Blinded by the light


Feeling very bad right now. I expected a letdown, but I didn’t expect to be suffering the consequences of making a stupid mistake… can’t even sleep. Head hurts. Twin Peaks kind of sucked tonight despite the reappearance of the Log Lady.

I am almost 44 fucking years old. I estimate 45% of that time has been spent dealing with migraine symptoms whether it be pain or depression. 

I want to sleep.

Withdrawing: on a video by Lisa Benson

Inspired by my friend Lisa’s video for Migraine.com, I wrote this post on Facebook. Now I am sharing it here as well because I think it’s super important. Lisa identified something that has been bothering me a lot lately, and partially prompted my last blog entry.

 

It’s been a good week. The last day or two, I have been vivacious and social and affectionate with my friends. I have been able to be what I think of as *my best self.*

But just one month ago, being in public with those very same friends (my theatre family) was agony. I’d had a week-long attack and subsequent depression and when I was able to push through, I didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. Or laugh, or talk, and when I did talk I stammered and mumbled. I came late and left early. I constantly wiped away tears either due to panic and sadness, or migraine symptoms. I was emotionally over-sensitive. I winced and flinched from the fluorescent lighting and noise.

In public during a flare or attack, I wear mentholated patches on my head and TheraSpecs on my face. I dose up on medication, increasing migraine’s cognitive difficulties. I hide. At home I’m under the covers in the dark. In public, I will hide behind my hair, or in shadowy corners, or in my car, or in the restroom. I pull into myself, hunching my shoulders. I pile concealer on dark circles and the cystic acne from immunodeficiency and meds. I am a wounded deer in headlights.

The other aspect of a long attack for me, and something not touched on in the video below, is my social media activity. I am a patient advocate for migraine disease. While confined to bed, I share my (admittedly depressing at best, disturbing at worst) feelings about the process. I share my symptoms and how they are affecting my family. I share exactly how I’m feeling emotionally. That can be understandably uncomfortable for people, to read that (as during Cinderella’s tech week) I feel almost like I don’t want to live anymore if I can’t be doing what I love most. Publicly discussing severe pain and illness, depression, and suicidality is taboo. But talking about it is what I do. It is, quite literally, my job.

It is also Lisa Benson‘s job. In this video, she explains why during an attack we can seem withdrawn and changed. It would mean so much to me if people could watch my friend speak for us, describing why we stammer, why we hide. Especially my supporters and much-loved friends at HYT and Julie’s Dance Studio. I may tag you in comments. That doesn’t mean I feel you don’t care. It means I know you do.

Thank you for giving me a voice, Lisa. You’re amazing. đź’ś We all are.

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This is a video you can share with close family and friends to explain why we may appear withdrawn or not ourselves when we are dealing with migraine. https://migraine.com/?p=89255

“What’s this pumpkin doing here?”

I missed a lot of Cinderella’s final rehearsals. Being backstage with the kids helping with hair and makeup, assisting with crew and costumes, and just *being there* ~ pretty much my favorite thing ever. But I’ve been really sick with a long migraine attack / flare for almost two weeks, making me feel unreliable and flaky, and even worse, like I’m being overly dramatic and self-centered.

Migraine disease doesn’t give me a choice. It seems to flare most during times of increased activity or stress. The more medication I take to try to keep going, the less well it works. Guilt and sadness on top of fatigue on top of pain. When I can’t be there during important times people stop relying on me, stop expecting me. Stop bothering to figure out how I’m doing because it’s always the same. Migraine again. “Wasn’t she doing that study?” “Won’t she ever get better?” “Why does she sign up for things in the first place?” 

Why did I have kids? Why even try?

Why live at all?

Update:

A pumpkin is still just a pumpkin. I was able to go tonight, but having missed almost all of Tech week, I didn’t have any jobs other than to be there for my kids.

Who didn’t want me.  Why should they?

X is 12 now. She thinks she may be asexual, and I love that she has a smorgasbord of labels from which to figure out how she fits into the world of relationships. Especially among theatre and arts kids, there are fewer strictly straight kids than otherwise.  But she is spending a lot of time with a couple boys this show, both of whom I like. Her current two  closest show friends are one boy and one girl both a year or so older than she. X used to need me at shows and all the older kids accepted me being there, and still accepted her. I would find ways to be needed besides just as support for my insecure kid.

