Prompt 217. Marking Milestones

& a prompt on unexpected gifts by Misty Watson

Hi friend,

I’m writing you this missive on Thursday morning, November 10—on the dawn of so many momentous dates. Today is the one-year anniversary of when I learned of my relapse. Tomorrow is Jon’s birthday. Saturday marks one year since we got engaged; Sunday, a year since the last time I saw my beloved pup LouLou, when we dropped her off with the sweet family who has been caring for her ever since.

All week, Jon and I have been trying to figure out how to mark these occasions, how to hold space for all of it—for the heartrending and the heart-expanding. We’ve gone back and forth, asking ourselves, “Should we throw a party? Rent a cabin upstate? Stay home?” We both feel the impulse to get away and reflect, to seek a kind of quiet. And yet we also feel the desire to celebrate how far we’ve come and how much good has happened, despite the challenges. As of today we have several different plans in the works, nothing concrete.

Hitting milestones, marking time—it can be so complicated. I have another biopsy next week, and I’m having déjà vu to this time last year, when I was waiting for the results. But I’m also feeling the tug of the future. That’s the thing about healing: you’re doing the impossible work of looking back and piecing together what happened, while also having to be present, while also setting your gaze on a hopeful new path. That pull of past, present, and future simultaneously is like being on a roundabout. It’s so dizzying—how on earth can you take a steady step?

From November 8, 2020. On my way to my bone marrow biopsy, Oscar scrambled into the front seat and pressed his head against my heart.

Holding the really beautiful things and profoundly hard things in the same palm—it’s one of those paradoxes, one of the challenges of being human. And as I look at my calendar, I realize I have more and more anniversaries to mark—both happy ones and harder ones. So instead of doing what I’ve done this week, feeling mired in indecision, I’m letting go. I’ve decided that the in-betweenness is part of it, and I’m not putting pressure to choose until we feel certain. Whatever we choose will be spontaneous and exactly right.

Which brings me to today’s essay and prompt, which is from a community member named Misty Watson. A few months ago, Misty wrote me a beautiful email about navigating her own interruptions, and I was so touched by the way she was making meaning of them. So we’ve asked her to share her story—to help shed light on a different path through the in-between.

Sending love,
Suleika

Some Items of Note—

• We’ve scheduled the next gathering of the Hatch, our virtual creative hour: it’s Sunday, November 20, 2022, from 1-2 pm ET. Going forward (barring a holiday or special occasion), you can expect it to take place on the third Sunday of the month, though we’ll also give you plenty of notice each time!

• In the Isolation Journals Chat, our new community space, we’re continuing our weekly ritual: a collective gratitude list of small joys. The Chat feature is currently in beta testing for iOS-operated mobile devices, though we’re told it will be available for Android within a month or so. You can join the conversation below!

Prompt 217. A Good Path by Misty Watson

I lived with chronic migraines for eight years, with upwards of twenty-five migraine days each month. In the final eighteen months, my condition escalated. Along with the migraines, I began experiencing brainstem auras, which in my case were life-threatening. I never knew when they would happen, and my husband and I moved through life in a panicked haze.

Then came remission: 168 migraine-free days. Oddly, those days were not a celebration. Rather, they were a kind of purgatory. I wasn’t sick, but neither was I well. I struggled with PTSD in the aftermath of so many medical emergencies. My husband hovered, perpetually looking for any sign that a brainstem aura may be brewing. I was migraine-free, but we weren’t free to move on.

In this liminal time, I read Suleika’s memoir Between Two Kingdoms, and inspired by it, I decided to plan a remission celebration for day 180. But on day 169, I woke up with one of the worst migraines I’ve ever had. I was devastated. I began to retreat into myself, to remove myself from my life. I left home only for work. That was all. 

But sometime early last summer, I woke up without a migraine. And then it happened again. And again. And again. And this time, I didn’t count. And here I am, more than a year later—I don’t know my actual anniversary date—migraine free. I had learned to simply live each day I was given.

Currently I’m in another in-between, as I navigate long Covid. Finding myself isolated within an illness over which I have no control once again—not being able to plan or live my life as I’d like—has worn thin, and I have not been a graceful presence in recent months. To that point, I had navigated life’s challenges by fighting my way through, and long Covid has been no exception. 

But so often life brings gifts exactly when they’re needed. On a recent walk in the forest, I was blessed with a new awareness: I could befriend rather than fight, accept rather than resist. I’m not bypassing my illness or emotions; rather, I’m giving them room to breathe and space to be heard, then making a new way forward.

I’m still tenderly finding my way through this shift, learning to walk in a different way. But already I feel stronger, and more feels possible. Each day, I have a choice about what’s important, where my focus will go, and what will serve me best. I suddenly feel like I’m on a good path.

Your prompt for the week:

Think of a time when life gave you a gift exactly when you needed it—a new friend, a new opportunity, some new knowledge that allowed you to change paths. Write about how that felt, and what it made possible.

If you’d like, you can post your response in the comments section, in our Facebook group, or on Instagram by tagging @theisolationjournals.

Today’s Contributor

Misty Watson is a full time chiropractor, a passionate gardener, and a (very) occasional writer. She documents her journey with chronic illness on her blog, this quiet life, and lives on Vancouver Island with her husband and her awesome dog, Tucker.

For more paid subscriber benefits, see—

• Marriage Vows and the Myth of a Good Catch, where I answer the question, “Is it selfish to ask someone to marry you if you’re ‘broken’?”

• On the Spiritual Dividends of Pain, a replay of our Studio Visit with the writer, actor, and filmmaker Lena Dunham

• Six Prompts for Getting Unstuck, a curation of some favorite past prompts for writing and drawing our way through