Strong Roots and Stone Arches:  The Next Chapter

I have a lot of shame in admitting this. It’s been a really long time since I have written about my life and experiences with chronic illness. From the beginning, my goal was to help share my story with the hope that it might help others. Although I haven’t shared this much here, writing about how things are going has actually helped me more than I anticipated. 

The last few months have been very heavy for me. That being said, there has also been a lot of good as well. This is where the name Jewel and Ash has it’s identity. My experience has neither been all good, or all bad. It has been extremely both positive and challenging. 

Remember 2020? I don’t. That’s not totally true, I remember it… kind of, but it certainly feels like “the lost year.” In the same way that 2020 seemed to be lost in my memory the month of March 2026 has also felt like lost time. For the record, ⅓ of March was spent in the hospital, and I spent most of it feeling pretty terrible. 

Those 10 days were mostly miserable, to be honest. I hated being there. Also in March, I had two ambulance rides, a nuclear study, felt very invalidated by the medical community, and now I am unsure if I will have a job after my medical leave is finished on April 20, 2026. While all of this was happening, I was also reminded how lucky I am. 

Yes. LUCKY. Not because of the ashes of March specifically, yet, without these extremely challenging experiences, I would not have the chance to be reminded of how much genuine support I have. My entire family, from the youngest (my 20 month old niece) to the oldest (my 90-year-old grandpa) has been there to help me through. 

That is what is so special about the jewels in our life. When the fire comes, and we know it will, the jewels not only show resilience in the heat, but they often are able to become stronger. For the record, I am not a jewel expert in real life, and I am simply using the analogy to describe my experience with my family. In fact, this is how the blog got its name. The “ash” signifies the lows we have, the times that we feel sick or invalidated. Sometimes in those times, we are also shown positive people, experiences, or traits. That is what I call the “jewels.”

Then, I was curious. Does fire make jewels stronger or more valuable? The song “What Doesn’t Kill You Makes You Stronger” by Kelly Clarkson started playing in my head as I considered this.  So, I asked my AI collaborator, Gemini (see what I did there), if fire makes jewels stronger. The answer was a sobering ‘it depends,” accompanied with this table. 

Although there were some jewels that actually improve with extreme heat, like sapphire, this was not universally true. Turns out, for the most part, gemstones do not get better when exposed to fire. Some of them will completely change their chemistry, and become unstable. This fits the analogy surprisingly well. Others turn into literal poison. Lookin at you, Diamond. 

Fun Fact from Gemini: If you are looking for a stone that is truly “born of fire,” Moissanite (originally found in meteorites) and Cubic Zirconia are created in labs at incredibly high temperatures. They are built to withstand heat that would destroy many natural gems.

I can’t lie, a part of me wanted Gemini to tell me that stones become stronger in high heat. Maybe it was because I wanted to feel like I was going to be okay, and maybe even stronger, from this setback. What I found was that most gemstones actually change their appearance and strength in fire, becoming more brittle, or losing their luster. I also found it interesting that the stones that did have the most improvement with high temperature changes were made in a lab, and not found naturally on Earth.

Being in the hospital did feel that way. One of the nurses even said to me, “You need to give yourself a break. This is not really you, and how you are feeling now is a result of what is medically happening to you. I appreciated this reminder. The fire, and therefore the ash, I was experiencing, was not a moral or personal failure. Different from jewels in life, this did not have to be forever. I could actually gain skills and resilience from this experience, even though I felt like I was losing my own “fire,” and becoming more brittle.  

What if, similar to moissanite and cubic zirconia, resilience after medical trauma needs to be cultivated, and does not just naturally happen?

Gemini and I went on a journey for this next part. I wanted to know more about jade stones specifically. Although jade is not hard, like a diamond, it is surprisingly strong. Until this deep dive, I thought jade would be less likely to be used as a weapon, or a tool because a diamond is harder. However, because of its toughness, it was actually preferred for axeheads and weapons. The toughness of nephrite jade specifically made it possible to hit bone multiple times without chipping, which cannot be said for diamonds or flint that are more likely to break under the pressure. 

