Back-to-School Bittersweetness & a Little Defeat

This Monday marks the start of a new school year, and honestly? My emotions are all over the place.

Carson is starting 9th grade — officially a high schooler. That sentence alone has me teary. Where did the time go? Wasn’t it just yesterday he was lining up for kindergarten with a backpack almost bigger than he was?

And Quincy? He’s headed into 3rd grade, full of energy, curiosity, and that magical mix of sweetness and independence that eight-year-olds carry so well.

Having a few quiet hours in the day while they’re at school will give me a chance to catch up — on work, on laundry, on breathing — but I know it’ll take some getting used to. Especially because Carson has been home with me every single day since the end of January. We’ve spent a lot of quality time together these past several months, and while the rhythm of school will be good for all of us, I’ll miss having him around. I’ll miss hearing the random facts he shares mid-day, the deep conversations, the laughter. I’ll miss both of them.

And I wish I could say that the only emotions I’m dealing with right now are the back-to-school kind. But last week, I got some really discouraging news from my rheumatologist. She retracted the seronegative rheumatoid arthritis diagnosis that was given earlier this year. Instead, she said my chronic pain is being caused by anxiety and depression.

I want to be clear: I do have anxiety. I have battled depression. But this pain? This deep, daily, gnawing discomfort in my joints and muscles? The inflammation? The fatigue? It is not coming from anxiety or depression. I am sure of that.

To have my symptoms dismissed — again — feels like a punch in the gut. I don’t expect immediate answers, but I do expect to be believed. To be taken seriously. To be treated like a whole person. And right now, I feel anything but that. I feel defeated.

So as we step into a new season — a new grade, a new school year, a new daily rhythm — I’m holding space for the mix of feelings: the joy of watching my boys grow, the sadness of letting go of our slower summer days, and the quiet frustration of continuing to fight for answers in my own body.

Here’s to holding it all — the sweet and the hard — with grace.