I don’t like Octobers

I’ve said it before and I’ll probably say it again and again.

It’s moments of deep dark depression, of grief, of illness, of vast unsureness, of things that don’t deserve space but take it without remorse.

I’ve tried so hard to mend my heaviness with Octobers. I’ve tried to brush it aside and say it isn’t following me.

I’ve tried to ignore it in hopes that the places would become less so than they were.

But, I just truly don’t like Octobers.

And I guess there’s something in that. There’s something in disagreeing with an entire month that’s speckled with timestamps and anniversaries. That has so much hurt packed into 31 days.

How do you move through it?

How do you find a way to not be bogged down with the things that came before?

I wish I had an answer.

I’m sitting here hoping that the words will appear. Things that can bandage the wounds that find a way to rip open even though they’ve long since healed.

It was an October 18 years ago that the things that are heavy tried to take me under and truly Octobers have haunted me ever since.  

And of course sitting here trying to rearrange Octobers in my brain, to trying to figure out what to do with all that it is, the answer simply lies in this:

For every October I’ve hated, I’ve still met November.

Every.single.time.

I have survived every October I’ve not liked. 

I survived and I’ve grown from them and with them.

I think it’s ok for me to hate Octobers.

To not like a month that marks moments where my life felt like it might not make it into the next. 

To not like a month that’s been inundated with loss and depression and hopelessness.

But I also have to hold in my hand all the Novembers I’ve made it too. 

I don’t know what month or day or moment it is for you. I don’t know the place that holds more heartache then good.

I just know if you’re reading this you’ve made it through those days to the next.

And I am so so grateful for the story you’ve written because of it.

With love,

Meg