Where Did She Go? Reclaiming Yourself After Loss, Grief, and Starting Over

Hi friend,

Have you ever looked at yourself in the mirror and wondered, who is this? I did. In 2016 I was diagnosed with Fibromyagia two years after experiencing a traumatic birthing experience that turned my world upside down. Though I would never trade that moment for anything, because it gave me my beautiful son, my body and my mind were never the same. After having to relearn how to walk, think, and manage chronic pain and brain fog all while having a military spouse, two babies, and a small wellness business, it seemed that Liz had abandoned me. She felt like a distant memory that I could never quite remember in a body that didn't seem like my own. I played sports for most of my life, softball was my favorite, and I loved growing up as a "band kid" who marched in the band as a trumpet and baritone player, one of the few female brass players at the time in my area. I loved all things Disney, the simplicity of Saturday morning cartoons (man we had it good back then), and the quality time that I got to spend with my clients who were also moms, women, and spouses.

But what can you do when all of the things that you love are no longer available to you? Who do you talk to without it coming across as complaining or ungrateful? Even more so, as a believer and Christ follower, how do you overcome the well meaning prayers and well wishers when life seems so heavy it's hard to even receive them? We were blessed as a family and we struggled as well. During that time we also lost pretty much everything after a city wide flood covered the Baton Rouge and Denham Springs area leaving only half of the city water free. We had to excape with our two kids on our backs and a back pack each in arm-pit high water if you can imagine that. The physical toll was immense but the psychological toll was even greater. Thankfully we had friends, coworkers, and family that all rallied to support us but as you can imagine, pride was probably my closest companion because how could we have gone from such a high point to possibly the lowest of our time. It was hard to remember the confident, vibrant woman that I used to know. How could I when life was so unbalanced and uncertain? Grief. Above the fear, the stress, and the at times the anger, that was my conclusion. Grief about the loss of my mobility, my home, and our dreams. So where did we go from there? Truthfully, I wish I could say straight back up again but no, we started from the bottom and stayed there for a while.

You see being at the bottom is not always a bad thing because it forces you to look up, look out, and look around. Who is on your left and who is on your right? What bare minimum tools do you have in your toolkit to get you where you need to go? And who is that person in the mirror that is on this ride with you? Liz, is that you girl? Where have you been? I miss you. Will you ever return? And friends, she did. In fact, as I look back on those hard years I realize she never left. Instead, she just needed time to rest and heal. It was during this time that I understood the concept of a Sabbath. Whether you are not religious, are completely faith-filled, or simply don't know where you are right now, we can all use a Sabbath. It simply means a time of pause and rest. And had I not had it after so much chaos, even at the absolutely desolate place that I found myself, Liz wouldn't have the energy to return. Writing, gardening, and music were like Neosporin to my deep wounds. And it took time, it's still taking time. I have not completely emerged from that low place but what I can say is, I was able to create a garden to sustain me while being there. Getting to the dirt, the muddy place, is actually the most ideal place for things to go. And through tears, very few seeds, and the light of hope, slowly leaves began to sprout. Sprouts became crops, which will one day turn into trees. Liz, is that you girl? I am so happy to see you.

Always remember, you’re not lost, friend—you’re in process.

Welcome back.

Love, Liz