3 Years Later… (part 1)

Can we pretend this time jump was intentional?

No?

Okay.
It’s been 3 years since I last published on this little blog. I am both the same and very, very different than I was at that last post.

A month after the last thing I wrote here, the world shut down. We watched dead bodies by the hundreds pile up in cities, some taken out in truckloads to be “buried” in mass graves.
Our schools, cities, job sites, medical buildings, gyms, churches and other community sites shut down. We stayed inside. We wore masks when we left the house. Even the neighborhood playground was closed.
My therapy practice boomed. As we all navigated this new world, as our coping strategies were no longer available to us, our mental health suffered. I turned away multiple people a week seeking support. I met with clients from the safety of my own bedroom. All the while, desperately protecting my own children from the world falling apart around us.

In May, we witnessed the murder of George Floyd at the hands of police officers and even the moderate white folks couldn’t deny it – racism was alive and well. The summer continued to see the COVID death toll rise while watching, on repeat, brutal murders of black and brown people at the hands of police and reports on the daily of cities and towns rising up to protest.

Again.
and again.
and again.
and again.

Black while driving
Black while running.
Black while sleeping.

Death. Violence. Resistance. Oppression. Resiliency.

Repeat.

And in our small part of the world, my practice grew and grew and grew.
As the real estate market descended into madness, our then-landlord decided to upgrade/sell the condo we were in so mid-pandemic we moved to a tiny third floor walk up. Great landlords, terribly small place.

Then Christmas, 2020, holy crap – we’re pregnant.