I don’t know about y’all, but this year ripped me apart. This is the year that said (if years could talk) “Patience Erin, you look like you’re having a pretty nice life. I mean you’ve got some hiccups here and there but you look like you got a handle on them. Maybe I should throw you a curveball covered in rusty nails and fire breathing dragons just to see if you can catch it. Just for entertainment. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do.”  Insert evil smirk here.


Life threw me a nasty curveball and nearly obliterated my entire existence. Seriously, my life exploded into a million little pieces with no instructions on how to put it back together again (humpty dumpty anyone?).

It’s June now and we’re almost half way through the year. Yes, things have gotten better, yes I can almost sleep through the night now, but I’m still trying to find some of the pieces that were lost when my life imploded. Wanna know the most challenging part of all of this? Pretending to be happy. Pretending to be ok when my heart is bleeding out. Pretending to pay attention when someone is talking to me. Pretending to care. It’s like I’m trying to focus and there are millions of little people talking all at once, all needing something from me and all I want to do it is turn them off. All I want is silence.

No I’m not insane, just human, and so are you.

I talk to my mom when I feel like this, and so do you, come on, admit it. When I’m pretending to have it all together my mom is the only one who can see right through all the bull. No really, she has these superpowers, prepped with the ability to instantly know when I’m bluffing. She calls me out on it… makes me explain what’s really going on. She nods occasionally, looks over her reading glasses that are supposed to be just for reading but she wears them a little more than just for reading. And after listening to me for a bit, she looks at me and says, almost in a whisper,

Sometimes we only have enough strength for today, and that’s okay.

What she said was magic, immediately equipping me with a magnifying glass to make all of my little lost pieces a little easier to see and therefore easier to find. All I needed was for someone to tell me that it’s okay to feel this way. That I’m not crazy, that the fog in front of me will eventually become nonexistent and that I will be okay. I needed to know that even If I can’t think past today that it’s okay, and that maybe it’s even a good thing, because how often do we only focus on tomorrow, the next vacation, the next romance, the next Friday night? How little do we dwell on today, and what we can do right now?

So thanks mom, for giving me enough strength for today, and maybe a little extra for tomorrow.


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