YouAreEnough

Yesterday was a hard day. It marked one month since my mom passed. I don’t understand how it has already been a month, and I don’t understand how it has only been a month. Some moments feel frozen in early January. Other moments feel like I’ve been carrying this loss forever.

I woke up already feeling fragile and triggered by the date. Then I spent part of my day helping welcome more than 300 mourners to a funeral for a beloved wife, mother, buby, and cherished member of the synagogue where I work. It was sacred to be there. It was meaningful to help hold space for a grieving family and community. And it was also deeply hard. Every tear, every hug, every ritual brushed up against my own grief. By the end of the day, I felt emotionally drained and my heart and mind felt heavy and tired.

Last night, a friend had asked me to join her at an aqua fit class. My first instinct was not to go, to just stay home, curl up, and not move. That would have been the easier choice. Moving felt like too much effort, but I also knew, somewhere deep inside, that my mind and my nervous system needed something more.

So I went.

Aqua fit is one of my favourite ways to move (right up there with hiking), and once I was in the water, I felt something gently begin to settle. My thoughts slowed. My body started to release some of the tension it had been holding all day. For the first time, I felt a small sense of calm return.

Judaism teaches us that our bodies and souls are deeply connected — that caring for our physical selves is also a form of caring for our spiritual selves. Tending to our wellbeing is not indulgent. It is sacred.

Water is often a symbol of renewal, transformation and healing in Jewish tradition. As I moved through the water, I found myself starting to breath a little easier. There was a moment when the weight shifted just enough to notice the gentle waves, quiet breaths, and unexpected pockets of calm.

Last night, I was reminded how important it is to listen to what our bodies and minds are asking for. Sometimes they need rest. Sometimes they need movement. Sometimes they just need us to take one small, caring step for ourselves.

Sometimes healing simply means allowing ourselves moments to breathe, to float, and to be gently held — by water, by friendship, and by whatever quiet strength is still inside, even when you’re not sure you can feel it.

#grief #onemonth #healing #judaism #water #movement #physicalhealth #strength #aquafit #mentalhealth #youareenough #sacred #selfcare

January is finally ending, though it feels like it took half a year to get here. It’s a month I want to forget, but never will. If I could ask for a do-over, I would.

Four days into the new year, my mom passed away. The world didn’t pause, and almost immediately after, I got really sick. Then came the bone-chilling cold and record-breaking snowfall. Grief had to squeeze itself into whatever space was left. It kept moving while I was just trying to stay upright.

It still doesn’t feel real most days, and I often catch myself wondering if I’m grieving the “right” way—if surviving the day should count as enough. Grief, like my relationship with my mom, is complicated. It’s not neat or predictable. There’s no roadmap. No manual. And even knowing that, I still find myself shaming myself for how this looks. I’m learning, though, that grief doesn’t ask for performance. It asks for tenderness. For compassion. For permission. For honesty.

It allows numbness, laughter, exhaustion, and tears to exist side by side without having to prove myself to anyone.

Some days I manage it. Some days I don’t. All of it is part of grieving.

What I didn’t expect was how often I’d need my mom in the smallest moments. The silly things. The instinct to call her without thinking. Grief lives in those pauses—when your hand reaches for your phone and your heart remembers before your head does.

This week, I kept catching myself half-expecting for my phone to ring, knowing she’d be calling to make sure I wasn’t going outside in the dangerously cold temperatures. I’d be rolling my eyes, reassuring her, “I’m bundled up—and so are Rich and the kids.”

The other night, though, I think it all caught up with me. And something in me broke.

At 1:30 a.m., our house was jolted awake by a fire alarm beeping incessantly after the power went out briefly. Chaos followed— all of us half-asleep, and nerves frayed until we realized it was just a smoke detector that needed a new battery.

Once the house was quiet again, my mind became louder than any fire alarm imaginable.

As I crawled back into bed, sometime after 2 a.m. everything I’d been holding in poured out—grief, anger, exhaustion, denial, bargaining, longing. It wasn’t graceful or calm, but it was necessary. Silent tears quickly erupted into several hours of uncontrollable sobbing.

