When You Have to Use a Disabled Parking Placard

I see it almost daily. In the health communities I’m in, someone will say “I need to get a disabled placard but I’m afraid to.” I see the images of awful notes left on the car of someone who uses a placard. You can find examples here, here, here, and here. I could keep going.

This discriminatory BS needs to stop.

I too had tremendous ambivalence about asking my doctor for a disabled placard. I didn’t even consider it an option until my mobility issues started in 2013. I was at the point where I had to drive between my classes and buildings on the college campus where I was teaching because I could no longer manage the walking. Anyone who has been to a college campus knows that finding a parking spot, just one spot, is worth its weight in gold. But I was having to find multiple parking spots all day while trying to get to class on time, and I would inevitably only be able to find a spot far in the back, which made my driving to get nearer the building pointless. It was becoming a daily crisis for me as I was desperately struggling to have enough energy to keep teaching and getting through the day. I could not waste all the energy I had trying to walk any distance and failing. 

So I went to the doctor I trusted the most, my cardiologist, to ask him to sign the form. I printed it off the DMV website. Then I felt completely ridiculous asking for a disabled placard, no matter how desperately I needed it. I even told him how absurd it felt to ask him for it. He signed it without question. I still was not comfortable with the term “disabled” then and I was still trying to pretend I could physically do what I was longer able to do. "Passing" as able-bodied is significantly easier than trying to live with disability, and I was coasting on denial as long as I could. But I asked him to sign the form because I needed to be able to work. I justified it to myself by saying “I’ll only use it on the days I really need it. I won’t take up a spot for someone who really needs it. I’m not technically disabled, and I don’t want to endure anyone’s ridicule or derision because I ‘look fine.’ I won’t use it very often.”

But I was wrong. I was and am disabled. I got the placard and ended up using it every day because it was a life saver. I wished that I had gotten it sooner when I needed it, long before I finally talked to my doctor about it. I wish that worrying about what others would say or the fear that someone would leave a nasty note on my car wouldn’t have gotten in the way of me using an invaluable resource I needed.

There are many who are going through this right now and are debating whether they should get a placard and if they want to deal with the discrimination that can come with it. They probably read these horror stories every day and see the nasty notes people leave on someone’s car because not enough people understand that most disabilities and chronic conditions are invisible.

I imagine there are a variety of reasons people leave notes on cars or make discriminatory comments to the disabled. They may believe they are standing up for those who are “actually disabled,” acting as vigilante warriors protecting a “privilege” that only a select few are “entitled” to. They may believe that people are exploiting the system for personal gain or even feel envy that someone has access to a prime parking spot anyone would want. They may assume that all disabilities are visible and that only individuals who require a mobility aid qualify as disabled.

When someone leaves a note on a car or makes a comment, they are making rash judgments about someone they’ve never even met and enacting a gross injustice on someone who faces daily obstacles already.

This needs to stop.

I count myself  “lucky” because I’ve never had a note left on my car. I had to start using a cane right after I got my disabled placard so my disability was no longer invisible. I have gotten harsh stares or questioning glances when I have used the motorized carts at stores. The last time I drove myself to a store and used the electric cart (it’s been years now since I could do this), an elderly man got angry with me because I used the last one. I needed it as much as he did. I was just trying to pick up my medications without falling or fainting in a store. Now, when I leave the house I have to use my wheelchair almost all the time.

I bring my own chair, thank you very much.

When someone who doesn't "look disabled" uses a disabled placard or an electric cart, we need to remember these points:

 1. Most disabilities and chronic conditions are invisible. Often, you cannot “see” kidney disease, cognitive disabilities, neurological conditions, cancer, prosthetic limbs, mental illness, etc. All of these and more qualify as disabilities, and these individuals are allowed access to a disabled placard to make their lives and the world that much easier to navigate.

2. Police officers, parking attendants, etc. can ask someone to show them the permit that the disabled are required to carry when they use a placard. People do not need to enact their own form of vigilante justice. There is a system in place to make sure that those who use the placards are permitted to use them.

3. No one is entitled to an explanation or “proof” of someone’s disability, especially if you do not know the person. No one is required to “prove” their disability to anyone. Believing that someone is required to explain their disability is pure ableism.

 4. If someone would like to help the disabled, there are better ways to do this than by leaving notes on someone’s car or making disdainful comments. 

