Doing the work!

Wow, y'all.

It's not even the end of January, and somehow I've already done something I never thought I'd do.

I wrote a book.

A whole book.

Okay, maybe not a giant novel that's going to rival War and Peace, but I finally sat down and put my life story on paper, and I'm incredibly proud of what I've accomplished.

The whole thing started when I began seeing a new therapist. During one of our first sessions, after I told her about some of the traumatic experiences I'd been through, she suggested that I write them down.

"Get it out of your head," she said. "Let it live somewhere else."

At first, I didn’t think much of it. Then I started writing. And once I started, I couldn't stop.

The stories just poured out of me. My accident. My dad's death. Losing Dot. The nightmare of my wound and everything I went through in 2021.

There were a lot of tears. More than I expected.

Some days I sat at my computer and cried while I wrote. Other days I had to step away completely because the emotions became too overwhelming. Writing forced me to revisit some of the hardest moments of my life, moments I've spent years trying not to think about.

I'm not sure I feel healed yet. Honestly, I think healing is probably more complicated than that. But it does feel good to get it out. Like I've been carrying around a backpack full of bricks for years and finally put it down.

Now that the manuscript is finished, though, I've discovered a whole new set of emotions. Fear. Lots and lots of fear.

Because writing a book is one thing. Letting other people read it is something entirely different.

I don't hold much back. The good is in there. The bad is in there. The messy parts are definitely in there.

It's raw. It's honest. And if I'm being completely truthful, it's terrifying.

I worry people will judge the decisions I've made throughout my life. I worry people won't understand certain parts of my story. I worry they'll think differently of me after reading it.

And if I'm being REALLY honest, I worry nobody will buy it.

Since I'm self-publishing, this whole process is going to cost a small fortune, and I'd love to at least make my money back. The thought of pouring my heart onto the page only for it to flop is a little overwhelming.

When I finished writing, I expected to feel triumphant. Victorious. Maybe even relieved.

Instead, I felt exposed. Like I just handed my diary to the entire world.

My therapist has a great analogy for what I'm experiencing. She says it's like I've spent months pulling weeds out of a garden. The weeds are the trauma. The grief. The pain. The things I've been carrying around for years.

Now the weeds are gone. And the problem is that the garden looks empty.

She tells me it's time to start planting something new. So that's exactly what I'm trying to do.

One of those new seeds is the Adaptive Training Foundation.

I've recently reapplied for their Redefine Program, a nine-week adaptive training program designed to help people with physical disabilities grow physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually.

I've also signed up for their upcoming event called the Sweatiest Hour.

My hope is that by showing up and putting myself out there, I'll demonstrate how serious I am about being part of their next class.

The truth is that I need something positive to work toward right now. Because while all of this is happening, I'm also dealing with some health issues.

For years, my focus has simply been survival. Getting through surgeries. Recovering from infections. Managing wounds. Making it to the next doctor's appointment.

Somewhere along the way, I stopped taking care of myself: I eat terribly. I don't exercise. And a couple of years ago, I make the incredibly stupid decision to start vaping.

Y'all! Please don't vape. Ever.

It is one of the hardest habits I've ever tried to break.

Recently my blood pressure has been elevated, and while there are probably several things contributing to it, I know vaping isn't helping.

So, I made an appointment with my husband's cardiologist, and he tells me exactly what every doctor tells every patient. Stop vaping. Exercise. Eat better.

Simple, right?

Not even close.

You would think the possibility of a heart attack would be enough motivation to quit immediately.

Apparently not.

The cardiologist sent me home with a heart monitor that I have to wear for two weeks. I also have a CT scan scheduled and an ultrasound coming up.

So far, everything looks okay. But that doesn't stop my brain from going to worst-case scenarios.

Thankfully, my therapist has given me a couple of affirmations to repeat whenever my anxiety starts spiraling: I am healthy. I am healed.

And honestly, they help.

When I start worrying about what the tests might show, I repeat those words over and over until I calm down.

I've survived everything life has thrown at me so far. If something else comes along, I'll survive that too.

My therapist keeps reminding me not to fix everything at once. Focus on one thing. Then the next thing. Then the next thing.

So right now, we're starting with exercise.

The theory is that if I start moving my body again, the rest will eventually follow. Better mental health. Better food choices. Maybe even quitting vaping.

So I called my old trainer and scheduled an appointment. And I also met with a nutritionist who recommends the Mediterranean Diet.

Her advice is simple: Don't change everything overnight. Start small. Make better choices. Be consistent.

Reasonable advice. Unfortunately, I prefer dramatic life overhauls followed by immediate success. Apparently that's not how any of this works.

To make matters worse, my cardiologist tells me to cut back on pickles.

Pickles. Of all the things.

Anyone who knows me knows that Best Maid Sour Pickles are practically their own food group in my house.

I'll compromise. I'll eat fewer pickles. But let's not get carried away. They're not leaving my life completely.

I wanted to be honest about everything I'm dealing with because I think a lot of people assume that surviving something difficult automatically turns you into a healthy, motivated, enlightened person.

It doesn't.

Sometimes you're still a mess. Sometimes you're scared. Sometimes you're struggling. Sometimes you're addicted to a vape and arguing with your cardiologist about pickles.

I'm not proud of all of it. But it's the truth. And if writing this book teaches me anything, it's that the truth matters.

The next step in the book process is developmental editing, which means someone is about to point out every flaw, hole, and inconsistency in my manuscript.

Fun times.

I have this ridiculous idea that finishing the book is the hard part. Turns out writing the manuscript is only the beginning.

But that's okay.

Because somewhere during this process, I remember something. I love writing. I need writing. It gives me a place to put the things that are too heavy to carry around all the time. Which is why I'm dusting off this old blog.

I want to share this journey. The book. The health scares. The victories. The failures. The progress. The setbacks.

The good, the bad, and everything in between.

So if you're reading this, thank you for being here. I hope you'll stick around.

Something tells me this next chapter is going to be interesting.

Until next time... ❤️