YouAreEnough

Warning: Potentially Triggering for Anyone with a Weak Stomach ⚠️

2026, I am so over you. I am officially breaking up with you. 💔 We are done.

Friday night, my anxiety was through the roof. I couldn’t eat dinner. The problem is that, on top of all my ongoing mental and physical health issues, I’ve also been dealing with stomach problems lately.

Around 9:00 p.m., I forced myself to eat a bowl of oatmeal. Within the hour, I was vomiting uncontrollably. Eventually, after the vomiting subsided, I fell asleep on the couch for about an hour or so. When I woke up, I felt better… or so I thought.

Just after 2:00 a.m., the nausea suddenly returned. As soon as it hit, I jumped up and ran toward the bathroom. I was still on the couch.

The next thing I knew, I awoke lying face down on the hallway floor.

I had fainted without any warning.

What happened next felt unimaginable.

It was dark. I was completely disoriented. And I was lying in a pool of blood.

I somehow managed to get myself to the bathroom, only to discover that I had lost my four front teeth.

After trying to rinse the blood from my mouth and crying uncontrollably, I made my way upstairs to wake Rich. He jumped out of bed, equally disoriented, got me into the car, and rushed me to the hospital, where we spent the next seven hours.

I had a CT scan, received IV antibiotics and pain medication, and needed stitches in my lower lip. The CT scan showed that I had fractured the bone above my upper front teeth. Meanwhile, the bleeding continued, the pain throughout my body was getting worse, and the swelling in my face seemed to be growing by the minute.

The emergency physician called in the on-call oral surgeon to assess the damage. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much that could be done in the hospital because they simply aren’t equipped to treat dental trauma like this. No hospital in Ontario is. The surgeon repeated over and over, “blame our government”.

He was hopeful that at least three of the four teeth could be saved, as they had been pushed up into my gums, but he wanted to see me in his office on Monday to take more specialized X-rays because the CT scan couldn’t capture the full picture. He also suggested that if I didn’t want to wait to begin treatment, I should go to Toronto’s emergency dental clinic, which is open from 8:00 a.m. until midnight, seven days a week.

That’s exactly what we did.

On our way home from the hospital, Rich called and made me an appointment for noon. On less than two hours of sleep for both of us, but plenty of adrenaline, we quickly stopped home to shower and drop off my prescriptions at the pharmacy: a seven-day course of antibiotics, a medicated mouth rinse, and pain medication.

Then we drove through torrential rain to the dental clinic, where we were met with incredible kindness and compassion.

They took what felt like countless X-rays, including a panoramic scan. The dentist carefully explained everything and promised he would do everything possible to save my teeth. His plan aligned exactly with that of the oral surgeon.

Going to the dentist is already one of my biggest sources of anxiety. Even on a good day, it’s difficult for me. You can only imagine what this felt like.

After numbing me more than I’ve ever been numbed before, he and his wonderful assistant worked for nearly two hours while I lay there sobbing. The emotional toll and reality of all of this was simply too much to process.

As promised, they were able to extract, reposition, and stabilize three of my four front teeth. The fourth couldn’t be saved because it had fractured completely.

To hold everything in place, the dentist attached a retainer across my upper teeth. The hope is that it will stabilize everything over the next four to six weeks while they determine the next steps, which will likely include root canals, crowns, and eventually an implant for the missing tooth. How I will be able to pay for any of this is a whole other painful story.

I now have to send all of the dentist’s X-rays and treatment notes to the oral surgeon to continue treatment. The dentist isn’t sure if the surgeon may wait until the bone begins to heal, or decide to operate sooner to repair the fracture by placing a metal plate in my gums. For today, that is a panic for another day.

Yesterday was the most traumatic experience of my life. And it’s not over.

I’m embarrassed. I’m terrified. I’m overwhelmed.

I’m simply done.

And I can’t help but ask…

Why me?

How much more pain and suffering can one person endure?

Especially in 2026.

Losing my mom… and then our precious Maggie just three weeks ago… somehow wasn’t enough.

