I used to have the problem of counting calories so precisely that if I overstepped more than I had prepared to eat that day, my chest would would race and my cortisol would go so high that within hours new zits beside my lack-of-hormonal acne would appear on my face. In an attempt to gain some sort of control, I would workout until my hips burnt or cancel plans in order to hide in my one bedroom apartment alone. This problem perpetuated until I got professional help, but I lost more experiences than I can count.

Now, I am in love.

And the person I love most lost someone and I don’t know what to do about it.

One would think travel and good food and beautiful places heal you of the anxiety monster in your head eating away at your happiness.

One would be wrong.

Mental health, like any other sector of health takes intentional care. It’s an every day choice to move towards a life worth living rather than running away from. But I have had an epiphany this past week; Something my previous nutritionist used to say to me crept up on my life in real time:

Recovery doesn’t mean all of your problems go away.
Recovery means you have better problems.

Grief comes in many forms.

But I think the most painful one I’ve encountered is the one where empathy isn’t present.

The ignorance of a loss,

the impossibility of ever being able to fully understand someone you love’s pain in accordance to their loss.

There is ache and confusion behind death, but this isn’t something theologians and philosophers and poets haven’t tried to make sense of since the beginning of time.

We can’t understand it, just like we can’t understand why water is wet or why for some reason we all like Ted Lasso.

But that’s not what I’m getting at here. I’m not talking about the why. I’m talking how the how.

For some reason, we must accept that joy and pain can coexist.

That the unbelievably rare bottle of wine echoing around the table I shared with acquaintances who became friends last night existed within the same lifetime as the one where I canceled plans on people to sit at home and eat alone.

That running around the French country side with my miracle of a coonhound from Texas doesn’t exist in the same lifetime as losing my first dog without getting to say goodbye.

That the sheet cake I baked for the person I love tasted ok-enough to bring a smile to his face, though it was the anniversary of the death of a woman he loved taken by an awful disease not even remotely as voluntary as mine.

Life catches up to you. It’s evidence that you’re alive and none of us know why.

And it’s guilt-ridden and unbearable and sparkling and angering all at the same time.

I’ve realized the an idealization that once you reach a point in your life or relationship or career that your ailments and losses will suddenly become easier to overcome.

They don’t.

Maybe your world just gets bigger.

And your heart does too.

Reminder Patreon is a way to encourage and support the work of Cageless. Please consider giving what you can, and if not, forwarding this email to a friend, colleague or join your prayers to mine to lift others up in a world that often seems so full of conflict.

Pray for your own heart too.

I know I am. <3

Where I’ve Been:

Nancy(ish)

A little cottage outside of Nancy. A peaceful few days in the forest where we spent the beginning of our French “holidays” (I’m learning that it is typical for French people to spend elongated amounts of time vacationing during the months of July and August… MUCH less strategized and planned than Americans.) It’s been hard to actively rest, but I think this might be what God meant by resting on the 7th day… I’m going to take it as the 7th month *wink

What’s in Season:

Tomatoes

Not the best photo in the world, but definitely the best gazpacho. I’ve been eating a lot of cold tomato gazpacho as the temps are rising, but this one takes the cake (or ice cream, because in the middle is indeed MUSTARD glace. It’s better than it sounds) This is from Racine in the heart of Nancy.