I say relieved because the details don't really matter... the feeling does.

I am frustrated that I have no financial plan, but I feel better to not report to toxic leaders who don't know my full name or only want to be corporate bullies. 

The situation had become so toxic that it became untenable. 

In the middle of July, I cried on my couch sharing with a friend, that I didn't know how I could leave the role because I felt so much obligation. However, I knew burnout was right around the corner. I had been there for more than ten years. I didn't even know how to leave in a respectful way because of those I reported to.

Ever since the RIF in January, I knew my days were numbered. It was painfully obvious that my direct leadership didn't respect or appreciate me. No one lasted more than a year in the role, there was no reason that I would be different. 

What has this situation taught me?

Well, I am once again evaluating what I feel is most important and who is supporting me during this traumatic experience. 

I'm also selecting what I want to move forward with and it's not exactly the same as what I thought. I am considering switching industries ... but honestly right now, I am just trying to heal my soul.

Barely Hanging On

I haven't written in a while. It's hard because I am so overwhelmed all the time. I know that isn't really a valid excuse but it is the reason none-the-less.

In 2000, when the yearbook people went around to the seniors and asked what we most worried about. I said, "A Plague". I really wish I hadn't predicted the future of 2020. 

2020 was hard. 

2021 was harder.

2022, I am barely hanging on.

I am tired of being the only supporter of my family. 

I cry all the time. I feel like no one sees all that I do, or cares.

I can't continue with working 60 hours a week, then helping my children the entire weekend... only to complete it week over week, week over week.

I just want an end, I need it to end.

The song that has resonated the most lately... https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tQwVKr8rCYw 

The Complicated Process of Discovering Birth Parents

My Aunt Jodie sent me an article with the headline "I did Ancestry.com DNA submission and now I need psychiatric therapy." It's funny because it's the truth. For as simple as finding my biological mother was... discovering my biological father was the exact opposite.

My biological mother told my siblings about me, when I found them it was like being reunited with the best lost things ever.

Now I cite, Newton's Third Law: "For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction."

Let's go back, to 1980. My father was 12. His mother, who has since passed on, told him that it was unlikely he could possibly father a child. He was too young. She signed the adoption papers on his behalf and they never spoke about it again.

There's a bit more to the story than just this, but only this is pertinent for today.

Fast forward to January 2019, I log into my ancestry.com account and see the name Jodie Brown (close match). I know the name because my biological mother Tammy told me my father's name and his sister's name.

I messaged her and say "I think I am your niece based on the similarity match." She replies, saying this is actually my father Tom Brown's DNA .... forgetting that my father's full name was Tom Brown Jr. I am confused. She proceeds to say I think your my father's niece. I didn't know that Tom Brown Sr was alive so after some short confusion and I bring up some of the facts my biological mother had shared, she seems pretty dumbfounded. Ultimately, it was "we never knew that it was his baby. My mom always thought he was too young."

Over several months Jodie and I got to know each other better. She shared my details with her dad and they both discussed how to tell my biological father Tom.

Tom is married with no additional children. Him and his wife are both school teachers in Florida. Considering that they had never had children and he had no idea about my existence I knew that this ancestry reunion would not be the same as my first.

I will say I found it really entertaining that both of my biological mother and father work in education. Sometimes genetics triumph over environment.

I still have not met or spoken to my father. There are obvious reasons why I have tried to take this slow. I don't want to upend his life, or upset his relationship with his wife. Most 12 year olds don't have their mistakes pop into their lives unannounced 37 years after the fact, so I try to keep that in mind.

I have made friendships with my Aunt Jodie, my Aunt Cherie and my Uncle Nate. Cherie and Nate are siblings from another mother, who lives in Girard. My Uncle Nate lives in Girard and we've been able to meet and hang out a bit. I am looking forward to meeting Jodie and Grandpa Tom in August when they come to Pennsylvania.

I am hopeful that someday I will get to meet Tom and his wife. So, Happy 1st Father's Day! From your 37 year old daughter. Hoping that I don't cause therapy for you or your wife.

