This image popped up on my “Facebook Memories” today and I had to chuckle. I remembered all the energy I had poured into choosing a wedding day photographer exactly for this reason. I wanted someone to capture the excitement and love and happiness of our day, because I knew that there would eventually be hard days ahead. And I wanted us to be able to look back and to remember the happy moments and how we felt on the day we got married. Little did I know, one of those “hard days” would come so soon into our marriage.

Don’t get me wrong, the entire first year of our marriage was hard because of lots of circumstances outside of our control–my chronic illness, having to live in different cities, Vince’s job search, fighting with insurances, navigating doctor visits, and the list goes on. But this blow up, was pretty epic. So what happened? He forgot to pack my mom’s flan.

Okay, I admit. It wasn’t my finest moment. I had a meltdown of epic proportions over flan. And as comical and ridiculous as that seems, in hindsight, it’s easy to see that it really wasn’t about the creamy, perfect custard that my mom made for me.

But that’s how most arguments go, right? It’s the little things that build up and finally ignite the large emotions? How often we can allow little things to snowball if we aren’t vigilant about exploring our feelings and communicating effectively. Thankfully, even in my ire, my mind searches for logic and understanding. And more importantly–I have a very understanding family, an incredible therapist, and a very patient husband.

So how did we get to tears over flan? Well, truthfully, some of it was because of the pressures of the holiday season–the desire to have a period of time where life slows down and things seem calmer and brighter. That pressure became compounded when my neurological disorders decided not to let up on my body, not even for Christmas. I had spent the majority of days between Thanksgiving and going home for Christmas in bed trying to ignore the pain I was in and fighting the fatigue that caused every bit of me to feel battered. So by the time Christmas rolled around, I hadn’t gotten to do most of the Christmas things I love doing. Decking the halls, baking, reading by the tree, wrapping and delivering presents to my chosen family all took more energy than I had to offer. I was depressed and in desperate need of genuine comfort and joy.

By the time we had to pack to visit our families, it was like I had been possessed by Ebenezer Scrooge (pre-revelation, obviously). I was literally dreaming up ways to skip Christmas.

Now, if you know me, skipping Christmas has never even crossed my mind or been in my vocabulary. Normal me loves all things Christmas and would extend the holiday season to 3 months long if I could. So this bah-humbug kind of attitude had me entirely uncentered. And the worst part was, I couldn’t figure out how to fix it. I tried inspirational audiobooks, curling under blankets, reading my affirmation cards, listening to music, praying; nothing seemed to pick me up out of the dark, sludgy hole I was in. In fact, I watched so much Netflix that even Netflix started annoying me.

So what was going on? I was mad at my body for not letting me celebrate the way I wanted to. For not being cooperative or giving me the rest and energy I needed to do the things that would truly light me up. For not allowing me to celebrate with my friends, and for keeping me isolated and cooped up. I was lonely, and sad, and angry. And I couldn’t get past those emotions. Every day that my body continued to malfunction made me feel more and more useless and depressed. It felt like all my normal outlets–friends, energy to read books or go to church, hosting, even retail therapy were gone, never to be seen again.

And then, we had to pack to go home. Usually I’m so giddy about going back to New York that you can hardly contain me. But I was so down, and in so much pain, and so discouraged by having to somehow muster up energy to pack and endure a 5.5 hour car ride, that I just couldn’t be my normal self. (Spoiler alert: that didn’t make things any better.)

Fast-forward to arriving in New York, where we spent a good deal of our time bouncing between my parents’ house and my in-laws’ house. And where I spent most my time laying down, visiting doctors, or trying not to let people see the constant pain that I’m in. Add to that the tension of the under-the-surface family drama that tends to bubble up with family gatherings, and you had the perfect recipe for a grouch-filled disaster.

But it wasn’t. We held it together and managed to build in moments of calm and fun despite the lingering undercurrent of tension. There were truly beautiful moments, like Christmas morning and dinner with my in-laws, and spending quality time with my mom and my sisters (and getting hugs from my nephew). But fighting the pain, or my crippling hands/legs, controlling my anxiety, and managing other people’s tense emotions was hard and draining on my spirit. The more I tried to focus on the moments that filled my cup, the more I realized that the cup seemed to perpetually have a leak.

