Author: Kim Fluxgold

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
💙

💙

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

My thoughts are scattered.

I’m hoping this new journal can be a place to untangle them.

I didn’t know exhaustion could be this layered.

My body, my mind, my heart all carrying it.

Heavy. Unrelenting.

#thoughts #scattered #exhaustion #journaling #mentalhealth #physicalhealth #heavy #unrelenting #body #mind

As the clock struck midnight last night, I felt a wave of emotion I didn’t expect. Relief came first. 2025 was finally over. It had been a difficult year, one that asked more of me than I often felt I had to give. And yet, sitting on my couch with friends nearby, I found myself revisiting a gentle highlight reel in my heart, remembering that even the hardest years carry moments of tenderness.

There were bright spots worth holding onto. Rachel graduating from university and earning her degree in Interior Design. Rich and I marking our 30th wedding anniversary with a trip to Tobermory and the Bruce Peninsula, surrounded by the kind of beauty that slows you down and reminds you to breathe. I quit my toxic job that had left me depleted and s*icidal and then stepped into a new role that has brought meaning and purpose back into my days.

These moments matter. They are proof that growth and joy can exist alongside struggle.

Still, as the year turned, the heaviest emotion wasn’t about what had passed, it was about what lies ahead. There is an awful ache in knowing that every hour in the coming days are among the most difficult I have faced.

As I hold this special key charm close, a charm my mom has worn around her neck for years—I feel its weight differently now. In this moment, it feels less like a piece of jewelry and more like a prayer. Holding it, I feel a quiet, unrushed kind of faith. The key carries what remains sacred and unresolved: grief, memory, and love that cannot be neatly contained. The key feels spiritual, not something meant to force doors open, but something meant to be trusted. A reminder that time is not mine to control, and that some doors open only when the soul is ready, in ways beyond what I can see or ever understand.

There’s a myth that a new year resets us. But grief doesn’t follow a calendar. Sometimes a new year simply finds us still standing in the middle of something tender and unfinished.

As I step into 2026, I do so gently, with honesty and softness. For now, I am choosing presence over certainty, and trust over control, showing up one hour, and one day, at a time.

#trust #faith #spirituality #grief #presence #uncertainty #newyearsday #mentalhealth #onedayatatime #holdingon #brightspots #softness #honesty #youareenough #itsoktonotbeok #emotions

Lately, just getting through the day feels like an accomplishment in itself.

There are moments in life when simply being here requires intention.

Some days are heavier than others, and deeply exhausting. Some days ask more of us than we feel we have to give. I know this because I live it. Living with depression, finding positivity in my day doesn’t come easily, and forcing it has never helped. It usually just makes me feel more alone with what hurts.

As 2026 approaches, I’ve made a quiet commitment to myself to write down one good thing that happens in my day, every day for the year ahead.

This isn’t about pretending things are okay. It’s about survival. About staying present in days shaped by anxiety, fear, uncertainty, and feelings of hopelessness.

I believe two things can be true at the same time: a day can be incredibly hard, and something good can still exist within it.

The good thing might be small. Almost unremarkable; but still good.

A laugh with a friend. A familiar song. A message that lands at the right moment. A few minutes of calm. A warm embrace. A dinner with family. A snuggle with my dog. A hike through nature. A heartfelt compliment. A bubble bath. A cozy weighted blanket. A sip of Diet Coke.

These moments don’t cancel out the pain. They don’t fix what’s broken. But writing down one good thing is an act of noticing. Of teaching my nervous system to pause instead of brace. Of letting my attention rest somewhere gentler, even if only briefly.

Some days, the good thing will be easy to find. Other days, it may take more effort. And there will be days when the good thing is simply that the day ended and I made it through.

That counts too.

I don’t expect this practice to change who I am or erase what I carry. The goal isn’t about transformation. It’s about compassion. It’s about giving myself permission to acknowledge the weight I hold without letting it be my only story.

Not every day is good.

But finding good in every day is part of my healing journey.

And for right now, that feels like enough.

Wishing everyone a happy, healthy New Year, one that includes noticing the good, wherever it quietly appears.

#findingthegoodineveryday #positivevibes #newyear #healingjourney #mentalhealth #compassion #wellbeing #youareenough #intention

Self-care today looks like reflection and renewal.

A few quiet moments.

A pen.

A page.

And meeting myself exactly where I am.

#selfcare #reflection #renewal #quietmoments #mentalhealth #breathe

I am present.

I feel my breath moving in and out.

Slowly.

Deeply.

I let myself simply be.

I am gentle with myself.

Alone in the moment.

I quietly stay, even when it’s hard.

Mindful of what is coming.

I let each moment unfold without resistance.

Trusting that I can handle it.

I meet it with patience and kindness.

I rest in the knowing that I will be okay.

#stayingpresent #mindful #grief #aloneinthemoment #breathe #mentalhealth #patience #kindness #gently #simplybeing #youareenough

There is something truly healing about being with your people when the world feels heavy. When you’re tired. When grief, stress, and uncertainty take up more space than usual. In those moments, comfort doesn’t come from fixing anything — it comes from feeling safe and supported.

We often forget how much these small moments matter. An afternoon that stretches into evening. A meal shared together. Not having to be “on” or explain yourself. These aren’t extras — they’re how we recharge.

We may not celebrate Christmas in the traditional sense, but this time of year still gives us a reason to slow down and be together in our own way. To make space for what we actually need.

Today called for comfort and grounding. A traditional Jewish Christmas dinner (aka Chinese food). A double feature. Plenty of laughter. And time with the people who know your heart.

Family. Connection. Room to breathe.
For us, this is a perfect Christmas Day 🧡

#christmasday #family #myheart #myreasonswhy #traditions #mentalhealth #grief #connection #together

Can someone wake me when this year is finally over?

2025 has been, in a word, exhausting—long, emotionally demanding, and relentless. The kind of year that settles into your body and lingers in your thoughts. The past month has been especially heavy, and the most difficult one yet.

Today at 1 p.m., I set my out-of-office notification for the rest of the year. What should have been a simple task felt like an act of self-preservation—a quiet admission that I need to stop pushing through and allow myself some grace.

There has been a lot of grief woven into this year. Not always spoken aloud, but always present. It has shaped how I move through my days, testing my limits in ways I didn’t expect.

As this year comes to a close, it seems the next is likely to arrive with little relief. But I know this: my mental health matters. Caring for myself—emotionally, physically, spiritually—matters, even in uncertainty.

So for now, I will use this time to be with loved ones and give myself permission to breathe, to pause, to be still, when opportunity allows.

Hope, for me right now, isn’t loud. It’s quiet and gentle. It looks like choosing compassion for myself, one small pause at a time.

Wishing everyone who is celebrating a very Merry Christmas—and to all, a reminder to rest, take care, and be present during this season.

#pause #rest #selfcare #mentalhealth #physicalhealth #spiritual #compassion #outofoffice #breathe #uncertainty #grief #anxiety