I was worried about my capacity to ‘be kind to myself’ and manage the emotional roller coaster I’d been on for what felt like too long… A year later, I’m doing okay.
One year ago I sat on the patio of a brewery and read a bit from a book I was working through about the climate crisis and its relationship to anxiety and mental health struggles. And I posted about it–because posting something on Facebook made me feel a little less like sitting at a brewery by myself drinking a beer and reading a book was weird. It was a generic post that didn’t really give much away, and I’m sure didn’t catch a lot of attention:
Ending a turbulent night/day with a beverage and a book about the climate crisis. Seems healthy 
. Legit though: it’s a good book, and the background chatter is restorative.
What the post didn’t really expand on was what the ‘turbulent night/day’ was really about. I had gotten word from my mom that my dad was unable to get out of his bed and the nurses were advising her to gather any family who needed to say any last words to him, because ‘in cases like this, it’s usually a matter of weeks.’ But its wasn’t just that. The steep spike in my dad’s decline was like the last Jenga block being pulled from a tower that was already pretty shaky. I was generally having a hard time holding it together. The overwhelm from transition, grief, culture shock, loneliness, depression and anxiety was reaching a smothering intensity, and it was taking everything I had (which wasn’t much) to meet minimum expectations in almost all spheres of life. I suspect my ‘inner circle’ support people were getting tired of holding space for my stuff alongside all of their stuff.
Not gonna lie…I was concerned. I was worried about the narrative in my thoughts that couldn’t get beyond old patterns. I was worried about my capacity to ‘be kind to myself’ and manage the emotional roller coaster I’d been on for what felt like too long. In my performance review with my boss, I admitted that I was really uncertain of where I would be–physically, emotionally, mentally, and vocationally–in a year.
A year later, I’m doing okay. Family and friends went the extra mile to assure me I was known, cared for, and safe. Medication helped stabilize my moods. I joined a coaching group to find inspiration and accountability. I researched, reached out to, and attended an intensive therapy week for people in ministry and was able to release layers of grief that had been building up for too long. Chat groups about jump roping and about the joys and stresses of life kept me connected to people who have always had my back. I applied for and was accepted to a DMin program that is giving the strands of my life story and my ministry story some direction and cohesion. My colleagues consistently expressed care and encouragement. My siblings rallied together as we journeyed with my parents through the last phase of my dad’s decline and a funeral that genuinely witnessed to the unique layers of who my dad was to lots of people across time and geography. Time has smoothed out the jagged edges of transition, and I’m finding a rhythm in work and life in Winnipeg that is decently life-giving.
It feels like it’s been a watershed of a year.