A Letter to Myself

It's been 15 years since I was in a car accident that altered the trajectory of my life. I've written and posted about it multiple times over the years. Each time differs, as the grieving and healing processes continue. 

Note: links to previous posts about the anniversary of the car accident at the end of this post.

This year feels different. 

The past year has included a Pain Rehabilitation Center (PRC) program, Emotional Awareness and Expression Therapy (EAET) course, and attending a writing support group, all of which have provided me resources and opportunities to make important changes in my life and within myself. I will share more about these in future posts. 

Today, I want to share a letter I wrote to myself. I've written multiple different letters to myself over time. These letters offer compassion, guidance, and encouragement to myself, reminding me that I can and will make it through whatever hard thing I'm facing. They serve as a gentle guide, map, or light for me to get through the difficult times. Here is one such letter. 

My dear self,

I know you’re struggling and your heart feels heavy. Pause and take a breath. 

Feel the air come in through your nose and out through your mouth. Notice how that feels in the body. 

You are going to get through this, just as you have every hard thing before. 

Breathe. 

Rest. 

Identify and acknowledge the emotions and core beliefs that come up. 

Be gentle with yourself. 

Write. Writing helps to gain clarity and release hurt better than anything else. 

Pray. Ask God to come alongside you and provide what you need in each moment. He is faithful. 

Reach out. Jeremy is your strongest supporter in life. Allow him, and others, to be there for you. 

Use the skills and tools you’ve learned and strengthened over the years: breathing, healthy coping and distraction, and resilience. 

You are so resilient! You persevere through challenges. You are a warrior. 

Listen to music. Look for beauty. Bake a cake. Play a game. Write, write, write. 

Do these to help you feel like you again. 

Breathe and let go of what you’re able to. 

I’m so proud of you! I'm proud of you for never giving up, for doing the hard work, for always holding onto hope as well as you were able. 

Keep going, you’ve got this.

Love, Me

Photo by Jamie Valendy

I wrote this letter during the PRC program in 2022. I wrote it on October 10. That day has a history of pain and redemption, over the years.

• It was the day that I was in a car accident that changed my life. 
• It was the day that I started seeing my amazing headache specialist.
• It was the day that I wrote this letter to myself and graduated from a pain rehabilitation program. 

A lot has changed in the past 15 years. I have picked up the pieces of a shattered life, more than once, and chosen what to keep and what to let go of. I have fought battles within (and out) that few or no one knows about. I have worked hard to become the person I am, and I will continue to keep (re)building and growing. 

I've got this!

If you'd like to listen to me read this letter, you can! I was asked to share on a recent US Pain Foundation Building Your Toolbox talk about the importance of writing. Click here to listen on YouTube (https://youtu.be/AolqG1FvoUw). I read at 24:00.

If you'd like to read more, here are some links: 

• The Battle Begins
• 3-Year Anniversary of Car Accident
• 4-Year Anniversary of Car Accident
• Reflecting 12 Years Post Accident
• 13 Years Later, Now

Suicide Prevention Awareness

September is National Suicide Prevention Month. September 10 is World Suicide Prevention Day.

Photo by Thought Catalog on Unsplash

Suicide is something that hits close to home for so many people, yet we often don't talk about it. There is a lot of shame, guilt, and stigma associated with mental health and suicide. 

We need to talk about our mental health. 

I've shared some about my experiences with depression, anxiety, post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), panic attacks, grief, loss. It's all part of my journey and it's important to share so others know they're not alone. 

You're not alone.

My cousin died by suicide in 2020. It's a heartbreaking and complicated loss. The stigma around suicide affects how we process the loss and grieve. For me, I found that it's further complicated in light of experiencing deep depression and suicidal thoughts at various times in my own life. 

I do my best to speak about mental health, chronic illness, and suicide with honesty, vulnerability, and language that reduces the shame, guilt, and stigma associated with them. Life is hard enough without these piled on. 

You matter. You are enough. You are not alone.

*The following resources include additional information, support, and helplines*

Awareness

• The American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP) highlights the Talk Away the Dark campaign: "There are countless ways you can help Talk Away the Dark by initiating open conversations about mental health; speaking up and making sure more people know what research reveals about how we can help prevent suicide; lighting the way for those in distress to feel comfortable asking for help; and knowing what to say to support survivors of suicide loss and provide them the care they need." 