Now she doesn’t need me and that’s fine and right and as it should be. Except that she totally freaked out over the makeup artists asking her to pull her bangs back. “I won’t be recognizable on stage,” she whined. “I won’t look like me.” I said, you aren’t supposed to look like you. You’re supposed to be Fairy #1. It ended up being okay. After the makeup was applied I pulled some wisps down over her forehead. Her male buddy distracted her by pointing out how the school’s signs were in all upper case. “Everyone is yelling all the time.” Her female buddy told her she looked beautiful. She did.

This female buddy, Fairy #2, drove X crazy at first. Doesn’t it always begin like that? The other night she threw her arms around me and exclaimed “I love you, Stage Mom!”

So why did X start acting the way she did? But she’s 12. She’s seeking independence. I’m okay with it.

Zo, I am not so okay with. She is playing a mouse puppeteer / horse and villager. She has plenty of kids her age there to hang out with. There have been some conflicts because all four mice are leader-types. She’s 8. X was never in a production that young. Zo is used to the stage, having been in three Nutcracker ballets and four big recitals for dance. And I am always there for those, I have to be. As for Cinderella, at home, she acts like she wants me at rehearsals / performances, but when we’re actually there she is rude and looks at me like she is disgusted. I don’t know if you’ve seen the photos, but I am not gross or embarrassing. Particularly among theatre kids I am even considered cool, heavily tattooed and pierced as I am. And I don’t really hover, I don’t treat Zo like a baby. So ripping away from me and shrugging me off when I’m trying to help her? I don’t get it. Competing with her sister, John thinks, or wanting to feel older. I don’t know.

But I managed to get there tonight after being in the ER yesterday and it was very hot in the green room. And I dealt with X’s tantrum about her bangs, helped her deal with a broken prop, found the Fairy Godmother’s missing staff, located Zo’s mouse puppet which she was told to find. And yet felt completely, sadly superfluous.

I asked both of them if they needed anything and was answered with shrugs.  So I left.

“Put it in the pantry,” the Queen instructs Lionel regarding the pumpkin that has suddenly appeared outside the palace. “We don’t want anyone falling over it.”

No one sings like you anymore

Trigger Warning: meandering discussion of suicide and substance abuse

http://www.rollingstone.com/music/news/chris-cornell-autopsy-and-toxicology-report-released-w484309

This RS article rocked me to my core, kept me up writing and thinking two nights in a row.

Depression, trauma, substances. Stigma, shame, and suicide.

First, the substances. Ativan is usually prescribed in 1 mg tablets. No matter how it is administered, 4 mg is the max recommended dose. The nanograms per milliliter of blood measurement used here is extremely difficult to translate, even using an online conversion tool, so I have no idea how much he actually had ingested, but I am guessing 5-6 mg since they are saying more than the usual dose but not one normally  associated with fatality. That makes sense according to his wife’s statement that he took “a couple extra.”

Info about Ativan (lorazepam): https://www.drugs.com/amp/ativan.html

Butalbital as far as I know is not available by itself but is commonly prescribed in a compound formula for “tension” headaches which most specialists now understand are part of migraine disease. The brand name of the butalbital/ caffeine/ acetaminophen compound is Fioricet. I have used this med on and off my whole life, formerly concurrent with Xanax or Ativan. It also is available with codeine, which is what I had been prescribed (I now have Fioricet without codeine and no longer take anti-anxiety meds). The article does not mention acetaminophen, but does mention caffeine, which they claim was from No-Doz. 

Info about Butalbital, a barbiturate: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Butalbital

Did Chris suffer from migraines? Or as a rock star in recovery, was he able to get this combination of meds specially prescribed for anxiety and / or insomnia? Many former drug users in recovery are prescribed Ativan. (But why take caffeine separately, particularly with sedatives? Was it a “cocktail” he’d discovered that produced a non-narcotic, non-alcoholic high?) The naloxone is interesting too. It’s an antagonist, but in combination with these other drugs it could (maybe?) act similarly to a narcotic in increasing the effects of the depressants. Naloxone only stops the action of opiates. [Editing again to add that I read one article stating Naloxone (Narcan) may have been injected by emergency responders after he was found.]

Also in his system when he died was pseudoephedrine, brand name Sudafed. It is taken for sinus pain / headache which also can be part of migraine disease. Like caffeine, it is a stimulant. The combination of sedatives, barbiturates, and stimulants is particularly dangerous.