Here's a fun comparison to how similar we look:

You have a beautiful face.

"You are beautiful. Also, I really like your outfit," I said to the woman in front of me at the check out.

"Oh thank you!" she gushed, then she turned around and looked at me, top to bottom.

"You have a beautiful face," she said as she searched for a compliment to repay me in front of my 5 year old.

"And you are a gorgeous little girl," she gleamed as she turned to my 5 year old. "Make sure you keep busy and get in all that exercise."

My smile wavered and I turned away from her. She finished checking out and left. My daughter noticed that I was fighting back tears. 

"Mommy, why did she say you have a pretty face? I think you are beautiful all over."

I stopped packing my groceries and hugged her deeply.

"Sometimes people don't know how to compliment correctly," I said. "What matters is that your compliment is genuine when you give one. It's about giving, not receiving."

We walked to the truck, I loaded my groceries and fought back some anger because I know that woman didn't know me or what I have been through, but it hurt nonetheless.

After I got in the truck, my daughter said, "Mommy why did that lady tell me to exercise?"

I sighed, "Well because she didn't want you to end up like me."

"Why wouldn't I want to be like you?" she replied.

"She meant fat like me."

"Oh," she frowned, "but there nothing wrong with you being squishy. I like that you're squishy. I don't want you to be dead."

"I am fine with being squishy too," I said with a chuckle, "I don't want to be dead either." 

In my heart, I am not fine with being squishy. If I had a dollar for every time I was told I have a pretty face I would probably be a millionaire.

Why am I squishy? Well it's not because I have not tried everything humanly possible to not be squishy. The reason my daughter said I don't want you to be dead is because I almost died trying to be a thin version of myself.

It was 2010 and I weighed 400lbs. I was so depressed by my appearance I went to a gastric doctor who recommended that I get a lapband. A lapband is something that gets placed in your stomach to restrict the amount of food you can eat. I thought this seemed like the right thing to do.

"I have never really felt full." I said, explaining that part to my husband was weird but necessary. As I tried to sell him on the necessity of getting the surgery. "The doctor said the lapband pushes on a nerve, which tells your brain you are full." He reluctantly came around.

After I had the surgery, I thought for certain I would be able to lose the weight. I did, by 2014 I weighed 180lbs. I loved the way I looked and I enjoyed dancing hula even Taihitian. 

However, I never felt full even with the lapband in place. Despite the doctor saying that would be what happened - it never did. The nerve the lapband was supposed to rest on, to signal to my brain I felt full - never did. Actually after the surgery, I always felt like I was starving. Often, I ate my meals grounded up with a blender to the consistency of paste just to try to get the feeling that I had eaten.

In 2015, I got pregnant with my third daughter and things took a turn for the worst. I couldn't even keep water down. I was constantly throwing up. We spent three months, in and out of the hospital, because the doctors were certain that I had hyperemesis and I would get over it. 

I spent days hooked up to potassium, in tears because it was beyond painful to have it delivered to my body through an IV. I remember having a conversation with my maker begging for my life - so that I could take care of the two daughters I already had because I felt I was unfit to vessel the third.

My husband stayed by my side, he mentioned to every doctor we crossed paths with, that I had a lapband and struggled to keep food down normally. He tried to convey that he thought maybe something was wrong with it. One doctor listened, he ordered a scan and they discovered that the lapband had slipped and was obstructing my bowel.

I was fed up. This would be the fourth surgery, I would endure because of the lapband. The first was to place it, the second was to try to figure out why when they filled the port with the saline it wasn't filling. (They discovered that the surgeon accidentally sliced a tiny nick in the tube, so it was not filling at all.) The third surgery was to replace that tube. Now the fourth surgery (while I was 16 weeks pregnant) would remove it all.
I would literally go back to square one after 5 years. I knew it would only be a matter of time and I would be fat again. I dreaded it. But I wanted to live, so it was removed.