About Suicide

• Globally, more than 700,000 people die due to suicide each year, that's about one suicide every 40 seconds. (WHO, Suicide Prevention Fact Sheet and Suicide – TWLOHA)
• In the U.S. (2021), there is a suicide every 11 minutes. (Suicidology, Fact Sheet)
• Suicide is the 10th leading cause of death for Americans. (CDC, Fact Sheet" and Suicide – TWLOHA)
• Suicide is the 2nd leading cause of death for Americans ages 10-34. (CDC, Fact Sheet" and Suicide – TWLOHA)
• Males die by suicide four times as often as females, but there are three female attempts for every male attempt. (Suicidology, Fact Sheet and  (Suicide – TWLOHA)
• In 2012, the US Department of Veteran Affairs (VA) released a data report for suicides among veterans and active military members, indicating that an average of 22 die by suicide every day. (22Kill and Mission22)

Resources

• American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP)
• World Health Organization (WHO) (mental health and suicide data)
• American Association of Suicidology (AAS)
• National Alliance on Mental Health (NAMI)
• To Write Love On Her Arms (TWLOHA): "A nonprofit movement dedicated to presenting hope and finding help for people struggling with depression, addiction, self-injury, and suicide."
• The Jed Foundation: "A nonprofit that protects emotional health and prevents suicide for our nation’s teens and young adults, giving them the skills and support they need to thrive today…and tomorrow."
• The Trevor Project: "We provide information & support to LGBTQ young people 24/7, all year round."
• 22KILL (One Tribe Foundation): "Restore the value of life by empowering veterans, first responders, and their families."
• Mission 22: "Our Veteran non-profit offers programs at no cost to all participants. We focus on three main pillars—Veterans, families, and community."
• Talk Away the Dark: Resources to learn the warning signs, know the risk factors, and have real, open conversations with those you care about.
• 988: We can all prevent suicide: Know the risk factors, warning signs, help others in crisis, and change the conversation around suicide.

Helplines

• 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline (formerly known as the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline) at 988 or text TALK to 741741. For those that are deaf and hard of hearing, use your preferred relay service or dial 711 then 988. Spanish is also available.
• Crisis Text Line (24/7): text TALK or AYUDA to 741741 or chat online to connect to a trained crisis counselor for free, 24/7.
• NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness) Helpline (M-F 10am-6pm ET): 800-950-NAMI (6264) or info@nami.org
• Veterans Crisis Line (24/7): dial 988 (press 1), text 838255, chat online
• Additional 24-hour helplines (including child abuse, domestic abuse, sexual abuse)

If you, or someone you know, is in suicidal crisis or emotional distress, please call the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline (formerly known as the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline) at 988 or text TALK to 741741. For those that are deaf and hard of hearing, use your preferred relay service or dial 711 then 988.

Depression: An Update

Depression is hard. 

Photo by Greg Rosenke on Unsplash

That's true. And, yet, a huge understatement.

I can see ways that I've improved:

• I can more readily spot the signs of depression worsening.
• I have been growing my toolbox with ways to help me in battle.
• I find myself reaching outside of myself more than I used to.

I'm trying to focus on those things, but the truth is that there's so much other stuff chattering in the background... that I'm right back where I've been time and time and time again. Like there's no way to not.

Over the years, I've experienced depression to varying degrees. It's always there, though the depth, intensity, and disruption vary. Each episode is a unique and ever-changing combination of depression, anxiety, and panic attacks... making it a moving target to identify and manage. 

I've been in a depressive cycle for nearly 4 years. There have been moments of sheer beauty and joy, but the lows have been just as impressive as the highs. 

Depression does its best to push those positive moments out of my memory, while latching on to the painful ones. I'm doing my best to allow the space to grieve the losses and experience the joys, both with the intensity that shows up.

I seem to have more recently turned a corner to experiencing the deep lows, but the highs feel dampened. This may be partly due to deep sadness and grief stacking atop the depression. It's too heavy. 

I'm so tired and weary. The daily battles feel like a permanent fixture in my life.

I'm not sure how to get through all of this... but, there is no other way but through. 

Update: I wrote the above some number of months ago. 