In my 20s and 30s there were many instances when I took the above meds together as prescribed for migraine, with an opiate as well, and then combined them with a lot of alcohol during nights of social binge-drinking. I also had occasional extreme mood swings which, I realized with prompting from John, after I was no longer taking it, were brought on by the Fioricet 3 (w/ codeine) in particular, exacerbated by the anti-anxiety meds. These sudden bursts of intense emotion included both violent rages and severe depression. [Editing to make clear that the violence was against inanimate objects, not people or myself.]

As well as feeling incredibly sad about the circumstances surrounding Chris’s suicide, I am sort of feeling damn lucky to be alive. I think I am made of stronger stuff than I realized. 

I keep adding to and revising this post. And I am so fucking sad, getting more and more so. Chris Cornell was a grunge success story, a man who grieved for and celebrated the tragic deaths of friends and fellow musicians, most famously in Temple Of The Dog, and who seemed to triumph over trauma to choose life, to choose music and family and love and philanthropy and friendship over giving in to despair. John told me the song “Slaves & Bulldozers” basically saved him as an adolescent recovering from abuse. He sent me the lyrics in a text the day Chris died, and they read as though Chris himself may have been molested or raped. As fans know, he ended with that song in Detroit hours before his death, blending it with “In My Time of Dying” by Led Zeppelin. If my wings should fail me Lord, please meet me with another pair.  /  I hope I did somebody some good. / So I can die easy…..  The song is filled with Catholic imagery. Like John, Chris went to Catholic school. Like John, he seemed to worry about his soul. Like John, his parents got divorced, and considering Chris chose to use his mother’s maiden name in the aftermath, it may have been messy and horrible. 

I just read an article about how the stories surrounding this death relate to the stigma involved with suicide as well as medications. When someone dies from opening up the veins in their arms, the razor blade isn’t blamed, the author said. I see her point, but also see the flaws in that argument since weapons don’t alter one’s thoughts the way many drugs can. I maintain my agreement with Vicky and my own statements throughout this post regarding the devastating mood effects the combination of butalbital, caffeine, and Ativan can have. HOWEVER. Depression leads to suicide. Ativan and Butalbital did not kill Chris Cornell. Depression did. The meds may have altered that triumphant will to live despite the darkness just enough for him to give in to the rain that couldn’t, finally, be washed away. Depression needs to be discussed without shame and blame. Depression kills. 

As for me, please know that I am MUCH more careful with medications now. There is no reason to worry about Current Me. But Past Me? Damn girl, that was some stupid, careless shit. Careless because of my occasional choice to start drinking before all the chemicals were out of my system; but yet, I was taking legitimately prescribed meds for the symptoms of my illness. And I could have died. Why didn’t I? Other than occasionally wanting to go to sleep and never wake up I have never truly felt suicidal (exceptions would be when I took Topamax and other anti-epileptics, but even then it was sleep forever type suicidal). I have never had to engage in that fight to overcome constant thoughts of ending my life.

I am more relieved than I can say that my family was spared the agony Vicky and her kids are enduring right now, because I think she was right. Without that strange but familiar-to-me cocktail of meds, maybe Chris would not have taken his life after surviving so much for so long; after publicly grieving the early deaths of his friends and contemporaries; after marrying again and producing children who are still young (he also has as an older daughter). There but for the grace of John, X, & Zo go I, as paraphrased from Winston Churchill, Sherlock Holmes, and Simon & Garfunkel. Or maybe, I simply was never at that kind of risk because my own depression never convinced me my family would be better off without me. Suicide is not selfish. For those who suffer that severely it can feel like the only option. Suicidal ideation, especially exacerbated by mind-altering drugs, tricks you into believing your loved ones will be better off without you to bring them down and perhaps ruin their lives as your own feels ruined beyond redemption and repair. 


Chris Cornell, you beautiful, troubled man, thank you for creating art that soothed my traumatized partner in his youth. Thank you for your words and your voice, which sustained much of Generation X when we were falling on our own black days. What trauma did you suffer in your own childhood that created the anxiety and depression you sang about and spoke of in interviews? What supreme sadness bubbled to the surface that made death seem like the only way out?

