Just 43 days into 365 of 2025 has been a ride and a half already. More good than otherwise, to be sure, but a dose of humility can sometimes take you down, and I’ll admit to a stretch of time spent in my bed this year to date. And, unfortunately for me, not for fun.

Three weeks of the year had seen me working tightly on my formerly abandoned routine of daily meditation. I originally began the practice shortly after my mother died in 2005, looking for something to help in my deep grief in addition to the western therapy and antidepressants I easily indulged in. But meditation is a habit that can take effort (until the effort creates the habit, anyway) and oftentimes sitting in quiet is far too easy to go by the wayside as “real life” happens. Again, unfortunately for me.

So after 20 years of a very relaxed attitude toward my meditation practice, last month I recommitted myself once again. And? As it seems to happen every time I do so, I instantly felt more calm, more peace, more positivity. Life felt brighter, which coincided beautifully with the January sunshine we were graced with, as much as my internal crash coincided with an ugly storm from the way back when. Again. Unfortunately for me.

The brain is a funny thing. I wasn’t aware I was hanging on to what ended up causing a colossal, albeit quick, headlong fall. Life was rosy, things were going well and I found myself looking more toward my future than I can honestly say I ever had before – ready for this whole “someday” to be today, already. I was feeling good, I was feeling excited, I was all kinds of jazzed about what I was working toward. And then the email showed up from him.

Him. Ugh. The site of his name alone scared me, and a rock sat hard in my gut as I determined whether or not I should open the email. It had been four years and a lot of drama that I was happy to leave in my past; did I want to expose myself to that ugliness again? But, then again, did I leave it in my past? I sure as fuck thought I did. And while I ignored and blocked that email, sure, turns out it took my mother fucking ass to bed for a week, where I cried and cried for basically no reason at all, unaware of a connection.

Instead, my brain told me lies, feeding me false information about my abilities, reminding me of my failures, plowing into my assuredness as doubt took over entirely. And, holy crap did I wrap myself up in that warm blanket of victimization, crazy cozy in those familiar feelings of pain and inadequacies. And during this week-long internal diatribe? Not a single time did he come up in my brain.

In fact, the insight from a friend connected those dots for me. Only then was I finally capable of pulling myself out of the bullshit. I had succumbed to it so very quickly. Fucking brain, really?

Recognition helped in pulling myself up and out, dealing with an oldie that was hanging about unawares. And as I reigned my psyche in, I returned to my meditation practice, overtaking those voices that spoke of my lack and limitations, and very quickly allowing a hum of positivity, peace and pleasure into my life.

Is this the end of it- my hurt, my challenges, my brain lying to me? Nope, no, ma’am, it ain’t. Whether my armor is meditation, medication, mediation or a combination, of that I can be sure.

Meanwhile, I’ll keep on keepin’ on, rollin’ toward what gets me out of bed every day. Because while falling hurts, getting the fuck up again? That’s strength. That’s resilience. And, although it often may take some time, you can’t shake that shit from me, it comes out my pores!