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It was bound to happen one day...

Writer's picture: Susan CarrSusan Carr

It was bound to happen one day. You can't sit outside and watch the seasons change and witness nature without expecting to see it at least once. 


But it was still sad and shocking nonetheless. 


I had just come inside from putting out seeds and nuts for the backyard wildlife. When I closed the back door, a red-shouldered hawk swooped down into the oak tree, grabbed a common ground dove, and took off with it. 


At first, I thought it was a squirrel, and the tears were about to start. But I then started to see tiny, white, downy feathers falling from the tree. 


There was no noise when it happened, no cry of alarm or conquest; it was a brief swoop of powerful wings and a quick escape through the branches and off into the distance.


I haven't been able to identify any specific doves that light in the yard, mainly because when it's feeding time there could be 10 or more of them milling about. So trying to identify them by their marks would take an extreme amount of time and a bulletin board of photos. 


So, unfortunately, they don't get named like the squirrels or like Barney the Cardinal, who consistently shows up at the Bird Buddy multiple times a day. 


But for the sake of remembrance, I am going to call this one Elijah, and I'm reminded of this story from the Christian scriptures. 


Elijah had prophesied a severe drought as a consequence of Israel's idolatry, which led to widespread famine. This prophecy put him at odds with the royal family, and he became a fugitive. 

Exiled from his homeland, Elijah struggled to survive. He hid by the Brook Cherith, where he depended on ravens to bring him food and drank from the brook until it dried up. Then, God directed him to a widow in Zarephath, who was also struggling to survive with her son. The widow's small supply of flour and oil miraculously lasted throughout the drought, sustaining them all.

I'm also reminded of my mom in this season of her life, where her mind and body are kind of in survival mode. At least two parts of her brain are actively dying therefore causing her body to, in different stages, stop functioning for her and decreasing its ability to survive. 


But there are many moments when I still see my mom thrive.


When she's looking at pictures of the birds and the flowers that she loves so much, or when we stand at the window, and she can still point to the clouds, not name them, but point to them and say, “Those are beautiful.” 


Or when I see her, on a good day, when she's trying to care for one of her friends, just asking them how they're doing or reaching over and putting a slight touch on their arm as a gesture of kindness.


I've kind of also begun to see my business as one that just needs to survive.


During this season, I want to focus more on that which I won't have as it concludes, namely, my mom. 


I'm not actively taking on new clients, although I'm open to a new client reaching out to me or a current client reaching out with a new project or an additional role. But for right now, by the grace and generosity of the one who is willing to carry me for a bit of time, I have tried to settle down my anxiety around earning an income and feeling like I have to provide a certain amount monetarily or I'm not contributing my fair share.


And then being kindly and gently reminded that my "fair share" includes many things more than financial contributions. And so that realization and recognition help me to continue to do my work every day and learn to be more accepting of my current limitations, self-imposed or not. 


Another major reason for this slow down by choice is so I can focus more intently on my health during perimenopause. 


As I continue to physically struggle through trauma recovery, the consistent stress my body has endured since I was 6 years old poses ongoing challenges. Over the next 5-10 years, this stress will take an even greater toll if I don’t focus on strength training, meditation, yoga, cardio health, and nutritional wellness to counteract its effects.


I've learned a great deal this week about being Supernormal, as I'm reading through Dr. Meg Jay's book of the same title. One of the quotes that has stuck with me is:


While happy and exciting events enrich our experience of being alive, frightening events provide important information about "staying alive," and so negative emotional memories tend to be more firmly installed in our minds. It is our shockingly upsetting experiences that are most deeply etched in our minds.


Unfortunately, rather than being able to fully thrive, even though I have a life of abundance in so many ways, most of my years on this planet have seen me in survival mode, in just trying to stay alive.


So, I'm on a new quest, an adventure in learning. 


I'm trying to take each "negative" thing I am learning about how childhood trauma has affected me and find a positive counterpart. 


One thing I’m beginning to recognize is that surviving and thriving are not always opposites. They sometimes overlap in ways that don’t seem obvious at first. 


Watching the hawk and the dove, thinking about Elijah, my mom, my business, my body, and even my past—it all reminds me that survival itself is not passive. 


Survival is an act of endurance, a reserved but determined force that keeps life moving forward even when it feels like it's only inching along.


Elijah wasn’t just waiting by the brook, hoping things would improve. He was listening and watching for the next sign, the next provision, the next inch forward. Even in a season where he had no control over his circumstances, he was actively preparing for what was next. 


And maybe that’s where I am too. 


Not stagnant (which I have felt), not defeated (which I have really felt)—just sitting in the space of saving my strength for whatever comes after this.


I’m also learning that thriving isn’t always loud and visual.


Sometimes it’s in the patience I give myself as I improve my health. Or in the quiet permission I give myself to let my business settle a bit, in the understanding that my worth isn’t measured by productivity. 


Thriving is also about finding small joys in the middle of a difficult season, so maybe this season isn’t about surviving at all, but about redefining what thriving looks like in my life. 


Maybe it’s more about resting in the slower moments with my mom, the steady rebuilding of my physical health, and the shifts toward my mental healing. 


Elijah the Dove reminds me that life is fragile but ever meaningful, even in those moments of sadness. I can’t always change or control what happens, but I can notice, remember, and find meaning in the small moments that matter.


Witnessing this happen this morning reminded me about how life continues and how there will still be 19 doves tomorrow, expectantly waiting for feeding time. 


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