WHEN ROCK BOTTOM COMES

“This is it.” I thought, “I’ve reached rock bottom. I can’t do this.”

I took in the scene. My long arms wrapped around the white porcelain. My body braced by the toilet bowl and I was barely able to keep my head up and eyes open. I looked down realizing that my black lululemons were soaked in urine from me vomiting so hard. And a pool had started to form between my legs on the floor.

“Oh my God. This is rock bottom.” A tear slowly slid down my face and I dry heaved again and again. Peering into the toilet bowl, I realized that it was dirty. “Wow, you can’t even keep the toilet clean Ange.” Followed quickly by “Am I the only one who cleans the toilet?” I quickly silenced these two asshole inner critics. Now was not the time to add more to my plate. And looking at the dirty toilet made me throw up again.

I could hear muffled noise and lifting my head, I saw my son Quinn standing at the bathroom door crying. Tears were running down his little 9-year old cheeks. “It’s okay buddy. Mommy is okay.” And I realized I didn’t believe it either. I tried to sit up taller and I watched as his lips moved. But I could hear nothing but muffled noise, my hearing having left me 3 days before. “What buddy? Mommy can’t hear you. Talk louder.”

He tried again, crying harder and despite locking eyes on him, I still couldn’t hear. I sat there trying to stay calm and I dug deep to find any ounce of control I had left. “Talk louder buddy.” He proceeded to show me the paper clenched in his hand; the one he had shown me proudly 20 minutes before and that I had signed for him for school. He had spilled water on it when he tried to get himself a glass of water for bed. He was upset about me but he was also upset about this paper that felt so very important to him in the moment. I felt even worse now because I had been too weak to get up to help him do it. “Wow. This is rough.” I thought. I spent a few minutes assuring him that I would help him fix it and that they would indeed take the paper at school. And then I told him to head to bed. I would be right there.

I sat a moment longer taking it all in and realizing what a fucking mess this felt like. “I can’t do this. I have had enough.” And I cried again. But what did I mean really? I had two choices, I could let myself sink deeper into this despair and let this situation wreck me further. Or I could pull myself together and try again. One more time. I chose to try.

Looking back, I know there was one tiny tiny tiny spark of light that I knew was there somewhere. I knew that I could get through this like every single other brutal hard thing that had tested me before this. I knew I wanted to feel better. I knew I wanted to get healthier and be there for my sons and my husband. I knew there was a way. It just was eluding me right now. But there was no fucking way that I was going to give up trying until I had exhausted every try. I’m crying now as I write this. Because I don’t believe I have ever fallen that deep into the darkness and despair and exhaustion. A simple head cold gone wrong … a ruptured eardrum. Really? My head actually exploded as I had joked so many times. This was my rock bottom? Really? But 45 years of experience. Endless stubborn try-agains and mindset work, and digging deep and knowing that I can do hard things, I knew I could get through this. And I did. I tapped into the version of myself that stands up and says “FUCK YOU, I am doing this.” and I picked myself up to try again.

(Excerpt from my book coming soon … it’s time)

xo Ange