Aside from Jackson physically attending school and Miguel going to work (aside for that two-week stretch over the holidays), our life is once again resembling the early days of the pandemic. To keep Miguel healthy and at work we are taking all measures possible, which basically means we go nowhere and see nearly no one. 

I have organized all our closets…again, and am about to take on the junk drawer… again. I even found a jigsaw puzzle app on my phone so I don’t have to worry about dropping physical pieces on the floor and wrestling them away from Sriracha who is always on the prowl for new destruction opportunities.

Falling back into these quarantine activities has me feeling restless, underwhelmed and frankly a little batty. I keep waiting for Kelly 4.0 to rise from the ashes like some sort of truth-telling, epilepsy-advocating phoenix. But those ashes, far from burning embers of flight, are looking cold, hard and grounded.

This is not a new feeling for me in the slightest. In fact, I’m not sure I can think of any era of my life where I was like, “yes! This is exactly how my life is supposed to go, I am definitely approaching max achievement.” Maybe that’s the first-born, overachiever in me or maybe this is a more common feeling than I think. Or not, and I’m just writing into the void as you all go back to whatever the 2022 version of doom-scrolling is.

The thing is, when I look back on my life, I don’t see someone who should have done more. I believe I was doing exactly what I was supposed to be doing at the time I was doing it. Yes, hindsight is 20/20, but it also provides a birds eye view of our lives: we are able to see how different moments of time - be it days, months or years - fit into the larger landscape of our lives.

I’ve written before about how much I struggled when Adelaide was first diagnosed and I had to give up my career to care for my family. In the day-to-day mundanity of laundry, and delivering medicines and managing schedules I wasn’t able to see the grander stability I was creating nor  put enough value on the love and attention I provided. At the time I felt like I wasn’t living up to my full potential, that I was losing time for my life’s grander plans.

As it turns out, Adelaide, her life and legacy became the grandest plan I could have ever imagined.

I know this now, but why couldn’t I see it then?

Then, after I had accepted the importance of my role as Adelaide’s primary caregiver and our family’s equilibrium maintainer, I felt that I wasn’t doing enough for Adelaide or my family. That I should and could alway be doing more: more research into possible treatments for Adelaide, more therapies, more fundraising, more homemade meals, more cleaning, more, more, more!

However, from where I sit now I know I was doing everything I could while still maintaining my health and, frankly, my sanity. 

I know this now, but why couldn’t I see it then?

Later on, when I was pandemic puzzle obsessed the first time around. When I no longer had Adelaide as my purpose and was floundering for a new one. When I was constantly battling my anxiety and depression so that I could put on the shell of a functioning mother and wife. Even then I was sure that I should be healing faster, that I should be manifesting my future and that clearly it was laziness that was holding me back.

The only thing clear to me now is that this was precious time that I needed to grieve and begin my lifelong healing journey. That I am as strong and resilient as I am today because I had that time to mourn and process.

I know this now, but why couldn’t I see it then?

So, if I know these things about myself, why am I sitting here, yet again, wondering why I’m not doing more? Why do I feel as if time is rushing through me like a sieve?

I suppose this is what people mean when they say to try and live in the present.  Admittedly, as a recovering type A, I had always tallied that resolution in the unachievable column. Though, now I think that living in the present has less to do with our mindset and more to do with trusting ourselves. As I stand looking over the puzzle of my life so far, I am happy, even proud of what I see. If I could put all those tiny pieces together, it’s time to trust that I can do the rest just as well.

I am where I am supposed to be. 

I will get where I need to go.  

I am doing enough.

I am enough.

…and so are you.