Now, it's 2019. I have three daughters, amazingly enough I got through that pregnancy with my little firecracker. I currently weigh 360lbs. I am not happy with it, but most days it's bearable, unless I run into someone who gives a back handed compliment. I would certainly love to share with those people my story and the injustice that I have gone through trying to be thin. But I don't, instead I smile, hide the tears and relish in the fact that all three of my daughters, my husband and my cat love me squishy and just the way I am. 

The Grandmother My Daughters Will Never Know

Often I find my way through life through reflection. Reflecting can be amazing but it can be triggered by anything, like news article puts you into unyielding tears.

"The double-edged nature of being a grandmother: Your thoughts turn powerfully toward the future — one that now includes the grandchildren you adore — at the very same moment you’re reminded of your own absence from that future. It’s an odd mixture of birth and death, which is what gives grandmotherhood its beauty, as well as its specific and poignant pain." Link to article.

That's all it took. I am crying because even though my daughters have amazing living great-grandmothers and grandmothers, they would never know the person most responsible for me. 

My adopted mother passed away from cancer almost 15 years ago. It feels like an entire lifetime ago, but yesterday at the same time. It hurts deep, the same deep hole I had felt not knowing my biological mother for 35 years. A piece of your heart is just gone. 

What weighs on my mind the most, are the things she would have lavished in and I mean, far more than birthdays and holidays. When my 11 year old pops off an attitudy remark at me... I imagine her in my mind laughing and saying "oh so much more to come my dear..."

I know she would say "You have a well-rounded group of women there, you're in good hands." But the selfish me wonders, why can't she be here too? I read articles about how important grandparents are and feel a bit cheated by it all... then feel guilty because she would say "You gained more people to love, how can you be sad?"

Those are two feelings that I got out of losing my mom: a deepened understanding of love and the inability to shake the regret of some of the idealistic youthful arguments I may have once had. Okay, actually... I had a lot of those .... or maybe an excellent memory of the number of things I said as an ignorant entitled little child. I realize that my nightly avoiding of washing the dishes was absolutely petulant of me. In those moments I wish for grace and forgiveness.

I dream about the conversations she and I might have about my biological mother. Those hypothetical discussions can provide a good distraction from feeling sad about all the things she is missing from not meeting her granddaughters and all they are missing by not knowing her.

I'm a Trauma Survivor

Tonight, I was mindlessly scrolling through Facebook and came across this and it stopped me in my tracks.

I don't know the source, only the person who shared it. But I read it over and over. "Trauma Survivor". One of my earliest memories was my adopted mother teaching me to be grateful for everything because "other people have it much worse."
I realized this was something she learned from experience, not information she was taught through education or family history.
I have survived a lot in my life yet, rarely do I blame the trauma.

• I've been cheated on in every serious relationship I have ever had, except for my husband. I'm guessing that is a big suppressed reason as to why I keep him around. 😉
• I have been abandoned more than once, but I have forgiven everyone and pushed to rebuild the relationships 
• I've survived a head on collision in a major city, which still gives me nightmares. 
• I survived a tornado as a child and that still gives me nightmares. 
• I have survived assault and rape. 
• I have survived a physically abusive relationship and a narsacist. 
• I've survived emotional and verbal abuse. 
• I survived addiction. 

And even after all that... I still believe there are others who have it worse.

I am pretty grateful to be a Trauma Survivor. Next time you judge someone, take a minute to contemplate what makes them a survivor.

18 years, 18 years and 18 more

"Good Things Come to Those Who Wait" ... Who ever said that was full of bullshit. Good things come to those that are determined to face whatever odds are in front of those things. 

The past three years have seemed like a war in my head. I have resisted all the odds and projections of my mental illness but that has taken a toll on my wellness and I have both physically and mentally suffered. 

I have fought a battle against having to become a caregiver, more than a spouse or a intimate partner.

I've watched my children go through a lot of emotional turbulence from moving from Phoenix back to our hometown because we lost just about everything except for ourselves. 

