A Bone of Contention

Rambunctious Youth
My body and I have been fighting for years. My weight hovered around 105 pounds from my freshman year in high school through my freshman year in college. The Freshman Fifteen hit me hard when I was a sophomore. We shall call it the Sophomore Several. Rather than do something about my poor eating habits, I just kept eating. It was awesome, as long as I didn't look in the mirror and never went shopping for clothes. Sophomore year through senior year was a roller coaster going as low as 110 and as high as 145. The scale and my pants size were ever-changing *sigh.*






This is me when I was 17. I was probably somewhere between 100-105 pounds.














Enter Adulthood
Life during the school year is pretty much planned out for me. My day is dictated by a series of bells that tell me what I will be doing for the next hour, when I can go to the bathroom, and when I'm allowed to eat. For someone who is not very good at usefully managing time, this seemed like a good thing. So where's the problem? Well, I still haven't learned to take ownership of my eating habits. Instead of listening to my body and learning when I am/am not hungry, I am eating when I realize I'm not doing anything else. That's when I'm allowed to eat at work, so it just makes sense that if I have free time at home, I should eat.







This is me when I was in my early twenties. This was probably my 160-168 period.









A Short-lived Attempt
A few short years ago, I attempted to gain some control of my eating habits. I went from 168 pounds to about 145 pounds. I was making better choices and exercising on a regular basis. I wasn't exactly at my ideal weight, but I was definitely on the right track. I felt really good and was actively working toward a healthier me.








I was probably around 140-145 here.











The Unfortunate Period of Darkness
In the fall of 2008, I entered a deep depression. It was the result of many things. See this post and this post for more information. During this period of darkness, I dropped down to about 130 pounds. That is about my ideal weight. Unfortunately, I was too sad and miserable to enjoy it. I had absolutely no desire to eat. It was an awful time. When I started to feel better, I started to get my appetite back. I was so focused on feeling better that I completely ignored my eating habits. As a result, I lapsed back into the I'm-not-busy-so-I-should-be-eating state of mind.










This is during the Unfortunate Period of Darkness. I was probably around 130.








Making a Change
It is time to take my life and my body back. I am tired of living the life of an overweight woman. I know that we are supposed to be proud of our bodies and feel good about who we are. I know that people blame the media for distorting body image. Here's the thing, I can't rationalize being overweight. It's just not healthy. I am going to take my body back and live a healthy life that I can actually enjoy.









And...a good comparison. Then and now. I prefer the Then.












Why am I Telling You?
I know I'm not the only one who deals with weight issues. My plan is to eat right and exercise. I am not going to use diet pills or weight loss organizations. I am going to do this the old school way. There is so much weight loss propaganda on TV and the Internet. I want to put something out there that is real.

The Part I Can't Believe I'm Doing
CW: 175
Height: 5'6"
BMI:28.2

Personality Doppelganger

After watching an episode of MASH last night, Gina asked which dog would be which MASH character if we were to rename the dogs (which we definitely are not doing). Here is what we came up with...

The first, and most obvious, comparison is between Fondue and Hawkeye Pierce. Hawkeye is a show-off and a womanizer. He is surly and doesn't mind making himself look good at the expense of others. Fondue would definitely be Hawkeye.

Meshach would have to be Radar O'Reilly. The most obvious reason is that Radar was able to identify when choppers were coming, even when no one else heard anything. Meesh seems to have an uncanny knack for knowing when a squirrel is in the yard, even when everyone else
is oblivious.

Denim was another obvious choice. He would have to be BJ Honeycutt. He is fun, easy going, good friends with Hawkeye, kind to Radar, and a little sneaky from time to time.

He's little, but he's in charge. He loves all of his men and knows how to handle any situation. He is good at ignoring the antics of the troublemakers but coming down on them if necessary. Tucker is clearly, Sherman T. Potter.

Bed, Bark, Boredom

I will have been on summer break for a week the day after tomorrow. Everyone asks the same old question, "Are you enjoying your summer break?" I answer "Yes! Of course!" I'm pretty sure the how-are-you-oh-I'm-fine-how-are-you rule applies to the summer break question. Nobody wants to hear that you are not really enjoying your summer break. I know that I'm supposed to skip from the classroom with the same vigor as my students, but I just don't. It's not that I want to be trapped in a hot, smelly classroom all summer, it's just that I need some sort of distraction. So far, I have slept in, listened to Fondue bark, and then sit in complete and total boredom.

