Week Two: Life Had Other Plans

Well, apparently life has a sense of humor.

The very first week I decided I was going to focus on myself, improve my health, get to the gym, spend more time reading, walk my dogs, and generally become the poster child for self-care... my body decided to stage a full-scale rebellion.

First came a stye in my eye.

Then came a nasty cold.

And just like that, my grand plans for self-improvement were replaced by lying in bed wondering if getting up to make a cup of tea was worth the energy expenditure.

Let's talk about self-care this week.

How much did I accomplish?

Absolutely nothing.

Not a damn thing.

No gym.

No books.

No walks.

No meditation.

No inspirational sunrise moments.

Just me, a box of tissues, and two dogs staring at me like I had personally betrayed them.

Their little faces said it all.

"Mom, I don't care if you're sick."

"Throw the ball."

"Take me for a walk."

"Why are you still in bed?"

I wish I could tell you I pushed through it, but I didn't.

I rested.

And maybe that's the lesson.

Sometimes self-care isn't becoming a better version of yourself.

Sometimes self-care is simply surviving the week without making things worse.

I did make it to therapy.

That was productive... sort of.

Unfortunately, by the time I got there, I wasn't focused on personal growth.

I was focused on not ending up in jail because I was so angry at my partner.

Not normal angry.

Not mildly irritated.

The kind of angry where you start mentally composing speeches, arguments, and imaginary revenge plots while driving to your appointment.

Long-distance relationships are hard.

Not the cute Instagram version.

The real version.

The version where somebody used to be sitting beside you and now they're not.

When things weren't going well, he could reach over and grab my hand.

Turns out holding your own hand doesn't have quite the same effect.

Who knew?

I miss the stupid little things.

I miss hearing him breathing beside me in bed.

Even when he's snoring like a goddamn chainsaw.

Even when I'm lying there contemplating whether putting a pillow over his face would count as a criminal offense.

I miss it.

I miss having somebody physically there.

Before these work trips, we had problems like every couple does, but we were generally living the same life.

Now we're living completely different lives.

He's golfing in January.

I'm trying not to freeze my ass off in Alberta.

He's dealing with challenges there.

I'm dealing with challenges here.

And somewhere in the middle we're trying to stay connected through text messages, phone calls, and sheer determination.

The funny thing about long-distance relationships is that when you finally get back together, you spend the first week irritating each other.

You're out of sync.

You're used to your own routines.

You're both defensive.

You're both annoyed.

You spend a week wondering if you even like each other.

Then, just when things start feeling normal again, one of you has to leave.

And you start all over.

It's tough.

Really tough.

But we'll get through it.

We'll get through it because we love each other.

We'll get through it because neither one of us is a quitter.

And honestly?

We'll get through it because starting over sounds absolutely exhausting.

One of the best conversations I had this week was with Christine.

She's raising twin boys.

Mine are pushing forty now.

Somehow we ended up laughing about motherhood and the absolute insanity of raising twins.

I was telling her about bringing my boys home from the hospital.

For those of you who don't know, I wasn't much more than a kid myself.

I remember standing outside that hospital with two babies and thinking:

"What kind of organization lets me leave with these things?"

I had no clue what I was doing.

No instruction manual.

No parenting degree.

A truckload of trauma.

And somehow I was expected to keep two tiny humans alive.

Terrifying.

Meanwhile, Christine was telling me stories about raising her boys and there was this moment where we both just started laughing because motherhood hasn't changed nearly as much as people think.

The details change.

The panic doesn't.

The exhaustion doesn't.

The moments where you're sitting on the floor wondering if you're doing any of this right definitely don't.

People used to criticize me all the time.

My boys were wild.

And by wild, I mean they were basically two tiny orangutans with a shared mission to destroy my sanity.

People didn't want me bringing them over.

People judged.

People had opinions.

Looking back now, I think:

Instead of judging, why didn't somebody jump into the swamp with me?

Why didn't somebody help?

Because here's the truth.

I wasn't a bad mother.

I was a child raising two children while trying to survive my own life.

There were days I sat on the floor and cried.

Actually, if I'm being honest, there were moments I sat on the floor and cried.

Minute by minute.

Trying to figure out how to raise two little boys that seemed far smarter than I was.

Trying to give them a better life than the one I had.

Trying not to screw them up.

Trying to survive.

People always want parenting to have this beautiful ending where you proudly announce that you raised amazing children who became perfect adults.

That's not my story.

My story is simpler.

I didn't kill them.

They didn't kill me.

We all survived.

Some days, especially back then, that felt like a wildly ambitious goal.

And honestly, looking back, that's enough.

So what did I learn this week?

Life doesn't care about my plans.

Bodies get sick.

Relationships get complicated.

The weather in Alberta still sucks.

The house is a disaster.

My dogs are disappointed in me.

And somehow, despite all of that, life keeps moving.

This week wasn't a success story.

It wasn't inspirational.

It wasn't productive.

It was real.

Next week, hopefully, looks a little different.

I'm getting back to the gym.

I'm getting back on track with food.

I'm going to start exploring podcasts and finding voices that inspire me.

Maybe I'll read a book.

Maybe I'll listen to one.

Maybe I'll just sit quietly for five minutes without somebody needing something from me.

At this point, that sounds pretty luxurious.

The goal isn't perfection.

The goal isn't becoming some magically transformed version of myself overnight.

The goal is simply not abandoning myself when life gets messy.

And this week?

Life got messy.

But I'm still here.

Love, laughter, and a little bit of chaos,
Fina

Veni, Vidi, Vici 💜