begin again (again)

this quiet life has been fallow for nine months. It's not that there haven't been creative sparks. I've started a half dozen posts in my mind as I move through my days, and each one sits in my drafts folder, ready for me to turn into something I can launch online. Every few weeks I get excited to dive into these ideas, but each time I sit in front of my computer screen, I freeze. Words won't flow. And so my ideas are sitting, unfinished; tight little blooms that steadfastly refuse to unfold into something more. I've given them permission to rest, to develop more fully into something I can actually write. But time and space don't seem to have helped.

Do I need to write? Unequivocally, YES! this quiet life is here because I have a story. Three years ago, when my little blog was born, words flowed easily. I was so raw and tender and utterly trapped with what I was navigating with my health that I needed somewhere that I could be free. And writing gave me that. But I'm realizing that what I envisioned for this space hasn't been the focus of my writing. I started out with the vision of writing about quiet spaces, quiet practices and the role that quiet plays in my life. Instead, this quiet life has been a space to for me to document my journey through chronic illness and a traumatic medical condition.

On that note, I'm so thankful to say that my season of migraines and brainstem aura have passed. This summer marked a year since my last migraine. It turns out menopause was all that was needed: the day of my first hot flash was the day of my last migraine. Remission has been a journey filled with ups and downs. I've realized this past year that my migraines and brainstem aura had become a storyline that I identified with very closely. I'd forgotten how to live without them, and my daily life had become so consumed by them that it was difficult for me to know who I was without them. It was a very tender 'in between' time. I wasn't sick, but I wasn't yet well. Having one foot in two places at the same time was difficult to navigate.

I was jolted into a different space last December when, in the same week, I learned about the Omicron variant and that Suleika Jaouad (Between Two Kingdoms: A Memoir of a Life Interrupted), whose work had guided and inspired me, was suffering from a relapse of leukemia. I was devastated, and retreated within myself for many weeks. But as COVID-19 numbers took off and Suleika began treatment, I realized I really had to make a choice: remain in an attitude of sickness or choose to be healthy. I chose health.

And so, after several months of migraine-free living, AH and I were finally free to enjoy our life. For the first time in years, we could count on me waking up feeling well, and we no longer made plans with "as long as there's no migraine that day" attached to them. We enjoyed an epic snowshoeing holiday in Whistler. We booked trips to catch up with family we hadn't seen since before the pandemic. We planned a trip to Alaska. And we were so excited about the wonderful summer that was coming, full of outdoor activities and fun.

But then, COVID came along. AH and I had it in early May this year. We were sick, and I struggled with breathing, but we came through and were back to work in 10 days. But 10 days after that, I ended up in the ER with chest pain and shortness of breath. I thought I had pneumonia. It turns out that my lungs were fine, but my heart wasn't.

Those heart issues you hear about with COVID? They're rare, but they happen. For many - including me - this has morphed into a collection of Long COVID symptoms: chest pain, shortness of breath, energy crashes, and nervous system fragility. And so, less than a year after being released from one chronic health condition, I'm now navigating another. With my migraines, I took my meds and pushed through my days. Being busy helped me to get through the pain, and I figured that each day I made it through would bring me one day closer to a migraine-free day. With Long COVID, there's no pushing through. Meds and supplements help, but I've learned the hard way that pushing leads to crashing. And a crash can take days or weeks to recover from.

Long COVID has been devastating. Unbelievably hard. Frustrating. Incomprehensible. I'm five months into this new journey, and AH and I are still wrapping our heads around our once-again limited life. Though I have to say, my initial wish for this quiet life is being fulfilled through my walk with Long COVID. Long COVID has forced my hand. It has taught me to prioritize my activities. I rest every day when I'm not working. I've finally gotten around to nesting in the room in our home that's been set aside just for me. But I haven't done these things because I want to. I've done them because I've had to. Quiet is no longer optional for me.

During these months with Long COVID, I've realized that although I love being quiet, it isn't my natural state. I enjoy being busy. I have a powerful mind that loves to solve problems and tackle big logistical challenges. I'm a do-er. And I like to be on the move. Though when presented with an opportunity to be quiet, I happily dive in.

I was given that gift this week as we spent some beautiful time with AH's daughter and her husband in the Eastern Townships of Quebec. They're homesteaders and it's inspiring to see how they feed themselves, tend their land and work towards greater self sufficiency. I've loved every moment of our time with them. Popping out to the garden to harvest greens and edible flowers for lunch, eating al fresco in the sunshine on the lawn, sharing quiet conversation about things that matter to all of us in their cozy living room, and long walks on the land to take in the full splendour of fall colours have been daily routines. Morning walks in the forest have quieted my mind and opened my heart. And on one of those sunny forest walks with leaves crunching under my feet, I was extended an olive branch when God whispered in my ear: "You can fight this, or you can befriend it."

And in a moment, so many things fell into place for me. I've been viewing my illnesses as things I need to fight, conquer, overcome. But what if, instead, I choose to walk alongside them? What if I have been given an opportunity to work cooperatively within limitations that have arrived to teach me a more sustainable way to live? It's a new direction for me. I'm a lifelong independent overcomer, not accustomed to partnering or accepting restrictions. It's the ultimate begin again for me.

Today, on our last walk in the woods, I realized, "Long COVID is really just pain in a different form". And it's true. Long COVID is profoundly different than the migraines I walked with, but I've existed with (lived would be too strong a word) pain and limitation for years now. And though I'm far too tired to overcome Long COVID, I can befriend it. I can ask it what it needs. I can sit with it, sit in it, camp out with it. I don't want to. I'd so much rather be well. I want to be anywhere but here. But for now, I can create space for this new, most unwelcome guest and see where she leads me.

Tomorrow we leave our cozy nest in the Townships and fly across the country to return home. A week isn't much time to cultivate depth or stability in the gifts I've received during this precious time with AH's family. But it's a start. I'm further ahead than I was a week ago when I arrived in Montreal. And I'm bringing home such precious cargo with me.

Begin again. Again.