Let’s Not Give Up On Each Other

This morning I had a sudden crying jag.  Watching the closing credits of Saturday Night Live, I see the cast ice skating. I haven’t ice skated in years. Initially I thought that would be a fun thing to do again. A beat later I realized that I probably wouldn’t be able to anymore.  MS progression has made my feet unreliable.  Sometimes when I’m walking in shoes that aren’t flats, my ankles turn in and my walking falters.  Occasionally it happens when I’m wearing flats.  Even when I focus on keeping my feet steady, they sometimes give out repeatedly.  Surely skating is harder given my progressing limitations.

I used to roller skate and roller blade.  Maybe I could try that.  And maybe it would be impossible for me to stay balanced.  I could try, but it would take a lot of effort to get the equipment. I anticipate extreme frustration if it’s not doable for me anymore.  But maybe I could if it was in the morning on a good day. 

This is grief. Utter sadness for loss.  I get that losing abilities comes with aging, but I see examples online of people who with dedication and effort maintain impressive abilities long into advanced age.  I put the work in, but I can see that I may not be able to halt or reverse the impact MS is having on my body.  And the changes will continue.

When I read or watch stories about people with MS – Annette Funicello, Richard Pryor, David Lander (Squiggy from Laverne & Shirley), and others who had an extremely rough time of it – it makes me think of something I heard about ballerinas a long time ago. I remember hearing that when a dancer is injured, they take her off the stage and a new ballerina takes her place. 

It seems like with extreme health issues, people get set aside. They’re given up on, disregarded and left behind. Try not to think about how bad it is for them.

People say, “If I ever get that way, I’d kill myself.”  Please.  No. Just no.  It breaks my heart, and I think you’re not giving it the thought you think you are.  You’re also implying that others won’t have value if they get that way.  Intentionally or not, you’re suggesting they should end their lives if they ever become disabled.

I worry that people will expect too much of me and judge me for my choices or for falling short.  I worry people will give up on me and dismiss me while I’m still able to contribute, achieve and succeed. Yes, I’m trying to have it both ways. I know people can’t read minds and that my invisible symptoms don’t accurately reveal my health status in each moment.  I try to be aware of how I’m doing and accurately answer people when they ask. 

In my life, I try to assure people that while my health could reach those levels that it isn’t there yet.  I hope people won’t give up on me, and I mentally prepare responses to people who may dismiss me in my career or otherwise.  But I’m really reminding myself that I can’t give up on me. 

For now, emotionally coping is among the hardest parts of dealing with my disease.  The moments that sneak up on me are the toughest.  I think I’m doing it as best as possible. But part of it requires feeling lousy, letting myself feel crummy, picking myself up and finding a path to feeling empowered.   

I know I’m not being dramatic about this. I’m being realistic about my potential future. When I was diagnosed in 2008, I read a statistic that the majority of people with MS will likely need assistance walking (with a cane, walker, crutches or wheelchair) within ten years of diagnosis.

According to the National Institute of Health, odds are improved since then. 

“Multiple sclerosis is seldom fatal and life expectancy is shortened by only a few months. Concerns about prognosis center primarily on the quality of life and prospects for disability. Most patients and physicians harbor an unfounded view of MS as a relentlessly progressive, inevitably disabling disease. The truth is that 15 years after the onset of MS, only about 20% of patients are bedridden or institutionalized. Another 20% may require a wheelchair, or use crutches, or a cane to ambulate, but fully 60% will be ambulatory without assistance and some will have little deficit at all. Perhaps as many as 1/3 of all patients with MS go through life without any persistent disability, and suffer only intermittent, transient episodes of symptoms.”

This means that "only" 40% will need assistance within 15 years.  It means 2/3 of all patients with MS do live with some persistent disability eventually.  I know my MRI scans, and my disease has more damage in my spinal cord than my brain. Yes, it’s great that my mind may not be as affected. Truly it is.  Sadly though, I’m more likely to have issues with walking and related symptoms.   

When I feel this way, I try to work out why I’m feeling sad, sit with it, and then find a related small success.  I’m not giving up on my body.  I’m going to keep trying, monitor how I’m doing, and adjust my goals and activities as I go.  I’ll keep doing what I’ve been doing. 