Bed

Let's address issue number one. I would probably be enjoying my summer more if I showed some initiative. I could get up at a decent time and have a shower and breakfast. The problem here is that sleeping in during the school year is impossible and I really do enjoy waking up on my own without the need to jump straight into the shower followed by a quick breakfast in my car.

Bark

Issue number two. Fondue. Please see exhibit A:

Exhibit A

He looks sweet and snuggly. He looks like he would just sit around all day. This is a lie. It is a front. This is a ploy. Do not be fooled. Please see Exhibit B for his true nature.

Exhibit B

Exhibit B shows the true Fondue. I know this isn't the best picture. It is circumstantial evidence at best. I am aware of this. You are just going to have to take my word on this one. He barks his head off (hardly breathing) while Meesh, Exhibit C, tries his darndest to ignore him

Exhibit C

Again, circumstantial. In truth, he usually has his eyes squeezed shut, feigning bark-induced migraine. He is a very sweet boy. Every now and again he has enough, though. When Meesh finally has enough it results in Exhibit D.

Exhibit D

This happened during Christmas break of 2010. Meesh finally had enough and scalped Fondue. A few stitches, the Cone of Shame, and $120 later and Fondue still has not learned his lesson. This vicious cycle has become a constant in my life.

Boredom

And finally, issue number three. I AM SO FREAKING BORED. Don't worry. It's a curable condition. I can do so many things. I could visit with my 13-year-old best friends, play hopscotch, draw beautiful chalk creations on my driveway, jump on a trampoline, work on curriculum planning, walk my crazy dogs, write blog posts, play solitaire, go to Barnes and Noble, chat with friends, work in my garden, and so much more. But...are you ready for this? It's a pretty major road block. I just can't seem to convince myself to actually get up and do any of those things.

So there it is. That's my summer break. I am thankful that I get a summer vacation. This one just isn't anything to write home about. At least not yet.

The Happiness Theory

So, I have this theory. What if I make it my goal to make each day better than the day before? Before you roll your eyes or click off of this page, let me assure you that I am so far from an eternal optimist. In fact, I tend to be on the cynical side. This is going to sound ridiculously trite, but I watched this movie last night called Happythankyoumoreplease.

It is about a fabulous group of people. I was so inspired. Each character was my favorite character. I think what I loved about it the most is that it is simply a happy story. This brings me to my happiness theory. My theory is that it is possible to simply have a happy story. Why not? I know - I know...bad things happen. I get that. What if we take those bad things and decide to turn them into an opportunity to make tomorrow better? I think the best line from this move was:

"Go get yourself loved."





I know that it's hard, but what if we all decided to let ourselves be loved. I'm always so focused on what other people think of me or how I'm presenting myself. What if a simple, happy story is just about loving and being loved? Can it be that simple? I am willing to find out.

A Morning Call

My first memory of my Granny Joan is of her sizing me up in her living room. She was lying on her couch in a house dress and I was standing in the middle of the room, my dad perched on a recliner but not reclining in the least. Granny Joan’s eyes were slits and her nose was sneered like she just bit into the sourest Granny Smith apple ever plucked from the branch. I’ll admit I wasn’t much to look at. I had long knotted hair and hand-me-down clothes that didn’t fit the way store bought clothes usually did. I had that outdoor smell. The one children get when they’ve been sweating in the sun all day and then drip dried as the air cooled in the evening. I was relieved when she turned her glare to my dad. He rarely sat down, it was custom on the Kimmel side of the family to stand. It was nothing personal. It didn’t mean that we weren’t going to stay for a few hours and visit. Kimmels were just like that. It was odd seeing him sit, his back straight as a preacher. He seemed different, smaller somehow. I didn’t know it at the time, but this was a test. My dad needed someone to watch me in the evenings and she was the last resort. This visit was scheduled for her to determine if she had time to watch me or if she didn’t. Had I known what I was in for, I probably would have found some way to convince my dad that I was old enough to take care of myself.