I've spent countless hours evaluating and reevaluating the things I find important in my life. 

I have become this Buddhist philosophy practicing former Catholic, while being surrounded by churchgoers asking me if I lost my belief in God? (The short answer is no, but I stopped anticipating him to be there for me, many years ago.) Do I pray? (Absolutely for others and myself.) Do I attend church? (No, because I don't believe the church connects people to a higher power anymore than I think my cat can solve the world's problems.)

My life is pretty much filled with skepticism and cynicism. I rarely rely on anyone else to do anything for me. I have learned that the hard way, unfortunately people will only be there for you if there is mutual gain involved in most situations. There are exceptions but there are also strings attached to everything.

I respect everyone, but trust no one. I learned that the hard way, repeatedly, because for a considerably long time I believed others felt (or thought) the same as I did. Naive I know, especially because I teach interpersonal communication and know the "ins" and "outs" of personal perception and internal perspectives. 

I was once a dreamer, now I am a realist. I'm not sure if that was something I learned or evolved into after having three children. But my personal bar got lowered and that disappoints me more than I will ever admit.

I have always and forever will be an empath, but I am slowly learning to say 'no' to the takers. Do I still help without bias? In a moment's notice, but I step back and aside when it comes to receiving credit for things. Credit is overrated and where many believe God will favor them, I believe karma will favor to me.

I still get taken advantage of in every outlet of my life. It hurts deeply and angers me greatly, but I am able to walk away from the fight much better than I once was.

I cry, but I also boss up because I learned that unless you speak up about your morals and values, you will never grow as a person. Yet, I choose my battles... arguing over the clothes my daughter wants to wear to school is not worth the effort or agony.

All and all, I'd like to think I have evolved over the last 18 years much more than I did the initial 18 years, but there is still much work to be done. I pray that I face the next 18 years with more courage and class, because those qualities seem more rare and rare every day.

The Worst Night of My Life: To the Unknown Defilers

I lay here in bed recalling the event, as if it occurred today. The night I was was a victim and desired prey. You should know I lost more than my innocence that night. I met you at a bar on State street, how naive I was when I agreed to meet. I remember clearly walking into the bar, then only moments until I woke up in my car.

I do remember thinking how odd it was that your friend met us during our date. I wasn't even tipsy when I met you there that night, and I suppose it happened when I first left my seat for the restroom

Shortly after, I remember feeling tired and weak in the knees. I remember your offer to help me to my car, even though I indicated it wasn't very far. I even remember you telling the bartender that your girlfriend wasn't feeling well, and you would safely take her home while your friend half carried me out the door, because I had nearly fallen to the floor.

I remember your friend aggressively pushing me into the backseat of my vehicle.
Then its mostly black. I felt pain in my soul that night. I woke up in the backseat in an abandoned parking lot, with no idea where I was or how I got there. And 2 hours late to work. Not knowing what happened other than my torn skirt.

I drove to work and changed to my khaki pants and red top. I wish this was the end, but the agony didn't stop.

I continued to lose track of minutes and time that night, not sure what I did other than try to finish my shift. I remember a kind older colleague see how broken I was and I am pretty sure he was the only one who cared. He made sure to wake me up after our hour lunch break, so I wouldn't get in trouble.

By the end of my shift, the HR manager had arrived and I was swept into a meeting without a moment's notice. Where I had no excuses nor did I know what was going on, until it ended. I was terminated on the spot because of a minor HR violation. I misplaced my box cutter.

As I cleaned out my locker, I found the box cutter and returned it to the HR manager, but it was already too late. That was what happened the night I was raped.

I sometimes wake up in a panic to see your evil eyes, it turns my stomach to think I was some sort of prize. You and your buddy know who you are, I was not just some dumb girl you doped up at the bar.

My mother had died only 3 months before which was why I avoided my home and worked swing shifts. My best friend wasn't talking to me because of decisions I continued to make with the fake confidence that I was unstoppable. I avoided my dad because it just meant more awkward conversation and not healing from the void my mother left.

