I often hear questions like, “How did you decide to start blogging?” or “How is it you seem to be handling this so well” or “How can you laugh about some of the things you have been through?” or “How do you keep from running over people in the parking lot of your office?” Ignore that last one, it’s a question I ask myself.

I laugh about a lot in my blog, and joke about serious subjects, but let me be perfectly clear about something. It has taken a long time to reach the point I could even talk about things that happened this last year, and even longer to joke about them. I kept most of what was happening to myself, or just within a very small circle of family and friends. I was all over the place emotionally – hurt, embarrassed, angry, frustrated, sick and tired. Keeping everything bottled up made me feel like an over inflated balloon on the verge of popping any second. My poor husband walked around on eggshells for so long, never sure what might set me off, or make me start crying, or what would irritate me. So, normal me, multiplied times 100. I was desperate for a way to share what was happening and to get it off my chest. But there was so much going on, physically, emotionally, and professionally, and it wasn’t something that could be brought up casually in a conversation. (If you have been following my blog regularly, then you see how much there was, and we aren’t even to the really bad, crazy stuff yet). I needed an outlet, a way to blow off steam. And since ordering a truckload of manure to be delivered to someone’s driveway or setting fire to a building is frowned upon (and apparently, also arson), I chose a more appropriate (albeit less entertaining, but legal) outlet. I decided to write. Doing so allowed me to tell my story, at my pace, and without interruption. Sarcasm and humor included. What can I say? It’s the gift that keeps giving.

Writing is something I have always enjoyed. I express myself so much better in written form, and it is one thing I think I am good at. But writing has become even more important to me now. MS has made some things a little more difficult. Things that I used to take for granted. One of those is differences in my speech. I find my words get jumbled up a little more when speaking these days. Thankfully, it’s not something most people notice, but those close to me probably do. And I hate it. I speak slower and have to pace myself and really think through what I am going to say before I say it, because otherwise, the wrong words come out. Here’s a relatable way to describe it. It’s Saturday night and you are at a party and have had a little too much to drink. All is good, until you see your boss, future mother-in-law, first grade teacher, pastor, etc. Basically, anyone you wouldn’t want to be loaded in front of. You try to hide, but they spot you and are on the way across the room. Hugs, kisses, then small talk begins. While the conversation is going on, you wonder the entire time if smoke is coming out of your ears because your brain is working so hard to choose the right words and enunciate them correctly. You are speaking slower than normal, but not enough for them to take notice, and everything seems to be okay. The conversation finally ends, and you are exhausted from the strength it took to sound like you don’t have a blood alcohol level twice the legal limit. Admit it, you have probably been there at least one time. Welcome to one struggle in my daily life, and I am sober each and every day. Thank you, MS. So yeah, writing is much easier for me. Less stressful, exhilarating, fun, and something I really enjoy.

I wanted to write. I needed to write. I couldn’t wait to write. So, before I busted like a button on a pair of blue jeans after Thanksgiving dinner from everything I was holding in, I sat down one random Tuesday with my laptop, my love of writing and an endless supply of humor and sarcasm. I was wound so tight and had so much to talk about that the words just poured out. Getting things out of my head and on “paper” was a form of therapy, and by that evening I felt like I could breathe easier. This is going to sound so cliche, but it was truly and honestly, lifechanging. I was addicted, I’m not sure if it was the actual writing that I loved, or the way it made me feel, but either way, I wasn’t going to stop. I wrote for weeks, story after story, sometimes just snippets that would pop in my head and I would put aside until later. My best ideas came when I was in the shower or blow-drying my hair. I came up with some of my favorite blog titles during those times (Cleaning for Casseroles is still my favorite). At one point I had a notepad on the bathroom counter and beside the bed if something came to mind that I didn’t want to forget. When I had writer’s block, I would spend the time researching how to start a blog, creating and designing websites, and the ins and outs of managing your own site. Then ideas would come again in waves, and I was back to writing.

