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I never intend to take a break from this space. But days come and go until suddenly it’s been months since I’ve been here. There is a piece of me that is hesitant to come back. The online world feels quite volatile and I sometimes wonder if it’s worth being part of it—however small that part may be. But the year is new and with the infinite number of things that are out of my control, writing in this space isn’t one of them. So here I am

As the calendar shifted to 2022, all the usual new year new you propaganda filled my newsfeed. Instagram was full of fresh journals and planners in soft, wistful colours that had people sharing their goal setting strategies. Ads for Peleton, diet apps and the occasional alcohol-free wine and beer cycled through my devices. But here’s the thing, I didn’t feel like making a fresh start. Just like 2021 forgot to take its weather and its pandemic with it, it also forgot to take the old me. As it turns out, I’m OK with that.

When thoughts of Januarys past started taking shape in my head, I began to ask myself some questions. How many Januarys have I spent trying to eat less and exercise more? How many Januarys have I said I’d be more organized, more adventurous, more present, more of this, less of that, more, more, more? How many Januarys have I spent telling myself all of the ways that I am not good enough and made a vain attempt to improve every part of me all at once, only to feel like a failure when, shockingly, I couldn’t overhaul my entire self while still keeping up with the responsibilities of life?

How many? Way. Too. Many. And I’m over it.

Maybe it’s because my 18-month planner—the cover aptly stating “I have no idea what I’m doing” because yearly planner designers get me on a deep level—started in September. No fresh new planner means no new me. Or maybe I’m just finally content with who I am. At least for the time being.

Whatever the reason, Codi from 2021 is here just tagging along for the ride in 2022. And, really, she wasn’t so bad. Room for improvement? Obviously. I would never say that making positive changes in your life is a bad thing. But it doesn’t have to be a January thing. 

I’ve come to realize that January is a survival-mode kind of month. After a busy holiday season punctuated with a virus that was possibly the virus, I’m just over here trying to get through the first weeks of the year. School and sports give us structure but other than that, the only schedule I care about is the one that tells me which kid’s turn it is to put away the dishwasher. If you’ve been here long enough you know I function best amidst a bit of chaos and my lack of planning shouldn’t come as a big surprise. While I do usually attempt an effort of organization for the new year, this year I’m embracing my chaos from the start (although I do wish someone would come organize my office—not me of course).

All that to say, I’m still here and still me. If you’ve found yourself at the end of this post, I want to say Thank-you for clicking over to catch-up with me. There is much writing to come this year—words I’ve held back and words that have yet to come to me—and I’m so happy to share it with you. Happy New Year!

And just like that, it’s December… December!

I wrote that sentence a week ago with grand plans to reconnect to this space—to all of you—but somehow time got away from me and, well, here we are. The truth is, like many of you, I’m exhausted. Really flipping exhausted.

They told me I would be independent. The doctors. The nurses. The internet. They would walk into my room and tell me how capable I would be at the same time they watched me hold my finger on a button to slowly raise the head of my bed and sit up. Laying in that same bed—one I could only leave and return to by the strength of a mechanical lift—my glasses reflected the articles and social media accounts I scrolled through on my phone. The ones that told me independence was the goal—the gold standard of disability—and I could achieve it. It was the finish line to recovery and when I reached it, I would once again be a whole person. 

Do you ever wake up and think “Maybe, just for today, I don’t have to be me.” 

This morning it felt like being me was a job better left for somebody else. Someone skinnier perhaps? Stronger? Smarter? Definitely someone better hydrated. But no matter how much I wished to have a day of reprieve—from this broken body. From the constant bickering coming from every corner of the world. From COVID and the bizarre back-to-school transition—I woke up as expected. In my bed, in my body, in my life. 

Here goes… 

I’ve been quiet. At first it was unintentional—the residual effects of quarantine fatigue that stripped me of any desire to write, share or be accountable for my thoughts in any sort of capacity. In the midst of my silence the real world erupted and the online world became hostile. I didn’t particularly care to be part of either of them and my silence became deliberate. I did not shout Black Lives Matter from here, there or anywhere. Instead, I watched and read. I wrote and deleted. I talked with my kids and discussed it all with my husband. But here, in this space, I stayed quiet—I said nothing. However anyone who knows me, knows I can’t stay quiet for long and I’m here to explain why you won’t hear me talk about racism.

I was sitting on the patio—relaxed on the couch using my wheelchair as a footrest. My hair blew around my face as a breeze swept through—the winter chill now replaced with the reassuring warmth of Spring. The document I was meant to be working on—full of choppy ideas and void of a single complete thought—sat open on the laptop in front of me. My mind wandered without the spark of inspiration.

Hello faithful readers. How are you all? Life has changed since the last time I wrote to you here. There is isolation and alarm amidst a virus wreaking havoc the world over. A virus that toys with the end of world scenarios that, as children, kept us up at night and taps into our deep-seated fears of loss and death—there isn’t much beyond the threat of illness and death that could bring the world to a stand-still as this has. And if this pandemic hasn’t changed your life, you are doing something wrong.