I know it could have been so much worse, and that thought hasn’t left me.

When we got home from the hospital yesterday, Rachel told us that Sadie had been sniffing around the bottom stair of our staircase, not too far from where I awoke after fainting. When we looked more closely, we noticed several fresh indentations in the wood that hadn’t been there before. They marked the exact spot where my face (and teeth) had struck.

Seeing those marks shook me.

They were a sobering reminder of just how much worse this could have been. Had I landed differently, I could have suffered a catastrophic head injury, or perhaps not been here to write these words at all.

I know I should be feeling grateful, but I am not sure what I am feeling right now. Like my mouth, I am numb.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading.

I’m going to step away for a few days to rest, heal, and begin processing the trauma of what has happened. This morning upon waking up with an extreme headache, I got frightened because the bruising and swelling had spread into my left eye, affecting my vision. They warned me it would get worse before it gets better but my anxiety got the best of me and I panicked because it looked like it could be cellulitis so Rich took me back to the hospital. Luckily I was seen quickly and the doctor said it’s just normal bruising that will likely spread around my whole eye. Both the oral surgeon and the dentist have instructed me to be extremely careful over the next four to six weeks. Brushing, eating, and even drinking will all be challenging for a while. For now, it’s soft foods chewed only with my back teeth, liquids, and taking things one day at a time as I begin what will undoubtedly be a long road to recovery.

Ironically, today is National Ice Cream Day, so ice cream is officially doctor’s orders… or at least close enough. Rich also stopped at United Bakers on our way home from the dentist yesterday to pick me up a container of their famous and most delicious pea soup, which I am excited to eat today even though right now, my lips are so swollen, achy and numb that even drinking is so difficult.

I keep hoping I’ll wake up and discover that this has all been a nightmare.

But until then, I’ll keep trying to take this recovery one day, one appointment, and one small victory at a time.

This morning, I stopped at Tim Hortons in support of their annual Camp Day fundraiser where 100% of the proceeds from all hot and iced coffees are donated directly to the Tim Hortons Foundation Camps, which “helps send youth from underserved communities to camp”.

I got my usual order, which never includes a coffee, so instead, I purchased one of their Camp Day bracelets. There were several to choose from. The brown and white woven together one with a campfire symbol stood out to me the most.

Maybe it was the earth tones that first caught my eye. Anyone who knows me knows how much I love spending time outdoors. Put me on a forest trail, beside a lake, or surrounded by trees, and I instantly feel more grounded. Brown reminds me of the earth beneath my feet, tree trunks, changing seasons, and the quiet strength found in nature. Woven together, it felt simple, calming, and hopeful.

Then there was the campfire symbol.

A campfire is so much more than a flame. It’s warmth after the sun goes down. It’s stories shared with family and friends. It’s laughter, reflection, connection, and a place where people gather. A campfire invites us to slow down, to be present, and to appreciate the people beside us.

The symbolism of the campfire also reminded me of my resilience.

Resilience has become a word I know intimately. Over the years, I’ve faced mental health challenges, grief, chronic illness, and diagnoses I never saw coming. Like tending a campfire, resilience isn’t about one difficult moment we overcome. It’s built slowly and intentionally. Sometimes the flame burns brightly. Other times it feels like only glowing embers remain. But with proper care, patience, and support, those embers can grow into warmth once again.

Ironically, today Toronto smells just like a campfire for an entirely different reason. Smoke drifting from the devastating wildfires burning in Quebec has left the air thick and hazy, a stark reminder that fire can be both comforting and destructive.

Maybe that’s why this little bracelet feels so meaningful. It reminds me that, like nature itself, life holds both beauty and hardship. There are seasons of growth and seasons of loss. There are storms, fires, and days when the path ahead isn’t clear. Yet somehow, life continues. Forests regenerate. Communities rebuild. People heal.

I guess sometimes the smallest things like a woven bracelet, earthy tones, or the image of a campfire can carry the biggest reminders of what it means to keep moving forward.