The more I wrote, the better I felt. It was like a weight was being lifted up off of me, and the heavy burden of keeping emotions bottled up was slowly disappearing. I’m pretty sure my family could tell a difference in how I was feeling too. I finally fessed up and told them I had been writing, something my mom and husband had been encouraging me to do for some time. They were of the same belief as me – things that happened were so unbelievable, and so unreal, that it was like a work of fiction. Once I told them about the blog posts, things started to feel a little more real, and I started considering sharing it with others. But I needed a title for my blog website, and honestly, I was completely stumped. I spent weeks trying to come up with something, but I couldn’t find anything that seemed to fit. I often referred to the last year as being a “dumpster fire” so my hope was to somehow incorporate that into my blog name. And out of the blue, on a Sunday in April, what I was looking for was dropped in my lap. I was sitting in church with my family, listening to our pastor as he read from Corinthians – “Three things will last forever: faith, hope, and love – and the greatest of these is love.” I remember thinking to myself in that exact moment, “Holy Cow, that’s it!!” Faith, Hope, Love, and Dumpster Fires. I got goosebumps. I’m a dork, I know.

Now, I am not someone that typically plasters their business all over social media. I stay pretty quiet on that front. Other than taking part in some fun interior design posts and communities on Instagram and occasional Facebook posts, mostly about my kids, I don’t usually over share. So, creating a blog that basically opened my life to the world and exposed my health, my emotional state, my professional frustrations, and pretty much anything else in my personal life, was HUGE. Once I started it, there was no tiptoeing around the facts. The only way to truly tell my story would be to tell the whole story, which would mean exposing things not only about myself but also others that played a part in my insomnia, weight loss and need for an increase in anxiety meds. I finally published my blog site online, but nobody knew other than my parents and my husband. I continued to write blog posts, added photos and stories, tweaked the layout, and checked on it each day. But there was safety in not sharing it with others quite yet. Finally, one night, my husband turned to me and asked, “What are you waiting for? What have you got to lose?” So, I did something I wasn’t quite sure I would ever do. I announced my blog on Facebook. I still remember the minute I did it. I typed up a short description to all my friends, hit “post”, slammed my laptop shut and tossed it on the couch like it was burning hot. I was scared and excited. Nervous and doubting. Afraid nobody would read it, comment or care. I didn’t want to see anything, so I muted my phone and completely ignored everything until morning.

And what a morning it was! I woke up to Facebook comments, texts, emails, updates from the website showing how many people interacted with the site, and a couple of missed calls. It was awesome. That first week, I was getting messages from high school and college friends that I hadn’t had a real conversation with in years. Friends were telling me they shared my blog with their friends that had a connection to what I was going through. I started receiving messages from people I had never met but were directed to my blog and couldn’t stop reading because they had been through similar things. It was amazing, uplifting and encouraging. The fear I was feeling about the blog had disappeared, and the weight I had been carrying for so long while keeping everything to myself was completely lifted. I seriously bounced when I walked. I couldn’t stop smiling. It felt like my blog had been the final step in my year of healing. My only regret was that I didn’t do it earlier.

Writing gave me an outlet to talk about what happened, share my MS story, provide information that might end up being helpful to someone else (which I have recently found out, it has been. How exciting!) and tell others going through terrible, awful things that they are not alone. We are all dealing with something, whether we talk about it or not. In my case, I have decided to talk about it and share my struggles. I’m not trying to say mine are any easier or harder than anyone else’s, I just feel better by putting my experiences out there. It’s my therapy, and it has truly been a lifesaver. Granted, having a platform to throw stupid people under a bus doesn’t hurt either. Especially when I have more than 3,500 followers (and growing). I said I was feeling better, not that I was nicer.

Life is hard by itself. Life with unexpected bumps is harder. Life with MS is less like an unexpected bump and more like an off-road adventure with potholes and mud slides and heavy rain. And you run out of gas. And bears are chasing you. And you lose your shoes. And then you fall down a cliff. You know, hard, but not impossible. And that is one thing I am most thankful for. I have learned that I can handle hard, and what I am facing is definitely hard, but it isn’t impossible. Things could be a lot worse. Trust me, I really believe that. And if they do get worse, I’ll make sure to blog about it. Sarcasm and humor included. You’re welcome.

Now, if you will excuse me, I need to place an order for a truckload of manure. For gardening, of course.