December arrives. Here, on the cusp of deep winter, the Boy and I have just celebrated our relationship’s sixth anniversary. I’m so grateful that I was able to take these few days away from the pressure of work, having tied up the major structural edits for my novel this past Friday. Now it’s simply a matter of smoothing out the rough edges, tightening the bloat, and adding in what my agent refers to as “embroidery” — those lingering moments of emotion and depth.
That work is still likely to take a few weeks. I had been hoping to turn in a polished draft by the end of November, but between relentless medical appointments and still struggling to find my baseline, I’ve instead had to ask my editor for an extension. Honestly, balancing this project while both grieving and coming to grips with my body’s reduced capacity has been, in a word, brutal.
But all any of us can do is keep going. One day at a time — or when even that fails, hour by hour. Charting out timelines while still trying to understand my body’s change in capacity often feels impossible. To anyone in a similar situation, I simply want to say this: you deserve grace. Even when it feels like things are impossible, you are allowed to ask for what you need.
Sometimes, you may even be surprised by the people who show up, once you have voiced your struggle.
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