I know my coordination is faltering. I look fine, and I’m grateful for that.  I am capable, and I still do A LOT.  I’m thankful for what I can do.  I appreciate the activities my body will allow. I know that how I’m doing today may be the best it will ever be again.  I also know that with determination and diligence I may be able to improve my agility, balance and endurance.  I’ll only know for sure with time and effort.  Regardless, the outcome is not wholly within my control. 

With all of this running through my mind, I laced up my jogging shoes and headed out for a run.  I planned to see how I felt in the first mile and then decide how far I could go today.  I resolve the key is that I keep trying and enjoy every accomplishment.  If I can’t go far or fast today, maybe I will tomorrow. Today I managed well. I jogged a slower pace with a longer distance than usual.  It was tough but felt great.

Later I spent time with friends laughing and enjoying life. All things considered, life is pretty great.

Being Grateful: Validate the Hardship and Strive for the Bronze

I used to think being positive meant focusing only on the good things in life.  I was really good at it too. A friend would say she’d had something bad happen, and I wouldn’t miss a beat to respond with how great it is that a worse outcome didn’t result.

I did it with myself too.  It seemed like if I let myself think about the difficult things, that it was being negative. That it could lead falling into a dark place of feeling bad and never climbing out.  I once had a counselor tell me after 9/11 that thinking about what happened doesn’t make you sad. What happened makes you sad. 

In that way, thinking about having Multiple Sclerosis doesn’t make me sad. My chronic illness and progressing MS symptoms make me sad.  Ignoring them doesn’t change the fact that I have both. We’re not limited to feeling one emotion at a time, and feeling sadness or frustration with one aspect of life doesn’t preclude feeling optimistic.  I’d argue that we need to feel one to appreciate the other. 

To feel genuine gratitude, I need to know it’s not mandatory to stuff my feelings and be happy every moment. I can’t ignore the tough parts of my life and only acknowledge the things that make me grateful. I can’t just write a list of unrelated things to be thankful for and stay sane. If I’m feeling sad or resentful, I need validation that it’s understandable to have those feelings. If I skip this step, I’m minimizing my frustration or implying I don’t have a reason to feel bad.   Once I sit with it, grieve for it, and assure myself I’m not weak or overreacting, I can then choose to focus on things that make me grateful. Sometimes it’s a quick shift, other times it’s a rough climb out of funk. Either way, it helps me come to a place of genuine appreciation in my life.

I think about it as winning a bronze medal. There’s an article in Scientific American, Why Bronze Medalists Are Happier Than Silver Winners, that I think we can use in our own lives to be happier.  People who compete and miss winning first place exhibit less happiness than people who don’t perform as well but still make it to the podium. Silver winners focus on the one person who did better.  Bronze winners compare their performance to all the people that tried and didn’t win anything. 

When I’m grateful, I’m recognizing my efforts and satisfaction. I’m not seeking perfection.  I’m looking at how amazing things already are.  I may acknowledge what could be better, but I’m recognizing all the ways it could be worse. Some people seem to have a point of pride of noticing the error or the flaw in things. They can make you feel like you’re never good enough. Try not to judge yourself harshly and add to feeling miserable. 

How we perceive our situation makes all the difference. When living with a progressively disabling chronic illness, things will stink and be sad and frustrating and feel too big to deal with at times. Sometimes the best I can do is know that how I feel right now won’t last forever.

The measure of success changes depending on my health.  If I can participate in a race and come in last, I’m grateful that given my circumstances I can do it at all. If I feel bad, I know that’s a part of the condition and grateful for the abilities I still have.  If I’m experiencing a permanent loss, I acknowledge that it’s sad to experience the loss and grateful for the time before the loss.

Strive to have a mindset of someone who’s coming in third.  Or someone who’s in last place and may or may not finish. You’re still doing it.

We All Have Hardships And Inspiration Is Everywhere

This father lived a little over a year beyond his daughter’s death. He was in the middle of his 75^th year when he died, and his daughter perished in the midst of her 47^th year in her antique airplane. His passion for flight had become a joy for her to share with him. To learn to fly and live adventurously – these were in a hobby they could share that would help her connect with her father and feel loved.

Sometimes we don’t get what we need. This father, my grandfather, became fatherless at the age of nine at the beginning of the Great Depression.  This boy was thrust into the role of man of the house and helped support his mother couriering laundry for people. He’d pick up clothes for washing and return them clean. The price was a nickel as I recall.