You can support legislation that helps the disabled. We have the Americans with Disabilities Act in this country but the law is not perfect. We need more laws and protection for the disabled so that they can enjoy the same privileges and access those without disabilities enjoy. You can spread the word that many disabilities are invisible and learn more about why disability and illness are often considered “invisible.” You can educate yourself about all that qualifies as a disability and see that 1 in 5 people in the U.S. are disabled.

 5. There are essentially no upsides to having a disability. The disabled face hurdles every day that the able-bodied cannot fathom. If you are concerned that the disabled are getting a “privilege” that is somehow “undeserved,” you are entitled to your opinion but don’t act on it. Our society treats the disabled as a protected class and enables them tools to improve their quality of life so they can be full participants in our society. The ADA was only passed in relatively recently, 1990, and it provided legal protection from discrimination and made accessibility in public places for the disabled the law. We should celebrate the fact that those with disabilities have access to tools that improve their lives.

For any of you out there who are putting off getting the placard because you fear the ridicule or are struggling to recognize yourself as “disabled,” I know what you are going through but we must use every means available to us to help us succeed. Even if someone does leave a nasty note on your car or makes a disparaging comment to you, you can keep fighting and you can survive it. It comes from ignorance and we can only hope that someday they will understand the injustice of their act. You are making the right choice in protecting your health.

Don't let anyone diminish the choices you have to make to achieve a higher quality of life. 

The Next Round

It’s been a relatively quiet April on the health front, which I am so grateful for. I still had appointments almost every week but they were not necessarily related to diagnosis and treatment. I needed that break, and the universe gave me a win. I’m still filled with frustration about test results, the struggle to get a diagnosis, and the daily battle of managing a nebulous condition, but I’ve been able try to get to a better place this month, reorienting myself into a life that isn’t completely defined by being ill. Listening to the suffering and experience of others, trying to understand the historical civil unrest in my country, helping my family when I can, reading about prehistory, analyzing every detail of the results of the ancestry tests my husband and I did.  

But it's time to re-focus. I start the next round of appointments next week. I see my new local neurologist in two weeks, and I have an appointment Stanford on Tuesday and will finally see my neurologist there.

I’ve had that appointment for almost a year. I saw him last May, which feels like a lifetime ago. I had just finished my first year as a full time professor and it was the most brutal semester I’ve ever been through. I had to go on leave twice during the semester and my symptoms were worsening every day. I wasn’t using a wheelchair yet, but I needed to. I was struggling to drive and my independence was starting to slip away. 

I’m trying not to let the ghosts of that last appointment haunt this one. I left feeling like it was a great appointment but when I read his notes he mentioned that he discerned no walking difficulty and that I needed a “more positive outlook.”

I cried a little during that appointment. Life was pretty bleak at that moment. I didn’t get to say goodbye to some of my classes (again) because I was on leave, in my heart I knew that I was going to have to either radically change how I did my job or it was over, and the mysterious symptoms were only getting worse. Of course I was upset. I try to smile and keep a calm demeanor in appointments, otherwise you end up with notes about mental health and stress if your file, further invalidation. But I’m honestly getting to the point that I don’t care what they say. 

I spent a lot of years trying to justify and explain in appointments to get them to hear me. At this point, I don’t have the energy for that. Now I just try to present my symptoms and experiences and communicate effectively. These are my symptoms. Take it or leave it.

At that appointment a year ago, he explained that my mystery symptoms of weakness, difficulty walking, difficulty breathing, etc were not related to POTS. I had those symptoms for over a year at that point but I was still hoping they were related to POTS so I didn't have to get back on the hamster wheel of diagnosis. He gave me a list of tests he wanted me to do, and as I listened I knew those tests would take a very long time and that a diagnosis was at least a year off. At least. 

I started suddenly having mobility problems about two years ago and I told my primary doctor about it first. He took me seriously and said it was likely something else presenting itself. I refused to believe that at the time but I have told him since then that he was totally right. He figured that out before any other specialist. I really need to send him a fruit basket someday.

I saw him yesterday so that he could fill out my long term disability paperwork, and every time he sees me he asks, “did you finally get a diagnosis?” Nope. Together, we have been fine tuning innovative ways over the last few months to explain and label my symptoms for these forms without using a label that is unofficial, to the point that it becomes a humorous art. You have to laugh at the absurdity of it sometimes.