And then it happened—old family patterns started resurfacing like a beached whale, refusing to be ignored. And this time, I was contending with my family patterns and my husband’s. I spent so much emotional energy trying to bring joy to others, help keep the peace, and focusing on celebrating, that I was truly spent. I ached to my bones. I realized that what I needed was a break and that this time, the holiday was not going to be it. That realization alone crushed a bit of my soul.

Sometimes I can’t help but think about all that my illness has taken from me. The career that was disrupted before it even got a chance to take off. The marriage that never really got a honeymoon stage. I don’t even get to daydream about having children or getting a dog because my medications make the first dream dangerous and my illness makes the second dream too much work. Sometimes it can feel like there is so little to hope for.

And that’s what I needed. Light, and comfort, and hope.

By the time we got back to Boston, my body was exhausted from me pushing it so much. From me pushing to bake when it needed rest, from me defending my position in over-impassioned arguments when what I needed was understanding and to be heard, from navigating other people’s bad habits and lack of communication, and from me being unable to focus on the forest because of the trees.

All I wanted was a way back to myself. A way to feel peace and hold onto sustained joy. So I decided to do a New Year’s redo. I left all the stress of the holidays and family reunion dysfunction behind. I was going to sit by my tree and enjoy the glow and all things hygge. I was going to fill my cup.

And that’s when I realized that the flan that my mother had lovingly made for me (and then packed when I was too sick to eat it) was missing. V had just went to the store to pick up ingredients to make dinner and wasn’t answering his phone, and I began to panic. Where was the flan? How could I possibly hit ‘redo’ without it? How was I going to recreate a perfect, calm start to the New Year if I couldn’t feel my mom’s love and comfort?

I wanted to scream and yell at V and he wasn’t even giving me that satisfaction or that reassurance because he wouldn’t answer his phone. My mom saw my frantic message and called me immediately. I sobbed about being too sick to pack things properly and oversee the entire packing process and (as a result) now missing out about her flan. I ranted about V not being careful enough in packing and about how if I don’t do things myself they don’t get done right (entirely inaccurate, btw. This was totally the tantrum speaking. V does the work of 3 people around our house and never even complains. He anticipates my needs and handles all of my medicines. He sits with me when I cry and when I writhe in pain. But in that moment, I was angry about my lack of control over my body, over the holidays, and over life in general.)

V came home just as I was texting my therapist about how not to blow up at him for not double-checking that we had everything packed properly before we left New York. And he sat with me. He apologized for missing the container in the fridge. And he listened to me cry about how it felt like life (and my body) just kept beating me up. He sat with me as I let it all out–the hurt over the uncertainty of our future, over not having the job I worked so hard to earn, about not getting to spend time with my family the way I wanted to, and about not having the energy to do more for him and our household. He heard me. He heard how the flan just represented a little tiny piece of the comfort and fulfillment that I was missing. He rubbed my back as I sobbed. And even through the sobs, despite being sad, I was grateful for him. I was grateful to be heard and understood, to be listened to and valued despite my physical or emotional state. I was grateful to be loved the way that he loves me.

There’s still a lot of healing that needs to take place as I adjust to living with chronic illnesses. It can be crushing to think that life as you knew is completely gone. But having V sit beside me, and my mom offer to make me a new flan and bring it to me, and my therapist listen to my rant about how deep the hurt can run reminds me that it’s not *all* gone. Things are different; some of them, perhaps forever. But many of the important things still remain. And those are the ones I have to hold onto as I work to move forward. It reminded me that not everyone will appreciate the person I’ve become, or will be willing to stand alongside me as I navigate these waters. But I need to cherish the ones who do, the ones who keep showing up. Who keep reminding me that I am valuable and valued. Who keep allowing me and encouraging me to show up just as I am. And whose presence constantly shows me that I have everything I need.

Here’s to you for taking this journey with me. And to the ones who feel “too much”: I see you. I hear you. And we can’t give up.

P.S. My sister had the flan. She brought it over the next day. Crisis averted.