So that night, I was raped, terminated, and devalued while already feeling worthless and lost. That night, I was alone. That night is what I think of as the worst night of my life.

Why Does this Mean I'm Mediocre?

I recently read this blog. I felt a little guilty that I didn't immediately resonate with the author, because I have always been a dreamer. I will admit I never thought I would change the world, but I had these ideas that I wanted to share. I wanted to share these visions with anyone who would listen.

I had a 5 year plan, another 5 year plan because I thought planning would help get me where I thought (at the time) I was to be.

What I didn't plan for was life experience to change how I valued my time, life and work. However, I refuse to say my life is merely mediocre. I am still a dreamer. I have not given up my inspiration or idealism. What I did find was a deeper meaning and value in myself.

I found that I value my time more than what others did including employers. I have learned some amazing lessons over the years, a great deal of them I learned the hard way.

I learned that my time spent doing things like interacting with others about self-perception and their personal perspectives was rewarding to me intellectually and it brought great value to my life. I also learned that listening to my daughters play with legos at a small table next to my computer bureau was also just as valuable.

I guess I feel my life will always be more than mediocre because it is based on choices I have made and experiences I have survived. Maybe this is why I have come to the conclusions I have.

My husband is not perfect, our relationship is a struggle but we still share some amazing moments with our children and our families whenever we can. As much as I hate the weather where we live, I am grateful that I have so many people around me that I love and treasure.

The more years I live, the more I find I appreciate the small things, just as much as the big things. Each night I go to bed, wishing for a better day tomorrow. Nothing about that is mediocre and that doesn't mean I don't appreciate what I have been blessed with or cursed with. I have overcome a lot of hardships and because of those experiences I am more grateful for pure moments of absolute bliss. 

There is nothing mediocre about living life as it occurs and being satisfied by the simple beauty of it all.

Living With a Spouse Who is Living With a Disability

This picture illustrates how I like to remember my husband, when he had spirit and was in decent health. Zach and I met in 2006, before he took his first decline. Once Upon a Time… we went places on the weekends, we had energy to spare and figuratively, the world was at our fingertips. My children have never known this person. My oldest daughter (Nina, age 8), remembers, at the most, a year or two of who her father was before the severe deterioration began. With the stresses she faces, I don’t believe she remembers that time anymore. As a family, we have been forced to explain the downward spiral of my husband’s health to my children. They are so young, yet they have come to understand that every day we have with their dad is blessed, no matter what activity or lack-thereof occurs.

I have been by Zach’s side every day since we met. In 2007, the symptoms of his illness started slowly with insomnia and sleep deprivation due to discomfort. It directly affected his job to the point that he was almost always late (more than once per week) due in part to sleep dread, anxiety, and pain. At the time, we didn’t understand; this was just the onset of the illness. In 2007, his primary doctor prescribed him Vicodin for his pain. Even with the medication his work was adversely affected. No matter how much he tried to wake up before his deadline, the fatigue caused by his condition interfered with his ability to perform required tasks. Zach went on to work until February 2008, when he was finally forced to resign his position under the threat of being terminated over his late appearances. Within a few months, I was able to locate a job in a climate more beneficial to his health, so we moved to Arizona in May 2008. At this point in time, Zach was barely able to be a stay-at-home parent.

From the start of my instructional design position at the University of Phoenix in Arizona, I had to acknowledge to my work colleagues and boss that my husband had a disability. At that time, it was essential because I would use my lunch break to go home to care for him and our daughter Nina. We were very lucky that our oldest daughter was obedient and independent. I would find him at least once a week, with our daughter preoccupied, still stiff in bed after I had completed an entire 8-hour work day. As his illness progressed, we noticed other side effects such as headaches and iritis. Some side effects, in part, were due to the multitude medications that he was prescribed. In 2009, the headaches became worse and we had to ask our family for help. My husband’s sister, Tessa Williams, came to stay with us for a month to help with watching our daughter because the migraines became so bad that Zach couldn’t be left to care for our daughter on his own. Since we had moved to a house farther away from my job, I was unable to come home and check in as often as I wanted to. Thankfully after some medication changes the migraines got better.

