People have said the nicest things they can think to say.  Things that will encourage me.  Things that make me feel a lot better about seeing people I’ve known in the past and those that I will get the chance to meet.

Whether sooner or later.

But it doesn’t stop me from having the fears and insecurities.  The ones that I can’t hide or pretend don’t exist.

I’m glad to be able to go to NY.  To share our story, and talk with the many that supported us when we needed it most.  I’m glad there’s success that we can enjoy with those that have worked so hard (missing those that won’t be there) and we’ll have friends that means so much that we don’t get to see often enough.

It’ll even be good/weird to have this opportunity to show Pete this blogger side of my life.  When he’s only ever really seen me being mommy and wife, he’ll get to see me being a WRITER.

So, while I’d like this to be a wonderful experience and know that I’ll be able to knock the socks off the folks I meet, I’m scared.

I’ve never been scared before.

I manage to be confident and assured, even when I don’t know what’s going on.

This time, I’m petrified.

From the airplane and cabs to new showers and meeting people with my crooked face, I’m not confident anymore.

No amount of words seem to make that ok.

I’ve got a list, I’ve got my cards, I’ve got a few plans, I’m eager to see friends.

I’m scared.

Another side effect of strokes I wasn’t expecting.

Someone shared news with me and I was happy for them.

Happy with them.

Someone else was the voice of unhappiness and they grumbled the slightest bit.

They grumbled just enough for me to realize that it was true.  They were snarky JUST long enough for it to feel sincere. They let me hear the tiny edge in their voice that told me they were the slightest bit not-happy.

And it sucked.

It took a little piece of my happy away.

How can you not be happy when something awesome happens to someone you feel fantastic about?  When you’re truly happy for them you want to jump up and down at their triumph. Don’t you almost burst with foolish pride at their achievement?

Then, why can’t you just be happy for them?

You must be unhappy in your small little places that you can’t at least smile and make it not about you.

You know what they say, if you can’t say something nice, then don’t let me hear it.

Days like this I wish I had a woobie.

Something soft and cuddly that would take all the bad away.

Bad feelings.  Bad emotions.  Bad moods.

Bad hurts.

Because the hurt is bad tonight.

Some days I’m tired of being a trooper..being a good little fighter.

Some days I just feel like lying down and crying until I throw up.

This is one of those days. And I know it has to get worse before it gets better.  I know it hurts so that it can heal and feel better.

I know all of that.

I KNOW.

It doesn’t mean I have to like it when it hurts so much I yell from the pain.  It doesn’t mean that I have to smile when something is so painful that I cry.

Tonight I’ll just close my eyes and pretend I don’t have to go back.

Tonight I will say all the things I don’t let myself say in front of the kids.

Tonight I’ll wish I had a woobie.

I’ve been very lucky that I’m well enough to take a few of the offers to speak that I’ve/we’ve been offered.  But there has also been an alarming amount of speaking gigs that have been, “WHO??

There has been a feeling of being offered things JUST because I’m the flavor of the month. I’m this month’s handicap.  I think that people would like to see what has happened to me.

How much I’ve changed.

Ok, that is crazy-ego-centric.

I realize that.

And maybe no one cares about the changes in my physicality.

But after the crazy media hoopla that went on around me while I was in the hospital, it’s hard to pretend that people in this internet world aren’t aware.  Tens of thousands of people were checking to see how I was doing, if I was still alive or if I had finally kicked the bucket.

That bucket never got kicked.

Then in the days afterwards there was a hum of waiting and wondering.

I sure as heck don’t blame anyone.  Everyone was told to expect the worst.

Little by little, you guys have been there as I fought to come back. First, it was cards.  Then, it was encouragement by messages on the posts that my husband would write. Now it’s the little bits of miracle you chose to leave here in the form of comments and emails.

For every person who is true and honest in your push and your encouragement, there is one who wants something FROM me.  Something I no longer have to give.  Something I can’t identify.

But they want it.