Well, it’s been a while! I just checked my website archives and see that I haven’t posted a family update since the spring of 2023.
My challenging times began at the end of summer 2023, when Trevor needed an outpatient procedure at the children’s hospital. We were lucky that he healed quickly and completely, but the experience was traumatic for me as a mom. Trevor wasn’t allowed to play sports or run around for the first few weeks after surgery, and watching him cry over not being able to do the things he loved was heartbreaking.
Once school started, illness swept through his classroom, and he was sick multiple times in September. By October, I was hopeful that things would start looking up and that we could fully appreciate fall in New England—our reward for enduring brutal winters. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. Instead, I fell while hiking and badly sprained my left ankle. At first, I hoped it would heal quickly, but after limping around for a couple of weeks, I ended up spraining both of my knees as well. Suddenly, I was in excruciating pain, struggling just to walk, let alone handle daily life. I had never experienced anything like it—never having had a major injury before, now I had three at once. Life became very dark. The best way to describe it is that all my joy and creativity vanished, replaced by a singular focus on survival—literally just putting one foot in front of the other. And the pain lingered for months.
Some mornings, my fear and anxiety got so intense that getting out of bed felt impossible. I would lie there, dreading the moment my feet touched the floor, afraid of how much it would hurt. My world shrank to the absolute basics: being the best mom I could be, because that was all I had the energy for. I recently watched the Disney movie Soul with Trevor, where the main character talks about his “spark” in life—the thing that brings him flow, peace, and joy. I see now that I lost all my sparks. They just vanished.
I still remember those mornings a year ago—how even the smallest tasks felt monumental. Getting out of bed, getting dressed, making it downstairs without wincing in pain. I had to plan my day around minimizing trips up and down the stairs. I would gather everything I needed before making the painful journey down to feed Calvin, make breakfast, and get Trevor ready for school. It was survival mode, plain and simple. I spent so much time sitting with my legs outstretched on the living room couch—my whole world seemed to shrink down to that couch. Over time, it led to soreness in my right hip as well.
Navigating my struggles while parenting Trevor was grueling. Instinctively, I wanted to shield him from seeing me less than strong, healthy, and positive. It really highlighted for me just how much I’ve worked to conceal from him the cruelty of this world—monitoring what he sees on TV, changing radio stations when the news comes on, saving difficult conversations with Chris for after bedtime. But I couldn’t hide this. I had to explain that I was injured and in pain but was getting the help I needed, and that my body could heal. I don’t know the full impact of his surgery and my injuries on him, but I do at least know that I did my best.
Beyond the physical pain, the hardest part was suddenly losing the things I loved. I vividly remember the morning after I injured both knees. I tried to sit on my meditation mat, as I had done many mornings before, but the pain was so intense I struggled to get down to the floor. Then, when I tried to stand up again—I couldn’t. That moment was beyond terrifying. Up until that point, I had taken it for granted that my body would do whatever I asked.
Simple things became intensely difficult. Sitting at my desk for even 20 minutes would leave my knees throbbing and aching. Walking Calvin was out of the question. Yoga, dancing, running around with Trevor—all gone overnight. It felt like my entire identity had been stripped away in an instant.
By late summer 2024, after many months, I was starting to feel like myself again. I was playing basketball with Trevor, walking the golf course, and feeling hopeful once more. Then, I injured both of my feet. Hobbling around reactivated my knee pain, and just like that, I was back in another cycle of pain and limitation. I think I pushed myself too hard, too soon—my muscles had weakened from months of excessive rest. But beyond that, I have no real explanation for how so many injuries could have happened.
And that’s been one of the hardest parts—not knowing why. Over the past year, I saw every kind of healer imaginable: acupuncturists, Reiki healers, physical therapists, sports medicine doctors. I tried everything—visualization meditations, healing frequency music, a personal trainer specializing in injury recovery (so expensive!). I even tried shockwave therapy, which was brutal and something I’d very much like to forget. And yet, despite all of it, no one could explain why this was happening.
The advice was all over the place. My general practitioner might suggest alternating between Advil and Tylenol, for example, while my holistic doctor insisted I avoid Advil at all costs. My sports medicine doctor would tell me to focus on rest, but my physical therapist would urge me to move as much as possible. There were no simple answers, and definitely no easy cure. I just had to go through it—on my own, in my own time.