Granny Joan was from the strictly Irish side of the family. There was a very solid sense of pride in her. I’m not sure if it was her pride or if it was pure meanness that made her the way she was. It was a rare occurrence for her to give a kind word. It was even rarer for any kindness not to be followed by downright nastiness. I sometimes think that she agreed to watch me only to see me fail at the tasks she would give me. I was horrible at making instant coffee; it was never right. I couldn’t do laundry the way it was meant to be done. I made stupid mistakes. She had some sort of disorder that made her bleed. One of my tasks was to walk behind her if she got up to use the bathroom or go in the kitchen and clean up the trail of blood she left behind. It’s hard to mess up something like that. It was the one job I was good at, so while I was repulsed by it, I relished in the fact that I wasn’t screwing up. I distinctly remember her saying that all of her grandchildren were just fine, except for me. She never really explained why. I think it was just the nastiest comment should could think of at the time.

Granny Joan recently came up in conversation in a morning phone call from my dad. I’m not sure how we wound up on her; she just sort of popped up. My dad told me about when his dad left. He was the oldest and got the brunt of his mama’s meanness. He guessed it was because he reminded her of his dad. She lit into him like nothing else until one day when he told her that if she whooped on him again, he would whoop her right back. He was never good enough for her and he said he reckoned that’s why I wasn’t good enough either. When we hung up, I had a new appreciation for my dad. I understood why he looked so small when we went for that first visit. You can only be beaten down and ripped apart so many times until you are just a shred of who you should be. I was also able to understand where some of his anger and nastiness came from and I found myself wishing that he would have shared that part of his life with me a long time ago.

SNOW!

Snow days are a beautiful thing. I remember being in elementary school and rejoicing when the announcer on the radio listed my school. Snow days mean so much more as a teacher than they did as a student. I appreciate them on an entirely new level. Just last week I was able to celebrate two whole snow days! We had an estimated 20 inches of snow. The best part of being off was playing with my dogs in the snow. They had a blast.

Denim probably enjoyed the snow the most. He is a husky/shepherd. Snow is his favorite part of the entire year.

Proof that Den is in love with the snow. He just dives right in.

When he is tired, he burrows in and relaxes. I think he likes to pretend he is in Alaska.

Meesh is also a pretty big fan of the snow. He likes to dive right in. He has a bit of a Santa beard going on here.

PTSD 11 - Levaquin with a side of PTSD

Last week was filled with Share Joys! I tried to bring Share Joys, a fundraiser from my high school, to Beecher. Whether or not this was a mistake is yet to be determined. Seriously, though, I think that it served its purpose and some families are able to afford a little bit of Christmas, so this year was not a mistake. I don't know if I will do it again. That is up to my principal. Anyway, I spent the past several weeks preparing for this festive exhibition of holiday joy. It was a literal headache. I didn't feel good but chalked it up to the stress of fundraising and the holiday season. As the actual Share Joys week approached, I felt worse. I assumed it was stress mixed with nerves and maybe the weather.

On Tuesday (day two of Share Joys) I woke up to the most intense pain I've had in a while on the left side of my face. I convinced myself that it was nothing and got ready anyway. It wasn't until later that I realized my left earn canal was swollen shut. Nice, right? Luckily, I still had some kick ass ear drops left over from a previous ear infection. I put some of those in and went to work. The day went by with the typical stress of a fundraiser. My head and my ear hurt, but I figured it was just another ear infection and I would keep up with the drops.

The rest of the week went by so fast. The kids had final exams and all I had to do was make sure they didn't cheat and then grade the exams. No biggie. By Friday (the last day of exams), I thought I was going to pass out at work. I google-chatted Gina and asked her to call my doctor for me. Awesomely, they were able to fit me in that afternoon. I finished the school day in my principal's office, trying to figure out where all of the Share Joys money should go. Actually, he and one of my co-workers who also worked on Share Joys figured out where the money should go while I sat in a chair and tried to breathe. I added my thoughts here and there, but mostly I just sat there blowing my nose and then trying to catch my breath.

After work I went home and was going to waste some time on facebook before my appointment. Meesh, my lab/bloodhound, rang the bell to go outside. Fondue, my Jack Russell, decided that would be the best possible time to pick a fight. I went to let Meesh out and Fondue bit at his ankles (this is a normal occurrence). Meesh decided this was the last time. He turned around, picked Fondue up by the head, slammed him on the ground, and trotted outside. Fondue wandered around dazed and then went outside, too. I let Fondue back in and noticed that I had a clear view of his eyebrow muscles. I called Brooke and Randy, they came upstairs and looked, I called the vet, and off we went. We dropped Fondue off for a few stitches and I left for my own appointment.

