Sharing My Story


Friends, I am always honored and humbled when invited to share my story.

This week, and for the second time overall, my work is featured on the very wonderful and informative website Autoimmune Mom. I am so happy to discuss my journey and to be a part of this very profound message.

This post details the nuances and challenges of relationships in times of compromised health.  It’s never easy, but it can be better. Strengthening the bonds with those who love us and are loved by us can go a long way in softening the fear and pain.  Communication must flow freely, and constructively, from both sides. We must be willing to educate ourselves and our loved ones. We must learn to let go of the people who fail to understand us in our difficult times, and who don’t celebrate our victories, both grand and small.

And above all, we must always know it always comes back to love.

It is love that sees us through.

Pulling the curtain back on my life can sometimes feel a little scary, but the rewards make it all worth it.

Honesty truly is medicine.

Make it a beautiful day, friends.

 To read my post, and for other helpful information about living with autoimmune disease, visit:

Making Up Is (Not So) Hard To Do

Husband picked the wrong week to work my last nerve.

A few evenings ago we had one of those one-for-the-ages fights.  At least for us.  It may be considered tame to some, but we don’t do this very often.

We’re crappy at it.  I suppose that is a good thing.

Here’s the recap:

Me: “What’s your problem?” (after watching him sulk on the couch for an hour)

Husband: “You don’t listen to me.”

Me: “Well, should we talk about how unattentive and insensitive you can be?”

Husband: “Whatever.  You’re on that damn computer all the time.”

Me: “I better not hear ‘whatever’ again.  When I’m on the computer I’m getting something done.  When was the last time you paid a bill?  That’s what I’m doing when I’m on the computer, paying bills online and working.  You’re lazy.   I keep finding those damn cardboard toilet paper thingies piled up next to the bathroom sink.  Use the damn garbage can.”

Husband: “Your shit is everywhere.”

Me: “Don’t get me started on your shit.  God you can be a jerk.”

Husband: “Whatever.” (Insert his obnoxious eye roll here)

Me: “Like I said.  JERK.”

I don’t even remember exactly how it started, other than he was bugging the living shit out of me.

The ensuing silence and tension between us was beyond uncomfortable.  And we had plans that night for a romantic dinner.   The last thing I wanted to do was go.  In fact, I assumed the plans were off.  After what was said I could not imagine sitting across from him at a table in a crowded restaurant for even a second.  I expected him to feel the same toward me.

I really wanted it to be over.  I was desperate to make up.

But I don’t always move on so easily.

Once again, Husband stepped up and decided to be the grown up.   After one miserable hour of me giving him the silent treatment, he asked me when I was going to start getting ready.

“Seriously?” I said.

“I still want to go.  Nothing has changed, at least to me,” he said quietly.  “This doesn’t feel good.  And I don’t want to feel this way anymore.  I want to be normal again.”

I managed to smile.  The truth was I wanted to get back to being us, too.  Because we do “us” pretty damn well.  I just don’t always know what to do and feel to get there.  Just add it to my neverending list of things I need to work on.  Anger never makes any situation better.

With that brief exchange all was forgiven and forgotten.

At the restaurant the food was extra delicious, the ambience especially romantic.   He flattered me incessantly and told me how lovely I looked.  I humored him and listened intently, pretending like every word out of his mouth was brilliant (he needs this sometimes).   The woman at the table next to us thought we were annoying.

We didn’t care.

Hours later we were on our way home, heading west and witnessing the setting sun against the clouds.  Another day gone.  Another opportunity to love and be loved.  The sky morphed from purple to smoky gray.  He reached over and gave my hand a gentle squeeze, and I felt so grateful.

For his companionship.

For his acceptance.

But most of all for peace.

And for loving each other enough to let go and move on.


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