The last week and a half I’ve felt like one of those toy cars that you pull backwards until it makes that clicking sound and then races forward. Except that I’ve been pulled backwards for a solid two and a half years and have only only just now been released. Honestly, it’s terrifying and overwhelming and I am having to give myself regular pep talks:

“You can do this, Kelly. You’ve been busy like this before. Day at a time.”

Between grieving and the pandemic, life got REAL slow. Which is what I needed, but now, as life has geared back up, well, I’m feeling pretty rusty. It really wasn’t that long ago that I was managing all of Adelaide’s appointments, therapies, medications and seizure tracking, while also carting Jackson around to activities, supporting Miguel in whatever events he was participating, and maintaining our household all while writing this blog and volunteering with CURE Epilepsy. I barely had time to breathe let alone sleep or think about how busy life was. 

That’s just the way it was. 

Until it wasn’t.

It’s not that I haven’t been active or involved in the last two and half years, its just that in that time I developed an incredibly strong aversion to stress. If I decided that agreeing to a commitment might have the smallest chance of putting me over the edge, I said no. I have been terrified of feeling the way I did when I was at my worst after Adelaide passed. The lack of control, the unpredictable emotions, the debilitating anxiety and depression - I’ve come so far and I don’t want to go back.

Funny thing about life: we only have so much control over it. Life is happening, events are occurring, unrefusable invitations are being accepted and before I know it I have gone from dipping toes in the water to full, swan-dive submersion.

Grief decimated what boundaries I had and without the walls and ceilings that had previously defined my limits I chose to cocoon instead of test them. Adelaide’s life and death changed me forever. I am not, nor will I ever be the person I was before her diagnosis. In many ways that is a good thing, but it also means that I am still learning so much about this new iteration of myself. How far can I push before I crack? And what does cracking even mean for this version of me? 

For two years I’ve been gentle with myself but I’ve also been terribly restless. I thrive under pressure, with a packed calendar and a prioritized to-do list. Is this healthy? I mean, it’s probably not ideal. I’d love to try and find a happy medium between accomplished but crazed Kelly and grounded but depressed Kelly. I know she’s in there somewhere but I think she’s going to take a dozen or so more hours of therapy to uncover.

This said, everything that I’m committing to are projects, events and people that I want to be around and a part of. Whether it is volunteering at Jackson’s school or flying to Chicago to speak at a benefit, I am supporting and honoring my family and myself in the best ways possible. Of course, I still have to remind myself of this every time the anxiety elephant tries to plop down on my chest. Like last week when it took a call to a friend and a couple Xanax to stall an incoming panic attack.

I am scared but I’m doing it. 

I’m not doing it alone, though.

From the earliest days of Adelaide’s diagnosis I had no choice but to rely on others for help. If I was in the hospital with Adelaide and Miguel was at the theater someone had to be with Jackson and with no family around that meant favors from friends became the norm. Throughout Adelaide’s life I doled out IOU’s like the old man on my childhood block gave out butterscotches. This was new to me as I had always preferred to do things on my own, both because I didn’t want to ask for help but also because I took immense pride in being able to announce that I had completed something on my own. In adulthood though, there are no gold stars for solo projects, or any project for that matter. What mattered was that my family was cared for and needs were met, regardless of how many people it took to make that come to fruition.

I’m continuously grateful for this lesson because I know that my transition back to a busier, fuller life is going to be hard. I wish it was more like remembering how to ride a bike but it is way more uncomfortable and tiring - more like weight training atrophied muscles after running a marathon. A times like this, or maybe just all the time, we need cheerleaders to pep us up, laughter filled hours with friends to reenergize us, confidants to verbalize our fears to and a communities worth of helping hands to fill in all the other gaps.

I will never know what this latest version of Kelly can handle until I push myself to find out and trust that my people will be there to pick me back up when I fall. It’s going to get uncomfortable and exhausting and I should probably start carrying my meds around with me in my purse again. But hey, if it was easy though, what in the world would I write about?