In 2010, Zach’s health took the most significant decline yet. This is when he could no longer care for himself. At the time I had to request my schedule be changed, so that I could take a 2-hour break midway through the day, to be able to go home and help. I started to go in at 6am, drive 30 minutes home, just to deliver his medicines to him. I had roughly an hour to help him take care of our daughter and then drive back to work. Even though this extended my work day, knowing that I delivered the medicine to my husband and had taken care of my daughter’s brunch, I felt a little less anxious about the situation.

In an effort to improve his quality of life, under the recommendation of his physician, he took on an increased risk for cancer by trying several types of injectable biologic medicines know as TNF inhibitors. Unfortunately, none of the injectable biologic medicines improved his condition. He began infusion treatment with remicade. When he began treatment with remicade, Zach received 3 starter infusions over the first 6 weeks—the first at the start of treatment, another 2-weeks later, and one more 4-weeks after that. After the first 3-treatments, he began maintenance dosing, which means he received an infusion once every 6-weeks (as recommended by his physician). Each infusion took 4-to-6 hours to administer and affected Zach’s ability to drive, therefore I was required to drive him both to-and-from the appointments. The remicade infusions helped Zach a lot when he first began the treatment. The infusion helped by reducing the number of days spent primarily in bed from approx. 15 to 10-12 out of 30 days on average. Zach continued the remicade infusion for approximately 18 months. This risky treatment only delayed the progression; it had no impact on daily pain or fatigue levels caused by inflammation. His body rejected the treatment after multiple attempts to reduce effects of the reaction.  His doctor insisted that he discontinue the infusions because the risk of systemic allergic reaction outweighed the benefits of treatment.

In December 2010, my supervisor left and I was assigned a new supervisor and he did not approve of my departure in the afternoon for more than an hour. So as we entered 2011, I had a great deal of anxiety over my husband’s health because I knew that management was not going to support my needs to care for my husband and daughter at a moment’s notice. I spent the next 2 years using all my vacation time (60 hours annually) in half day increments because I had to either go home to take my husband to his infusion appointments or to care for him.

In December 2012, my supervisor terminated me from my position at the University of Phoenix because I no longer had enough vacation time to use to care for Zach. In fact, several of the weeks leading up to being terminated, I had been forced to use unpaid time off in order to care for him. After losing this job, I was not able to regain full-time employment with benefits anywhere because of the amount of time required to care for Zach.

By 2013 and on, I could only participate in employment if it was only a few hours per day (teaching only one or two classes.) I was forced to take a position teaching part-time as an adjunct at Mesa Community College located at Red Mountain because it was only 6 miles from my house and in the event of an emergency, I could cancel class and be at home within minutes. All my other employment is online (work-from-home) contract based jobs. To support my family, I teach for three online colleges (University of Phoenix-online, Brookline College and Valley College.) I am required to complete “daily tasks”, but those “daily tasks” are not associated with a specific time. This unique and tedious schedule enables me to be present for Zach and our children’s needs.

At this point in the progression of Zach’s illness, I had become the receptionist, accountant, and immediate go-to-person for all of Zach’s health needs. This includes, but was not limited to: managing Zach’s medicines - I delivered his prescriptions to him twice per day at the necessary time. I renewed his prescriptions which involved driving to pick up paper prescriptions from the doctor’s office and multiple trips to the pharmacy.  I scheduled/transported him to all of his doctor appointments and necessary treatments (infusions). I completely managed our family financial obligations because any illness flare could interfere with paying a bill on time, so in this sense, I cannot depend on Zach for critical thinking tasks. I also managed our family health insurance, which was/is the Affordable Healthcare Act Marketplace. We are lucky that we have health insurance from the Marketplace, if it wasn’t for the Affordable Healthcare Act my husband would be considered “uninsurable” and the out-of-pocket costs would have already bankrupted our family. Managing my husband’s healthcare needs requires many hours of dedicated time, almost every week.