Rich held me until I could breathe again. No fixing. No answers. Just being there.

I’m still very much in this. But after such a long, heavy month, that night felt like the beginning of allowing myself to grieve instead of pushing it aside. Allowing the messiness. Allowing the truth—even when it doesn’t look like what I thought grief was supposed to look like.

There is no one way to grieve.
There is no timeline.

As January finally comes to an end, I’m not leaving it stronger or wiser. I’m leaving it softer. More honest. More aware of how deeply my mom is still part of my everyday life.

I’m doing my best.
And yes mom, I promise, I’m all bundled up.

January, I’m ready to let you go.
And slowly, gently, I’m ready to begin healing.

I’m reminding myself that I’m not failing at grief.
I’m inside it.
And that’s what matters. 💛

#grief #norightwaytogrieve #permission #gently #honesty #grievingprocess #complicated #youmatter #youareenough #family #motherdaughterrelationships #mentalhealth

“I don’t need a perfect relationship. I just need someone who won’t give up on me.” — Unknown

That quote has been sitting with me lately because it tells the truth. Real love isn’t about perfection. It’s about staying. And that is who Rich has been to me for more than thirty years.

Today is “National Spouses Day”, and I want to honour the man who has stood beside me—not just in the easy chapters, but in the ones that have required endurance, patience, and quiet strength.

Rich has been my constant for over three decades—through the ordinary rhythms of life, through growth and change. But over the last almost twelve years, since my mental health journey began, his steadiness has mattered in ways I could never have predicted. Loving someone through anxiety, fear, depression, setbacks, and vulnerability isn’t romantic or impressive. It’s work. Hard work. It’s showing up day after day without applause—and Rich has done that without hesitation and without condition.

People often say, “everyone needs a Rich.” Someone who doesn’t flinch when it’s time to step up for his family. Someone who doesn’t retreat when life becomes inconvenient or uncomfortable. Someone whose default is responsibility, presence, and care—even on the days when he himself is tired, stretched thin, or not feeling his best. That saying exists for a reason—and Rich has lived it, and continues to, each and every day.

And then there’s this past month—navigating the exhaustion and grief of losing my mom. Rich didn’t try to fix what couldn’t be fixed. He simply took care of us. Even while carrying his own weight, he carried mine too. He showed up steadily, quietly, without being asked—just like he always does.

Our relationship has never been about getting it right all the time. It’s been about choosing each other.

Commitment over comfort.
Staying when staying matters most.

So today, on National Spouses Day, I celebrate Rich—my partner, my safe place, the man who never gave up and never stops taking care of his family.

And for that, I am eternally grateful 💙

I love you to the moon and back, forever and a day.

#nationalspousesday #eternallygrateful #relationships #summerofrich #marriage #imperfectlyperfect #mentalhealth #everyoneneedsarich #family #iloveyoutothemoonandback #foreverandaday

A Sunday afternoon in January—cozied under a warm blanket, book in hand, watching the snowstorm rage outside. My eyes keep drifting to the Bruce Trail poster hanging on the wall above me—the same one I bought last spring in Tobermory during our anniversary getaway.

Before I know it, I’m quietly daydreaming about the #summerofrich. Anticipating our next hiking adventure while I wait for winter to loosen its grip, knowing that out there on the trails, in nature, is where I feel lighter—where my depression and anxiety soften, just a little.

And yet, there’s something about a snowstorm—a quiet calm that helps me weather the winter.

This is what healing looks like for me today.

What’s helping you through the winter blues lately?

#healing #january #winterblues #snowstorm #cozy #hiking #nature #daydreaming #brucetrail #mentalhealth #depression #anxiety #aquietcalm

I want to begin by apologizing for my social media post yesterday, which unintentionally prompted an outpouring of messages and concern. When I couldn’t respond right away, friends even checked in with Rich. I am incredibly lucky and deeply grateful to have such a caring community and amazing friends who continue to support me on this journey. And again, I’m truly sorry for causing worry.

