Happy

April 22, 2025

Upon My 56th Birthday

This has been possibly the worst year of my life. Happy birthday to me.

There are so many moving parts it is hard to pinpoint just one thing, and I’m not here to tell you those stories.  Just know that I’ve experienced pain and brokenness and some hopelessness and trauma.  And sometimes those things seem overwhelming and unending.

And a part of this despair comes from love.  I’ve loved so many who have experienced all of these horrible things, too:  Pain, brokenness, hopelessness, trauma. I’ve loved them so deeply that I’ve been destroyed by that which is destroying them.  I love them so fully that when they say they can’t breathe because the air is to think with grief, I’ve gasped too.

Sometimes, when I’m talking with people, they tell me of their pain.  The pain that has come from a hip replacement, or a broken ankle.  And then they say something like:  Oh, but I don’t have pain like you.

And in some ways, that may be true.  My disease keeps me in extreme pain most of the time.

But my gut response to them is always:  Pain is pain.

You don’t need to feel my pain in any way to know what pain is.  Your pain hurts and mine does too.  That just means I understand you.  That just means I get it.  That just means we are connected in some cosmic and loving way that is mysterious and creative, even in the midst of that which feels like is will destroy our hearts.

Shared pain is actually what makes our hearts grow.

I want to be honest and tell you that, while I know what is happening in the world and it brings me to my knees, I’ve had to keep the news cycle at bay.  I have the privilege of doing so.  It’s too much. 

It’s just too much.

Layer it on top of my broken heart and it makes me feel like there is no getting out of its death grip.

And so I turn to that which grounds me in hope. 

A toddler who calls me Aunt Shandra, and one who calls me Shan Shan.  I answer to both with delight.

Family that has been by my side this whole time, calling me into heart space which leads me into love.

A son who is true and authentic and boldly himself.  My favorite person.

Friends who have come out of my life’s woodwork and who show up for me.  I’ve had so much in person connection from friends who span childhood Shandra to yesterday Shandra and it has brought me immense joy.  And I’ve connected in so many other ways with so many others, that joy shines.

A house to hold all those friends.  Game nights and dinners and hang outs and hosting.  Art on the walls.  Color so deep that it breathes blues and greens and pinks.

A community that has been with me forever and that continues to expand.  I’m making new friends and keeping the old.

A kick-ass therapist.

Tattoos.

Some wins to balance out the losses.

Herons across the pond. Geese nesting in the World Market parking lot. The song of birds. Tulips.

A new job that will allow me to do and be someone that I’ve always meant to be and something that I’ve always wanted to do.

Space and time to write.

Deep and abiding love.

I share all of these knowing that you may not have them, too.  And that breaks my heart.  But today, just for today, I am going to focus on me.  It’s my birthday and I need to set my feet on firm ground for the next year.  And so all of these glimpses of that which helps me get up in the morning, that which combats severe and debilitating pain, that which creates new life out of broken hopes, that which surrounds me with the deepest sense of being known and belonging.

It seems to me that birthdays are the perfect time for each of us to take a day and reflect and grieve and dare to hope for the “what’s next”.  As I do just that, as I look at myself and my life and my last year with clarity and honesty I can truly say:

This has been possibly the best year of my life.  Happy Birthday to me.