There have been ebbs and flows to my experience of depression. Sometimes, depression is in the background and things don't feel quite as heavy and dark. Other times, there's a sense of emptiness and it feels like there's a blanket over everything. It takes a lot of hard work and energy to try to allow and accept even the difficult moments. I'm trying.

"I’ve managed to live with and through Depression before and can do it again. And that is a truth Depression cannot dispel." - Marie Shanley (Mxiety)

Allowing What I Need Right Now

I'm grateful for words that show up at the perfect moment and resonate.

Photo by Andreas Wagner on Unsplash

"Allow yourself the things you need right now. Whether that's space, rest, support, or something else, know that you are not a burden for taking care of yourself." - To Write Love On Her Arms

I'll admit that I don't always do the best at identifying or allowing myself what I need in the moment. It's something I've been intentionally working on... and it feels like life is giving me tons of opportunities to practice.

I have read the above quote at different moments over the past few months. It remains something I need reminded of, even though my responses to it have varied. 

• I have no idea what I need right now or how to make it through this pain, this grief, this moment. None of those things will bring relief or reprieve. 
• I am doing all the things I'm able to do for what I need right now, including, acknowledging that various pains (physical, mental, emotional) often team up with one another and have a propensity for telling lies. 

I'm fighting back with truths:

• This moment is hard, and I will make it through.
• The pain and grief are real, and I'm anchored to the One that will see me through each wave of every storm.
• I am doing what I can to take care of myself, and that is always enough.️

I know that there's likely more I want to write and explore on the topic. I'm choosing to focus on getting through the current storm, jotting thoughts down as I'm able, and being ok with revisiting them when I'm better able to. 

Pain Wraps Us Tightly Into Ourselves

Pain wraps us tightly into ourselves.

Photo by Erik Kroon on Unsplash

I wrote these words a couple years ago. They have proven to be so true. I have seen and felt it in me. I have seen and felt it in others.

Physical pain. Mental pain. Emotional pain. Spiritual pain. Relational pain. All pain. 

When pain is acute and deep, focus tends to draw inward. Toward the hurt, pain, chaos within. 

It sometimes feels like there's no way out of the protective walls that shoot up when the brain thinks we are in danger. The truth is that those walls often close off the very people that are willing to help. 

"I started to build a home with all the walls I was putting up for myself, but when I was finished, I realized I had built a cage and didn’t make a key." - Lidia Longorio

I have worked for years to recognize and intentionally act in ways that counter the closing off that feels natural when pain hits hard. 

One way I do this is to reach out, when I feel myself closing off and turning inward. I do this through prayer and connecting with a friend. It doesn't always make an immediate notable difference for me, but I can usually notice that it positively impacts the person I reach out to... and it ultimately impacts me, too, even if it's delayed. 

My goal in reaching out is to connect. This sometimes involves sharing about my current struggles, but not always. Oftentimes, it's simply to let them know that I'm thinking of them. This is likely related to me feeling alone in that moment and wanting others to know that they're not. I find that true connection helps both individuals feel less alone. 

"Knowing that you're not alone really does make all the difference in the world." - Normani Hamilton

Grief

Grief is a difficult part of my journey. It weaves its way through in so many different ways that I often don't even recognize or acknowledge its existence. I know that grieving the various and many losses in life is part of being human. And it's really hard.

From grieving losses related to chronic illness to losses of loved ones, I'd like to write through to try to make sense or peace with some of it. I'm not sure where this path will take me, so I'll start right where I am now.

Photo by Todd Turner on Unsplash 

Grief is so complex. It shows up in so many ways, at so many times, both expected and unexpected.

My body seems to remember anniversaries of losses, even if I don't immediately recognize the timing.

My mind has been returning to / flooded with memories very intensely in recent weeks, and I didn't realize why. Eventually, I looked at the calendar and realized that there are several deep losses within a few weeks of each other from late June to early July.

How long ago the original losses were doesn't seem to matter. Grief knows no time. It calls for experiencing and processing over and over and over. The waves sometimes seem to lessen in certain ways (like frequency or intensity), but they continue to come.

In my experience, grief can hit in different ways:

• Specific: the loss of a certain person or thing.
• Multiple: the loss of multiple people or things.
• General, over-arching, all-encompassing: a sense of all of one's losses.
• Combination: multiple ways at one time.