I don’t want to set myself up for disappointment, but I am hoping to finally get that label in these next appointments. Not just for the peace of mind but mainly because of the material benefits it offers: I could finally put it on my official paperwork, I can wave it in front of insurance companies who want to refuse treatment or deny benefits, and I can have access to other treatments options. If it is Myasthenia Gravis, I'll have a condition that sounds like a Harry Potter spell, so I'll feel pretty special.

I try to remember that a diagnosis is not the end game, a better quality of life is. But I can’t help wanting the diagnosis. It’s been the carrot I hold in front of myself as I’ve gone through all the torture testing for years. Yet, even with a diagnosis I know that my life wouldn’t change dramatically, but damn it would help. 

I’m doing my usual routine of carefully writing out symptoms, notes, and questions, and gathering test results to bring. Most of this has become second nature for me and my husband so it makes it easier to keep going, even when both of us are completely worn down by this process. We are staying in our favorite hotel again next week before my appointment. It’s pricey but I’m very much looking forward to that part. Sometimes it takes little things like this to make it easier, little rewards and treats along the way to make it a little more fun and enjoyable.

So this is what it looks like when you want to give up on this process but you continue to press on, trying to keep a “positive outlook,” keep digging deep for whatever pieces of hope you can find, and remember that you’ve come this far so you can keep beating on. It’s not easy, but it’s not impossible. That’s important to remember.

Whatever the results of the next appointments are, I’ll come home to my life with my cats, my husband, my music, my books, and it will be all good. I'm trying to remember that life will go on no matter what. I’ll keep working toward my goals, trying to create some art and music, write some words that have meaning, exercise as often as possible, and continue to feel grateful for this life and how lucky I really am. 

The Will to Keep Going

Too much.

I’ve mentioned throughout this blog that my mother’s health has been declining over the last year, and the last few months she went downhill rapidly. She had to stay with us for a little while earlier this year, but I couldn’t be a caregiver to her because I rely on one myself. This is part of the reason why I was bedridden throughout the end of January and all of February.

I removed myself from the situation for awhile to try to get my strength back, which worked, but she took a sudden turn for the worse during that time. My step-father had to move her into a long-term care facility. She’s 60 years old. It doesn't make any sense.

I’ve tried to help and be supportive to my family, but I'm trying to push through my own challenges.

I’m still dealing with having to resign from my dream job and convincing the disability insurance company that my wheelchair and sedentary lifestyle are not ornamental.

I thought I was navigating all of this with equanimity and then last week I got a message from one of my doctors that sent me over the edge. All of it just became too much. 

I’ve been doing testing for my pulmonologist to identify my breathing issues, especially in relation to my other symptoms. I did a spirometry (lung test) a month ago that was very abnormal. It showed the difficulty I have trying to inhale, so my doctor suggested doing a longer version, which I completed last week. She sent me a message a few days ago with the inexplicable words “everything looks normal.” It may sound strange to be frustrated by “normal” test results, but when you’re trying desperately to get a diagnosis, it can be a punch in the gut, especially when it makes no sense.

The thing that I’m really frustrated about is that I listened to my doctor. For the first lung test I didn’t take the Mestinon, which I have become dependent on to be able to breathe somewhat normally, and the results were very abnormal. For the test last week, my doctor insisted I take it, even though I explained to her my concerns that it would skew the test. And then the results came back normal. I knew I shouldn’t have taken the medication.

I’m in a bit of a predicament. I tested positive for Myasthenia Gravis, I have the symptoms (mobility problems, weakness, fatigue, difficulty breathing), and I’m being successfully treated for it (Mestinon), yet I don’t have a diagnosis. Whenever I explain this to any health professional, they are perplexed as well. This process seems backwards. I'm concerned the treatment options my doctor mentioned such as a breathing machine for sleep are no longer going to be available. I can’t discuss it with her because my next appointment isn’t until July, which feels like a lifetime from now.

I’m angry. I'm frustrated. When I read those words, I went into a tailspin. I told my husband “I’m done. I don’t want to do this anymore. No more tests. I’m done.” I wanted to cancel all of my appointments and tell my doctors I’m not going to be dragged through this process anymore.

I just want a chance at some quality of life. To be able to leave my couch successfully for longer than 30 minutes to an hour at a time. To drive (at least a little) again. To not have to struggle so hard to breathe and move, and maybe someday be able to sing again. To get some of my independence back. To be able to be supportive to my friends and family.

