Saturday night my gallbladder was in a bad mood. All it took was a small cup of oats and a tiny bit of chocolate chips to send it into the worst tantrum it has had so far–two hours of screaming at the top of its lungs and three more afterwards yelling and banging doors shut like a teenager. As I was laying in bed–trying and failing to sleep through the waning wrath of Mr. Gallbladder–I thought of something my sister said when I decided to start this blog: “you should write about what you do when it’s all too much.” Why would I think of that during a five hour gallbladder attack? Eh, no reason.

Honestly I do feel a little bit small, writing about when my little life is too much for me on a day we remember and reverence those who gave their lives for family, friends and country. But I’ll persevere in the simple knowledge that life is hard and no matter what our circumstance, we all have moments when it’s all too much.

The last time I had one of these moments was towards the end of February. I was sitting in French class. I was having a hard time hearing because my ears were so stuffed up; my face and head throbbed in time with my heartbeat. I had just finished the second two-week course of antibiotics I had been prescribed for this sinus infection, and my strength slumped at the realization I would need a third. There I sat in the middle of class, when all the sudden I felt I couldn’t take another second as myself. To my horror my eyes started to sting. “Mama prépare un bon dîner.” We chanted as a class. I will not cry I pled to myself. “Ma soeur Lise attend un coup de téléphone.” Not here, not now.

I made it through class. I made it to the car. I could make it no longer. I drove home with dangerously blurred eyes and when I got to my room I had a good cry.

That’s the first thing I do when it’s all too much–I cry. I don’t like crying–it makes me stuffy and gives me a headache–but sometimes there’s nothing for it. Sometimes life punches you in the gut and you just gotta cry about it.

Once my eyes were sufficiently red and swollen that the tears slowed their onslaught, I got on my knees and bowed my head. I thanked my Father in Heaven for everything I could think of; I thanked Him til my heart was as swollen as my eyes–but with gratitude instead of pain; I thanked Him til the storm inside went still.

That’s the second thing I do when it’s all too much–I choose to see all the goods things in my life that I take for granted when I get discouraged. Bit by bit I replace self-pity or self-loathing or whatever darkness I’m feeling with gratitude.

Eventually I rose from my knees. I grabbed a couple pieces of dark chocolate. I went into my sister’s room and we teased my brother’s little beagle, Bruce, by hiding his favorite ball. We laughed as he sniffed intensely at the blanket, completely oblivious to the bright orange ball sitting in plain site on the desk.

Those are the final two steps. If at all possible, eat chocolate. Then go find someone I love and goof around with them. If the world’s-worst-ball-hunter Bruce is around, well that’s a bonus.