I've Got Electric Vibes

Too bad it's all in my legs. And my hands. And face.

Let me tell you about the adventure that is my life with neuropathy and an autoimmune disease. Picture it (channeling Sophia Petrillo from Golden Girls): one day, my body decides to throw a wild party without inviting me. "Hey, let's just attack everything inside," says the Hashimoto's. "Yeah, that sounds like a total rager!" Meanwhile, my nerves are like, "You know what would be really cool? If we just made your body feel like it's been replaced with a bag of angry bees!" And just for shits and giggles, let's throw in some chronic pain as the party swag.

Now, every day feels like a game of "Will I Be Able to Walk Today?" or "Am I Going to Get Stuck in a Weird Position on the Couch for 40 Minutes While My Legs Decide If They Want to Be Useful or Not?"

My body is like a rebellious toddler with a vendetta. There are days when I feel like the human embodiment of a malfunctioning Roomba—we named ours Number 5. I move in random directions, constantly bumping into walls and never quite getting to the destination.

But here's the thing. I get back up. Like a glitchy superhero, I rise again.

I may do it slowly, like navigating through molasses, but I get there. And while I'm hobbling around, feeling like a dysfunctional robot, I've somehow managed to insert a bit of fabulous in the chaos. I like to think of it as a slow-motion action scene; I'm the star of my own Die Hard movie, where the soundtrack is just my joints creaking and me muttering swear words under my breath.

Is it easy?

Absolutely not.

Is it fun?

Oh, definitely not.

Will I continue to ask and answer my own questions?

Probably. (My husband loves this)

But I am still here, cracking jokes about it, getting through the day, and staying somewhat operational.

Because what's the alternative—let this thing win? Please, it doesn't even know who it's dealing with.

I've been through quite a bit of therapy-approved, not pop Insta therapy, trauma in my life.

Being a Gen Xer means navigating life's dumpster fires with a stubbornness that can only be achieved through years of practice.

I don't do "grace under pressure."

I do "I'll fight until the wheels fall off, and then I'll duct tape the wheels back on and keep going." It reminds me of when I duct-taped my passenger door handle back on my Citation in high school.

Life throws curveballs, and we're over here like, "Oh, you want to break my spirit? Cool, but have you met my 90s playlist and my ability to ignore anything that doesn't involve coffee or sarcasm?"

Tough situations?

Please.

I've been through worse, like dial-up internet and the existential crisis of figuring out how to burn a CD without it skipping. I've seen it all and am still here, just a little more sarcastic and tenacious.

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You will notice my little corner on the internet has altered a bit.

Prairie Phoenix.

I’m rising from the ashes because I am too stubborn to stay burned.

I have risen from the ashes more than once—exhausting but needed.

Returning home to South Dakota with my husband, son, and little monster chihuahua was bittersweet. I walked straight into the fire when I was told of Dad's terminal cancer diagnosis.

And as I navigate this wild prairie of life, feel free to laugh, cringe, or question your choices for being here.

Enjoy the ride, and remember: it's not a meltdown; it's just a moment of "rebirth" (with more eye rolls than you'd like to admit).

I will leave you with these photos from our downtown. The boys and I took the morning off to slow down and enjoy the awesomeness around us.