I was surprised that I was seen so quickly at the doctor's office. I thought I would be waiting for ages since my appointment was so last minute. To cut this part short (who really needs a play-by-play of a doctor visit?) I left with a prescription for Levaquin. I was told that I had bronchitis, an ear infection (duh), a sinus infection, and folliculitis (my hair follicles had an infection, too). My doctor gave me Levaquin because he said that it was really strong and should wipe out all of my infections. I left, dropped off the prescription, picked up Fondue (complete with The Cone of Shame), and went home.

Day one of Levaquin came complete with stomach pain. Side effect number one? Check! The afternoon of day one came with more side effects. When I woke up on Sunday, I had forehead acne like a freshly pubescent teenage boy! Yes, another side effect of Levaquin. No big deal, I thought, this is going to wipe out any sign of infection and I am going to be good to go when January 3rd hits. The stomach pains and the acne continued, but I only had to take Levaquin for seven days, so it would all pass in time.

Because it is break, I also had my yearly appointment. After some interesting conversation in the waiting room, and some pretty intriguing Lego talk with my doctor, I found out that I have a cyst that causes ovarian torsion. Basically this cyst weighs down my ovary and it twists like a flower that is too heavy for it's stem...that sounds way nicer than I think it actually is. So, that explained a little about the abdominal pain I'd been having.

This was really no big deal. I've had a cyst on the same ovary. I had it removed a couple of years ago. No big deal. Little did I know, the best side effect of Levaquin was yet to come. I started to notice that I was feeling a little anxious in the afternoons and the evenings. I thought maybe it was just holiday stuff or something. After an evening in tears I realized this was more than just holiday stuff. I was sinking into something very familiar and yucky. It was like my unfortunate period of darkness was oozing its way back in to my life. After a little digging I realized that yet another side effect of Levaquin was increased anxiety. What really seemed to be happening was Levaquin was nullifying my anti-depressant. Of course, right?

It's been an interesting trip so far. Please do not think of this post as some sort of complaint. The only bad thing that really happened was the Levaquin/anti-depressant issue. I am glad to say that I really do not think my UPD has returned. It seems to be a side effect of the Levaquin. For the record, I am stopping that medication as of TODAY. I have two days left, but there is no way in hell that I am taking another UPD reminder pill! This is also a reminder for me that God is so good. Everything could be so much worse, but it isn't. Even if it was, God is right there. So really, no biggie, right?

PTSD 10 - Giving Thanks and All of That

Thanksgiving is over! Okay, so that’s old news, but it’s still big for me. Thanksgiving is a really big bump in my road. It’s funny because I’m supposed to be all thankful and reverent, but I’m always too busy freaking out. I know, I’m supposed to be beyond the freaking out stage of PTSD, but I don’t know that the freaking out stage ever totally goes away. I seriously considered calling my therapist on Thanksgiving Day and leaving a voice mail to schedule an appointment. She would have been totally okay with that, I mean it’s just voice mail, right? It’s not like I would be calling as she sits down to dinner expecting her to pick up the phone. I didn’t call. I kept telling myself that I would get through it. I would get through Thanksgiving and the memories and the anxious feelings. It would be over and I would be back to my normal self. Want to know the crazy part? It sort of worked out that way. Once Thanksgiving was over, I started to feel a little better; like I had accomplished something by existing through a holiday. It’s all about the small victories, I guess.

It has been about a year and two months since the inception of my Unfortunate Period of Darkness. This past week was spirit week at Beecher High School. At work other teachers mentioned stuff about last year’s spirit events and I was left wondering why I didn’t remember that. At one point I said, “Geeze, I don’t remember doing any of that.” A co-worker said, “Yeah, you were” [awkward pause] “sick last year.” I said, “Oh yeah! Duh! My Unfortunate Period of Darkness!” She gave me a sympathetic look and changed the subject. Last year during this time I was pretty much at home in bed or suction cupped to Gina’s ass. PTSD had such a strong grip on me just a year ago. Sometimes it seems like that time was ages ago and sometimes it feels like it was all last week. I don’t really like the fact that PTSD has etched a permanent mark in my life, but I don’t really hate it either. Don’t get me wrong. I’d rather have the flu, ya know, the really bad kind where you have to sit on the toilet and have a bucket in your lap? I’d rather have that kind of flu for 30 consecutive days than deal with PTSD for just one day. Ya know what though? I’m glad I know that. I’m glad I know what it all feels like. I’m glad I know.

