Thievery

In my blog post yesterday I wrote, in regard to my pet-sitting business, "This quiet Christmas, my decision to no longer post on my Twitter and Linked In [business accounts], and allowing my [business] website to go dark - well, I again feel a sense of loss."

A few hours after I posted the blog piece I asked Hubby, "Have I shared my feelings about letting my website go?"

He thought for a moment and answered, "No."

"It's affected me more than I want to admit. I realized it this past week - that some of the depression I was feeling was because of the website."

I started crying. "It's one more thing that's been stolen."

I cried harder. "It's one more nail in the coffin."

The tears rolled.

I allowed myself to grieve.

I've known for months I was going to let the site go dark. GoDaddy, my web host, had called me a few months back. They do that from time to time. I talked with the guy and told him I needed to let the site go. He said all I need to do is to just take it off auto-renew. But I didn't do anything about that until Tuesday, December 26. I logged into the website account and deactivated my auto-renew.

That's when the finality-reality set in.

On Friday, December 29, I posted a no-longer-going-to-be-posting announcement on my business Twitter & Linked In accounts.

My pet-sitting business has been like my child since I decided to acquire the business in January, 2011. Even though I've had to continually downsize since August, 2013, the action of letting the website go dark - it's like a death.

Am I exaggerating? I don't think so.

I know, it's just a website. But to me it represents my heart, work, relationships, and all my dear pet friends - some who have died and some who have moved away and some who I've had to bid farewell due to my illness.

And the site represents the goal and dream I had when I decided upon a pet-sitting business:
I'd walk and walk and walk dogs, pay off the mortgage, and go thru-hike the Appalachian Trail (AT).

The AT was a dream from high school, but I had to let it go partly due to my commitment to The Way, to severe adult-onset asthma and other auto-immune problems (which I overcame after a couple decades), to responsibilities of raising a family, and to helping take care of my quadriplegic father.

The resurrected (and very doable) AT dream of 2011 was a dream-possibility come true. That goal gave me purpose while in the process of empty nesting; while recovering from an abusive mental health therapist with whom I had previously teamed up with a purpose of helping people recover from cult involvement; and while continuing to find purpose after letting go of the all-encompassing, true-believer purpose of taking the Word to the next generation and beyond.

My AT thru-hike dream is now (mostly) dead, though I still hang on to a tiny, thin thread of hope.

When dealing with losses (especially due to my illness), or when going through self-pity episodes, I typically counter by bringing to mind:

• the good in my life. And there is much good, much good. I am well aware of my good fortune and privilege just because of where and when I was born, among other things.
• people who are far worse off than I and struggle moment-by-moment to survive.
• the many things I still can do, in spite of the many losses and things I can no longer or, at least seldom, engage.  
• the many serendipitous events which have led to partial answers that have brought improvements to my condition. More answers may still come.

But yesterday was not a time to use that coping skill.

Yesterday, I needed to grieve the thievery of one more part of me.

Abilities and dreams have been stolen by this illness.

Sometimes, when I've tried to share about my symptoms and losses due to the illness, people have responded, "Getting old is a bitch."

But my losses and these symptoms are not due to aging; they are due to a mercurial, stealthy thief which has been hard to catch. My ability to recover is affected by aging. But the ailments themselves are not.

It's no secret that I go up and down between denial and acceptance, between hope and despair, between apathy and motivation, and other betweens I can't think of at the moment.

I think that's a normal seesaw to the circumstances. And to life itself.

Or maybe a better comparison is the up-and-down on a merry-go-round...

~*~

Happy Moo Year. Cows seem to be such peaceful animals....

Blue Ridge Parkway cows. 12/31/2016