Today, I finally went for my mammogram.

As I tend to do, I had already rescheduled my appointment once. Then, last week, the hospital had to reschedule it because of staffing issues. Like many medical appointments, this one was especially anxiety-provoking for me.

But I went.

And as simple as that may sound, I’m proud of myself. Because every appointment I keep, every question I ask, and every recommendation I follow is another way of advocating for my health.

When I visited the Neurofibromatosis (NF1) Clinic earlier this year, the clinician recommended that I have mammograms more frequently than the usual screening schedule. It was there that I learned women with Neurofibromatosis Type 1 (NF1) have an increased risk of developing breast cancer.

If there’s one thing my 12-year mental health journey has taught me, it’s that advocating for my health isn’t optional. I may not be able to control having NF1, but I can control whether I show up for my appointments, ask the difficult questions, and follow the recommendations designed to help protect my health.

I won’t pretend it’s easy. There are days when advocating for my mental health, my NF1, and the neurological challenges I live with daily feels like a full-time job. Some days, I’m simply exhausted by it all. But I’ve learned that caring for myself doesn’t mean I have to feel fearless. It means choosing, whenever I can, to keep showing up, even when anxiety, exhaustion, or frustration tell me not to.

One of the hardest parts of living with a rare condition is that so few people know much about it. Before my own diagnosis, I had never even heard of NF1, let alone known that it could increase the risk of breast cancer, among so many other things.

I’m sharing this in the hope that it reaches someone who needs to hear it. If you have NF1, talk to your healthcare provider about the breast cancer screening recommendations that are right for you. And if you’ve been putting off your own mammogram or other important health screenings, consider this your gentle reminder to make that appointment.

Taking care of ourselves isn’t always easy. Sometimes it means facing our anxiety and showing up anyway.

Caring for ourselves is one of the most powerful forms of self-advocacy we have.

And after a very hot and tiresome day today, I’m celebrating one small victory the best way I know how. Since it also happens to be National Mac and Cheese Day, a bowl of my ultimate comfort food was needed. Sometimes self-care looks like advocating for your health. And sometimes it looks like giving yourself permission to enjoy a little comfort after doing something hard.

#mammagram #selfadvocacy #selfcare #nationalmacandcheeseday #mentalhealth #neurofibromatosis #comfortfood

Hannah spent this past weekend in New York City with friends. Of course, shopping was on the itinerary.

Saturday afternoon, while sightseeing and browsing the shops of Manhattan, she sent a photo to our family chat. It was a picture of her proudly showing off a new hair clip.

But it wasn’t just any ordinary hair clip.

It was in the shape of a little dog.

And not just any little dog.

It looked just like our Maggie (minus the ears as Maggie’s were floppy!), complete with a bow in its hair. Maggie’s signature look. She always wore a bow, no matter the occasion.

The moment Hannah spotted the clip, she said she was instantly overwhelmed with emotion. I completely understood because the second I saw the photo, I felt exactly the same way. For just a moment, it felt like a little sign that Maggie was watching over us. Maybe it was her way of saying, “I’m still here.”

Of course, Hannah had to buy it. And without hesitation, Rachel and I both asked her to pick one up for us, too.

There were only three left.

Exactly what we needed.

To anyone else, it was probably just a cute little hair accessory.

But to us, it became so much more.

When you’re grieving someone you love, you begin to notice the little things. The moments that catch you off guard. The unexpected reminders that somehow bring both tears and smiles.

It also wasn’t lost on me that yesterday I remembered how, just two weeks after we brought Maggie home to her furever family in 2011, we took the kids on a trip to New York City. And now, exactly two weeks after saying goodbye to her, Hannah found herself there again (even though there have been many trips there in the years between).

A coincidence? Maybe.

Or maybe one of those beautiful moments that simply reminds us how love has a way of connecting the dots.

Either way, it felt wonderfully full circle.

