I am so terribly afraid, and all I can do about it is to keep telling people how much I love them, how much they are seen and valued, how much they are needed. (Regardless of the state of the marking.)
Here is a shield & a sword. The shield looks like a baking sheet, the sword looks sometimes like a needle & sometimes like a pen, but I promise you that your power courses through them & sets them ablaze with your brilliance, & every person to whom you give & show love is a blessing in the world against fear. Here is a deep hug, too, for your fear, & mine, & maybe they can just whooosh into steam from the hug's tamping & be extinguished, just for a bit, just for a weekend, & during that time, we can MAKE PLANS & be ready to confront those fears on return.
I am terribly afraid to see my family next week. They are actively mean to me, but some part of me desperately wants them to at least like me (acceptance and love are too far gone I think). I've agree to spend one night in their home next weekend, but I'm already afraid that it'll just be bad again.
Oof, that's so hard, & I'm so sorry! Here is a bushel of strength to carry with you like a heap of wheat in winter, for you are good & loving & kind & deserve so much better than that. May your heart be nourished this season by those who DO care for you & your happiness.
I have been dealing with a lot of fear over the past month, since being diagnosed with Type1 Diabetes. I keep telling people about it, in part to try to normalize it. It won't make it go away, but it was sudden, unexpected, and utterly life altering. And I can see, strangely, how it leads to shame. I even wrote a bigger comment here, and deleted it. But -- the fear of how my condition may change is starting to even out a bit, as everything else evens out. I don't know if I could call my fear Dolores and be done with it, but I will admit it's hard to be really upset by anything named Bernard....
BERNARD. What an OBNOXIOUS FELLOW this BERNARD is. (Wait is it BerNARD or BERnerd? The former sounds more obnoxious to me.) What a SCOUNDREL, what a JERK! How dare Bernard accost you this way! Fie upon him!
Genuinely though that is a huge, huge life change. There's a lot of diabetes in my family of both types, & fwiw I think talking about it to normalize it is a really good move -- for you, & for anyone else in this position of newness, & honestly for people who've been living with it for decades & seen so much about the disease change, in treatment & in awareness.
Thanks so much, Amal. I am building a network of friends-of-friends (it's astonishing how many people I know know people that are other T1 patients, either from early in life, or later diagnosees, like me.) Thank you for hearing me.
I used to feel a lot of fear about things that I couldn't control. Some of that was by design because I was in an abusive relationship. Getting out from under that and working toward goals I'm passionate about has done a lot to get rid of the fear. I'm finishing a long-delayed degree (and kicking its ass while I'm at it) and pursuing a career in publishing. I've got support and people who are rooting for me where I used to be cut off from the world. Even if I'm starting over from rock bottom, I feel so much happier than when I was in a "better" position.
Well done!! You've been through such a time! Here is a long road to behold unspooled behind you, & a short climb up a beautiful hill ahead of you; & here is a cupped star's worth of light to guide you on your way.
I'm afraid of many things, most of which feel outside of my control, even though that is not so. Mostly, I'm afraid of not being able to let go, of being mired in crises not of my own making. I love to help, but then helping gets overwhelming and I just want to run away :/
Ach, I hear you. Here is a rope with a grappling hook at the end, for you, & here is another rope attached to a life preserver. May you always be able to pull yourself out of mires, & help those mired or drowning from the shore without harming yourself.
I'm so sorry to hear that. It sounds like your body's afraid too, & lashing out. Here, for you, is a deep night's rest, & a dream within that rest of learning your body's secrets, & finding your way towards health & recovery together.
I'm always afraid, but Christmas is always a little harder. I love Angie's family with all my heart, but spending Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with them is also a reminder this will be my fourth straight holiday season without seeing a single blood relative. Mom and Dad are gone and my brother's 2,500 miles away. I'm just afraid it will all overwhelm me.
Oh friend. That's so hard. I wonder if it's all right to say that ... It's ok if you're overwhelmed by it? There's no good or easy way to be overwhelmed by loss, but to do so when surrounded by love seems like a better way than most.
I'm afraid of my PTSD and how much worse it has become the past few months. I spend more and more time untethered from the present and wracked with hurt when I'm here.
Ach, I'm so sorry to hear that. That's an enormous & difficult thing. Would you like two small imaginary items wished to you from the bottom of my heart?
Here are the things I wish for you: a small anchor & a hot water bottle. The anchor is heavy in the hand, but only as much as you find comfortable, & it's shaped in ways that are pleasant to run your fingers over. May it help remind you of where you are when you need it.
The hot water bottle is clothed in soft fuzzy pajamas & is extremely comfy to cuddle against any part that is hurting, be it your back or your neck or your heart.
Thank you for these fireplace wishes. They warm skin that has been too long in the cold. They're the very things I would like most to carry close as I continue moving forward.
In turn (if I can be so bold!) I wish for you a flashlight so you may illuminate the things you are afraid of, so you may find their faults and cracks and the ways to move beyond them.
I am so terribly afraid, and all I can do about it is to keep telling people how much I love them, how much they are seen and valued, how much they are needed. (Regardless of the state of the marking.)
