begin again

Begin Again. It's the admonishment given dozens of times through silent retreats, meditation workshops, prayer, and the pages of books from some of my favourite teachers. Begin Again means so many things to me. It's an invitation to start on a fresh page, with no fear of judgment or recrimination. It's an encouragement to give something another try, with no expectation or pressure. And it's a reminder to hold fast and stay the course, with no attachment to outcomes.

My life these last several months has been a series of invitations to begin again. In my last post, AH and I were preparing to celebrate six months of migraine-free living. I'd been free of migraines for 168 days. Two days after I published that post, the migraines returned. Begin Again.

In March, AH and I bought a new-to-us house and sold our beloved home of eight years. We moved in early June. Our new home will allow us to lay a foundation for the next phase of our life together, which will allow both of us to slow down and take more time to land in ourselves after so many years of illness, hardship and struggle. Begin Again.

This fall, a much-beloved friendship dissolved in an instant with heated words after a series of missteps on my part. Begin Again.

I've jumped the broom into menopause, which has brought an uncontrollable roller coaster of emotions, power surges (this sounds SO much better than hot flashes, right?), and a new body with some very unfamiliar lumps and bumps and bulges. It has also brought a precious new beginning: a life free of migraines. Begin Again.

A huge renovation and then a relocation into our home for our business this fall. And with this step, a teary good-bye to the space that has been my professional home for 20 years. Begin Again.

Begin Again. It's a simple instruction. But beginning again takes strength, perseverance and courage. When the migraines returned after five months and two days, I felt like something had been taken from me. But I realize now that in counting my moments of freedom, by marking migraine-free days on the calendar, in measuring the moments between my last migraine and the current snippet of time, I was holding myself prisoner. I wasn't beginning again. Rather, I was holding my breath.

Begin Again. We spent eight years loving our home, making it ours, and it became a refuge in the midst of great struggle and hardship. But when the time came to say good-bye, it was so easy to let go of a home where so many bad things had happened. Our new home was equally loved and beloved to its family, and we feel blessed to begin again here.

Begin Again. Friendships are living, breathing organisms. They require regular tending, fertilization and care. With all that I've navigated this last few years, my friendships have suffered. They've been neglected as I've retreated within, unable to give time or space to anything other than getting through each day. I'm so thankful to the amazing family of friends who have stood by and been patient. And I'm grieving the loss of a key friendship that was a casualty of my illness and my inability to give space to anything outside myself and my struggle. But that loss has reminded me of how precious my special people are, and I find myself with a deep wish for connection and restoration in my friendships.

Begin Again. Menopause has brought some unwelcome changes. 3am hot flashes, a 20 pound weight gain, and the metabolism of a slug. But it's brought an unexpected blessing: my migraines came to a screeching halt on the day of my first hot flash. And this time, there is no counting days. I can't tell you the day of my last migraine. I can't tell you the last time I had a brain stem aura. You'd think this particular beginning again would have been quite joyous and easy, but it has been filled with challenge. I hadn't realized the profound trauma that had accumulated through the years of living my life alongside daily pain and disability, and through the multiple brain stem auras that left me paralyzed and fighting for breath. Beginning again after migraines is still a work in progress. But I no longer go through my days living in fear of my next brain stem aura. And it's a daily blessing to wake up and go out into my life free of pain.

Begin Again. Living with chronic illness for eight years pushed AH and I to make a series of choices about our future. For the last five years we've explored a variety of options for a simpler life with fewer demands and less responsibility. This summer and fall have seen the realization of that dream as we renovated our new home and moved our business into a sweet little space downstairs. Last week I took one last walk through my old clinic and said good-bye to a space that has blessed me, nourished me, held me and sustained me for 20 years.

Beginning again is a choice I've made each day through the last several years. It has required letting go of the day before and stepping into the new day without residue or resentment. It hasn't been easy. It hasn't been free of challenge. It hasn't been free of grief or sadness. But beginning again has kept me alive and has brought me to this new today, to this new life and to our fresh start. It's both miraculous and magical. With each new day I say thank you.

And still each day, I begin again.

Postscript: I've laboured over this post for more than a month, unsure why I was having such a hard time hitting "publish". And then I realized: privilege. This post is written through the lens of my life, my socioeconomic privilege, my educational privilege. And I'm mindful that not all people have the same blessings that I do. Regardless, the ingredients of beginning again are the same for everyone: Keep going. Move forward. Choose differently. Shift perspective. Look up. Go around. Try again.

Bless you today,

Misty