When multiple losses surface at the same time, the associated grief compounds. Instead of facing the grief of a single loss, which can be heavy and difficult enough, you're simultaneously facing unresolved grief of multiple or all losses. It can feel like drowning.

There's no way to shortcut grief, which really sucks. It demands to be felt. And it's in our best interest to experience and work through it, when it shows up. It sounds so simple, but I've never experienced it to be such.

 
As I face the grief of multiple losses, I'm doing my best to tread water, as the waves crash over me. I know that the storm will pass, or at least change. So, I do what I must to weather it and process what I can along the way.

“The reality is that you will grieve forever. You will not ‘get over’ the loss of a loved one; you will learn to live with it. You will heal and you will rebuild yourself around the loss you have suffered. You will be whole again but you will never be the same. Nor should you be the same nor would you want to.”
- Elizabeth Kübler-Ross

13 Years Later, Now

I recently posted Reflecting 12 Years Post Accident, which I wrote in 2020. Please feel free to click over and give it a read. While I don't post about it every year, I felt the need to, again, this year (2021).

Mixed emotions. That's how I feel, as the 13th anniversary of my car accident approaches. Each year hits a bit differently. It doesn't always affect me. I took the power of that date back several years ago. I know that the date isn't inherently bad... yet, I feel the weight of it a bit more this year.

Photo by Tengyart on Unsplash

This year, it makes sense why it's on my mind more.

On September 30, I woke with what I labeled a "sleeping injury." I had pain and limited range of motion in my right shoulder and neck. I joked about how ridiculous our bodies are, that I could hurt myself while in an unconscious state.

I figured it was simply a matter of sleeping weirdly and that it would dissipate in a few days.

It didn't.

The tightness, pain, limited range of motion worsened each day. I've tried: heat, ice, muscle relaxers, nsaids, theracane, lidocaine patch, gentle massaging and stretching.

My sleep and daily functioning are both being disrupted and limited. I want to write, but I'm having a difficult time physically doing so.

There's an emotional component to this pain, as well, as it's reminiscent of past trauma / pain.

I know that our minds are prone to distort or misremember things, including pain experiences. This is often compounded by time. Understanding all of that, there's still a familiarity with the pain and limited range of motion I've been experiencing.

I injured my neck and right shoulder in a 2008 car accident. While I don't fully remember a chunk of time after the accident, I remember pieces. One of those pieces is that there was a lot of pain and I was physically very limited in using my right arm and neck.

Two years after the car accident, I had a neurostimulator implanted (2010). I had a very long and difficult recovery, including severely limited range of motion in my neck.

I've been doing a good job recognizing the connection to these past traumas / events that my mind and body are making, and reminding myself that they are separate. The car accident isn't happening right now. I am safe. 

In light of current struggles, I'm being reminded:

• Healing isn't linear - past grief, trauma, loss, challenges keep showing up. Each time they do, I do my best to feel it and process through.
• I'm safe - it can be especially difficult to remember this, when there's such similarity in how I feel (physically and/or emotionally). 
• I'll get through this, as I have previous challenges.

Update: I was seen by primary care on 10/5. I woke on the 13th anniversary day (10/10) with the first notable improvement in symptoms since they started. I'm so grateful for that. I have imaging and doctor appointments on the schedule to help determine the path forward.

Reflecting 12 Years Post Accident (2020)

I wrote this post last fall (October 2020), as the anniversary of the car accident approached. 

Over the years, the meaning and emotion of the event have ebbed and flowed in a way that perfectly illustrates the grief process. I've written about this multiple times before: 

• The Battle Begins
• 3-Year Anniversary of Car Accident
• 4-Year Anniversary of Car Accident

When I moved to Arizona in 2017, I started seeing a headache specialist here. It so happened that the date of that initial appointment was the same as the accident. I consciously chose to take back that date; the move and new provider representing a clean slate of sorts. 

This year has been filled with so much loss, on both the individual and collective levels. Perhaps it's in light of this that I find myself more aware, as the anniversary of the accident approaches.

As 12 years post accident approaches, I find myself reflective. 

