My personal pandemic was 2018–19; sorry yours was 2020. They suck.

I’m not sure I’ve had a trigger to write quite like the current cover of Time.

Time’s CoverGirl for Worst Year Ever

See, I disagree. Vehemently.

2020 was my Best Year Ever.
2020 was the year I got my life back.
2020 was the year my kids got their mom back.
2020 was the year I reclaimed ME.
2020 was the year I realized what matters, who matters, and who could fuck right the fuck off.
2020 was the year I learned to meditate — REALLY meditate.
2020 was the year I got gifted glorious staycations (that turned into meditation retreats).
2020 was the year I learned to trust. (Because 2020 was the year I learned that nothing — and I mean NO FUCKING THING — is under my control.)
2020 was the year I learned how to set boundaries (I’m still figuring out how to keep them; whole different process, that).
2020 was the year I found all the right physical and mental health mentors.
2020 was the year I got gifted the most precious asset of all — time (followed closely by knowledge).

Were there snotty sobfests? Were there giant, bloody lessons? Was it hard? YOU BET YOUR FUCKING ASS. But worst?? Not by a long long longggggggggg longshot.

I could go into details, but we are self-centered creatures and stories about my health, personal, financial, and mental burnouts, breakdowns, and shitshows won’t serve to help anyone but me (I’ll gladly share them if you ask; I’m going to go journal about them to spend some time reviewing The Gap and acknowledging how far I’ve come. hashtag blessed) Plus, if you’ve been around for any length of time, you know most of my shitshow.

I guess the point I wanted to make was simply that you never know when your pandemic is going to hit or when someone else is in the middle of theirs. Be kind — to people you meet, to yourself, to those you disagree with. Yeah, it’s a colloquial phrase, especially this time of year, but these things don’t become things without truth behind them. Here’s another: Everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about; if you are truly their friend, you likely know the intimate details because you’ve been deemed safe enough to be trusted with them. If you don’t know their fight, then perhaps that’s something to consider — why don’t they trust you enough to share them?

In closing, I will say this — I see you. If 2020 was your worst year ever, then the next one might be hard, and maybe even the one after that, but if you’re willing to see the lessons from this year as the tools to navigate the ones on the horizon, you get to leave behind the bad, the baggage, the bullshit to step freely onto a blank canvas of your life. ’18 and ’19 showed me what I didn’t want. ’18 and ’19 allowed me to get realllllllllly fucking clear on what wasn’t working. ’18 and 19' filleted me alive so I could cleanse the wounds, see the traumas, identify the programming so that 2020 was the year I healed, cleaned up, and reprogrammed.

You’ve got this.

*If an asteroid takes us out at the end of 2020, I retain the right to call for a recount on the Best Year Ever Election (though, to be honest, I’m 99.999% certain it would still win).

Mom | Explorer | Wonderer | Lover | Literary sniper. Chase what matters; ignore the rest.

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