The daughter, my mother, became motherless at the age of two. She learned her mother had left the family and wasn’t coming back. This toddler didn’t speak for hours, and ever after she spoke with a stutter she hadn’t had before. And when the daughter died, she left four daughters grieving.  They were three young adults and one child ten days shy of ten years old. All of them – the father, the daughter and the granddaughters - all lost someone they needed. The fact that they all lived with the absence doesn’t mean their loved ones weren’t needed. The void gets filled in some way – with heartache, distraction, and sometimes purpose, but that person never gets replaced.

There’s a new monument near the father and daughter’s graves. Three children all gone on the same day, much too young and with senseless cause. The Tower children were taken in an instant. I looked it up later and saw they’d perished in a house fire. The mother had escaped, and the father lived elsewhere. The fire was ruled an accident. It was the worst kind of accident – one that can’t be fixed.

In each of our grief we can feel isolated and lose sight of the grief others have had or will experience in their lives. There’s always a story that is more tragic. To feel the worst pain we’ve ever felt gets some perspective when we compare ourselves to people enduring pain we imagine to be exponentially greater than our own.

This doesn’t mean we should minimize our own pain. It only means we have an ounce of knowledge of the pain, loss and grief someone else might be enduring that helps us see what there is to appreciate in our own experience.

When in poor health it’s natural to compare ourselves to when we were in better health or to others that we presume are in good health. It’s helpful though to compare ourselves with those with greater challenges. Noticing perseverance is inspiring. It’s a helpful reality check for me to see people who can’t walk at all when I’m only tripping and in pain or to see people with permanently clawed hands when mine are aching and not cooperating as much as they usually do.

I could fear their reality as my fate, and when I allow that it depresses me. But when I look beyond the conditions and consider their lives as a whole, I’m inspired by their resilience, perseverance, and matter of fact acceptance of their conditions.

I may be chronicling my declining health, or I may be sharing a life worth living with challenges. You’ll form your own judgments, but I see it as sharing our invisible conditions to connect us and to remind ourselves that we aren’t alone in our fears, grief or hardships. We all have them in one way or another at different times in our lives.

There’s comfort in compassion without pity. While it may just be my pride showing, I prefer it that way. I try to convey my compassion with respect for the differences in our experiences that doesn’t come across as competing for the Who Had It Worse award. And I like it when people are able to do the same for me.

It’s beautiful to know we each have a unique experience and still we all share feelings about them that bind us together. To feel a kinship laced with understanding, respect and love for our fellow grievers, survivors, sufferers and thrivers is heartening and motivating to keep going when it’s tougher than usual. It can give us the strength we need to continue with our own hardships when others are in the midst of greater suffering.

Among my sisters, it was a given that our youngest sister had it the hardest. She’d had so little time with our mother and she still needed so much. At least we’d had our mother’s love and support through young adulthood.

I think of the Tower children and their family. I can only imagine the grief their parents live with. My mother died twenty-three years ago this month. It was a decade before I was able to talk about my mom without showing visible grief. The family of these children has been living with their absence just over a year. In their invisible condition, I hope people show them kindness, patience and compassion even when they know nothing about their lives.

And I hope people give this.  Not because the Towers deserve it, but because people can be amazingly kind.

Each of us has challenges. Sometimes we’re lucky and the things we’re dwelling on or frustrated with aren’t monumental. I think everyone always has a set number of challenges that they’re dealing with that are frustrating. It’s just at times that huge life events or conditions move in and make the rest seem inconsequential. When my problems are small I can appreciate them for their trivial nature, and when they’re big I can look for inspiration to keep going.  There’s always someone out there that is living well with more difficult circumstances. And that's heartening for me. 

Invisible MS Symptoms and How They Affect Relationships Even When They’re Subtle.

Being diagnosed with and living with a chronic incurable condition can test and change every relationship a person holds dear. Invisible symptoms are especially tricky. I know after my Multiple Sclerosis diagnosis I didn’t want to burden others with my problems. Just because I had a life altering condition, I didn’t think it should affect everyone else.

One of the adult life lessons I’ve learned is that people who care about us WANT to help. Withholding our struggles increases stress on our part and creates a feeling of being pushed away on theirs. They hate feeling helpless. We do too, but we have more information at any point than they do.  Think about when you’re driving a car in inclement weather compared to when someone else is driving and you’re in the passenger seat.  When you’re driving, you know whether you have control of the vehicle or not. You know how well the brakes work, how alert you are, and how long it will take you to stop if something happens. A passenger has little information other than what they see and feel, and they have to rely on their trust in you. Having MS is like being the driver, and our friends are the passengers when it involves our health.