Photo by Faramarz Hashemi on Unsplash

Following my accident, I fought hard to get back the pre-accident Jamie. I finally reached a level of acceptance in living with this disease, and fought hard for the Jamie I am today. I'm still a work in progress, no doubt. But, in this moment, I recognize that I've come a long way.

I have to be very mindful about how I think about this. It can be all too easy to spin down a path of what ifs. The truth is, the person I was when the accident happened is frozen in time. She very well might've had a different journey, but the person I missed for so long (and sometimes still do) would be whoever she grew to be over the years. And, that, is unknowable. It will forever be an unknown. So, I must remind my mind that the grass may not have been greener. 

I'm grateful to have some people close to me that know me and love me as I am, not who they wish I was. I want to see me through their eyes, to believe in myself the way they believe in me...  with less self-critical judgment. I'm working on it.

Today, I recognize that living with chronic pain is hard, that each year that passes may affect me differently, that grief is a process with ebbs and flows... and... that I can do more than I think I can, that I can engage with myself with compassion and love, that I can give myself space to experience the grief process in all the ways it shows up. 

(As I'm posting this a year after writing it, I'll share about this year's anniversary in a separate post) 

"Loving ourselves through the process of owning our story is the bravest thing we'll ever do." - Brene Brown

In Loving Memory of Jordan Conkle

*Sensitive Topic / Trigger Warning: death, suicide

My cousin, Jordan Conkle, died from depression by suicide on November 3rd. 

Loss and grief are part of the human experience, happening in a multitude of different ways throughout our lives. It's never easy. Processing tragic, devastating losses is really hard. I want to share some things that I’ve written, as I've tried to wrap my mind around this loss. It may be a bit bumpy, but grieving is rarely smooth sailing. 

In the Moment

Today started like any other. When I checked my phone, however, I had a missed call and voicemail, overnight. I listened to it and reached out via message to find out more. It was about Jordan, but that's all I knew. I didn't feel up to a phone call, but my anxiety nagged at me, so I texted my sister in law to see if she knew what was going on and if Jordan was alright. She immediately called me. Ok, so it's something that takes explanation. My mind didn't immediately jump to the worst (which is actually an improvement for me). 

Then, she said the words. The words that made everything spin and stop at the same time. 

Jordan ended his life last night.

What?

She repeated it.

I started to collapse down and lose it. Jeremy caught me and helped me safely down to the ground. 

I think I whispered, "Jordan's gone," in disbelief.

There is no good way to find this type of thing out. That said, I'm grateful for the family member that reached out during the night and for my sister in law. She was direct with telling me what happened, and was a soft and safe place for me to experience the initial shock and wave of emotions. I'll always be thankful for her love and care in such a heartbreaking moment.

Thoughts Day-of

Today, I found out that my cousin ended his life last night. I don't know how to wrap my mind around this.

Losing someone is hard. The circumstances around the loss, I find, can magnify different parts of the grieving process. You still must travel through the stages, in whatever order they present and re-present, but some come up more or are more pronounced.

This year, I've lost two people, both completely unexpectedly. I knew losing people would happen. It's part of being human. I wasn't prepared for the losses to strike so soon to people in their 30s, like I am. It's so hard to process, on multiple levels.

I don't want to sit in it, but I've been in the depths of depression. I know how bad that place is, and I'm so grateful that I've gotten out. I know others that have been in that place, too. We live with deep depression. There's a knowing that only people that have experienced that type of depth can have, even though everyone's experience is unique. I try to support those I can, in the ways that I can. They ultimately have to get out of the pit, but I can sit with them and shine a light for them when they're surrounded by darkness. 

I woke today, wishing it had only been a bad dream. It isn't, and that is crushing.

Memorial Service

The memorial service for Jordan was held in-person in Texas, followed by a graveside service. They streamed the memorial service on the church's social media. My sister and I were able to FaceTime and watch together. 

I attended a virtual memorial service earlier this year, but this one felt different. We weren't in Zoom rooms watching the service together. It felt like everyone was gathered together, and we were watching from afar. There was a disconnect. 

During the service, I learned that Jordan's favorite worship song was Here I Am to Worship. Jordan was someone who lived and loved big, and he's deeply missed by many.

