Tag: mental health

This isn’t a grand post. Or a grand gesture. It is a pretty sad but honest post. There is a donkey at the end. I posted this on my Patreon on March 18th, 2026 and sent it to my newsletter that same week I think so my apologies if you see it more than once.

You can also listen to this on whatever podcast platform you prefer.

Also, full disclosure: I’m writing this here, too because I might use my website again a bit more regularly as I’m thinking about releasing a non-fiction book (which I wrote in five days and poured out of me and deals with cancer) and it feels weird, to me, not to mention why I took an even longer break than usual.

Not that I’m super active. Or post every week. But here I am.

And also because I guess part of me wants to talk about my Dad.

Again I wrote this post mid-March. I might… no I would most likely write it differently now.

To me, grief is not stagnant. Or static. Sometimes it’s surreal and sometimes it grabs you by the heart and squeezes and sometimes it’s just this emptiness you don’t know what to do with. And sometimes, yes, it is gratitude for the person and the moments but right now? This gratitude is still very much mixed by the physical ache of “missing” and of “wishing”.

So yep, that’s the post. And also I’m back writing my romcom. And also this is a long introduction.

Hey you,

It’s me dipping my fingers into writing after a long break. (not my toes, because I don’t write with my toes).

And I have so many emotions weighing on my mind, my heart. That same heart that has formed a habit of clenching out of the blue. But here I am, because right now I need, I want to write happy moments filled with all those feelings.

And I’m trying…

My father passed away on February 6th from pancreatic cancer.

Those words still seem very surreal and when they hit, they hit hard. Because my father was the kind of father who supported us, made us laugh, listened to us and he was a kind, funny, wonderful man. I could share so many anecdotes with you. I could tell you how sometimes I forget when the phone rings that it will never be him again. I could talk for hours about him.

I know the many many many memories I have will make me smile one day more than they make me cry.

And I also know that this loss leaves such an emptiness that I wasn’t prepared for. And that grief takes many forms. That not everyone feels the same things at the exact time. That some people grieve for years even before something happens. That the end doesn’t look the same for everyone. That people grieve for relationships they wished they had.

In a way, I think I’m lucky to grieve for the relationship I had with my father all my life, for the man he was even if treatments had taken a toll, he was still living.

But it’s been a lot. And it’s been devastating.

I was telling The Chemical Engineer the other day that I don’t even know if I remember how to write… and when I mentioned that to one of my writer friends yesterday in the virtual office I just went back to, she said, “the last time you wrote before? You’ll never get back to that exact place. To that moment.” And this was a realization I didn’t have yet. And I think one reason I was avoiding writing and focusing on many other things.

Because it’s true.

I’m finding ways to honor my father, to stay close, to continue while heartbroken. I’ve taken up jogging again (again does a lot of work because I never really jogged a lot).

And I’ve started working again. Slowly. (like my runs). And I’m trying.

So, here we go.

Because this way feels right for me right now.

And also, I’m very lucky to have a therapist who already knows me very well, hours (years, really) of therapy behind me. She can support me and tell me that all those feelings I have, the waves and the crashes and the tears and the smiles are all normal… and I also have a wonderful husband and family and friends.

I changed the horse into a donkey…(I’m revising Sophie and Liam’s story and will soon add new word to it).

DONKEY

Last night @ NotHereForLove had me blushing all over, even made me believe this Christmas season might be everything I wanted. After all, flirting while enjoying a hot cocoa with marshmallows? Definitely Top Five moments of this month. This morning though? I’m perched on a donkey trying very hard not to throw up my breakfast or whatever is left of my dignity.

“You go Miss Wilson! Best School Trip Ever.” Gracie spins around with the biggest smile I’ve seen since I started substituting at Swans Cove Middle five weeks ago. “This was totally on my Christmas wish-list.”

I grin back at her even though my spine has turned into steel and my heart thumps way too loudly. I probably look like a horror version of the Elf.

“On mine too!” Diego adds.

Great.

“What’s on yours, Miss Wilson?”

Ugh. My list would get me called to the principal’s office.

It includes keeping my parents from throwing their marriage down Swans Cove’s drains, adopting a kitten and oh, I don’t know, hot sex with an eligible bachelor who murmurs things like “Sophie, I want you like I want my next breath.”

While making me dinner.

Oh, unless I become the dinner.

The donkey underneath me brays loudly.

He was not on my list.

“On my list?” I croak out. “Cookies.”

“Like the donkey!

“Miss Wilson! I think Cookie wants to go on the beach.”

“I didn’t know Cookie also had a wish-list,” I murmur and the donkey has to understand me because it takes another step toward the exit.

Sorry Cookie, I love hearing the ocean roar, too. But I’m even more of a fan of not wandering far from the equine center. It has cake, Christmas music and … professionals who know how to handle you.

Definitely not on my list?

Being thrown from a donkey.

I tug on the give-me-hives Elf costume. “See,” I tell Ben who’s looking at me with big eyes while playing totally cool. “Cookie is so sweet.” My voice may be a bit high-pitched but at least I’m not jumping off the donkey.

I wait for a second. Ready to give him another angle. Like how Cookie works as a “read with me donkey” and how it’s his last event before the winter storm next week.

The staff said donkeys can’t handle cold and wet temperature that well and tomorrow, they’ll be kept warm with hay and happiness.

The beginning of December has been pretty warm.

“He does seem … nice,” Ben finally says, reaching his hand out toward Cookie.

I nod while my brain screeches. You sure about this?

No Brain. I’m not sure.

And yet… here I am again. Which really should be my middle name. Sophie Here I am Again Wilson. Instead of Sophie Hope Wilson.

I once agreed to plan a wedding in Ireland in three days for a couple who wanted real ghosts (don’t ask).

I once thought being the reliable one was a personality trait, not a coping mechanism.

And I once believed one curl-your-toes, twist-your-panties kiss with off-limits Liam O’Connor was the beginning of my happily-ever-after.

It’s a pattern. I’m aware. I have a habit of saying yes before my nervous system catches up.

I glance down and my stomach lurches into my throat.

Turns out my nervous system has notes.

***

Thank you for reading ❤ And I’m not going to plug my books, but in lieu of flowers, we donated to pancreatic cancer research at the Hôpital Beaujon (we chose that hospital because my father went for a second opinion there and they treated as a human being and that matters so much when you’re a patient) and a local cancer support group.

Also, if you knew my father, don’t hesitate to have a piece of cake and think about a happy memory of him.

❤

Elodie

My father and I… in the village I grew up in. On the day the Chemical Engineer and I got married (my father was the mayor and officiated the civil ceremony)