Every test seems to lead to more questions than answers and more tests. They are like gremlins. Sprinkle a little water on them and they multiply into destructive monsters that ransack your cupboards and terrorize your life. Every test seems to move this process one step forward and two steps back. It’s already taken more than twice as long to get this diagnosis than it did to get the POTS diagnosis. 

In the last year, I’ve been told by doctors and insurance companies I can walk “normally,” I’m “not technically disabled,” and my breathing appears to be “normal.” Yet, none of these words match my reality. These words have affected my material experience in terms of diagnosis, access to treatment, and access to insurance, but they do not reflect my lived, bodily experience. They do not reflect my inner truth. Although the question “am I wrong?” bubbles up from my subconscious daily, I know that I am not wrong. I know what the truth is. These words don’t matter in that respect.

So right now, I’m feeling done and tapped out. I don’t want to do any of this anymore. But I’ve been here before. 

Yet, I really believe the universe supplies you with what you need. I don’t have any appointments related to diagnosis or any tests for the entire month of April, which is a bit of a miracle. This gives me some time to recover and try to re-engage in this process--to step away and try to cope with all of the curve balls life has thrown at me. I owe you one universe.

In the health communities I’m in, I see people ask almost daily “How do you keep going? How do you not give up?” There is no answer honestly. There is no secret. You accept that there are times that you don’t want to do any of it anymore and then there are times it is second nature. I just try to navigate the stormy waters of anger, frustration, and disappointment. I wake up and put one foot in front of the other and the march of time seems to continue.

I try to focus on small victories and remind myself of things I have to look forward to: a new book about ancient Britain, playing video games with husband, playing music on sunny days, seeing my friends, hearing my nephews’ voices, the discovery of a documentary I haven’t seen, the prospect of recording again someday. Piece by piece these small glimpses of hope can help, and it can be enough to get by. Eventually I'll get my spark, my spunk, and my snark back.

I’m going to gather all these strands and threads of fate and try to imbue them with meaning and purpose, and then someday I’ll step away and these threads will tell a story that makes perfect sense.

I leave you with beautiful words of one of my favorite authors:

A New Year

I don’t really go for sappy sentimentality but I do like the power of reflection, reflecting as an impetus for learning and changing. 2014 was a rough ride to say the least. It was the most difficult year for me health-wise and I felt like I was perpetually trying to claw my way out of quicksand. 2014 was a re-play of the nightmare of 2011: bizarre symptoms that only got worse and worse, trying desperately to hold onto a career and some normalcy, constant tears and heartbreak, low after low. But I don’t want to think in those terms anymore. 2014 also brought gifts that I never expected and wouldn’t trade for anything.

This was the year that I essentially “came out” with my illness and started to be comfortable talking to people about it and even feeling empowered by what I’ve survived. Starting this blog in February was a catalyst for this. As I look back through the posts, the chaos and desperation is palpable in almost all of them but I tried to use writing to regain some power over my life and to understand that chaos. It allowed me to stand in the eye of the storm and sometimes even laugh at the absurdity of it. I had been thinking about starting a blog for awhile but resisted taking the plunge. This has helped me be able to externalize my experience to try to make it useful and educational for others. I’ve also met some great fellow Spoonies along the way.

This is the year I became comfortable with the term “disabled.” I put off getting a cane, then the walker, and then the wheelchair as long as possible. I didn’t want people to see me for what I truly am. Now, I don’t care anymore. I’m more than happy to take my wheelchair or use an electric cart. They mean being able to leave the house safely and comfortably. They also have the added bonus of wearing less sensible shoes and using mobility aids as an accessory, like the glitter cane my husband made me . You also get VIP parking wherever you go when you’re disabled. There has to be a perk somehow.

Glitter cane!

I’ve been reclaiming some things I lost over the last few years. When I was ill, working, and resisting my illness, I was an empty shell of a person. I had no energy for anyone or anything. I was living in a perpetual state of terror, maintaining a calm exterior and an interior in profound disarray. Not living. Only surviving. Living a double life. Now I’ve been reading more, watching endless history documentaries about Neolithic Britain, and trying to write and play more music. It’s nice to have other interests besides working.

2014 was filled with strange enhanced interrogation medical testing, including getting stabbed with needles repeatedly, doing a balance test designed for NASA, and having hot air blown in my ears. Some people can talk about their adventures in travelling over the year, but I wonder how many of them have had a doctor say to them, "Ok. Now it's going to feel like you're peeing." Now, this is how to party.

