mental health

Let it Linger

by Katie Welker

Each night when i’m leaving my son’s room at bedtime, I linger in the doorway for a few extra moments. It started when we were building his sleep habits. I’d stand in the doorway with the hallway light flooding in so he could see me and say, “close your eyes, it’s okay, mommy loves you”. It helped give him the emotional reassurance to be alone in his own room.

But now I do it for me. The lingering is a way I try to preserve the moment, to capture the memory that I know is fleeting. To say, “I love you” just one more time so I know it’s the last thing he hears as he falls asleep.

I don’t know a single woman on this planet who wouldn’t agree that motherhood is hard. And it’s not just hard, it’s complex.

Because these sweet moments top off a day that sometimes has the emotional equivalent of a rollercoaster ride with no seatbelt. Some days it just whips you around and all you can do is white-knuckle the safety bar in hopes you’ll make it out alive. And to top it off, the feeling of guilt is a regular passenger. As if you’re the one who forgot to buckle the seatbelt so the chaos is solely your fault.

But that’s why i’ve found it’s important to linger when it’s good, and change course as quickly as possible when it’s hard.

Changing course keeps you moving forward, even if you’re zigzagging across an unknown path and no one is in sight. Even if you realize later on that you were in your own way. Even if it’s just a small side step or a deep breath. Whatever you can muster to make it better.

And how do we linger? Minimize all distractions and noise so you can be present enough to witness the moments where the opportunity to do so is right in front of you. I’ve found that presence is one of the greatest life hacks, particularly in motherhood.

So linger in the doorway at bedtime. Linger in the embrace of a hug, a giggle, a “mommy, watch this!”, “kiss it make it better”, “sing the mommy song!”, “again! again!”.

Because lingering is where the view gets good, where the world truly stops and says, “this is what it’s all about.”

It’s where you remember why you took the journey in the first place.

It’s what reminds you that it’s all worthwhile.

It’s what keeps you going.

What else?

by Katie Welker

Tomorrow marks four years since my brother passed away by suicide. And as I write that first sentence, I can’t help but feel like I’ve written it before.

And quite honestly, it’s probably because I have. Well, sort of.

You see, each year on the anniversary of his passing, I’ve had this gut-wrenching push to use the cathartic outlet of writing to find a lesson amidst the mess.

I’ve talked about the traumatizing grieving process and the message he always said that is still stuck with me, how we must push ourselves to keep going, remind ourselves that life is truly of the essence, and to lean into our feelings, even when it’s challenging.

But this year, i’m frustrated. Because after four years, it’s exhausting to have this be “my story”.

Maybe it’s my own fault, but I don’t want to just be the girl whose brother passed away by suicide. I don’t want to be the one who has triggers that bring me to tears. I don’t want to be the one who’s hyper-aware of mental health issues in today’s society and how they impact every single person. Yes – every. single. person. But I am.

But here’s what else I am…

I’m a daughter to parents who still get up every single day, make the most of the crap hand that’s been dealt to them, and who still give their heart and soul to three daughters and countless others. They are warriors and I am in awe of their ability to continually push forward, no matter how small the steps can sometimes feel.

I’m a sister to my twin sister Emily and my older sister Mary, who have gotten me through more rough days than I can count. They remind me to be kind to others, not to be scared to discuss the “stigma’, and to fight for a cause that’s so much bigger than ourselves and our family. They are the glue that often holds me together and the light at the end of what can often be a very dark tunnel.

I’m a girlfriend to a hilarious, hardworking, dream of a man. We have goals for our lives individually, and exciting plans for the life that we’re building together. We prioritize our happiness, laugh often, and bond over the sting of losing someone too soon. He makes the good days great and the bad days bearable, and I truly feel he’s the counterpart I’ve always hoped to have by my side.

I’m a coach to a team of goofy, driven, potential-filled cheerleaders who time and time again lift me up without even realizing it. They’ve helped me share my passion for not only the sport, but for everything it stands for: teamwork, confidence building, and achieving a common goal that you pour your blood, sweat, and tears into.

I’m also a friend, a coworker, a writer, a book worm, a wanderer, a loyal sports fan, a college graduate, a former Buffalo and Chicago resident, a heartfelt fan of Friendsgiving, and most importantly, a family girl.

So while I am certainly someone who constantly misses her brother to tears, I am also much more than that.

I tell you this to make you realize that you can be defined by more than one circumstance.

You can miss people and still live with proud moments and a full heart.

You can fall on your face and still stand back up.

You can make terrible mistakes and still put the pieces back together.

Yes, there are some circumstances that will partially shape and define your story. We all have them.

But I urge you, push you, beg you to try and think beyond those circumstances and ask yourself, “what else makes me who I am?”

Think long and think hard. Put your heart into the reflection of it all. Lose the guilt. Be honest with yourself.

What else?