And Still I Smile

The last week and a half has been unexpectedly hard.

Not because of anything happening externally in real time,

but because of what’s been happening internally.

If you were to quote me, I’ve told my closest people it has been terrible—

and I rarely ever say that about my internal state.

The anniversaries of my dad’s death and the day the truth was revealed to me—about what I believed was my most important relationship, my person of comfort, affection, and, ultimately, scraps of care—hit my body with a force, intensity, and duration I didn’t expect.

All of it layered on top of the heavy, real-time decisions inside the school district.

I felt it.

And it impacted me.

It was like moving through my days carrying the full weight of the mountain that destroyed Tatsuda’s—inside of me.

No specific emotions.

No real tears or sobbing.

Just the accumulation of everything my heart, brain, spirit, and nervous system have been holding this past year.

As if something inside me was saying:

Katherine, what you went through was real.

It was profoundly painful.

And it doesn’t just disappear because you want it to.

I hate this.

So, I was gentle with myself while continuing to live.

I gave myself grace.

Love.

Self-compassion.

I set boundaries to protect myself while I was more emotionally fragile.

I reminded myself this will pass.

And when it comes back, it won’t hit this hard.

And still—I showed up.

I worked out.

Lifted well over 1,000 pounds in just a few minutes.

Pushed a wheelbarrow full of potting soil up and down a stupid hill more times than I ever thought I would.

I had difficult conversations.

Came prepared for the work that matters.

Moved big decisions forward.

I reached out to friends.

Scheduled coffee and lunch dates.

Went grocery shopping.

Fed myself.

I did the things despite the weight.

Because I know how.

I was genuinely disappointed that I had to cancel my trip to watch Jack compete in his track meet in Washington.

My sister and Emily made a road trip out of it—went to Forks, watched him throw, took pictures with cutouts of Edward and Jacob —and I wasn’t there.

Because of responsibility.

And that’s okay.

I know my priorities.

And the truth is—

I am a human being who has been carrying an unprecedented amount of weight for a long time.

And I am tired.

I could use a vacation.

I am paying attention to what this level of weight is asking me to change.

And still—

I keep smiling.