I'm grateful for conversations with loved ones, both those also grieving the loss and those supporting me in my grief. I'm grateful for my cousins, who reached out and connected. I'm grateful that my sister and I were able to watch the service and be with one another in the ways we were able. I know that there will be waves of processing and grieving, much of which is done alone. I'm so grateful to have people that love and care surrounding me, who will support me however they can.

The Following Months

The holidays were filled with a lot of different emotions, for a lot of different reasons. In light of a loss in the family, my mind fluttered through memories, specifically those of growing up so close with my cousins. 

On Thanksgiving evening, I began to miss more... our big family Thanksgiving get togethers. Kristin and Jordan would get there later in the day and we'd play games. 

As Christmas approached, I felt the missing grow. Missing out being with family and friends, especially in light of a pandemic and unexpected family loss. I had dream(s) that included PaPa and Jordan, two family losses in as many years. I knew in the dreams that they're no longer with us, but they were special all the same. The one that Jordan was in: I think we were gathered as a family trying to watch his funeral service or something. Jordan came to me. He was younger. And we hugged, the way he did. 

I continue to give myself space to process. I wrote, "Jordan, it's Christmas Eve. We used to spend every one of them together (as we grew older, it was the weekend before Christmas). We would be eating, laughing, opening gifts, sneaking off to play with our gifts as the adults talk."

It's interesting the things we remember. I have tons of memories with Jordan, but many of them are simple moments. The silly grin on his face, his facial expressions, the way he hugged and laughed and smiled. 

As I've been processing, it's clear that we don't always remember the details of a memory or moment. That's ok. We can remember and hold onto how we felt in that person's company or presence. Love, laughter, comfort, calm, joy. All of these are so precious. 

Letter to Jordan

Jordan,

How can you not be here anymore? It's so hard to make sense of this world not having you in it. I know that we haven't kept in touch. But, you always have a place in my heart. I cherish the memories of all of us throughout the years. Watching Milan, playing games, playing pool, dressing you up, going to car shows, monthly family birthday get togethers, Thanksgiving at my parents' house, Christmas at your parents' house... I'm grateful that we were able to have that time together. 

We last saw each other in November 2019 at Grandma's 80th birthday party. When you were leaving, you stopped and chatted with me, giving me all of your attention. You told me that you read my posts and you asked me to tell you more about my advocacy work. We talked about Headache on the Hill and me speaking at RetreatMigraine and Miles for Migraine events. You shared that you wished I wasn't in so much pain, but that you're so proud of who I am and the work that I do. Then, you gave me a hug. Your hugs were so healing, a safe and loving embrace. I am beyond grateful for those moments and that memory with you. I felt seen. Beyond the childhood and familial connection, but rather one adult to another. That connection we had, I will always remember and cherish.

Jordan, I'm so sorry that you were in a place of such despair that you didn't see a way out. I won't get wrapped up in how I imagine you feeling or even what mental health challenges you might've been facing, as it's all conjecture, and truthfully doesn't matter... it won't bring you back.

I love you so much, cousin. 

Final Thoughts, For Now

I am working so hard to process the grief. To acknowledge and express the things I wish were different, without carrying the weight of regret. I will continue to process through the hurt places and grieving potential future outcomes. Learning lessons along the way that I can use to help shape how I move forward. Processing through the grief until what remains is love, cherished memories, and lessons to move forward.

Links:

• Obituary: Jordan Lee Conkle Obituary - Visitation & Funeral Information (lucasfuneralhomes.com)
• Memorial Service Video: https://fb.watch/34RAxG6ieW/

About Suicide

• Globally, there is one suicide about every 40 seconds. (WHO, Suicide Prevention Fact Sheet)
• In the U.S., there is a suicide every 13.7 minutes. (Suicidology, Fact Sheet)
• Suicide is the 10th leading cause of death for Americans. (CDC, Fact Sheet" (Suicide – TWLOHA))
• Suicide is the 2nd leading cause of death for Americans ages 10-34. (CDC, Fact Sheet" (Suicide – TWLOHA))
• Males die by suicide four times as often as females, but there are three female attempts for every male attempt. (Suicidology, Fact Sheet)

Resources

• American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP)
• World Health Organization (mental health and suicide data)
• American Association of Suicidology 
• 22KILL
• To Write Love on Her Arms
• Helplines: 
• National Suicide Prevention Hotline (24/7/365): 1-800-273-TALK (8255) 
• Crisis Text Line (24/7): text TALK to 741741 to connect to a crisis counselor
• NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness) Helpline (M-F 10am-6pm ET): 800-950-NAMI (6264) or info@nami.org
• Veterans Crisis Line (24/7): 1-800-273-8255 (press 1), text 838255, chat online
• Additional 24-hour helplines (including child abuse, domestic abuse, sexual abuse)

"No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear" - C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed

In Loving Memory of Jenn Tingwald

My dear friend, Jenn Tingwald, passed away unexpectedly on July 2nd.

