You Were a Mean one, 2015.

Dear 2015, 

You kind of sucked*.

Love, Natasha


*I'm relieved that 2015 is nearly done. I am, however, under no illusion that 2016 will necessarily be any better, despite feeling that it ought to be. I do not have that sort of control. Spoiler alert: None of us do.

This, despite the plethora of positive self-talk mantras (this will be my best year yet! I can make my dreams happen! and the like) flowing like milk and honey over social media. Yet when reality bites** with a divorce, the loss of a parent, or an unforeseen illness, those self-talk incantations fall, well, flat. They don't leave much room, never mind grace, for people like me. 

I am not opposed to intentionally positive slogans. They can be a vital ingredient in mental health. I think, though, that there needs to be clarification that they are just that: catch phrases, nothing more. They are not powerful in altering all of life's seemingly chaotic circumstances: I have little or no control over this kidney disease that has taken over a lot of my body. It is what it is. No positive self-talk will make it disappear.

What I do have authority over is this: whether I get of bed each day, despite often not wanting to. Whether I act in courage or fear. And whether I am decisively present to those around me or absent in self-pity. So bring on 2016, bad, mean or good. I'm ready. 


**Speaking of years, 1994 was a good one.