When Strong Is Not Enough

"Just buy basil. Just buy basil. Just basil."

It was my mantra on the Canadian May 2-4 weekend. I had spent the entire Saturday in bed, unable to find the will to do anything but stream old movies and sitcoms between naps and taking Tilda for sad, shuffling walks around the block. I stared at the wall a lot, too, avoiding looking at the body I've neglected these last months and that is being shunned by most of the spring and summer clothes I’ve just rotated into the closet, wondering if there was even a point to finding my way out of this dark tunnel.

I sneered at my birthday post, “50,” from just a few months ago, thinking how delusional I was to believe I was truly on the brink of "levelling up" my life. Over the years I've taken big risks, worked with discipline to achieve goals, and am forever digging deeper to break free from the patterns that stand between me and the life I am trying to build. But this time, oh this time, after more than a year of some of the most transformative inner work I've ever done, I felt empowered in a new way and ready to step into my full potential and the opportunities I was manifesting with aligned action.

And then...

It started with an appointment critical in my mom's unfolding journey with Parkinsonism, which triggered a tsunami of life-altering discussions — about assisted death, about immediate emotional and mental support, about home care, about a move into an assisted-care facility. The enormity of what lies ahead for me as a solo woman and sole care-giver living and working four hours away from a parent in need took my breath away. "I can't," I kept whispering to myself. Except, I have to. There's no one but me to do this with her.

That's also when I found myself saying "No" with a boulder-sized lump in my throat to a career opportunity I've been working so hard for, one that would allow me to work in alignment with my deepest values and transform my life in unprecedented ways, because I'm not able to relocate to the UK under the current circumstances. I walked my dog, Tilda, in eye-glazed autopilot for kilometre after kilometre trying to understand the Universe’s rationale for this huge mess. Why? Why open doors I’ve been knocking on for so long and then make it impossible to walk through them?

I told myself this was a first-world problem. That I was selfish for being broken by career disappointment while my mom's whole life is being upended. That no matter what I do, I never get the big breakthrough so I should just accept my mediocre life and stop suffering by always trying to reach for more. I told myself every terrible thing I could think of.

I withdrew into the heart of this spiral of dark thoughts. I interacted with people only as required at work. I disappeared from social media. I skipped workouts, ate junk food, and sabotaged my sleep. Every day I told myself I'd get my sh!t together and snap out of it, but one day bled into the next and it was just more of the same. Then I found myself in bed on the holiday weekend contemplating not planting my terrace garden this year, a space that is usually the source of so much summer joy.

“Just buy basil. Just buy basil. Just basil," I repeated over and over, persuading myself I'd regret not having my own supply of summer's iconic herb at some point down the road. I told myself I didn't have to tend to or plant anything else. Just basil. Just that one thing to remain connected to some semblance of a life that made sense. “Mood follows action," I also repeated, using Rich Roll's signature phrase to prevent myself from waiting until I felt better to act — it's the doing itself that saves us.

So I went to the plant stand to buy basil. And since I was there I also bought apple mint, oregano, and parsley. Coleus, calibrachoa, and portulaca. A new rosemary shrub. I planted everything the next day. I felt a little more hopeful.

That tiny shift in mood opened up enough space to allow me to take another action, an unusual one for me: I reached out for help. I'm strong. I've always found my way through really tough stuff. People are used to seeing me shoulder life on my own. The assumption is I'll be fine no matter what comes my way.

Except I don't feel fine right now. I'm struggling in a way I never have before. So I've sought professional help for navigating what feels like an overwhelming mix of eldercare, career challenge, fears about security, and my own life shift into menopause happening all at once. My therapist specializes in helping adult children manage transitions with their aging parents, and I sobbed when clicking "book now" for the first appointment — I was suddenly not alone in figuring out how to survive this patch of life.

This time I can't do it by myself. This time, being strong just isn't enough.