Just Hold On: How a Balloon Became My North Star

Just the other morning I was driving my sons to school, and we had Christmas music on the radio. The sun was shining through the trees, Long Island’s water’s edge on one side and charming historic houses on the other. I heard my boys’ quietly singing along to Jingle Bells, excited that the bus didn’t show up, so mom had to drive them on this chilly Monday morning. Stopped at a stop sign, I watched their expressions in the rearview mirror and smiled, my eyes wrinkling up at the corners under my sunglasses. I took a deep breath as I pushed the gas pedal to go and sang along with them.

Pure joy. Pure happiness.

And yet, an image of myself appeared in the back of my mind. And it was not an image of someone smiling or singing. It was me, at my very lowest, in fact. My heart ached for a moment, for that woman, as I pulled up to the school driveway. She was so sad, I thought to myself, as I blew kisses to the boys hopping out of the car. She was so sad. And now, here she is. She made it.

During the darkest days of my separation and divorce, I often felt like I was losing pieces of myself - crumbling off my skin, as I walked through the world, just shedding the dreams, the goals, the visions - a life I thought I would have - a person I thought I was - and would never be.

It was summertime - the transition between married and unmarried was in full swing - and the days were long and twisted. The children, off from school, spent some days with me, at the pool or beach, running errands, spending time with family, or with their beloved babysitter, who would swoop in while I disappeared to work all day, and then…in the last hour or so she was with the children, I would throw back the covers on my bed, quite literally hide underneath the covers, and cry.

Some days, I would put my AirPods in and blast Brené and Glennon. Some days, Van Morrison. Some days, my own cries would muffle all of those sounds. And, then one day - I was lying in bed - staring out the window across the room - the summer leaves were verdant and strong, blowing in the wind - and a shimmer appeared. A small sliver of silver.

A mylar balloon was stuck in the trees, wrapped around a branch. For some reason, it made me laugh - and I sat up to look at it closer. It gave me hope. It was a shimmer of a light coming through. And then, the next day, the balloon was still there. This time, I walked over to the window and looked even closer. It became my North Star. Through wind and rain, the balloon held on. And not only did it hold on, but it stayed bright - it kept shining. It remained intact, just hanging on. As the balloon remained, and the summer days drifted forward, as plans were made, I started to get stronger.

My days became less about crying and more about marching forward. And yet, the balloon remained. And, then one day, the balloon was gone - I looked for it, and looked - but it had taken off, in the wind - and was ready for a new adventure - as was I.

When we’re going through major life changes, we often look to the oddest things to keep us hanging on. For me, it was a balloon, but for others it could be an animal, a recipe, a plant, a piece of clothing. Whatever it is - when you are going through a change, when you’re low - find your North Star and just hold on. The days will go by - you will heal - I promise. Because, like the balloon, you have never lost your glint, your shine, yourself - you may be in a low moment, but you’re still you, even if the pieces crumble, even if the world is shifting - you remain. And you will always remain. Just hold on, you got this.