I honestly can’t remember the last time I made it to the same yoga class two weeks in a row, that’s how long it’s been. Last Sunday, my first full day home from the hospital, I had no idea what to do with myself but I knew I needed to do something. So I took myself to the first yoga class I’ve been to in close to a year, and I haven’t stopped moving since.

I’ve been to the gym nearly every day, I’ve rearranged an entire room in my house all by myself, I’ve made three complete weavings with a fourth in progress on the loom, I’ve run every errand, done every chore, and then some. I’ve also taken better care of myself than I ever have, joking with my husband that I’ll never be a high-maintenance lady but I’m pretty certain I’ve become a medium-maintenance lady. I’ve worn tinted lip balm and perfume every single day and yes, those things actually do make me feel better.

I’m still sad, there are still tears left to be cried, and a lot more of this story to tell, but I want to acknowledge the fact that I am getting through it, and I’m growing in the process. I’m pretty certain the person I will be on the other side of all this is someone I’ll like even better than who I was before.

I sure am trying.