Seasons change. Every four months we anticipate the renewal of spring, the warmth of summer, the crispness of fall and the cold, cozy days of winter. The shifts come and we embrace them.

Yet, when the seasons of our lives shift, it’s often met with anxiety and trepidation. In one short week a shift will happen in our home. From little girl in elementary school to tween in middle school. There is much anxiety around this shift. The soon-to-be middle schooler has no desire to leave the bubble of elementary school, does not want new teachers or therapists and is beyond nervous to meet new kids. Yet, I don’t see a little girl anymore, she’s taller, more independent and often times full of sass. The Mom of said soon-to-be middle schooler is anticipating a lot of time spent educating a new group of educators on what epilepsy, cerebral palsy and disability looks like for my child. Yet, this isn’t my first rodeo, I am comfortable in my skin as an advocate.

The season of my own life, or should I say decade, changed a mere two months prior to the pandemic. I met 40 with fear and quite honestly regret. The decade prior brought motherhood that threw me for a loop. I became a mother, a caregiver, an expert on my child’s medical and educational needs, an advocate, and threw myself into volunteering for everything possible related to Reagan, mainly so she could participate with her peers. All things I’m incredibly proud of, yet none of those things were solely for me. While I would never go back and change putting my medically complex child’s needs first, I would have advocated better for myself, asked for more help and found a way to not lose focus on my own hopes and dreams.

I’ve shifted my mindset recently. I’ve made the conscious choice that not every decision will be made solely for Reagan but also with my own interests and sanity in mind. All while knowing I’ll never be the “put your own oxygen mask first Mom” and accepting it none the less.

We are both a bit in denial, trying to get a grasp on the changes ahead. I hope to walk hand in hand with my tween (while she’ll still hold my hand) into this next season with grace and understanding that all the seasons before prepared us for this one. Seasons of change are inevitable, true shifts happen when we embrace them.

*To all the early-to-mid-to-late-fourties’ Mamas going through the tween and teen years with your kids, while reclaiming and owning your own life’s path and purpose, I see you and walk with you into this season. Also, who thought this was a good idea?! #allthehormones*

Self care it’s the hot topic these days. I’m constantly hearing things like take time for yourself, put your own oxygen mask on first or you need to be the best version of yourself for your child. Moms, we are the last ones to put ourselves first, I saw this first hand growing up with a single Mom, raising three girls. Add a child or children living with complex medical and educational needs, your title soon expands from Mom to nurse, teacher, advocate and caregiver and your own needs fall even further down the list.

As a trained yoga instructor, I know the importance of self care, in fact yoga helped me cope with Reagan’s diagnosis early on. It’s the application of self care that is a true challenge.

When I started this post in January of 2020, Reagan was in a place of stability for the very first time. A place where we were not at the pediatricians office every other week. A place where the school nurse wasn’t calling me multiple times a week. A place where medications weren’t being changed every few months. A place where we didn’t live in a constant state of panic. While much of that holds true still, we aren’t in that same space of seizure freedom. The pandemic added the stress of virtual schooling, loss of services and keeping Reagan healthy.

Leading up to 2020 we pushed, we added on, we doubled up. We did all the stuff. It paid off, Reagan benefited in ways I couldn’t even dream of. In doing all this, I realized the person who fell behind was me.

My two to three days of yoga slowly started to phase out making way for more therapies, appointments and even cheerleading. The once a week yoga class I taught was replaced by swim lessons, since every other night was already booked. My weight fluctuated as I let pizza and chicken cheesesteaks sneak back in because I was too tired to make healthy meals after hours of Keto prep. My hair speckled with grays and lines have creased my forehead. My body and mind are fatigued, the emotion that lies behind all the “stuff” is draining and all consuming.

You see self care is easier said than done, especially when there are complexities to your life that take precedent.

I didn’t take the best care of myself , I didn’t do all the things I wanted to do before I turned 40, I didn’t do anything for me. And I was more than okay with it because Reagan was thriving (and even with break through seizures, still is). I was okay until I wasn’t.

In the past six months I’ve found myself in the emergency room twice and at more doctors appointments than I can count. The general diagnosis was this….”you have stress and anxiety and need to dedicate time to yourself”. Now, there are a few really fun (sense the sarcasm) underlying female things going on as well (hello perimenopause at 41), some that require every six month checkups but at the core was stress and anxiety. I think any “special needs”, medically complex parent can relate.

This isn’t “oh a pandemic happened”, this has been going on for years and it finally came to a head. Looking back I never asked for help, I just kept plowing through. Travis and I haven’t been away just the two of us for even an over night in well over three years, maybe more and I can count the amount of date nights on one hand. I didn’t ask for help out of fear. Fear of not being there for Reagan. Fear someone else wouldn’t be able to handle all the stuff. Fear a seizure would happen and I wouldn’t be there. Fear a seizure would happen and whomever was with her would experience the same trauma I did after witnessing her first seizure.

I also didn’t ask for help because I didn’t realize I needed it. Sometimes help comes in the form of letting go of what doesn’t serve you. I’ve let go of a job that caused undue stress, I’m learning to say no, I’m learning to see things as they are and not as they should be. I’m learning that self care doesn’t just happen on Sundays in the form of a bubble bath and face mask. Self care is doing the things that make you, feel more like you.

This post isn’t for pity, it is a cautionary tale for those living in this world. In the midst of doctors appointments, specialists, new diagnosis’s, therapies, IEP meetings, etc., make space for yourself, for your spouse, for the person you were before this crazy ride.

This post sat dormant for well over year, a year that I lost, don’t lose the year, don’t lose yourself.