Had a good chat with my therapist yesterday in which I complained that my life isn’t a straight upward trajectory of personal growth and health. Ha.
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Thing is, I KNOW that’s not realistic. I know that. So why am I still surprised to have bad/hard days mixed in with the good?
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Since July, I’ve been blossoming. With confidence, freedom, creativity, drive. If, in June, you’d have told me I’d have 2/3s of my manuscript revised by the end of the year, or that I’d be bursting with new ideas and spending days working out the kinks of my plot, I’d have rolled my eyes. I mean, I was scared of even opening up my manuscript at that point.
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And I’m not in daily pain anymore, thanks to a host of help, but I still battle to figure out keto and rest and spoons. But then I have weeks like this, where I get reacquainted with pain, and I forget all the growth.
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I want the impossible: all improvement, no steps back. Cool. Realistic.
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I’m trying to make a better effort of forgiving myself for being human (ha!), celebrating milestones, and recognizing pain and exhaustion as messages from my body that need responses. Life is good. Life is hard. It’s both. It’s life.
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