Yesterday marked a long-anticipated appointment at the Neurofibromatosis (NF) Clinic — the only one of its kind in Canada. I’m still adjusting to a diagnosis I received last February, and walking into that clinic felt both daunting and grounding at the same time.

Learning that I have likely lived with neurofibromatosis (NF1) my entire life has been a lot to absorb. Looking back, there were signs — several of them — that went unnoticed for years. I had asked numerous doctors and dermatologists why I had what I now know are tumours all over my body, both under the skin and above it. The lack of answers was frustrating and, at times, disheartening. It wasn’t until I walked into a new dermatologist’s office last February that everything shifted. The doctor took one look at me and said the words that would change so much. A biopsy of one of those tumours was done that same day to confirm his diagnosis.

Since then, I’ve been living with a constant mix of overwhelm, fear, and unanswered questions. I am profoundly grateful that this clinic exists — and that it exists here at home. Having a team that truly understands this disorder matters more than I can put into words.

The Weight of the Unknowns

Because NF1 is a genetic disorder, the past year has also been filled with research, testing, and difficult questions about whether this gene was passed down to me — and whether I may have unknowingly passed it on to my children.

Living with that uncertainty has carried a heavy mix of fear and guilt. Some answers are still inconclusive, and learning how to sit with that uncertainty has been one of the hardest parts.

During my visit, I met with three different doctors.

The first conducted a thorough physical exam along with neurological testing. The second walked me through next steps, including referrals to several other specialists and additional testing.

As I shared months ago, one of those tests is a brain MRI — something they want done yearly, and need a baseline to start. It was scheduled back in November for this coming October, which not only feels like an eternity, but is an eternity away still. I was encouraged to keep calling in hopes of getting a cancellation appointment sooner, which I did and will continue to do. To put it into perspective, the doctor explained that they follow roughly 500 patients who require annual MRIs, in addition to all other hospital referrals, so the backlog is significant.

The final appointment of the day was with a genetics specialist. She carefully reviewed my family history, went through my blood work from last month, and explained that I will be referred for further testing. One of these tests is a specialized blood test that requires approval from the Ministry of Health, as it’s sent to the United States. At the moment, these requests are being blocked (by you know who 😩), adding yet another layer of waiting and uncertainty.

There is no cure for neurofibromatosis. At this stage, it’s about management — yearly check-ins, monitoring growth, and addressing issues as they may arise. The tumours will continue to grow, but the hope is that they remain manageable for me, as long as they don’t land in any danger zones.

One final question I asked — one that has been weighing on me for some time — was why the tumours seem to have grown faster and more aggressively over the past five or so years. The answer surprised me, but also made sense: they believe hormonal changes and menopause may be playing a role.

Yesterday took a lot out of me — physically, emotionally, and mentally. I was incredibly grateful to have Rich there with me throughout the day, grounding me and reminding me that I don’t have to carry this alone.

I’m still processing everything. Still adjusting. Still learning how to live with this reality or future reality. But I wanted to share this part of the journey — honestly, imperfectly, and with deep gratitude for everyone who continues to hold me up.

#neurofibromatosis #NF1 #clinic #tumours #appointment #answers #physicalhealth #gratitude #fear #guilt #overwhelm #mentalhealth

I still feel like absolute crap today—sick, worn down, running on empty.

It’s “National Do Nothing Day”, and honestly, the timing couldn’t be more fitting. As my work week winds down and Shabbat moves in, I’m leaning into the pause, letting this “do-nothing” energy carry me through the weekend.

Shabbat reminds us that rest isn’t something we have to earn. It’s given. It arrives whether we’re ready or not.  Whether we feel deserving or not.

This weekend, rest is the only thing on my agenda. And I will do so…

Free of obligations.

Free of guilt.

Shabbat Shalom, everyone.

