I wanted 2022 to be my comeback story. I even chose my word of the year with manifestation in mind. I chose “thrive,” because I was so sick of barely surviving. I wanted to take 2022 by the horns,...
I wanted 2022 to be my comeback story. I even chose my word of the year with manifestation in mind. I chose “thrive,” because I was so sick of barely surviving. I wanted to take 2022 by the horns, feel like myself again, and smash my goals. I wanted to feel deep joy and let go of deep pain. After two years of having my life completely turned upside down by grief, loss, a pandemic, postpartum depression and anxiety, changing jobs, and more, I wanted to dig my heels in again, commit to myself and truly come out on top.
I started 2022 off sick as a dog and with hives, ultimately making the decision to discontinue my breastfeeding relationship so I could take stronger medication and get rid of the rash (hopefully for good.) Halfway through the month, still plagued by sickness I caught COVID for the first time and we were forced to quarantine for Alonso’s first birthday. Any hope for a magical first birthday party for my first baby was out the window and my year was off to a rocky start.
That scenario was foreshadowing for my entire year ahead. We found out in early March after I went for a run that was accompanied by nausea, that I was pregnant with Bebé Junco number 2. It was not a total surprise as we had plans to expand our family soon, however it did happen much sooner than we thought it would, given the fact that I hadn’t had my period since before getting pregnant with Alonso. This was a happy note I couldn’t wait to share with family and friends, but my pregnancy journey quickly became tainted with more unfortunate anxiety, grief, family estrangement, and pain, similar to my first pregnancy.
By June I caught COVID for the second time, missed my own birthday, and wound up in the hospital for being so sick. By this time my mood was not great. I truly felt like once again the universe was out to get me. Why couldn’t I catch a break? I wanted to thrive, not barely survive, damnit! In July we unexpectedly lost our beloved cat Rita, who I found unresponsive in our garage. Still, I continued to carry my baby. I also endured the deep heartache of a surprising falling out with my sister who has chosen not to be involved in my life. Eventually, at 9 months pregnant I took cover for a hurricane that destroyed our Southwest Florida town and left us without power and water for 10 days.
The fact that I am alive, that I birthed a baby just one month after Hurricane Ian, and that our house is still standing is a miracle. And lastly, I endured an unexpected c-section surgery after my OB discovered our baby was facing sunny side up and was already measuring big. Major abdominal surgery, like everything else this year was not on my to-do list.
Just writing this feels overwhelming, so I can only imagine what it feels like to be a spectator reading it. But this is my life. I’ve often joked since my teenage years that I have a crazy track record of random and devastating things happening in my life, but I didn’t understand how intense they would and could get. I used to drink this craziness away. I used to drown my sorrows, my “why me’s,” and “of course, it happened to me,” in the bottom of a bottle.
Today at 9.5 years sober I don’t have the luxury of coping that way. That makes life incredibly intense and real. I have been doing the only thing I could do, feeling all the feelings. I let them course through me. I won’t sugarcoat how shitty of a year this has been. I didn’t sweep everything under the rug and cling to the bright side. I told the truth. I said it’s not fucking fair and I don’t deserve this. I didn’t drink.
I guess I’ve somewhat made it my business to find meaning in my life, even during the shitty times I’ve experienced since getting sober, but these last three years have been completely off the wall, in my humble opinion. It’s been tough to find meaning. I don’t know why I’ve been dealt this hand. I don’t know why my two pregnancies had to be so incredibly traumatizing. I don’t know why my spirit and my physical body took such a beating this year.
It’s the holiday season and normally I love Christmas, but the last two years it’s been a way for me to numb out and ignore the traumatic events that are occurring in my life. Only I’m not doing it with alcohol, I’m doing it with Christmas movies and peppermint lattes. The holiday season is even sadder this year because my dad is gone and my sister is choosing not to be in my life.
I’m currently navigating the fourth trimester with my second child and even in the best of circumstances, the postpartum period is isolating and lonely. Life is full of poopy diapers, managing the boundary-pushing of a toddler, and understanding what it means to be a mom to 2 under 2. What I am grateful for is this healthy baby boy whose new smile lights up the room, even if we spent the morning of December 31st in the pediatric ER for croup! I am grateful for friends from high school and college who text me and call me every day to check on me, send me thoughtful gifts, and are always willing to listen and validate my feelings, and for therapy where I can share all my thoughts and receive honest constructive feedback.
I don’t know what the universe will have in store for me in 2023. I know a geographical location change will be coming and I hope that will mark a new start for us. I guess I am glad I survived 2022, despite it not being at all what I had planned. My hope is that 2023 will hold more joy, less sickness, more me time, and less grief. My hope is that I can finally thrive instead of survive. I know I will try my hardest because I am not ready to give up yet.
We survived 2022, let’s keep going.