In the summer of 2014, my husband’s childhood friend, Paul Hrinda, came to live with us to help out with Zach’s declining health and to watch my children in my absence (even though it was only a few hours a day). Both Paul and I were able to alternate our schedules to accommodate having someone at home to care for Zach and the children 24/7.  Even though I was not able to return to full-time work, I was relieved to have someone at my house during the day time hours to watch my children.

So, after reading this – you are probably wondering does Zach ever have a good day? Yes, he does. Typically, 1-to-4 days per month, my husband is able to push through the pain. On these days (since they are so far and few between) my children often overwhelm their dad because they long to play with him and do fun activities. 

I wouldn’t wish this illness on even my worst enemy. In 2004, I lost my mom to terminal cancer. I watched her deteriorate in less than 3 months. At the time, I thought it was the most terrible way to die; To lose your life after battling every day, for just one more day. Now, when I reflect on that event, I realize my mom was lucky to live with a terminal illness for only three months. I have watched the person I love slowly deteriorate into a broken mess of daily prescriptions just to be able to be present a small portion of the day. I can’t shed this deep feeling that I can’t help Zach, other than to deliver his morning medicine to him, so that he might be physically able to get out of bed by at least the afternoon to spend time with his children.

This illness has become the dictator of our way of life. A lifestyle that involves me and another adult caring for my husband’s needs to ensure his survival. This is the sad truth of how we have lived for the past 3 years, moment-to-moment. Every morning, I take Zach his medicine, so he is able to get up physically by the afternoon. I teach one or two (on ground) classes and never leave my home for more than 2 hours, so that I can care for Zach and my children. I struggle to clean my house because it has been years since my husband was capable of doing so. It has been years since he has been able to cook, go shopping for groceries alone, drive any distance above 5 miles and even enjoy a hobby. All of these activities he once was able to do, are now out of the question for him. Zach can't go to the grocery store because he struggles with memory and concentration, due to excruciating pain. Even to get a couple items from the store, it is necessary for him to write them down entirely otherwise he forgets why he went to the store. He struggles to care for his personal hygiene, often only showering once a month. It is very difficult to maintain a conversation with Zach because he loses his train of thought so easily. I do laundry and fold it, because the bending and folding required is too much for him. If I let him try to do these regular chores it leaves him nearly bedridden for days.

I wish for better days, but based on the progression of Zach’s illness, I know I won’t see them. Each day, I pray and teach my children (pictured) to be thankful that their dad is still here even though he is debilitated by ankylosing spondylitis.

Transforming Your Life by Asking the Right Questions

Over the past few years, I've learned the value of asking the right questions. When students are preparing for my classroom presentations I often drill them with the appropriate questions so they come to the correct conclusions prior to presenting their information. Often these questions involve the transitions of ideas and how those ideas are presented to the audience. 

Sometimes what we ask is just as important as the answers we receive. So recently while I was searching for how to interpret some impeding events which could entirely change the way my family lives (and where we live). I came across an article about finding more meaning and connection in your life.  Additionally, this article suggests you ask yourself one question a day for 100 days and at the end of the 100 days your life will feel happier and you will feel as though you have grown.

So today, I hope to help my friends, family and readers by sharing these very useful 100 questions. Challenge yourself by asking a question to your soul each day for the next 100.