#nationaldonothingday #shabbatshalom #rest #runningonempty #wornout #weekend #shabbat #pause #itsoktonotbeok #mentalhealth

Some days your body speaks louder than your mind. Yesterday happened to be one of those days…

As the hours passed, a horrible cold settled in. By the end of my workday, my body felt done. All I wanted was to crawl into bed and shut the world out.

Before leaving work, I decided to bring my laptop with me so I could work from home today. I’m glad I did—because not only do I still feel like a Mack Truck ran me over, but Snowmageddon hit us overnight, paralyzing the city.

I still got my work done, though. That matters. But so does how I showed up for myself while doing it.

I’ve rarely been sick in the last many years. Not even during COVID. I’ve taken quiet pride in that. After everything my body and mind continue to carry, I’ll take that as a hard-earned win.

But this time, I couldn’t outrun it. Between the stress and overwhelm of losing my mom last week, and being around so many people, it finally caught up with me.

My body isn’t whispering anymore. It’s asking—loudly—for attention. For rest. For honesty. For me to stop pretending I’m okay when I’m not.

Mental and physical health aren’t in separate lanes. They’re in constant conversation, each shaping the other. Right now, they are both reminding me that slowing down isn’t a weakness—it’s listening.

Listening doesn’t mean giving up. It means responding. And today, responding looks like caring for myself without guilt, without explanation, and without apology.

And honestly, who doesn’t love a snow day? There’s actually something quite healing about it. ❄️

#overwhelm #workfromhome #sick #mentalhealth #physicalhealth #slowdown #listen #healing #loss #grief #snowday #bodyandmind #selfcare

After nearly three weeks away, I went back to work this morning, stepping back into reality with very little sleep. My body and mind already knowing what the day would demand. Not strength. Just presence.

Today, I was not okay.

Today was a reminder I didn’t ask for.

I wasn’t ready. But staying home didn’t feel like the answer either. Grief doesn’t wait for you. It doesn’t pause for time off or bend to schedules. It shows up, it follows you, whether you’re ready or not.

And today, it did just that.

It sat beside me.

It lingered in every pause, every anxious breath, every effort to focus. It settled into my body, making every moment feel heavier than it should have. It honestly caught me off guard. Returning to work didn’t mean leaving my grief behind, it meant learning how to carry it differently.

I didn’t go back because I felt strong enough. I went back because my mental health needed movement and because I needed a gentle reminder that nothing has changed, even when everything has.

Some days, moving forward takes great strength and courage. Other days, it’s simply holding yourself together in public spaces. And most days, it’s learning how to walk alongside grief—letting it come with you.

And for right now, that’s the best I can do.

#grief #backtowork #showingup #healing #onedayatatime #strength #mentalhealth #wellness #itsoktonotbeok #youareenough

The past few weeks have been incredibly hard—especially this last one. I feel completely depleted in a way I didn’t know was possible, so this weekend, I gave myself permission to slow down—to sit in quiet moments, spend time with loved ones, care for myself, laugh, cry, and make space for grief. Underneath it all was deep exhaustion, one I’ve never experienced before that made even rest feel hard.

When things feel like this, I reach for whatever brings me a sense of grounding, safety and comfort. Lately, that’s been my hoodie from @CloudNineClothing. I feel like I’m on cloud nine when I’m wearing it. I find myself quietly putting it on without thinking, especially when my anxiety is high and my thoughts feel unmanageable.

Since my neurological issues began a few years ago, sensory overload has become part of my daily reality…and nightmares. With anxiety and depression layered on top, I’m constantly searching for ways to soothe my body and calm my mind during flare-ups and overwhelming moments.

I’ve become more fidgety than ever, always searching for small sources of relief. That’s why this hoodie has been so helpful, and why it has become especially comforting for individuals who are neurodivergent, including autism and ADHD, or to anyone who struggles with severe anxiety, panic attacks, racing thoughts, or OCD.

The small details matter—the discreet fidget balls in the cuffs, the warmth and softness, the oversized fit, and the lack of strings around the neck. It feels safe. Like a weighted hug. And right now, that kind of comfort means everything to me.

