Fear is a Piece of Cake

I don’t think I’m ready yet. Have you ever had that feeling before? I’m not ready to do that yet, so I am going to wait until I am. I felt that way just before writing this post. There are so many things I want to say and so many people I want to reach with this blog that it overwhelms me. Maybe my writing is just not there yet.

The Fire Within

One of the hardest parts about the death of someone close to you is that you start to worry about losing other people you love who are still alive.

My mom was such a free-spirited, beautiful soul, and she didn’t die because of her illness. She got help.  And even though I lost her to a dark hole for a few years, we spent our final days in the light.

While I miss my mom more than words can express, I’m grateful every single moment that she was back to her fun-loving, hilarious self when she did pass.  And that is how struggle gives birth to beauty.

The First Step to Healing

The first, and most important, step to healing is self-reflection.  I began my journey of healing by journaling.  In fact, my very first journal entry reads, “I bought this diary to stay true to myself and express exactly how I feel without holding back.”

I remember that day like it was yesterday because it was the year anniversary of my dad’s death, and I got sent home after breaking down at work.  I knew I needed some type of outlet, so I picked up a pen and a piece of paper.

My passion for writing was reignited.  I learned I am still that same little girl who begged her mother for $10 to buy that pink furry diary with a lock and key at the Scholastic book fair.  And once I rediscovered her, all bets were off.

The Fourth Door

I was diagnosed with an autoimmune disease called myasthenia gravis last week, and being a devoted yogi, I couldn’t get home from the neurologist’s office to my yoga mat fast enough to process this life-changing news.

Myasthenia gravis, as I have come to learn, is a neuromuscular autoimmune disorder.  There is, as of today, no cure.

But I’m 26 years old.  How could this be happening to me?  Aren’t people my age supposed to be in the best condition of their lives?  What did I do to deserve this?