I had a wonderful week with my kid sister last week. She spent part of our time critiquing my website as only a younger sister could. She wasn’t a fan of one of my pages because she correctly determined it needed work. Updating the page that’s supposed to list my creative posts was an endeavor that sounded like a good idea until I had to actually work on it. This work involves going through old posts, reading what I wrote when I was a very different version of me, and updating links. I’m still not done. It’ll get done.

I learned a couple of things in the process I’ve started. One, my website is very different from what it once was. Part of me likes it, but a greater part of me doesn’t, which is probably why writing has been such a chore in the last few years. Don’t get me wrong, my mental health and current spiral have a lot to do with my ability to write as well. It became the product of my knowledge of SEO and concerns about the version I present as a job hunter. I haven’t worked since 2022 and this is my very own playground.

The second thing I noticed is that I have several versions of a self help manual that I created for me, and could really benefit from, just by digging through old posts. In recent years, those posts became far less personal, and I miss that about my site.

Short stories allow me to escape for a bit, but grief and complex ptsd, major depressive disorder and generalized anxiety have been my kpi’s (key performance indicators) for the last couple of years. I need to make this about me again.

I’m still finding peace in nature, and grounding. I’m working on therapy tools to get me through anxious moments and depression mainly looks like I can’t seem to get enough rest. It might just be a side effect from one of my daily medications. I’m thinking it’s the allergy pills.

Bakersfield has really been a blessing in this journey, with an incredible medical team supporting my therapy and medication needs. Nature being so present in every aspect of life out here has been another blessing. The message, as it has always been, is to ask for help and keep asking for help. The idea that you can go your whole life without ever needing help is a cruel fallacy.

Grief has been surreal for me. Losing four jobs, a friend from high school, a Step-Mother-in-Law, Father-in-Law, Uncle-in-Law, my 16 year old dog, Sister, Step-Dad, Dad, Hairdresser (and friend’s Mom), former co-worker (who was far too young) . . . All since 2020. It’s reasonable to feel grief to the level I do. It’s reasonable to feel a level of depression which stems from deeper emotions I can’t always identify. I’m working on it though.

I’ve been to the cemetery with my Mom, but it’s more about being with her and sharing our grief. I’ve realized that I had said all I needed to in life. It’s become a place where I watched people that left things unsaid in life, pour their hearts out to a silent audience that couldn’t talk back. Or it was a place of loneliness and sorrow. For my loved ones that passed most recently their deaths were a bittersweet reprieve from a life of pain and frustration over a body that was failing them. It’s not where I speak to my loved ones. Their essence feels too close to me to be confined to a headstone and grass. If I tied my emotions to something physical, I’d be torn in too many directions. I sit under the stars and deep breathe through the memories I’ve had, and they feel closer. I can move through my feelings.

Fast forward to the last week, and sitting in the Kern River. It’s a powerful flow of water that can push you around. It’s much like grief or mental health. It happens when your mind races and your body feels out of sync, but you can ground yourself. You plant your feet. Notice what you feel, hear, taste and see. Once you’re grounded, that chaotic river can flow around you in the gentlest caress. It’s purifying. It’s a lesson in allowing life to do what it will. No forcing, no puffing up, no shrinking back. Just allow what will be to come to you, and appreciate the beauty of the lessons in the journey.

This journey will improve. It has, and maybe one day I’ll share just how difficult the last couple of years has truly been.

For now, remember that life isn’t black and white and that’s a blessing. The shades of gray can both help and hurt you, but you will be stronger because of it. I have to believe that because I know I’ve already lived it.