Last night was a night of celebration. A time with friends to pause, come together and “just be” after nearly or over (I have lost count) two years of navigating Covid and battling a mental illness. So, how did I find myself in a cold car (alone, exhausted and scared) at 11 pm on icy roads of Minnesota driving away from the warm and joyous celebration we helped host?

I reflect on the Cinderella-like moment. For one night I hoped to set all our worries aside…the reality of our life…and don a gown and pearls. No, it was not a ballgown, it was a flapper dress. And no, I did not arrive by horse and carriage, but I did arrive with feathers in my hair and heart that was full and happy. We attended a 1920’s soiree benefitting youth mental health initiatives in Minnesota schools…discreetly our story was referenced, but not so discreetly I shed a few tears at the table. You would think after so much time I would get used to our changed life, but reminders that we are different are still painful.

When the clock struck 10 pm we learned our oldest daughter did not have her medication - unfortunately medication that cannot be skipped. (Our children were staying with family in a cabin an hour west.) In addition, we learned our daughter was hiding under her bed trying to escape the relentless and irrational panic disorder/separation anxiety that plagues her mind and body. Via text messages we were copied on, we saw our middle child (our 10-year-old son) begging his oldest sister to be okay (reminding her she is okay), asking if he can come sit with her, and pleading with her, “be strong for mom and dad”. Our hearts broke. Gratefully we learned our youngest was sleeping - we thanked our lucky stars for that one small blessing and additional heartache saved.

As a mom (or parent) I had no choice - I put my yoga pants back on and with feathers in my hair I jumped in the car and made the cold lonely drive while friends and family gathered. I did not cry until the next morning after the exhaustion passed and loss was felt. A loss that is so complex, I cannot begin to describe. I cried alone only for a minute - anything longer is simply too exhausting and wasted effort. I shed just enough tears, so the cup did not spill over. I gathered up my dress and feathers, wrangled the kids and drove home. I reminded myself that I might just find my destiny on the roads I never thought I would travel - a turn that is intentional, but destination unknown. I hold tight to the faith that this must be true and with time will forgive and forget yet another loss. Someday I will wear those feathers again, and hopefully alongside my daughters and on the arms of my husband and son.

(A reminder to my readers. I bravely share the honesty and reality of our story to normalize the conversation and educate others with the hope that all that might need help will (without reservation or shame) seek it. A reminder that so many of us are not that unique or alone.)