1. Where is my heart guiding me?

2. What do I need to say that others have left unspoken?

3. Are there any skills or talents I'm not utilizing?

4. What is my personal blind spot; what have I been unwilling to look at?

5. Where have I been worrying too much about what others think?

6. What new patterns and habits can I invite into my life?

7. Where have I been more focused on how I look, rather than how I feel?

8. What concerns am I willing to release?

9. What am I committed to changing?

10. What is my body craving?

11. What commitments to my self can I honor?

12. What new habit can I start?

13. How do I want to feel?

14. What signs have I been misinterpreting or ignoring?

15. What lessons am I learning right now?

16. Where can I surrender?

17. Where can I take responsibility for my outcome?

18. What challenges from my past can I celebrate overcoming?

19. Where can I ask for help, and who can I let in?

20. What expectations am I ready to release?

21. How is life asking me to grow right now?

22. How have I let fear dictate my actions?

23. What can I remove from my life?

24. What have I been avoiding out of fear?

25. Where can I show more of my true self?

26. What area of my life have I become disenchanted with, and what is that trying to tell me?

27. What has my intuition been trying to tell me?

28. Where do I feel broken? What steps will I take to release this internal pain?

29. What am I learning on the way to reaching my goal?

30. What did I love to do as a child that I can do today?

31. Where have I blocked myself from feeling?

32. Where have I been focusing too much on the outcome?

33. Where in my life do I feel forced to take action?

34. What current situation in my life have I been resisting?

35. In what ways can I appreciate myself more?

36. What flaw that I hide from others can I reveal?

37. What long-term success am I working to create?

38. What healthier habits can I start?

39. What can I do with my current limitations?

40. What dream have I ignored, but keeps coming back?

41. What situation in my life turned out to be a giant blessing in disguise?

42. Where have I been settling?

43. And what actions step can I take to raise my standards?

44. What is my fear trying to tell me?

45. In what ways can I be kinder to myself?

46. What have I given up on that still wants to be pursued?

47. Where have I been forcing myself to heal faster than what feels right?

48. How have I been cheating on my future by thinking thoughts of my past?

49. What "flaw" can I accept today?

50. Where have I been hesitating to take action?

51. What has the universe been asking me to release?

52. What past situation have I been romanticizing?

53. How has my past hurt my ability to move forward?

54 . What plan feels forced or like it no longer fits in my life? Can I let it go?

55. What emotion have I been hiding?

56. What are my instincts trying to tell me?

57. What does my ideal life look and feel like?

58. What area of my life can I take more of a leadership role in?

59. Where can I be more unapologetic about what brings me joy?

60. Where have I been playing it safe?

61. What action step can I take despite my insecurity or lack of confidence?

62. How am I standing in my own way?

63. What stories am I telling myself that are holding me back?

64. What do I feel most guilty about?

65. When do I feel most alive?

66. What have I denied myself that I really want?

67. Who can I forgive?

68. What relationship am I not feeling the way I want to feel in?

69. What am I avoiding right now in my life?

70. What have I stopped doing that I want to start again?

71. What do I need to say but have not voiced?

72. How do I measure my success?

73. What barriers do I create that keep me from what I want?

74. What in my life am I forcing?

75. What have I denied myself that I really want?

76. What insecurity can I love today?

77. Can I consider a more fun-loving approach?

78. What project can I give new life to?

79. What is the silver lining of my current situation?

80. What relationship can I remove myself from?

81. What patterns keep repeating in my life, and what can I learn from them?

82. What drama can I disengage with?

83. What miracle have I recently witnessed?

84. How can I be more honest with those who are close to me?

85. What dream have I been ignoring?

86. What recent situation do I blame myself for?

87. Where can I stop second-guessing my own judgment?

88. What desire do I need to revisit?

89. Where have I allowed "no" to stop me?

90. What act of kindness can I do right now?

91. What promise can I keep to myself?

92. Where can I be more courageous with my heart?

93. Where can I be more understanding?

94. Where has scarcity or lack-based thought prevented me from doing what I love?

95. When I listen to my heart, what does it say?

96. What payoff is no longer pleasing me?

97. What action step can I take today that my future self will hug me for?

98. What change can I make today?

99. What little act of kindness can I do today?

100. What new beginning am I being guided to?

Asking yourself key questions is powerful way to cultivate more self-awareness and happiness. I hope you find these questions as beneficial as I have.