Eight years can seem like the blink of an eye or it can be an eternity. At times, somehow, it’s both. Eight years ago my husband died after a 7 month battle with stomach cancer. Many of my readers know this already. Most of the people that follow me and know me, know me to be positive and hopeful. And I am. I believe in using my experience to help others. I know it’s my purpose. I have said before that knowing I have helped and continue to help others to have hope, knowing I motivate and inspire others, gives me strength to persevere when I’m not feeling 100% myself. I have begun to speak on resiliency and having hope and I coach others to help them become the BEST version of themselves. In doing so, sometimes I find myself smiling when I really don’t feel it, acting like everything is great for me, when sometimes it’s not.

Does this mean I’m not hopeful and positive? No. It means I’m human. I find that I forget that. I don’t always give myself the grace that I tell others to give themselves. One of the main reasons I believe myself to be successful at being inspirational is because I am open and honest and authentic. People listen to my story and they know that I’m not just saying what I’m saying. They listen and know that I have been through things that should have tore me down, but I got up, I fought. The thing is, I still fight. I find myself not being as open about that at times because perhaps someone who has been inspired by me could think I’m falling. Maybe I won’t be viewed as strong or independent or all the things I hope for myself. Here is where I am wrong. By me being authentic, YOU get to see that we are ALL human. You can see that someone can get upset, can have setbacks, can feel defeated, but can also still get back up.

Currently a very dear friend is going through what I went through 8 years ago. She is faced with being told that her husband is in his last days. As I speak with her, I feel it. I feel it all over again. I know her pain. I know it and I find myself choking. I will stay here for her. I will not back down. I will hurt for her and for my past, for myself and for my children. However, my pain will help her to know someone gets it, someone understands. It’s the one thing we all look for. It’s the one thing that can help in some way, knowing that there is someone else that just gets it. A conversation we had today is what sparked me writing this post and knowing that I need to be authentic.

Yes, it’s been 8 years. When your babies are growing up and now one is going away to college, that’s a really long time, a different lifetime altogether. But here is something that people don’t realize: the need for help never goes away. In the first year, everyone helps in every possible way. Fundraisers are given, meals are sent, people are taking care of the kids and helping you clean your house and reaching out in so very many ways. As time goes by, it all comes to a halt. I promised my friend that I will always be here: tomorrow, next week, next month, next year, in 10 years, always. And I will. Because I know what it’s like when the people and the help goes away. I know what it’s like to not want to ask for help and to suffer instead. I know what it’s like to say I’m fine when I’m not, to wonder how I’ll make it work, to smile when I want to cry. I know what it’s like when people forget.

I’m not putting this post out here to gather up your pity, not at all. I’m putting it out here because if you know what I mean, you know what I mean. I grew up in a family with parents who taught us to help whenever and wherever we could because it truly does take a village. If you feel like the village left you, if you feel like you are supposed to be independent and make it all work and smile so you hate asking for help, you aren’t alone. Here’s the thing I want you to know though, we can experience this, we can be grateful when anyone reaches out, when anyone helps with anything at all, ever. We can also keep hope together. I want you to know that you aren’t alone, but also I want you to know that we got this. It might not always be pretty, but we got this.

I always want to help others. To me, being authentic and open and honest and unapologetic about it, helps YOU more. It helps you to know I’m not just saying what I’m saying, but that I have lived it and that I continue to live it.

That first year after my husband died, everyone helped. Money, cleaning, food, childcare, shoulders to cry on… you name it, I had it. The second year rolls around and now everyone thinks that because you made it through the first year, the first Christmas without him, the first birthday without him, the first family vacation without him… that somehow you’re good now. Those firsts are out of the way. This is so far from the case though. Year two you look around and everyone is gone. You’re left to do it alone now, truly alone. You’re left to have to ask for help when you need it, but you’re too proud. You feel like a failure when you ask for help. You feel weak somehow, but you are stronger than anyone you know. It messes with your head and your heart. You start to feel like if you confide too much in any one friend, they’ll think you just complain too much. You think they’ll get sick of you and stop picking up the phone. You think about how other people have their own crap to deal with, their own families. You feel selfish if you ask them for help. So you do it. You just do it, but you can’t. As years go by, people think you need less and less. I’m here to reach out and let others know that I see you. If you think you should be healed by now, you should be financially stable by now, you should have it all figured out by now, well, you shouldn’t. None of that is true. You can be a hot mess for as long as you need. Sometimes you won’t be. Sometimes you will.

When my husband died without life insurance and left me to raise our four kids alone, we had a very small savings. I also had a father who helped me and eventually moved in. I slowly got back to working. I had people assume so much. Don’t do that to anyone. Ever. My favorite saying is “Don’t let anyone who has never walked in your shoes tell you how to tie your laces”. I had people try to tell me when I should get “back to work” and how long I should wait to date. I had people tell me how to raise my kids, where they should go to school. I have two words for those people. The first starts with an “f”. The second starts with a “y”. You can figure it out. I was left with my oldest almost 10 and needing transfusions once a week, every week. I was left with an 18 month old. I was left with babies who missed their dad and didn’t understand. I was left to try to explain and navigate grief for 4 kids when I didn’t even know how to navigate it for myself. I was left with an entire side of the family that not once reached out to help, in any way, ever. I was left to figure out why my baby couldn’t speak properly, why my daughter couldn’t hear properly, why one kid wouldn’t cry, and to learn to throw a football because my son was heartbroken when a boy told him he could get better at it if he just went home and asked his dad to help him.

I was left with those things at the beginning. I was also left with so much help. Guess what? As the years go by, the challenges don’t ever go away, they just change and they become much more difficult. The money becomes less as life becomes more expensive. Trying to work as much as you would like becomes a challenge because you still are one person with four kids. You still have one who you will always be there for when she gets her weekly transfusions. You have one going off to college and you wonder how to make it work, being so proud, but also having no support to turn to, no other parent or partner, when you’re frustrated or concerned. You still have three that you need to drive to four different sports. You are trying to work as much as possible and make more money for your family. You can’t keep up with cleaning or organizing or fixing things that really need to be fixed. You can’t even manage to figure out how to cook a decent meal for your family most nights or any nights and you hardly have the time to pick up groceries. You are spread so thin. And you still try to make it a point to try to keep sane, to be there for the kids, but also find time for yourself.

I won’t ever stop being here for my friend. I won’t ever stop being here for anyone else that needs me. I know how it feels to feel alone, defeated at times, and not knowing how to make it work. But I do know that it will work. I do know that I will continue to spread a message of hope and that I truly believe in hope, in faith, in better days, and in the good in people. I won’t ever stop being your cheerleader. I won’t ever stop being part of your village. I will NEVER judge you or think you are weak if you ask for my help. I will NEVER do something for you begrudgingly. If I cannot help with something,I will be honest with you, but I will also figure out what I can do now or in the future and I will help you to find whatever could help now if I cannot provide it.

Together we will have hope and continue to get better every day, more personally and professionally successful every day, and we will continue to heal. I won’t ever forget about you. I will continue to reach out. I will always be part of your village. Please keep being a part of mine.