We miss Maggie every single day. There are moments when the grief feels impossibly heavy. And then there are the smallest, most unexpected moments that somehow bring comfort; a memory, a familiar place, or even a tiny dog-shaped hair clip with a bow.

Hannah, thank you for being in exactly the right place at exactly the right moment. Whether it was coincidence or something more, you brought home far more than a hair accessory. You brought home a little piece of comfort, a smile through our tears, and a beautiful reminder that Maggie’s love is still finding ways to reach us.

It’s a reminder that love has a way of finding us in the most unexpected places. A little wink from Maggie. A tiny piece of her spirit tucked into our hair, reminding us that while she may no longer be walking beside us, she will always be woven into our hearts.

Sometimes the smallest accessories carry the biggest memories.

And this little hair clip will forever remind us that love never really leaves us.

It simply finds new ways to stay close. ❤️🐾

#MyMaggie #Grief #Love #HairAccessories #ForeverInOurHearts #Family

This weekend wasn’t extraordinary because of one big event.

It was extraordinary because of a collection of small moments that, woven together, reminded me that joy has a way of finding us even when we’re grieving.

It began with Shabbat morning services, grounding me in faith and community.

Then came an unexpected gift: Maggie’s ceramic paw print arrived ahead of schedule. Holding it in my hands brought tears to my eyes, but it also brought comfort. One tiny paw print… one enormous reminder that love leaves an imprint that never fades.

The weekend continued with simple pleasures. A visit to a farm, watching an entertaining dog show that made us smile, even Sadie. Wandering through lavender and fresh strawberries fields, and enjoying a wagon ride. Nothing life-changing. Yet every one of those moments invited me to pause, breathe, and simply be present.

There was precious time spent with the people I love most (minus Hannah who was away for the weekend).

We cheered Jacob on at his baseball game as he knocked not one, but two home runs out of the park. As a mom, there are few things sweeter than watching your child, even at 28 years old do something they love while you cheer from the sidelines.

And then we celebrated his birthday, another reminder of how quickly time passes and how grateful I am for every chance we have to gather around a table, laugh, and make memories together.

Looking back, I realized something.

Joy doesn’t always arrive with fireworks or life-changing milestones.

Sometimes it arrives quietly.

In a prayer.
In a paw print.
In the scent of lavender.
In fresh strawberries.
In the laughter shared on a wagon ride.
In cheering on the ones you love.
In birthday candles.
In simply being together.

I’ve learned that grief and joy are not opposites. They coexist. One doesn’t cancel out the other.

Losing Maggie has left an ache that two weeks later is still leaving me breathless every day. But this weekend reminded me that while grief walks beside me, joy still reaches for my hand.

Maybe that’s what healing really looks like, not moving on, but learning to notice the micro-moments that gently remind us life can be beautiful.

And when we string enough of those moments together…

They become something extraordinary.

It feels like just yesterday you were a precocious, mischievous little boy with more energy than a puppy with the zoomies. Always on the go. Always curious. Always keeping us on our toes.

And while you’re still always on the go, still endlessly curious, and still keeping us on our toes, watching that little boy you were become the remarkable young man, amazing big brother, loving son, and loyal friend to so many that you are today has been one of the greatest privileges, and gifts of my life. 

My firstborn. The one who made me a mom.

Being your mom has taught me that love means cheering the loudest, worrying the deepest, and laughing until it hurts.  You’ve taught me about resilience, determination, and quiet strength. 

May this year bring you exciting new adventures, meaningful moments, good health, and every happiness you deserve.

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

This morning we took Sadie for her next round of puppy vaccines.

A week ago today, we walked through those very same doors for the last time with Maggie.

It still doesn’t feel real. If I’m honest, I don’t want it to be real.

Walking into the clinic today was emotional. Every corner held a memory of those final moments, and my heart wasn’t quite ready to be back.

Then I looked up and saw a whiteboard with the letters VIP written across the top. Underneath it read: Very Important Pets.

There, right in front of us, was Maggie’s name.

My heart broke all over again.