PTSD 9 - I am not a victim

Originally, I started writing and the memories are just what came out. It felt so good to have the emotion out and over with that I tried it again. The third time I wrote because I was feeling scared and alone. Halfway through writing I started to feel a little more at peace. Writing seems to be pretty good therapy for me. Posting what I write has been extremely helpful, too. Instead of tucking those memories into a file folder on my computer, I am able to publish them. In a way, I am able to say, Hey! This is my dirty laundry and I really don't care if you see it. I am able to own my history even if it does sort of suck.

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is a strange entity. The disorder takes an event that I was too traumatized to really experience the first time and replays it over and over and over again. In a way, this is a blessing. I am able to re-experience the trauma until I am able to handle it in an effective way. On the other hand, my brain spends an awful lot of time in what Anne Shirley would call, "the depths of despair." While in the deepest and scariest parts of PTSD, I am so afraid because my body is literally reliving the traumatic experience. What I lovingly refer to as my Unfortunate Period of Darkness was really a time of extremely intense emotion. During this period my body was in flight mode 24 hours a day. Sleeping wasn't even a reprieve. I would wake up in a breathless panic several times a night. It was PTSD's way of reminding me that it was still there and would not be leaving anytime soon.

Going from that intense emotion to a sedated sense of peace was like living in a euphoric cocoon. When my brain and my body were able to work through that trauma again, I was able to relax. I could sleep. I could eat. Everything looked, smelled, and seemed enchanted by this new found simplicity. For lack of a better analogy, I equate the feeling to being on a peaceful high after a bad trip. Unfortunately, flying high can't last forever.

What follows this surreal emotional roller coaster is a sort of status quo. This may sound like a pretty good deal following the previous emotional encounters. Unfortunately, this status quo often leaves me feeling bitter. Please don't misunderstand. I do not enjoy reliving the trauma. And the high is fabulous, but tainted by the knowledge that it will never last. I think the bitterness stems from a desire to experience intense emotion without the repercussions.

Something else that makes me feel bitter is that being on this roller coaster comes with labels. I fear that publicizing my walk through this crap makes me look the victim. I know that what I went through sucked, but I'm not sorry that I had those experiences. I do have days when I wish I had a mom or dad that I could go to. My parents may not be there for me, but they sure as hell made sure I knew how to be there for myself. The way they went about it was definitely twisted, but I know how to handle myself and for that I thank them.

Earlier this evening I was skimming through my notes. I wanted to do a little self-assessment and check my progress with PTSD. When I was reading through my memory notes, I realized that someone could easily mistake my words as acceptance of the victim title. I am not a victim. Those experiences are trials I lived through. I am not a victim of my parents and their delusional decisions. I look back and realize that for a kid who was learning the hard way, I kicked ass. I will probably continue to write about my memories. When I do, I will be writing to let go of the trauma and embrace the victory.

I am so thankful to be surrounded by such wonderful people. There are people who have stuck with me since I was in high school and college. And my SnB gals are absolutely amazing. I am surrounded by fantastic people. Thank you all for being so supportive and encouraging. You guys have all been proof that good people do exist and I thank God for each of you and the lessons I've learned from you.

PTSD 8 - Two-by-Fours

My therapist calls these times two-by-four lessons. We talk about how life is full of lessons and that sometimes they feel like two-by-fours. I do not know what I am supposed to learn this time, but it definitely feels like a two-by-four lesson in the making. It will probably end up being the size of a ruler when all things are said and done and I look back on this time.

When I talked to Gina, she suggested that this may be a transition time issue. I mean, normally I am in front of, at the very least, 20 students all day and now I am in front of five dogs. This makes sense to me. Of course life is going to be a little different when I am only in front of five dogs. Unfortunately, when Fondue is being a butt head, threatening him with a referral does absolutely nothing. Don’t get me wrong, I do leave the house. I have made several wonderful friends at Riverside Health and Fitness Center. I have met Adolf, an 81-year-old gentleman from Munich, Germany. He used to disarm bombs during the war. He told me that I am beautiful and wants to know why I am not married, so of course I think he is adorable. I have also met Sharron, Jim, and Judy (all over 65 years of age). They are all fantastic people. We chatted about teaching, dogs, doctors, and “the good old days.” I mostly listened about “the good old days.” Strangely, I am still feeling very lonely. I think I could spend every day with several different people and still feel lonely. There is just something about going from a classroom of people all day to just a few people scattered throughout the day that makes me feel a little lost.