I have made some progress toward a diagnosis. We know I have some kind of neuromuscular autoimmune disease that is likely Myasthenia Gravis but my doctor is hesitant to provide the official diagnosis. I'm trying to get comfortable continuing to live in the grey area. The plot twists of this medical story just keep getting more and more strange. Even without an official diagnosis, they started treating it and I can do more than I could a few months ago, including doing some sort of exercise every day. I hope to keep up the momentum of that success this year.

Since I’m home-bound now most of the time and creating a permanent indentation in my couch, I really savor moments spent with family, friends, my husband. I am more present than I’ve ever been in my life and that has given me real joy. I’ve stopped taking on things I am not physically able to do with the idea that “things will just eventually get better and I’ll be able to do it” and instead started thinking about living a life within my physical limitations. The process of attaining these gifts was brutal but in many ways it was worth it.

The best gift 2014 gave me by far is acceptance. I spent a lot of energy the last few years hiding my illness, feeling shame and guilt, and fighting it. This had a predictable outcome of only making me worse. I am no longer fighting it so hard and resisting every change and every low. I truly learned how to get over it. I no longer feel the need to explain, apologize, or justify, even with my doctors. I no longer have the energy to do this anymore and it is emancipating as hell. I am what I am so take it or leave it. I want to scream from the mountaintop “Screw it! Whatever! I don’t care!” Then sip some tea and go back to lying down.

I don’t have any resolutions, just a few goals. I really hope to reclaim some of my independence that I have lost over the last year (including driving), conjure more creative output (maybe even some recording), and keep working toward acceptance. (And maybe, just maybe make more progress with diagnoses). I hope to get back to being in tune with the world again. 

I hope that you are also able to celebrate everything you have overcome and achieved this year and I wish you all the best in attaining your goals. I wish you good health, lots of rest, tons of chocolate, and genuine joy.

Thanks for being part of this journey :)

This song by one of my favorite artists perfectly sums up my year. Not sure how Tori Amos managed to tell my story way back in 2007.

Today, I Refuse

Today, I refuse to accept that it’s gotten to this point

I refuse to accept that I will not be able to leave my couch or bed for longer than a minute or two

I refuse to accept that I am unable to drive and am losing my independence

I refuse to accept the crushing fatigue

I refuse to accept the medication I take makes me worse as it makes me better

 

I refuse to accept I can’t work

I refuse to accept the diminishing participation in my passions and hobbies

I refuse to accept I can’t walk more than a few feet without aid

I refuse to accept that any form of exercise is so difficult

I refuse to accept my body getting weaker every day

I refuse to accept the cost of illness my husband and family also have to bear

I refuse to accept there’s no cure or real treatment for my conditions

I refuse to accept my difficulty to show up to appointments and medical tests

I refuse to accept that no matter how hard I try to do everything right, I've only been getting worse 

I refuse to accept the powerlessness

I refuse to accept my body as an unwilling participant in my life

But tomorrow, I’ll wake up and I will try to accept again

Because acceptance makes tomorrow bearable

Acceptance is liberation

Acceptance is healing

Today, I refuse

Tomorrow promises a fresh start to try again

Absurdities

This blog is an exercise in honesty and exposing the often invisible battles of the chronically ill. This is the truth. I am digging deep into my reserves of perseverance right now and keeping a stranglehold on hope. I am living a life much less vertical these days. I rarely am able to leave the house, so I’m feeling less of a member of the daylight experience. I’m considering only dressing in black and really committing to this vampire lifestyle.

The weight of the world is heavy on my shoulders. There are some intense family issues going on. Not only am I not able to work, doing basic things like showering, preparing meals for myself, driving is getting harder. Leaving the house requires using the wheelchair. I've lost my independence, but I'm working on adjusting to this new normal. I keep thinking “I’m 34 years old. This can’t be it. This won't be it” 

I’m trying to focus on the present because that’s easier. I am living authentically still and learning how to not fight my illness so hard, but it feels sometimes that I have relinquished even the illusion of control over my life to this illness. It will take time to adapt. Luckily, time is what I have right now.

