Finding Hope in a Difficult Season ~

I am not entirely sure what to write this week, which probably says something about where I am right now. My knee needs surgery, and then my opposite ankle needs surgery. I have been trying to get appointments scheduled, figure out timing, think about recovery, work, where I will stay, who will watch my dogs, and all the other practical things that come with having two surgeries. Apparently I am going to spend a good portion of the holiday season getting various parts of myself repaired.

Maybe that isn't such a bad way to spend the holidays. I will also have time with my daughters and their families, and I am looking forward to that time together. I am especially grateful for my daughter and her family right now because I need them. They are helping me navigate appointments, giving me a place to stay briefly after surgery, helping with my dogs, and providing the kind of practical support that is difficult for me to ask for and sometimes even more difficult for me to receive.

I have also been fighting some depression. I hesitate over the word fighting because I am not sure that is what I am doing. Sometimes I seem to find my way through it for a while, and then I lapse back into it again. I will have a day when I feel interested in things and hopeful about where everything is going, and then another day when I feel completely at a loss. There does not seem to be a nice linear progression where each day gets a little better than the one before it. I suppose I would prefer that, but that isn't what is happening.

The strange part is that there are things I am genuinely excited about. I can sit down and work on something at juliemlane.com and feel completely connected to what I am doing. I believe in these projects. I believe in the work I am building through Redeem Thyself, 7 Pedals, and Equal Partners through Empowering Parents Network. They are very different projects, but each one represents something I care deeply about, whether supporting women as a fellow traveler, creating opportunities for people to experience the harp, or helping parents become stronger advocates for their children. I am writing grants and beginning to see little glimmers of hope when people respond, conversations continue, or potential partnerships begin taking shape. Nothing is certain yet, and I have learned enough about grants to know that interest and funding are two very different things, but someone responding still feels good. It reminds me that I am not simply sending all of this out and hoping someone notices.

My books are slowly coming along too. Very slowly, sometimes. But I feel strongly about them, maybe even more strongly than I did when I started. I have spent so much of my life questioning whether my voice mattered that there is something important to me about putting words on a page and believing I have something to say. I don't mean that in some grand way. I don't think I have answers everyone needs to hear. I think I have experiences, questions, research, observations, and pieces of a story that may matter to someone else. I want to give myself permission to write them and eventually send them into the world.

That word permission keeps showing up in my life. Permission to write. Permission to have a voice. Permission to believe my work has value. Permission to need help. Permission to be excited about something even when another part of me feels depressed. Apparently I am still learning that two things can exist at once without one of them making the other untrue.

I miss my harp too. I cannot really play right now because I need my feet for the pedals, and sitting for long periods without being able to elevate my legs is draining. Music has become such an important part of my life again that not being able to sit behind the harp feels like another loss layered into everything else. I know it is temporary, and I know the harp will still be waiting when my body is ready. Temporary things can still be frustrating while I am living through them.

Maybe that is what this season feels like. There is a lot that is temporary, but I don't know exactly how long any of it will last. My physical limitations are temporary. This particular living situation is temporary. The uncertainty around work is temporary. I hope the depression is temporary too, although I know better than to give it a deadline and become frustrated with myself when it doesn't cooperate.

What surprises me are the little moments when something gets through anyway. An email comes back from someone interested in partnering on a grant. I write something in one of my books and think, yes, that is what I wanted to say. One of my daughters checks on me. I think about being with my family during the holidays. I work on one of my projects and remember why I started it. None of those things suddenly makes everything okay, but for a little while something shifts.

Maybe those are the glimmers I keep noticing. I like that word because it does not ask too much of me. A flimmer isn't some enormous declaration that everything is wonderful and I have found my way through a difficult season. It is just a little bit of light that catches my attention when things have been dark. Sometimes that little bit disappears again, which seems to be part of this experience too.

Right now, I think that may be enough. I can be discouraged and still believe in what I am building. I can struggle with depression and still get excited about a book. I can hate that I need surgery and still be grateful that my daughter and her family are helping me through this season. I can miss my harp and know I will return to it. I can feel lost one day and see a little bit of possibility the next.

I don't know that I am finding my way out of this yet. Maybe I am simply finding my way through it, and some days I seem to circle back over ground I thought I had already covered. I am trying not to make that mean I am failing. Perhaps finding my way includes the days when I feel hopeful and the days when I don't feel much hope at all.

For now, I am trying to notice the glimmers when they appear and allow them to be exactly what they are. They don't have to become promises. They don't have to prove that everything is about to change. Maybe they are simply reminders that even during a season when I feel physically limited, emotionally tired, and uncertain about what comes next, there are still pieces of my life that matter deeply to me.

What small glimmers of hope have you noticed during a difficult season, even when they did not last very long?

~ julie

If you feel so inclined, please reply with your thoughts.

Note: JM Lane is NOT a mental health professional, nor does she carry a license to practice medicine. Posts, blogs, and content are based on JM Lane’s personal experiences, perceptions, and reflections. By no means does any material convey what others should or should not do.

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