This post has morphed many times. It no longer flows as well as I’d like. But there is nothing easy about discussing depression, trauma, grief, and suicide. PLEASE, readers of my blog, sufferers of chronic pain and depression and PTSD, substance-users, whether illicit or prescribed or both, trauma survivors, suicidal-thought fighters, you are not alone. You are worthy. Whether I know you or not I am glad to share this planet with you. Get through the next hour, the next day, one moment at a time. Get help. 

I am so glad I got to see Chris perform in his grunge heyday. I am so glad that despite frequently imbibing nearly the identical combination of meds found in his toxicology report, I am still here to rock out to and revel in his tortured genius, his swan songs; that, as Eddie Vedder triumphantly bellowed through the pouring rain at that same Lollapalooza in 1992, I’m still alive. 

I just wish Chris Cornell were still alive too. Oh but do I deserve to be / Is that the question? / And if so, if so / Who answers? 

Who answers?



In The Eye of a Hurricane

I dropped my dance mom basket this week.

The members of the youth theatre board on which I serve discuss wearing different “hats.” Because we are stage parents as well as administrative board members, we have to be careful to distinguish what role we are playing. If I am talking to another parent / board member and lamenting about something affecting one of my daughters I would be quick to clarify “mom hat” so that the person would know I’m not looking at it from a leadership perspective.

However, I have recently started thinking of my different roles in life as baskets I’m carrying instead of hats I’m wearing. The baskets have things in them. They are difficult to balance. I can carry more than one at a time, but the more items in the baskets, the harder it is to figure out how to manage.

I have a partner basket and a house basket. A home parenting basket. An Indy News basket for one job; and a migraine.com basket for the other, which has strings tying it to this blog and other advocacy work, and my illness. The migraine patient basket is a big one. A theatre parent / stage crew basket, tied to my advisory board basket.

John and I are working hard on our relationship, budgeting, the future, becoming independent financially, and our house. We started couples counseling, which is long overdue. But I think because I’ve been focusing more on my partner and house baskets, my others have gotten neglected. I admit to being a little overwhelmed, particularly this week because both girls are dancing in a big recital on Saturday, and we have long daily rehearsals for Cinderella, our summer musical. I have caught up with my jobs, but not the advisory board. I have been very attentive to the girls at home, and focusing on the musical, which is Zo’s first, and have totally neglected Star Style, the big recital. The dance mom basket was full to overflowing and it slipped from my fingers without me even realizing it.

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This is going to be X’s only year participating in Star Style, as she decided to take a dance class to sharpen her skills for musicals. And I forgot to order both girls a t-shirt, the only one that will have both their names on it. It’s too late. There MIGHT be extras in a few weeks but no one knows. X was so disappointed. I’m having a hard time getting over how upset I feel about it.

Another fail was also involving X, who dances very early in the first show. Because of some confusion she totally missed the start of her dance at the studio rehearsal last night, and when I encouraged her to just run on in and join she panicked and began to cry, and I was hard on her. She just turned 12, and I thought she was acting infantile, but later when we talked, she told me she definitely has a “thing” about being late and entering a room or a rehearsal after everyone else has begun. I think instead of being childish, what she was doing was having a legitimate panic attack, and I of all people should have recognized that and comforted her rather than being bitchy. I apologized quickly and profusely and we’re okay now, but again, that was a huge fail on my part.

Tonight we have a break from dance and I actually am not going to attend play practice either. Instead, I am going to get to go see Ron Chernow, the author of Alexander Hamilton, the biography which inspired Lin-Manuel Miranda to create Hamilton: An American Musical. My friend is driving so I don’t even have that stress to worry about, and we are both bringing our books to have him sign and are going to totally geek out. I can’t wait.

I hope that hearing Chernow speak will motivate me to get through the rest of this week. And I know that getting some time without any baskets at all, just being ME, will be rejuvenating, and maybe will help me improve my balancing act.

Sometimes, we all need moments of having nothing to carry at all.

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[Update: extra recital shirts were available much sooner than expected, but the price had been increased so I bought one for the girls to share. My dance mom BFF surprised us by purchasing another for us because “they should each have one.” She even bought the right size. Star Style went great. I made it through the week. I get by with a little help from my friends.]

Professional Empowerment in the Realm of Disability and Invisible Illness

I had a weird feeling about it from the very beginning.