Life is filled with an endless string of absurdities. I like to get lost in the abstraction of it sometimes. One way I’ve learned to cope with all of this is to focus on the nonsensical nature of being, and living with illness turns the absurdity up to eleven. This helps relieve some of the heavy weight off my shoulders if I can laugh about it or see it objectively as a ridiculous charade. 

Here are some recent absurdities: 

  
--- My husband and I have gone to Stanford so many times this year, we’ve joked we should get an apartment in Palo Alto (except we aren’t exorbitantly wealthy enough for that). So I sent a message to my local neurologist to see if she could do one of the tests they asked me to do at Stanford nearby. Instead of giving me a yes or no response, my doctor’s nurse turned a simple communication into an impossible riddle. It was like communicating with the Mad Hatter. I even had my primary doctor intervene to no avail. I asked that question over and over and could not get an answer. So I gave up. I’m making the long trek to Stanford to do the test. Forget it.   

I then tried to make an appointment with that same doctor and I made the dumb mistake of mentioning I may have a new diagnosis to that nurse. The nurse told me “if you have a new diagnosis, you can’t get an appointment without a new referral.” I’ve been seeing this doctor for eight years, and I need a new referral? I've been doing this long enough to know that this not how the referral process works. Ridiculous obstacles and incompetence like this explains why the average time to diagnosis for the chronically ill is six years. 

I was already thinking about breaking up with this doctor, and this sealed the deal. I don’t have the energy to fight obstacles I shouldn’t have to fight and this nurse has been a huge obstacle. When I do finally get a new doctor, I will write a letter explaining how much extra stress that nurse has caused and why I had to move on. I want to tell my doctor “It isn’t you. It isn’t me. It’s your impossible nurse.”

 

  

Finding a new doctor is hard. I'd compare it to dating because the goal is to find a doctor you can be with long-term. You need compatibility and shared goals, so I don’t want to make the wrong choice. Divorcing a doctor is messy, complicated business. We need something like a dating website for patients and doctors. I want to plug in what I’m looking for in a doctor and a website will connect me with a doctor who has similar interests and who has heard of my bizarre conditions. We could talk online and exchange pics and then decide to meet in person. The first question I’ll ask: can your nurse answer basic yes or no questions?

Hey girl, I even know what POTS stands for

 ---I'm having a hard time getting around my house, even with my cane sometimes. If we have the ingenuity to identify the Higgs boson particle, I think we could start creating teleportation technology. That would make getting around easier. Imagine what it could do for traffic congestion.

--- I mentioned in my last post that I am going to Stanford next week for another test to perhaps get a confirmation of Myasthenia Gravis. I am not sure what's been more difficult: getting the initial diagnosis for POTS or getting this differential diagnosis. I will hopefully leave that day with some answers and maybe even a diagnosis. My husband and I are preparing for this appointment. If you are young, female, and fabulously ill, I recommend taking someone with you who can confirm the accuracy of your explanation of symptoms. I’m using a wheelchair, having difficulty talking and breathing at the same time (totally overrated anyways), and working hard to maintain enough functionality to not be constantly bed-ridden, but I have still been met with skepticism. I have only seen this doctor twice in two years, so I’m trying not to take it personally. 

When I saw this doctor in May, I was in really bad shape. I was in my second leave of absence that semester. I missed the end of the semester and didn’t get to say goodbye to my students. I was bed-ridden most of the time and devastated that I could not succeed at life let alone succeed at my dream job. I left there thinking it was a good appointment. A few weeks later, I read his notes and at the end he wrote “patient needs a more positive outlook.” Absurd. I’ll never forget those words because they undermined how hard I work every day to maintain my health and hold onto hope.

I’m not worried about the test; I’m worried about what my doctor will say and whether I’ll be able to keep it together. I have learned the hard way: there’s no crying in baseball and there’s no crying in appointments. Keep it together because any emotional response could lead to invalidation. All I want is to leave there with some answers. After all this time, I just want something tangible I can hold onto that explains this chaos.

If it really is Myasthenia Gravis, another very rare illness, I should probably start playing the lottery if I'm this good at ridiculous odds.

--- Halloween was just a few days ago, but I’m probably going to get my Christmas tree up this week. Surrounding myself in glitter and twinkly lights makes everything better. I like to celebrate glitter year-round. I don’t think that’s absurd at all.

 

I hope you have a tactic you use to navigate life’s struggles. Stepping back from the madness of life to appreciate the absurdity of it all gets me through sometimes.