I love Wayne Dyer, and one of his last books was I Can See Clearly Now. He wrote about how, looking back, he could finally see the meaning behind his most difficult experiences. Maybe one day, like him, I’ll understand what all of this was for.
That said, I have found a few silver linings! I started going to an infrared sauna at a local yoga studio, and it’s been wonderful. I’ve also begun taking Epsom salt baths, trying to make them feel like a spa experience at home—dim lighting, soothing music, lavender fragrance. And tapping meditation—I love the Tapping Solution app. Another huge help has been Internal Family Systems (IFS) therapy. Last winter, I was in such a dark place that I reached out to an IFS therapist, and I’ve been in weekly therapy ever since. It hasn’t been a quick fix, but it has been deeply helpful. Healing has been slow and nonlinear, but over the course of a year, I’ve noticed a shift—less anxiety, less isolation.
Now that it’s February 2025, I finally feel more like myself again. I still have minor aches and pains, but I’ve started dancing a little, going to Pilates classes, and I would be walking around the neighborhood if we weren’t buried in ice and snow. I knock on wood as I write this (literally!) because I know how fragile progress can be. Now, I live with a near-constant fear of injury. The sidewalks are sheets of ice, and I walk like a snail over anything remotely slick.
On top of all that, I’m at the heaviest weight I’ve ever been. Lack of movement and the mental strain of this past year have taken a toll. Sometimes, I accidentally catch a glimpse of my reflection and think, Who is that tired-looking, middle-aged, full-figured woman? The next instant, I realize with shock—it’s me! Isn’t it weird how, in your own mind, you’re eternally 25? So, other monumental journeys: forgiving myself for growing older and heavier. Finding patience. Letting go of shame and guilt over my appearance. And figuring out how to take better care of myself moving forward.
But I’m grateful to be feeling creative again. Lately, I’ve been editing old photos—something that has always made me happy. Revisiting these sweet, special moments has been healing. I’m sad I never wrote and recorded memories from the past year, as I’ve always loved to do, but at least I have photos. To me, Trevor’s smile is the sweetest thing on earth.
It was jarring to edit the photos from that October day on Mount Major—images taken just 30 minutes before I fell on that loose rock that changed everything. It’s strange to look at that version of me—the one who had no idea what was coming.
If there’s one lesson I’ve taken from this past year, it’s this: The only thing that truly matters is the joyful time we get with the people we love. Everything else can disappear in an instant—our plans, our routines, our physical health. But love stays. And that’s what I’m holding onto.
Here are the photos from summer and fall of 2023, along with any memories I can recall:
Tru, Chris, and I at the botanical garden in summer of 2023, age 7. He hates taking photos and dressing up and on the rare occasion that I insist, he prefers doing serious or silly faces instead of smiles. Chris can get him laughing by tickling him!
Tru and I at a castle landmark in summer of 2023 – prior to my fall. Trevor was 7.
Tru had a lot of fun at the multi-sport camp because he was able to play various sports all day, every day. Tru’s idea of heaven, in other words! The commute for this camp was tough though, and it was a brutally hot summer. I worried endlessly about if he was drinking enough water and reapplying sunscreen. But Trevor loves the heat – he wants nothing more than for the temperatures to soar into the 90s!
Here’s Tru’s baseball photo, summer of 2023, age 7.
A trip to the flower-cutting fields at the local farm has become an annual tradition for us at the end of every summer! We usually pick blueberries and peaches too.
Trevor’s first day of second grade! I won’t have a lot of memories to record from second grade now that we’re halfway through third, but at least I got a few photos here and there.
We always return to the same farm in early October to pick apples and buy some pumpkins to decorate the front porch. Trevor always looks for the heaviest, most enormous pumpkin he can find!
All the dramatic, hands-in-the-air photos were Trevor’s idea. He comes up with the best poses because he’s only having fun when he’s being silly and creative! These photos were shot maybe a half hour before I fell. I fell while going down the mountain, on a trail made purely of large rocks. I stepped on a rock that I thought was secure in the ground and it rolled right out from underneath me. I then had to walk about 2 miles to the end of the trail. My ankle didn’t hurt too much on that walk downhill, maybe from adrenaline. But when I got home, it was massively swollen and bruised on both the inside and outside. In the early days, it looked so bad, I’d ask Chris to check it out and tell me if it was healing so I didn’t have to see! About two weeks later, I sprained both knees as well (due to the way I was limping, apparently). In total, it took about 9 months to feel completely back to normal (but then I injured my feet).
