What Doesn't Kill You

This was my week for a pity party.

I freely admit that on occasion, I indulge in the very annoying habit of feeling sorry for myself. We're in the middle of one of those rare times in life when the stars align, and all hell breaks loose.

Since I generally try to be upbeat when I blog, I won't go into explicit detail, but suffice it to say, I have a sister who is gravely ill and hopping in and out of rehab, another sister who was severely injured last week, and we're still grappling with the great accidental foreclosure debacle. Suffice it to say, the stress level is high lately.

I try to alleviate stress by reading. When I should be shuttling the endless loads of laundry or weedeating the back acre, I'm sitting with my Nook, alternately hating what I'm reading, or wallowing with envy. Right now, I'm reading Crossing Borders by ZA Maxfield and wallowing in envy. (Good thing I like you so much Zam!) Why can't my characters talk like that? Why can't they step off the page in vivid, colorful life? Whaaaah!

There, I just had my moment of pity.

Yeah, things are rough, but they're good too. My kids are doing well, Amanda is moving from Venice to Monte Carlo as we speak. I've got a lunch date with Mia, and she's asking for advice on her new puppy. Just when I thought my writing would come to a grinding halt, it's actually coming through with relative ease.

Maybe it's because of my age, or maybe it's because I've lived through harrowing times, but I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. In time, things will turn around and get better. I still remember when I was 23 and had two little babies. I left my husband, discovered that my parents were splitting at the same time. I moved in with my mother, and within a year, she lost her house and car because she was disabled, and my father refused to pay court ordered alimony. We were dirt poor, scrambling for change in the couch cushions and pawning wedding rings for milk. My grandpa died, my dog got hit by a car, and to cap it all, I developed a bleeding ulcer and nearly died. Twice. (Go toward the light, Belinda...!)

Those tough times eventually passed and true to the old adage, it didn't kill us, but it did make us stronger. I pushed my way through college and my mother learned self-sufficiency that she'd never have considered while married to an overbearing man. In the years that followed, wonderful things happened in our lives. If I hadn't had the bad experiences, I would never have learned to cherish the good in life. If I hadn't had to survive, I would never have developed the faith in myself that allows me to sit before a blank page and visualize writing thousands and thousands of words...without fear.

So when things are tough, remember that they will get better. Take the experience, hold it close and learn from it. Once you've taken the good, let go of the rest. The next time the roof collapses or every appliance in the house breaks down, you'll be able to take a deep breath and know that not only will you survive, you'll grow.