While their intentions to try to fix our problems, make us feel better, or help in any way they can may sometimes feel pushy and cause conflict, working through the unknown and developing a new relationship dynamic is well worth the effort. All of the relationships I still have today are intensely richer for the awkward conversations we’ve stuck with and the commitment we’ve made to interacting differently than we did before I was diagnosed.

Invisible symptoms like fatigue, pain, numbness, balance problems, bladder and bowel problems, cognitive issues and heat sensitivity can affect how we feel even when we think we’ve got it all under control. There are times when I think I’m doing fine or faking it well, and dear friends will say they notice I’m not feeling well. It’s especially impressive how well people know us when symptoms are subtle and we may not even realize we don’t feel as well as usual. For me I notice that my patience lessens and I have a tendency to feel more pressure from people by what they say.

I asked two dear friends what they had to say on this topic, and one said that what hurts her feelings is when I hold back and distance myself. I can justify it by saying I don’t want to worry her or bother her, but it’s more likely that I don’t feel like admitting I’m having an issue or that I’m not up for hearing advice in that moment. One skill I’ve tried to beef up is to recognize when I’m feeling pressure or don’t want to talk about something anymore and say so. I’ve noticed it’s harder to do this the longer I wait to say something, And while saying I’m not up for discussing something in that moment may hurt their feelings, I think it’s better than continuing to suffer silently. The other skill I’m working on is to tell them that while I’m not up for it in that moment that I do appreciate their concern and perspective. I also want to start saying that I think I can continue the conversation another time.

Being self-aware, communicating consciously and not reactively, and considering other people’s perspectives has made living and loving well with MS possible for me. It’s definitely improved my relationships, reduced my stress level and contributed to a life I love.

My Interview With Health.com

In January 2016, Health.com interviewed me for an article, "6 People Explain What It’s Really Like to Live With MS." A small portion of it was included in the article, and I'm posting the full interview here. Reflecting on my responses from almost a year ago, I'd say my answers still ring true for me today.

Can you describe your first symptoms? Were you ever misdiagnosed before learning it was MS?

The symptoms that led to my MS diagnosis were extreme fatigue and numbness. The first time I realized something was off was when I leaned forward at my desk and couldn’t feel the keyboard pushing against my belly. The tingly numbness progressively expanded within a few days to include all of my body from the bra-line down to my toes.  I could walk, but I tripped more and fell a few times. I assumed all would be fine, and I even ran a 12K race with fatigue and a numb body.

I also realized after the fact that the fatigue I had been experiencing for years wasn't normal. I just thought each time I was exhausted that I was fighting a cold, stressed, or working hard and needed to rest. I also realize now that constipation was an early MS symptom for me. 

I wasn’t ever misdiagnosed prior to learning it was MS. The results from MRIs of my spine and a spinal tap made it clear that I had MS and led to a diagnosis within a month of my first known symptoms. The number of lesions that were old and not currently active in my spinal cord made it obvious to my neurologist that I’d had MS for years. 

When did you first receive your diagnosis? What was it like to hear?

My first known exacerbation involved three days at the overcrowded emergency room at Harborview Medical Center, a trauma center in Seattle, where I was told that the chance of me having MS was low. After a spinal tap, MRIs in the middle of the night, eye tests, and a round of steroid infusions, I was released with instructions to see a neurologist.

My diagnosis occurred at a scheduled neurologist appointment the morning of my son’s graduation. It was a complete shock to me, because I’d thought of myself as very healthy. I’d assumed the numbness I’d had would turn out to be explained by something simple and curable like sciatica. I knew nothing about MS, so my first reaction was to ask the doctor if she was sure (yes) and then if MS is fatal (no).  The neurologist acted as though it was no big deal to tell me I had MS, gave me information on four disease modifying medications to review to decide which one to take, suggested I sign up for Bike MS, and gave me the book, “MS and Your Feelings: Handling the Ups and Downs of Multiple Sclerosis, ” by Allison Shadday. She also told me to look online at the National MS Society webpage to answer any questions I had.  I was dumbfounded. 

During my son’s graduation later that day, seeing elderly people with walkers and moving slowly held an entirely new perspective for me. I was scared for what my future held, and I just wanted to hold it together to celebrate my son’s big day. 