If you’re in a season where comfort feels hard to come by, I wanted to share this. I do have a little discount code if it’s helpful to you or someone you love:

https://www.cloudnineclothing.ca/KIM12890
💙

Cloud Hoodie

💙

I hope it brings you even a bit of the comfort it’s given me. 🫶

#cloudnine #comfort #neurodivergent #autism #adhd #racingthoughts #anxiety #depression #panicattacks #mentalhealth #safe #fidgetballs #exhaustion #overwhelm #discountcode #depleted #slowdown #selfcare #family

This morning, my brother and I “got up” from sitting Shiva for our mom, who passed away last Sunday evening.

For those who may not know, Shiva is the Jewish mourning period observed in the days immediately following burial, a time when the world comes to you. It is a pause from daily life—set aside for grief, reflection, and being surrounded by family, friends, and community.

In Jewish tradition, Shiva concludes with a short walk outside, which my brother and I did together this morning. It marks that first step back into the world—a world that looks the same on the outside, yet gently reminds you that it’s okay to carry your grief with you as you begin to move forward. Not as the person you were before, but as someone changed by loss.

It in no way signifies closure.

Today, my grief feels especially heavy.

Today marks the beginning of trying to pick up the pieces of my life where they were left several weeks ago—and, in many ways, where my grieving truly begins.

I know there is no right way to heal, yet I don’t know where to go from here. There was so much left unsaid between my mom and me. Our relationship, as many know, was complicated. We didn’t always understand each other, but love always existed between us. She was always proud of me.

My mom loved me in the ways she was able. Over the years, I’ve come to believe she did the best she knew how. I know how deeply she loved me, even when that love didn’t always arrive in the ways I needed—or even recognized at the time. That understanding allows me to hold it more gently now, for her and for myself. It is why it mattered so much to me to honour and eulogize her in a way that reflected that truth at her funeral earlier this week.

Some of that I want to share here:

“Food was always a big part of our home. While sitting by my mom’s bedside recently, I spent a lot of time reflecting on my childhood in a keepsake journal I was given. From my early years in Montreal to my teenage years in Toronto (Thornhill), emotions ran high. When I came to a page asking me to name my favourite holiday and traditions, I didn’t hesitate—though I couldn’t choose just one. Rosh Hashanah and Passover were equally my favourites, hands down.

Those holidays meant family coming together—grandparents traveling from Ottawa (or Florida) and Montreal (once we moved to Toronto), along with friends who became family. My mom cooked incredible meals. Her brisket was amazing! And if someone didn’t have a place to go for the holidays, my mom always made sure there was room at our table. Those gatherings will always hold a special place in my heart because of her.

She loved hosting, celebrating, and bringing people together. That love shined through when she threw me an unforgettable Sweet 16 party that people still talk about to this day.

But the greatest joy of my mom’s life was becoming a Bubbie to her five grandchildren—my children Jacob, Hannah, and Rachel, and my nephews Noah and Josh. In that role, her love felt lighter and more open. She showed up with warmth, excitement, and plenty of Gymboree classes. It’s how many people will remember her, and it’s something I will always hold close.”

I choose to believe that my mom is finally at peace. I find comfort knowing she is free from all her pain. Whatever weighed on her has been set down, and the love she carried—imperfect, sincere, and real all remain.

I am deeply grateful that I was able to spend her final ten days sitting quietly by her bedside. It brings me great comfort to know that I was there with her.

I am also profoundly grateful for the incredible friends, family, and community who showed up for us this week in countless ways—through presence, meals, messages, stories, and quiet support. You honoured my mom’s memory and carried my brother, Harris and me through moments we could not have held on our own. Your love has been a source of strength during this incredibly difficult time, and it will stay with us far beyond this week.

Thank you for holding space for us as we learn how to carry this.

Rest easy, Mom.

I love you. ❤️

Shabbat Shalom

#mom #grief #grateful #strength #mentalhealth #loss #thankyou #memories #itsoktonotbeok #support #tradition #shiva #iloveyoutothemoonandback #foreverandaday