I’ve been experiencing the full spectrum of grief. I have tried turning to writing, as it’s always been how I process my emotions and experiences. As I’ve found, though, words are often insufficient to express the fullness of universal human experiences… including, grief. This may be a long, bumpy post; but, I want to share some things I’ve written since I heard the news of Jenn’s passing. 

Words in the Moment 

Today, I found out that Jenn Tingwald passed away last night. I don’t know how those words together can be true. I can’t wrap my mind around it. I know that she was in and out of the hospital a lot over the past few months, but how is she gone? When I read of her passing, my heart broke and my body collapsed. We messaged earlier this week. She wasn’t well, but she was a warrior… like she always was. 

How do I even find the words to describe what I’m feeling? 

I’ve lost people in my life, from drifting away to death. 

This loss is different than others. 

Of course, it hurt badly when my grandparents passed, but they were ill for years beforehand. There was much grieving, sometimes for years, as there were a series of losses before the final one. 

This was different. 

This was completely unexpected. 

Jenn had a lot of health challenges, but she always made it through… until she didn’t. 

I know that grief is a process. I know that the waves will continue to come. Waves of disbelief, sorrow, overwhelm. The waves will vary in size and frequency, but they will continue. 

Today, it’s waves of disbelief and overwhelm. I can’t grasp it, and then it swallows me. It’s such a difficult part of being human. All day, I’ve sobbed and keep saying, “I don’t understand.” 

I know that a lot of things I do will remind me of her, as we shared so many ups and downs together. Living with chronic pain (struggles, successes, treatments, disability, etc), Mayo Clinic, advocacy work (including, Headache on the Hill and Miles for Migraine). Right now, that seems overwhelming. I'm reminding myself that each of these is an opportunity to respond with gratitude for our friendship and move forward with courage and perseverance, knowing she's with me in spirit.

Every ounce of me knows that she’s finally out of pain and with our Lord. I know that I’ll carry her with me, as will the many others whose lives she touched during her time on earth. I’m grateful for all of that, truly. 

Letter to Jenn

My dear friend, 

It’s been a week since you passed. I’m still trying to wrap my mind around you not being here. My heart aches and tears continue to stream down my face as waves of sorrow and overwhelm wash over me. I’ve been thinking a lot about you, and about our interactions. 

I remember the first time I met you. We were at the final American Headache and Migraine Association conference in November 2017. We sat next to each other all morning, but neither of us spoke to one another because we were both managing a migraine attack and medication side effects. As we broke for lunch at the end of the conference, we started talking (my mind doesn’t remember clearly if we just started talking or if Dr. Starling introduced us). Either way, we learned each other’s names and chatted a little. Then, we connected through social media, and grew our friendship. I’m so grateful that we didn’t allow the opportunity to meet pass us by. 

You were the first local friend I made, after Jeremy and I moved to Phoenix. I didn’t know how I’d make local friends, given the limitations of this disease; but God crossed our paths and we became close friends quickly. 

Over the past couple years, we were open books with one another, allowing for a depthful connection that transcended the number of days we knew each other… 956 days. I cherish the conversations we shared about faith, advocacy, and the challenges and successes of living with chronic illness. 

You loved fiercely. I think that’s something we have in common. Your love for your family was unquestionable and second only to your love for God. I always enjoyed hearing stories and seeing pictures of your daughter. She is so precious, and I’m grateful that I was able to meet her in-person this March. 

Among other things, I will never forget your generosity and kindness. You always did your best to support and encourage me, despite the challenges you faced. Thank you for that. 

You made a difference in so many people's lives. Amongst the darkness of losing you, your light continues to shine. It's there in the lives you touched. It's undoubtedly you, and it's beautiful. 