The next day I began searching the web and library for any information I could find about MS. I called the NMSS and joined the local self-help group. 

What is the biggest day-to-day challenge you experience?

My biggest challenge is definitely fatigue. I diligently monitor my energy level, and I take it seriously when it dips to the point of feeling like regular living is like trying to walk through water. I monitor what makes me feel energized and what taxes me, and I budget my activities and energy to maximize my productivity and happiness. 

How about some of your happiest, most positive realizations or memories since being diagnosed?

The biggest shift in thinking I had that helped me transition from feeling betrayed by my body to feeling compassion for myself was to recognize that my body isn’t my enemy. My body is great at a lot of things, and my immune system sucks at distinguishing between foreign invaders and the insulation on my nerves.

Lots of people talk about having MS as struggling with MS, fighting MS, or battling MS. And that may work great for them, but it never resonated with me. Constantly fighting seemed exhausting to me when I was already experiencing extreme fatigue. And fighting myself made me feel powerless. Thinking of my body as a buddy that is doing the best she can made me feel like I had some control. It made me feel like I could help my body continue to do as much as possible for as long as possible. 

In the past eight years I learned to worry less about what can go wrong, and I look forward to what can go right even if things don’t go my way. Specific things I’ve done since being diagnosed that brought me joy were doing yoga, learning to trapeze, singing karaoke, visiting France, walking a marathon, changing my career, and starting a blog, “Keep Doing What You’re Doing,” at http://stacieprada.blogspot.com.  MSAA has been terrific at supporting my writing and providing thought provoking themes to consider. Above all else, I cherish the personal relationships that have developed and strengthened since my diagnosis. 

What are the biggest life changes you've made to accommodate for the disease?

I’ve started making myself a priority in my life. I learned that diminishing my health and putting work or other people’s needs ahead of my own contributed to my MS disease progression. I learned that pushing myself when I’m tired or ignoring symptoms has a cost that I’m not willing to pay with my mobility or future health. I now make time to enjoy my life today and balance it with planning for my future.  And when I can’t do everything I want to do, I accept it without guilt as a low price to pay for my future quality of life.  

What are the biggest misconceptions about living with MS?

I think people want to believe that what works well for one person will work for every person and that if one person can do it than everyone can. We’re all different, and MS affects us all differently. While we can share our experiences and learn from each other, it’s all trial and error in figuring out how our bodies can best cope and thrive with MS. I’ve also learned that what worked for me last year may not work for me today.  It’s constant adaptation. 

What is your mantra for staying positive and strong while living with MS?

When I feel low my mantra is, “I will feel good again, I will feel good again, I will feel good again.”  I also tell myself, “I don’t know what I need to learn or think about differently to live with this, but it’ll happen.” It helps me to stay open to lessons, believing they’re around us all the time. I trust that when I’m ready to learn the lesson I need, the opportunity will be there for me.

I also remind myself that things can always be worse and that my life is good.  I try to change what I can, accommodate what I can’t by making changes in my life, and look at challenges with a different perspective to feel better. 

What advice would you give to someone newly diagnosed

It’s more of an approach than a sound bite since each person is different, is in a different place in their lives, and reacts to an MS diagnosis differently.  That said, I like them to know that they don’t need to figure out forever right now.  If symptoms came and went prior to diagnosis, then they’ll likely continue to come and go.  It will get better, and their life may even get great.

I actually wrote a blog post specifically on this topic, Pay It Forward: Talking To People Newly Diagnosed With MS.  


From the responses I provided to the interview questions, Health.com wrote the following:

"It’s all trial and error in figuring out how our bodies can best cope." — Stacie Prada, 45, county treasurer

  
The first signs of fatigue and numbness eight years ago didn't phase Prada. "I just thought each time I was exhausted that I was fighting a cold, stressed, or working hard and needed to rest," she says. "I assumed all would be fine, and I even ran a 12K race with fatigue and a numb body."

On the morning of her son's graduation, Prada finally saw a specialist. "The neurologist acted as though it was no big deal to tell me I had MS, gave me information on four disease-modifying medications to review to decide which one to take, suggested I sign up for Bike MS, and gave me [a] book," she remembers. "I was dumbfounded."

Today her fatigue is near-constant. "I diligently monitor my energy level, and I take it seriously when it dips to the point of feeling like regular living is like trying to walk through water."

