Doing the best with what you have ❤️

You know those diffusers at the entrance of every Muji store? Well, I walked into Muji today because it was hot and sticky and harsh out and I figured the smell of eucalyptus and some AC would do me good. I always consider buying one of those diffusers. Today they were even $30 off. But I’ve never been able to bring myself to buy one. 
 
The last diffuser I bought was for my mom. It was compact and white and gave off a bright, minty mist. I got it for her room in the nursing home where she was staying at the time. As part of her bedtime routine, I would turn down the lights, turn on the diffuser and play music until she went to sleep. Then I’d slip out, looking back at her from the doorway for an extra moment before I left. Thinking about my mom living in that nursing room guts me. It is a sadness, a shame, a sickening feeling that lives in my stomach, and shoulders, and throat. 
 
I didn’t move back home when my mom got her Alzheimer’s diagnosis. At that time I was 20, just graduating college, a whole world and NYC in front of me. I didn’t yet understand that my career could wait, that the city would still be there, that not going back would be a regret that would burn like a raging monster in my chest. 
 
But—I did the best with what I had at the time. 
 
Cheryl Strayed says that, “acceptance asks only that you embrace what’s true.” And what was true for me then was that I was young and afraid. It was true that people thought poorly of my decision, and me. It’s true that my mom got Alzheimer’s and died. It’s true that these memories pain me less today than they did 5 years ago.
 
I wish I had gone home, but I understand why I didn't. Regret can live with understanding. Pain can live with healing. Your best can not be good enough. And mistakes can live with forgiveness.

Give yourself some grace,
Nasrin
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