Of course there was the initial excitement of being emailed by a national television producer, but that quickly gave way to anxiety that at some level hasn’t let up since March 1.

Since becoming a writer and advocate for migraine.com, my personal blogging at home has become professional. I am technically freelance, though Health Union calls us all a team, and we all feel happily “employed” by that company. But I don’t have a boss, or anyone looking out for my best interests, to make sure I’m being properly treated, compensated, and served in any other capacity I advocate for migraine. I can only continue advocating for myself, for my own time and energy, the same way I do for my illness.

I attended the #huconnexion17 conference; was asked to attend the Amgen Bloggers Summit in LA; and filled out a form for a possible financially compensated video appearance for a so far unknown migraine awareness production. All of these were efficient, official, and I was either reimbursed or otherwise compensated.

Not so with this supposed WebMD / Robin Roberts Productions “Migraine Awareness” video series. Even though it was potentially huge, and John bragged about it to everyone he knew, I kept quiet. I was starting to be able to distinguish professional opportunities that were worth my time from those that probably wouldn’t be. Or wouldn’t happen at all.

Here is the email I sent them this morning withdrawing from the project. After all, there is no one to look out for me… except me.

Hello,

After getting up and assessing how I feel I am starting to have some concerns. I appreciate you reading this email rather than my having to try to explain this on the phone.

I was initially excited about this project due to the idea of promoting awareness for migraine disease. However, since first being contacted by Lynn Draisin on March 1, and then speaking with her on the phone a few days later and agreeing to be filmed, I have been told I was to be filmed here in mid-March with details to come. Then the plan was that I was to be flown to NYC at the end of March, so I began to make plans in that direction, but when I didn’t hear anything I had to reach out to both Lynn and Taryn to hear that this was no longer going to be the case due to scheduling but I would once again have to accommodate people here in my hometown. I was told by my migraine.com colleague Kerrie Smyres that Lynn was actually leaving her job with the production company. I sent Taryn many, many requested photos and then sort of got “passed off” again to someone else. While I totally understand that this is probably how these types of projects normally work, it’s not something that has been making me feel comfortable.

People with longterm chronic illness develop an almost permanent state of anxiety and PTSD due to things in our lives constantly being beyond our control. From the migraine disease itself to problems with disability and insurance and doctors and hospitals to no longer being able to work outside the home there is very little that is stable about my situation. To have yet another unstable and uncontrollable situation looming over me, because that’s how it feels, has begun to produce more anxiety and negative effects on me than the benefits that may be felt by me personally or the migraine community from my involvement. 

Health Union, the company behind migraine.com, and the Amgen Bloggers Summit, and the few other inquiries I’ve had about promoting migraine awareness through my writing or physical representation have all provided immediate official paperwork, statements of intent, project prospectuses, and promises of compensation. I’m realizing that in this situation, especially with the request of my young daughters to be involved, I have seen nothing official except assurances that you all work with Robin Roberts and that the series is going to be on WebMD. Not being able to control things like weather, my husband’s teaching schedule, my own secondary migraine symptoms (the severe pain has truly been lessened due to the CGRP trial medication but I deal with the other migraine symptoms of nausea, depression, occasional cognitive dysfunction, allodynia, vertigo etc on a daily basis), my daughters’ school and activity schedules AND the fact that I am not even going to be able to control the narrative your company presents about my personal situation, I have reconsidered appearing in the project.

Of course, I understand we needed to speak by telephone and that many of the issues of official paperwork, dates, times and plans may have been discussed then, but it’s not enough. My time is valuable, and I am not getting the impression from your company that it is seen as such. I hope that your project is able to move forward and that it does increase awareness of migraine disease, but it is going to have to do so without my involvement. 

I’m sorry to only drop this on you this morning, but I haven’t been well and only was able to figure this all out just now. Since plans have been continuously evolving on your end also, I hope you can understand my position.

I am cc-ing my husband on this email so please make sure to include him on any replies.

Respectfully,

elizabeth roberts-zibbel

ladymigraine.com

migraine365.com

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Flashback Friday

I stayed in bed all morning. Yesterday I had to give myself a Sumatriptan injection first thing; the morning before I’d needed to take a tablet. No migraine this morning, but maybe postdrome. In a sort of desultory way I scrolled through Facebook. I don’t always check my “On This Day” memories, but I did, even going so far as to read the blog post that came up because I remember it being significant.