Her new attitude isn't to "fight" or "battle" the disease. "That [language] never resonated with me," says Prada, who also blogs for the MSAA. "Constantly fighting seemed exhausting to me when I was already experiencing extreme fatigue. Thinking of my body as a buddy that is doing the best she can made me feel like I had some control. It made me feel like I could help my body continue to do as much as possible for as long as possible."

Feeling Connected and Nurtured When I’m Alone on Christmas

Families seem to be expanding and shrinking simultaneously these days. With second and third marriages, births, in-laws and kids by marriage, the number of people I care about and am related to keeps growing. At the same time, divorce, death, living miles away and conflicting schedules reduce the number of people I spend time with in-person during the holidays.

This year I vacationed over Thanksgiving week, and I enjoyed a lot of time with family and friends while having a lot of fun. Now I’m back at home and while I’ll have plenty of parties to attend this month, I anticipate spending Christmas Day alone. Living far away from my closest family members makes it impossible for me to spend all holidays with them. I enjoy spending time with others, and I enjoy my time alone. Still, there’s something about the holidays that is tricky. If I don’t plan ahead, it can be easy to fall prey to self-pity.

In my life, I’ve experienced a couple decades of small family gatherings and another couple decades of large and wonderfully chaotic extended family holiday events. More recently I’ve experienced celebrating holidays solo, and it’s coerced me to think hard about what will allow me to enjoy the day alone. For me, I feel nurtured if I can include some time connecting with people important to me, some time outside reflecting and appreciating all of the good things in my life, and some time indulging with good food and drink.

If I’m going to be alone on a meaningful day, I try to connect with others in one or more of the following ways:

1. Try to set up a time to Facetime or phone people important to you. If schedules are complicated, email or text a holiday greeting.
2. Do things to connect with people throughout the month or year, not just on or near the holiday itself.
3. See if friends will invite you to join them. You can be somewhat subtle by asking what they’re doing. They’ll ask what you’re doing and often invite you to join them, but make sure before asking that it’s someone with whom you would like to spend the day.
4. Ask a neighbor if they’ll be around. You can get together for an hour for coffee, tea or wine. It doesn’t need to be big, just something to break up the day and include some interpersonal connection.
5. Volunteer at a local charity. You can help prepare or serve a meal for others. You can also just be a smiling greeter if you’re not able or up to performing tasks. Listen, share, learn and connect.
6. Tell people that you’ll be alone and would appreciate a phone call. Often people assume I have it all together and will be busy. They’re happy to connect when they know it’ll be appreciated and not a bother.
7. I’ve never found a relationship that does better from no interaction. Give people a chance, and don’t assume the worst. Appropriately credit responsibility for behavior to the person doing it. Feel good about yourself. Make sure you feel good about your behavior regardless of the actions of others.
8. Consider people you know that may also be spending the day alone. Make plans to do something together for a portion of the day.
9. Post something to Facebook. One Thanksgiving I enjoyed watching the sunrise on the beach while drinking coffee.  I took a video of the sunrise and shared it with friends while expressing my gratitude for them in my life.

Some of the ways I’ll nurture myself include the following:

1. Do something special for yourself to commemorate the occasion. Do something indulgent for you, or engage in some activity you love. Sit on the beach, go for a walk, or stop at a coffee shop that’s open. What you love may be totally different than anything I would ever consider.
2. Find a restaurant nearby that’s open, and go alone if you want.  At the very least you’ll talk to people that have to work instead of spending time with their own family.  It’s usually a very friendly time.  Plan ahead since a lot of places are closed on holidays.
3. Visit and leave flowers at someone’s final resting place. Honor the impact that person had on your life.
4. Make and enjoy a meal you love if you enjoy cooking.
5. Decorate, even if it’s just a holiday themed bouquet or plant. Differentiate the day and your surroundings from every other season or day of the year.
6. Get outside. Even a rainy, cloudy day outside can feel better than staying inside or under cover.
7. Think about what you could do so that you’ll feel loved and appreciated even if it’s just you who loves you.
8. Make sure you find a way to enjoy the time instead of just trying to get through it. 

Connecting with people important to me takes some initiative. Lots of them have a busy day ahead, so it’s good to plan in advance to make sure my emotional needs met. Overall, I’ll be happy if I remember to genuinely look at the bright side, do something I love, connect with everyone I care about either during the month or on the day, and find a way to be generous.  And if nothing else works, I’ll distract myself and remember tomorrow is another day.