We all have our own little coping mechanisms for getting through life’s rough patches.  But this is a little more than a “rough patch”.  And what I’ve found over the last few months is what I need one day might be completely different from what I need the next.  My coping mechanisms evolve.

So here are a few ways I’m coping, getting through, and making it down this road.  Some were temporary fixes.  Others continue to be my go-to’s.

Bubble Wrap

Seriously.  It arrived on my front porch in this massive garbage bag.  And I remember thinking – because stranger things have happened – Hmm, I don’t remember ordering a bag of trash from Amazon.

But then I remembered a friend mentioning she’d ordered me a “big roll of bubble wrap”.  It was her husband’s idea, actually.  And it was just as wonderful as you imagine.

Paint Parties

There is something seriously wrong with people who choose to work with middle schoolers.  But those that choose that path have an eternal bond of friendship…or something.  So it only makes sense that even after years of not working with my middle school family, they still stepped up, out of the darkness, to support me.  Their ingenius idea: a private paint party for me.  It included wine, designer cheese, gourmet banana nut bread, guac, fresh fruit, veggies, 80’s pop music, and these giraffes.  And excessive laughing.  And maybe some cursing, followed by more laughing.

Because the bond created while managing teenage mutiny never breaks.

And then I painted the matching elephant a few weeks later.

Adult Coloring Books

I found one randomly sitting on my desk at work, as a gift.  A best friend brought me another.  And then, an actual grief counselor recommended it.  Judgers, step back.

Porch-Sittin’

On the days when it’s that perfect, beautiful, Southern sunshine, my screened-in porch is a sanctuary.  I’ve always loved our porch, and always referred to it as “my happy place”.  But through this, it has become something more.  I’ve had many a deep conversation out there.  Over many cups of coffee or glasses of wine.  Made decisions, discussed “the bigger picture”, laughed at old memories, and cried at others.  Even sitting alone, listening to the world wake up or go to sleep, is therapeutic.  And since it only holds so many people, it’s the perfect size for someone who prefers small groups over large crowds, like me.  It has been my place of peace, my at-home church, my sanctuary of solitude.

People

I spent several years attempting to convince Chris that I was actually an introvert.  But loss makes you question things; makes you re-evaluate.  And I’m questioning this one a lot.  Because I’ve found that I don’t do “alone” well.  And I now prefer having plans over not.  Low-key plans over parties.  A few friends over a lot.  As long as they’re people that love me.  That don’t judge me.  That just want to hang out.  Those people make things better.

Music

What is it about a melody that just soothes the soul?  Before, music was just an added bonus in life.  Now, it is a necessity.  I have something playing at all times in my house, on the porch, in the car, where ever.  I will dance.  I will sing.  Or just sit and take it in.  Because it soothes my soul.  Sometimes it’s Eric Church, or Imagine Dragons, or Rehab, or Maren Morris, or Kid Rock, or 80’s rock, or Chris Stapleton, or maybe even Everlast.  And seriously, if you see me singing in the car at the top of my lungs, with the speakers turned way up, and the windows rolled down, know that I’m well aware of what I look like.  And I. Do. Not. Care.

Gardenias

How, on God’s green Earth, my work family knew to buy me a gardenia is a mystery within itself.  I am horrible with plants.  Heinous.  I can kill a cactus.  And I’ve never, ever, ever mentioned my obsession with the smell of gardenias to them.  But somehow, they knew to buy me a gardenia tree.  They potted it for me in a self-watering pot.  And as soon as it started blooming, the intoxicating smell reminded me why I love it so much.  The scent took me back to my grandmother’s house on the Pamlico Sound – my favorite place as a child.  And walking down memory lane, I was surrounded with a happiness from the past.

So the gardenia sits by me on the porch.  In my present-day sanctuary.  And each time the breeze is just right, I’m taken back to my former, childhood sanctuary.  And the happiness is doubled.  And the world feels beautiful again.

Cooked Cookie Dough

I can no longer tell how often my blog has been shared.  And I was insanely busy at work when the following transpired.  But I had to stop to really get this moment.  Because this was something special.  This was a big deal.

A friend and co-worker “church-hopped” to my church after attending Chris’ service there.  And she brought friends.  And then shared my blog to explain how she found it.  He was so touched after reading it, he felt compelled to send me a gift.  His was gift was this incredible plate, covered in this other-worldly “cooked cookie dough”.

Yes, I do realize that “cooked cookie dough” seems like cookies.  I can promise you what I experienced was not just cookies.  They were magical.  Like someone had taken globs of cookie dough, and somehow, through some sort of Patronus charm, made them un-raw.  I ate 3.  Before lunch.

This all came from a complete stranger.  Someone who only knew me through a mutual friend.  Someone who read my words, and was so inspired -so touched- that they took time to send me a thought-out, homemade gift.  This is a big deal.  This is a game changer.

Because I don’t write so that I can get free cookies.  I kind of wish I did, because…cookies.  But, no.  I write because it’s therapeutic.  I write because there are too many thoughts to just leave sitting there in my head.  I write because if the words sit unwritten in my head, they are just rotting, decaying, maybe even poisoning.  They need to come out.  And sometimes, I guess, my words help others.  Writing is incredible therapy in itself.  But as someone whose internal mantra is “here to serve”, the fact that it helps others, grieving or not, gives this all a little more purpose.  It gives me a little more purpose.

And for that, I think I’ll go have another cookie.  While I color.  And debate where to hang my giraffe.  After I pop some bubble wrap.  On the porch.  Intoxicated by the smell of gardenias.  Making plans with a friend.  With my speakers on 10.