Okay, so all of that doesn’t sound so bad, right? I mean, let’s be serious, I do not have to grade papers, I do not have to deal with teenage attitude, I do not have to deal with my principal and his crazy mood swings. These are all good things, aren’t they? Instead, I can watch TV all day, swim at RHFC, go to Barnes and Noble any time I want (as long as they’re open, of course), eat when I’m hungry instead of when the bell rings, I can mow the lawn on the one day of the week that isn’t filled with rain, I can read all day. So what’s my problem? Isn’t this what everyone always wants? I think I want these things too, but I like them to be scattered throughout my busy days and not all in a row. I know I shouldn’t be picky about things like this. I should rejoice in the fact that I have this opportunity. I just wish I could figure out what this opportunity is for.

So, where’s the two-by-four lesson in all of this? Well, all of this time leaves me wide open for random thought. By random thought I mean, I now have ample time to freak myself out. This is not good. I would like to think that I am not the only one who does this. At the same time I would not like to think that others deal with this issue…conundrum. I recently read a book by Donald Miller (author of “Blue Like Jazz”) entitled “A Million Miles in a Thousand Years.” It is about creating a good story with your life. This book was fantastic for me to read for the first couple days of summer break. I was pumped. I was going to create an awesome story! Now that the book is over, I am not so sure what to do. Once again, I was living vicariously through the author’s journey…sigh. All of this together is forming what seems to be a frighteningly familiar two-by-four. I just hope that I can figure out this lesson before I crash into it face first.

Constant reminder: “Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.” Psalm 119:105

PTSD 7 - The Bumps in the Road Called Triggers

Trigger: "The amygdala in the emotional center sees and hears everything that occurs to us instantaneously and is the trigger point for the fight or flight response" (Goleman).

Fight or Flight: "The body’s response to perceived threat or danger. During this reaction, certain hormones like adrenalin and cortisol are released, speeding the heart rate, slowing digestion, shunting blood flow to major muscle groups, and changing various other autonomic nervous functions, giving the body a burst of energy and strength" (Scott).

Have you ever had a moment when everything seems wonderful? The air smells good, you feel good, not everything is going your way, but you're okay with it....do you know it? Have you felt it? I can think of a time last week. Earlier in the week I was enjoying the smell in the air (thistle I think). The temperature was great. Not everything was perfect, but I was feeling pretty comfortable in my own skin. It was such a nice place to be.

At the end of last week a student at Beecher Junior High School committed suicide. Before and during my Unfortunate Period of Darkness my body would have physically jolted and my mind would have gone blank when given this information. I would have temporarily shut down...maybe for just a few seconds, but it would have happened. Strangely, I did not get the jolt or the blank numbness. As a result, I did not know how to respond. I tried to wrap my mind around the situation in time for my freshmen classes. We briefly talked about suicide and signs and I answered questions (the questions that had answers anyway). Still, I was not in a panic and I did not feel numb. I took this as a sign of great improvement. I mean, if I am not responding to something that normally instills great amounts of fear in me, then I must be getting a lot better.....right?

Not so much. The student's suicide was definitely a trigger for me. The only difference between this time and previous encounters with that horrible act is that my body did not immediately go into fight or flight mode. I made it through Friday. I made it through the majority of Saturday. By Saturday night I was starting to experience the repercussions of various triggers. By Sunday I did not notice the thistle. I did not feel well. I most definitely did not feel comfortable in my own skin.

The true irony of the situation is that I do not have an appointment with my therapist this week. At my last appointment we both decided that I was doing well enough to try every other week. I am frustrated by the situation, but find it slightly comical as well. OF COURSE I don't have an appointment this week.

At this point I am angry, scared, frustrated, annoyed, and slightly anxious. My goal is to get back to where I was earlier last week: peaceful, thankful, reflective, calm, and hopeful. I suppose this bump in the road does make sense. I need these times so I can learn how to deal with them. Unfortunately, knowing that the times are needed and useful does not make them any easier.