It’s been two weeks since you passed. How can that be? My experience of time is warped. I want to tell you that it was such an honor being friends with you. Thank you for always encouraging me to simply be myself and reminding me to speak from my heart. What a beautiful gift. 

Goodbye, for now, my friend. 

Tributes
I was asked to share an overview of Jenn's headache disorders advocacy:

Jenn Tingwald was a fierce advocate for the headache disorders community. She participated in Headache on the Hill multiple years, spoke at two Phoenix Miles for Migraine events, and was featured in a PBS Newshour special that aired in February. Jenn openly shared about her and her daughter’s experiences living with headache disorders, and highlighted the importance of finding your voice and reclaiming your purpose through advocacy.

Jenn’s husband, Aaron, generously provided an opportunity to share a short video with a story about Jenn. I have many, but the one that was on my heart perfectly displays the kind, generous spirit of my dear friend: 

Jenn and I met at a migraine advocacy event in fall 2017 and quickly became friends and fellow headache disorders advocates. Last year (2019), Jenn and I were going to room together for Headache on the Hill. A couple days before the training, she canceled her trip. She desperately wanted to go, but she needed to focus on her health. When a horrible migraine attack knocked me down after my travel day, she tried to coordinate getting heat pads and Epsom salt delivered to me. Despite the challenges she faced, she messaged me throughout my travels and the Headache on the Hill event. She told me she’d be with me in spirit, and I could feel her presence every step of the way. 

Jenn was one of the strongest, most kind-hearted people I’ve ever known. She was a fierce advocate, especially for her daughter. And, she was a faithful prayer warrior. She always encouraged me to be myself and speak from my heart, especially when she knew I was anxious. I know she’ll continue to be with me in spirit, and I’ll hear her voice reminding me, “You’re going to do amazing!” 

For anyone interested: 

• Jennifer Tingwald Memorial Celebration Video: https://youtu.be/sapHU5bTyHQ 
• Celebrating the Life of Jenn Tingwald Facebook Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/2734079326696053
• Go Fund Me Page (the page beautifully expresses what an amazing person Jenn was, touching the lives of so many): https://www.gofundme.com/f/jennifer-cohn-tingwald-memorial
• National Headache Foundation (Jenn’s story): https://headaches.org/2018/06/29/jennifer-tingwald/
• PBS Newshour (featuring Jenn): https://www.pbs.org/newshour/show/15-percent-of-americans-have-migraine-disease-why-arent-there-better-treatment-options 

“The reality is that you will grieve forever. You will not ‘get over’ the loss of a loved one; you will learn to live with it. You will heal and you will rebuild yourself around the loss you have suffered. You will be whole again but you will never be the same. Nor should you be the same nor would you want to.” - Elizabeth Kubler-Ross and David Kessler

When Depression Hits

 A Silent Cry

My heart and soul ache
at the memory of who I was
and the thought of lost possibilities.

These losses seem like so long ago,
just a distant memory;
and yet they continually haunt me.

What is to become of me?
The uncertainty is a painful reminder
that things will never be the same.

It has been almost two years since the accident,
and yet I still cannot accept the changes
in who I am and what I will be.

Will the pain ever cease --
the pain of knowing that I'll never be the same,
the pain that holds my life captive?

I have lost all self-confidence,
I have struggled with my trust in the Lord,
I have shut out friends and loved-ones,
I have missed opportunities,
I have changed.

© 2010 Jamie Valendy.

I've suffered from depression for years, but the worst of it has been since my car accident triggered chronic pain that has taken over my life. I think that depression is just as misunderstood by most people as chronic pain. Just as migraine is not just a bad headache, depression is not just a lot of sadness. Describing depression to someone that has not experienced it him/herself is like trying to describe chronic migraine to someone that has never experienced a migraine (or even headache).

Having a loving support system (through my family, friends, and church) has been key to getting through those dark times that feel like they will never release you. It is normally indirect support, since I tend to internalize things and try to handle it on my own. After years of fighting depression, I know how difficult it is to reach out to get help, even from those close to us. But, it is an important step. Most family and friends cannot help enough through the darkest of times, so it may be necessary to reach out to a professional. There is no shame in this... though, again, I know it can be one of the hardest things to do.