Here is a shield & a sword. The shield looks like a baking sheet, the sword looks sometimes like a needle & sometimes like a pen, but I promise you that your power courses through them & sets them ablaze with your brilliance, & every person to whom you give & show love is a blessing in the world against fear. Here is a deep hug, too, for your fear, & mine, & maybe they can just whooosh into steam from the hug's tamping & be extinguished, just for a bit, just for a weekend, & during that time, we can MAKE PLANS & be ready to confront those fears on return.
I am terribly afraid to see my family next week. They are actively mean to me, but some part of me desperately wants them to at least like me (acceptance and love are too far gone I think). I've agree to spend one night in their home next weekend, but I'm already afraid that it'll just be bad again.
Oof, that's so hard, & I'm so sorry! Here is a bushel of strength to carry with you like a heap of wheat in winter, for you are good & loving & kind & deserve so much better than that. May your heart be nourished this season by those who DO care for you & your happiness.
(((Hugs)))
I have been dealing with a lot of fear over the past month, since being diagnosed with Type1 Diabetes. I keep telling people about it, in part to try to normalize it. It won't make it go away, but it was sudden, unexpected, and utterly life altering. And I can see, strangely, how it leads to shame. I even wrote a bigger comment here, and deleted it. But -- the fear of how my condition may change is starting to even out a bit, as everything else evens out. I don't know if I could call my fear Dolores and be done with it, but I will admit it's hard to be really upset by anything named Bernard....
BERNARD. What an OBNOXIOUS FELLOW this BERNARD is. (Wait is it BerNARD or BERnerd? The former sounds more obnoxious to me.) What a SCOUNDREL, what a JERK! How dare Bernard accost you this way! Fie upon him!
Genuinely though that is a huge, huge life change. There's a lot of diabetes in my family of both types, & fwiw I think talking about it to normalize it is a really good move -- for you, & for anyone else in this position of newness, & honestly for people who've been living with it for decades & seen so much about the disease change, in treatment & in awareness.
Thanks so much, Amal. I am building a network of friends-of-friends (it's astonishing how many people I know know people that are other T1 patients, either from early in life, or later diagnosees, like me.) Thank you for hearing me.
I used to feel a lot of fear about things that I couldn't control. Some of that was by design because I was in an abusive relationship. Getting out from under that and working toward goals I'm passionate about has done a lot to get rid of the fear. I'm finishing a long-delayed degree (and kicking its ass while I'm at it) and pursuing a career in publishing. I've got support and people who are rooting for me where I used to be cut off from the world. Even if I'm starting over from rock bottom, I feel so much happier than when I was in a "better" position.
Well done!! You've been through such a time! Here is a long road to behold unspooled behind you, & a short climb up a beautiful hill ahead of you; & here is a cupped star's worth of light to guide you on your way.
I'm afraid of many things, most of which feel outside of my control, even though that is not so. Mostly, I'm afraid of not being able to let go, of being mired in crises not of my own making. I love to help, but then helping gets overwhelming and I just want to run away :/
Ach, I hear you. Here is a rope with a grappling hook at the end, for you, & here is another rope attached to a life preserver. May you always be able to pull yourself out of mires, & help those mired or drowning from the shore without harming yourself.
I’m afraid my health won’t get better. It’s been an unusually rough five months. My body is acting like a complete asshole.
I'm so sorry to hear that. It sounds like your body's afraid too, & lashing out. Here, for you, is a deep night's rest, & a dream within that rest of learning your body's secrets, & finding your way towards health & recovery together.
I'm always afraid, but Christmas is always a little harder. I love Angie's family with all my heart, but spending Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with them is also a reminder this will be my fourth straight holiday season without seeing a single blood relative. Mom and Dad are gone and my brother's 2,500 miles away. I'm just afraid it will all overwhelm me.
Oh friend. That's so hard. I wonder if it's all right to say that ... It's ok if you're overwhelmed by it? There's no good or easy way to be overwhelmed by loss, but to do so when surrounded by love seems like a better way than most.
I'm afraid of my PTSD and how much worse it has become the past few months. I spend more and more time untethered from the present and wracked with hurt when I'm here.
Ach, I'm so sorry to hear that. That's an enormous & difficult thing. Would you like two small imaginary items wished to you from the bottom of my heart?
Thank you, Amal, it is so appreciated. And yes, I would absolutely love two small imaginary items wished to me from you 🥰💜
Here are the things I wish for you: a small anchor & a hot water bottle. The anchor is heavy in the hand, but only as much as you find comfortable, & it's shaped in ways that are pleasant to run your fingers over. May it help remind you of where you are when you need it.
The hot water bottle is clothed in soft fuzzy pajamas & is extremely comfy to cuddle against any part that is hurting, be it your back or your neck or your heart.
Thank you for these fireplace wishes. They warm skin that has been too long in the cold. They're the very things I would like most to carry close as I continue moving forward.
In turn (if I can be so bold!) I wish for you a flashlight so you may illuminate the things you are afraid of, so you may find their faults and cracks and the ways to move beyond them.
Thank you again, this made my night