Life, A Time Stamp


If I’ve learned anything about life through all the trials is that the hardest moments are usually a tipping point toward whatever is next. The morning I find myself uncontrollably sobbing is usually right before I take a step in the right direction. Today is that day.

The thing is, I really suck at talking to anybody about the million things running through my head until I’ve already been a little broken by them. Until they’ve fully run their course and I find myself running out of the gym at 7 am because I can’t hold back the tears. I refuse to cry in front of strangers and to accept any kind of pity or concern from them. There’s this echo of my mother’s voice whispering that no one owes me anything. That I have to fight the tears and figure it out.

I coach myself with that destructive voice although it has evolved to be better for me, I’m proud to say. It’s particularly loud right now because after months of silence after demanding boundaries, I reached out to my mother to find out if her home was in the path of Hurricane Irma. She, and her home, survived with little damage but that simple text message was enough to send me into a whirlwind of self-doubt. The road to all growth is 3 steps forward, 1 step back, against my will.

To compound this feeling, I have surgery this week on my hand to have my thumb joint replaced. Talk about a bad week for mental health.

I realize how badly I suck at updating people on what’s really happening in my life and part of it is that silent punishment. Telling myself only those closest to me should know what’s going on in those dark corners of my brain. So today, I’m taking a lesson in vulnerability while I’m already feeling exposed and sharing what’s really going on.

I’m thinking about mortality and blessings. Disasters and suffering. Hope and faith, not just in a traditional way but in the sense of a great power. Family and abandonment. Friends. Contradictions.

As I dial the digits to find out what time I’ll be going under tomorrow, I just want the people I love to know I love them and appreciate their voice in my life when my own voice is too demanding and unkind. You’re my reasons.

4 thoughts on “Life, A Time Stamp

  1. I know when we first meet in life… I will hug you for long-long minutes without being able to say a word. Take care and please keep sharing the “dark side” of your mind. It helps us, helps you and maybe even make the world become a little better place. B

  2. God love you, Katrina. You’re a sweet, wonderful woman and many people care about you. We’ll all be thinking and praying for your swift recovery and don’t worry about this – you’ll be fine. Many mother-daughter relationships are complicated (and some are hard!) and sometimes, no matter how much we want to, it’s just sometimes beyond our capacities as mothers to say the things in our shuttered hearts. I don’t know why that is. Somebody or something taught you compassion and somebody or something showed you a path of expression that has made a difference in the world. Some day more will come to light for you, I promise, about your complicated past relationships. Until then keep trusting that we will hold your disclosures next to our hearts and not judge anyone who has helped make you the person you are today. We’re all thrown into this stew pot together for a reason and none of us would taste the same without one another. Whether that taste be bitter or sweet, sharp or sour I suppose is a matter of taste but there’s no getting out of this pot now that we’re in. We just have to adjust the seasonings.

    1. Katrina, I love you too, and your reading. And Maureen, I love you also. Your wisdom above I am sure helped Katrina, and me, and anyone else who read it. Time does build wisdom, as does heartache, as does joy. My own daughter’s death of her future husband at 28 brought us both so much pain, but also brought us closer than we’ve ever been before.

  3. Katrina, I love you too, and your writing. And Maureen, I love you also. Your wisdom above I am sure helped Katrina, and me, and anyone else who read it. Time does build wisdom, as does heartache, as does joy. My own daughter’s death of her future husband at 28 brought us both so much pain, but also brought us closer than we’ve ever been before.

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