When I went downstairs, I had a very uneasy, not-quite-anxious, not-quite-depressed feeling, an ache below the rib cage that made me feel helpless and vulnerable. My depression has been very well controlled lately, so I felt like I needed to figure out the source of this. Postdrome? Trump angst?

I finally realized maybe it was from reading the blog entry.

It was titled “WWED: What Would Elizabeth Do?” and was about the fact that I didn’t like who I’d become in the year since quitting my job and in fact barely knew myself. At the time I wrote it three years ago, Dr P had only recently dumped me as a patient after I bared my soul to him. I hadn’t yet seen anyone in my neurologist’s office, so I was without medication. It was before my first CGRP trial, before Dr Mac and Dr Mitzi, right when I decided to taper off Cymbalta, before John got his social work job. It was probably one of the lowest points of my life.

In the entry I described my crazy, desperate run through the hospital parking lot after Dr P so ruthlessly attacked me. I’d forgotten that I’d been sobbing, tore away from J and  fell, scraping my hands and knees. Reading the descriptive prose I vividly remembered how worthless and hopeless I’d felt, and scared I had been. It’s hard to explain how much being rejected or misunderstood by a doctor feels like the end of the fucking world for someone with a chronic illness. I had literally nowhere to turn.

That helpless, hopeless feeling today morphed into an uneasy vulnerability. While I am much happier and more fulfilled now, with new friends, new activities, new jobs, I am unfortunately at a bit of a crossroads again with my medical care. J has a fantastic job now at our local state university, as a full time instructor, which is another reason for my increased satisfaction now as opposed to three years ago. However, one of the most attractive features of a good job, for me, is the health insurance. I had been on Ohio’s expanded Medicaid, which was life-saving, but limiting, so I was excited to be on regular private insurance again and am particularly grateful for it now that the NOTUS is trying to repeal all aspects of the ACA.

But there was a paperwork issue. J filled out all the many many pages required for our family to be covered, and it all went through fine. What he didn’t know is that almost immediately, he would have to fill out yet another spousal form for 2017, as he will have to every year. He was behind on checking emails, falling into the “ignorance is bliss” ravine that so many of us do when overwhelmed.

On January 1, my coverage ended. I haven’t had insurance since then. J is trying to get it worked out, but because the open enrollment period had ended, now the HR people need my Disability paperwork, my Medicaid and Medicare paperwork. Which J found and gave to them. And then he didn’t hear anything. He had to go to his dean for help in speeding it up. This week, he still hasn’t heard anything new about the progress. Bills are piling up. The uncertainty of not having coverage constantly makes me feel on edge. Scared.

I finally have an appointment with a new family doctor in March, Dr. C. My spoonie friend Julie, who is local, found him first, having read reviews that he’s excellent with complicated cases. But again, uncertainty. Fear. My wonderful, sweet pain specialist, Dr. Mitzi, who refused to conduct pill counts and seemed so concerned with me personally, has apparently caved in to the federal pressure and taken an extended leave of absence. She does have a nurse practitioner, Judy, but she is considerably less warm and makes me very nervous. They are trying to find a replacement for Mitzi, but I have read enough horror stories from people in my support groups that I know it’s a possibility the new doctor will be a strict asshole who will not want to keep prescribing to me. Uncertainty. Fear.

But. The pain clinic isn’t closing, and Dr. C seems very promising. Even without insurance, if worse comes to worse, I can pay cash. Things with Dr. M (the neuro) are going okay. I haven’t had to go to the ER for six weeks. J is doing well, the girls are doing well. I have my work for migraine.com, which is a dream come true, and BG Independent News, which is so great I would never have fathomed my involvement in such a thing. Working with journalists I’ve always admired, in a field I chose for myself twenty years ago. Lucky. I’m lucky.

I have to let this false fear wash away. I have so much that is good right now.

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My girls on top of the Cape May lighthouse. X, Zo, & K, June 2014

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The cast of The Best Christmas Pageant Ever, December 2014

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Zo & me after her first Nutcracker performance weekend, Dec 2014

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Me at the Historical Center, where I frequently volunteered from 2014-2016

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Part of our theatre family. I’ve been on the advisory board since early 2015.

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Me & J at the Chamber of Commerce dinner with BGIN last month

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My migraine.com profile. I will be going to a conference in Philadelphia in March!