Turning Horror Into Humor: A Relaunch

"Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil."

There exists a dichotomy that transcends most of my adult life. Ghastly pain, anxiety, and restlessness mixed with deep passion and love. But this year has forced me to face how contradictory things can co-exist.

Three years. It’s a long time to go between blog posts. I have wanted to relaunch this for a while, but life kept getting in the way. Then this summer, I finally built a plan and path forward to follow through with A Splash of Ginger 2.0.

Life was not quite done kicking me down, though. And honestly, revisiting a space filled with cobwebs that was intended as a joyful culmination of creativity and mental health when I was not doing well in either of those areas felt like an overwhelming burden. A day came in the midst of the storm – and when I say storm I mean an infestation of bugs (my worst fear) biting me constantly, a series of grief-striking news, and the opening of a whole can of trauma – where I smiled and laughed and texted friends with exclamation points again.

So, I decided to take advantage of the unfamiliar optimism to reflect openly and vulnerably. Because what is a personal blog aimed at mental wellness if not the perfect place to be unequivocally not okay.

~

My therapy sessions are currently free since I hit my deductible four months into the year with doctor’s appointments, hospital visits, blood tests, and X-rays. Yet I also recently published my fourth book. That’s the quickest summary I can give of my year thus far. It’s a dichotomy that transcends most of my adult life. Ghastly pain, anxiety, and restlessness mixed with deep passion and love.

As Taylor Swift sings, “I cry a lot, but I’m so productive. It’s an art.”

The outcome of those tests last winter was a low dose anti-anxiety medication and still no diagnosis for the autoimmune disorder all signs point to me having. I fell back in love with storytelling the past couple years as it infected every inch of my personal and professional worlds. I even took some of the darkest, most scarring moments from my twenties and turned them into Bloodroot – a Gothic duology that has easily become my favorite project to date.

On the one hand, I genuinely feel as if I have aged many years in the course of eleven months. But at the same time, it’s hard to complain when without all that, I wouldn’t have this (queue “thanK you aIMee”). The relaunch of a blog and brand originally birthed out of crisis aka COVID lockdown.

Once upon a time, I was about as pessimistic and self-pitying as they come. To be fair, I was also fifteen. One afternoon at church camp, I decided to shed that skin because it wasn’t my best look. I vowed to call the glass half full, searching for silver linings in everything.

Now at twenty-seven, I may have overcorrected. I trained that habit a little too well. I struggle to honestly tell people how I’m doing because it could always be worse. I’m deeply terrified of being needy or dramatic or ungrateful.

In the spirit of being an expert at spinning horror into humor, the silver lining of the past two months is that this week for the first time in as long as I can remember I actually said, “No, I’m really not,” in response to the question, “Are you okay?” Of course, no one wants to be facing such a tumultuous implosion of external and internal struggles that they have to admit that to themselves and others. But there is power in our words. In our stories. A power to smile or cry or laugh or scream.

I stopped any pretense of being okay. After a year and a half with my therapist, I finally had a session where I showed the discouragement without sprinkling on positives to make it more appetizing.

Somehow – in the irony that the universe just loves to throw at us – allowing myself to lose hope, to wallow in the dejection, to shut down almost entirely actually gifted me the smallest glimmer of hope. It’s so subtle, I almost missed it. In fact, I credit the voice in my head that keeps guilting me into restarting this blog for forcing me to see it. The faint light in the distance. I may not have reached land yet, but the beacon is there calling me home.

If I can leave you with one truth, it’s this: Let yourself feel the entire spectrum of emotions bombarding you at any moment. Do not grant them the power to control you, but flow by the natural currents they bring. Because sometimes when we cannot seem to find any possible way to experience the good, the most direct route is the one straight through the pit.

I would honestly give almost anything to send back pieces of this year for a refund. But in lieu of God endowing me with time travel abilities for Halloween, I can accept the solace of knowing that contradictory things can co-exist. I can lament at certain circumstances and permit myself to fully sit in that misery while simultaneously rejoicing in the friend or project or TV show or minuscule victory that almost for a moment makes me forget the rest of it.

~

Psalm 23 (My guiding light this year, gifted by a dear friend)

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

He makes me lie down in green pastures.

He leads me beside still waters. 

He restores my soul.

He leads me in paths of righteousness

for his name's sake. 

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

I will fear no evil,

for you are with me; 

your rod and your staff, 

they comfort me.

You prepare a table before me 

in the presence of my enemies;

you anoint my head with oil;

my cup overflows. 

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me 

all the days of my life,

and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord 

forever.