Yet somehow, in that very same moment, I felt comfort too. Seeing her name there alongside so many other beloved furry family members who had crossed the Rainbow Bridge over the past week or so was a reminder that every one of those names represents a life that was deeply loved and will be forever missed.

As we stood there, Sadie was by our side, blissfully unaware of the tears in our eyes. She wagged her tail, looked up at us with those sweet puppy dog eyes, and reminded us that even in the deepest grief, healing quietly begins.

We miss you beyond words, Maggie.

It’s been a really ruff week without you here with us, Maggie. 💔🐾

As Shabbat begins, we’re reminded of its gift, a time to pause, reflect, and find comfort, even when our hearts are aching.

We miss your gentle presence every minute since you left us, your adorable smile, and the unconditional love you gave so freely. We hope you’re running free, chasing rainbows, and soaking up endless sunshine.

Your paw prints will forever be on our hearts.

Wishing everyone a peaceful, restful, and comforting Shabbat Shalom. 🤍

#shabbatshalom #missingyou #mymaggie #foreverinourhearts #brokenheart

I truly believe that Sadie came into our lives at exactly the right moment. Our hearts are beyond broken, and we miss Maggie more than anything. But with every wagging tail, every gentle cuddle, and every silly puppy antic, Sadie is helping us find smiles through the tears and healing in the midst of our grief.

Maybe that’s part of a dog’s purpose, to arrive exactly when they’re needed most.

And somehow, we just know Maggie is smiling, grateful that this sweet girl found her way to our family. ❤️

#mymaggie #sadie #adogspurpose #sweetgirl #puppyantics #puppylove #forevermylove #healing #brokenhearted #mentalhealth #aussiedoodle

A heartfelt thank you to everyone who has reached out to us over the past 24 hours. Your thoughtful messages, kind words, and love have meant more to us than we can express. While nothing can take away the pain of losing Maggie, your compassion has helped ease our broken hearts.

2026… you’re breaking my heart 💔.

After the devastating and heartbreaking day we had yesterday, Rich and I both knew we needed to get out of the house today. We needed a change of scenery. We needed to get out of our heads, even if only for a little while.

The grief comes in waves. It sneaks up in the quiet moments, in familiar scents, treasured memories, the empty spaces she once filled, and in the instinct to reach for my phone to call my mom and tell her about Maggie. Then reality settles in all over again.

The sun was shining fiercely today, and I’d like to think that was Maggie smiling down on us, letting us know she’s okay.

So we headed off first thing this morning to another beautiful small town, wandered the streets, followed some quiet trails surrounded by water, walked through a park having a sidewalk chalk festival, browsed some unique little shops, and simply spent time together.

Then we walked into one shop and there they were… two handmade squeaky dog toys shaped like bones staring right at me. One had “Maggie” stitched on it. The other said “Sadie.”

I couldn’t believe it.

Of course they both came home with us. It felt like one of those little signs that shows up just when you need it most. Maggie’s bone will always have a special place in our home, and Sadie now has one to play with, or likely destroy.

Tomorrow we return to work after our staycation. It wasn’t quite the week we had hoped for but we are certainly glad we had a few extra days to spend some quality time with Maggie, spoiling her, and soaking up every precious moment together until we had to say goodbye.

As any pet lover understands, our animals aren’t “just pets.” They are family. They become part of our routines, our traditions, our happiest memories, and they leave paw prints on our hearts that never fade. Saying goodbye is one of the hardest things we’ll ever do.

But if this heartache is the price we pay for having loved Maggie so deeply and for having been loved so completely by her, it is a price worth paying. I would choose those fifteen beautiful years with her again and again, even knowing how this story ends.

Miss you furever and always, my sweet Maggie 🐾💔.

If you missed my tribute to Maggie yesterday, here it is again.
https://wheredidmommyssmilego.com/2026/06/27/ill-love-you-furever-and-a-day/

#fureverinourhearts #memories #family #adogspurpose #mymaggie #grief #missyouforeverandalways #mymaggie #myheart #mentalhealth