This afternoon on the treadmill I had a moment of sadness. I remember the days when I could walk on it for an hour with no problems. No fear. No worry. Now, don’t ask how long I can last. It’s not even close to an hour. I started to wonder. Wonder what if. I realized quickly that thought wouldn’t serve me. I just shook my head, and continued walking.
I don’t know how long it will take for me to recover physically, but it will be much quicker than my mental recovery. There is no doubt about that assessment. I didn’t understand what my therapist meant the last time I spoke with her. I get it now.
Pray I can forgive myself for something I couldn’t control. Something I never saw coming. The decline was slow, yet rapid in a way I can’t explain. An oxymoron, I understand. To tell you the state of my soul, it feels like my online cart looks like new workout gear, protein powder and supplements. Rinse and repeat.
Coming out of the weeds of denial is a much harder issue to tackle. It’s being tackled, however, because for grief to be dealt with properly; it must be.
I’m learning slowly what it looks like to be my own cheerleader, until then my online cart purchases will be.
from R's rue https://ift.tt/zusnF4q