I don’t know that my parents knew this at the time, but they gave me incredible strength in giving me my name. Maybe I needed to hear this today, but Gemini suggested “If you’re looking for a stone that can survive a lifetime of daily wear without chipping, Nephrite Jade is arguably the most “durable” choice on the planet—even if it doesn’t like the heat!” 

If this doesn’t scream resilience, I don’t know what does. Heat is a known trigger for both MS and POTS, so the analogy continues to fit surprisingly well. My stubbornness, a hand-me-down inherited from both of my parents, is a true strength in this context. I will not give up, even when it might seem more logical to do so. 

Is there a solution, I don’t know. What I do know is finding it won’t be easy, but I have hope that I can survive the journey to search for it. At the same time, I am not arrogant enough to believe I could climb Mt. Everest alone. Not only do I want my family with me, I need them. 

My parents gave me another name, my middle name, that aptly summarizes this reality beautifully as well. Aspen. Living in Colorado I have countless memories of going to see aspen trees in the fall, with hundreds of other people, to stare at their golden leaves in awe. Unlike many other trees that are individual plants growing near each other, aspen trees have a very robust, fully connected, root system. 

Side note, I have been told my whole life that aspen trees were the largest living organism on Earth. Earlier this year, my 10 year old daughter actually corrected this chronic misnomer in my life, and explained to me that a fungus actually holds this title. So, in full transparency, aspen trees, with their connected root system, are actually the second largest organism on Earth. In my opinion, still impressive. 

In reality, my support system are my roots. Although my challenges are more visible, potentially looking like a single tree, I am not surviving this fire alone. While I was in the hospital, my husband slept there every night with me. In a recliner next to my hospital bed. My mom was there every day, bringing food and conversation (mostly for Jared, because I was not really able to appreciate either at the time. 

My brother, sister-in-law, and their kids were at our house multiple days cleaning, doing a month worth of our laundry, and playing with Charlie, the cat. Who by the way, was very vocal about my absence when I returned home after my 10 day “vacation” at Good Sam. My sister brought the softest, most comforting, blanket in an effort to help me feel more normal. Her husband, my brother-in-law, brought food, and even gave us a ride home because my car did not follow us in the ambulance. 

This extensive root system continues to the medical staff, not only at the hospital, but also the urgent care I went to at the beginning of March, my new PCP who sent me to the hospital via ambulance during our first time meeting, my cardiologist who coordinated medication changes with the hospitalist, Louisville and Lafayette fire who gave me a very expensive ride to the hospital twice that month. The ripple effect continues, even now. 

The reason Jewel and Ash exists, and why the metaphor has been so important in my processing of these events, is that the support of my family does not erase or cure the struggle. Aspen trees are often one of the first to sprout after a fire destroys the forest, and this is only made possible by the protection of the connected root system. The same is true for me. My ability to be resilient, and recover from the forgotten month, is a direct result of the support of my family and medical team. 

Their support and love cannot be destroyed by the fire and ash, in fact, the opposite is true. During the hard times, they are there to lift me up, and help me remember what I am capable of. They remind me that I can adapt, and survive, despite the immense challenges raining down on us. 

Hindsight is 20/20, right? Knowing what I know now, I probably would have done things differently, but I didn’t know it then. One place this stands out the most is with my job. As things exponentially became more and more challenging, driving became scarier, my heart rate increased, my concerns about passing out changed from theoretical to a lived experience, I waited to take the next step in my career. 

Having my own private practice, although it was something I wanted to do, was moved to the back burner out of necessity. Survival became more important than ensuring I was making the “best” choices. Then I needed more time away from work, wanted to increase my telehealth work, and felt that it might not be the right time to take on a new challenge that I knew very little about. 

Then, after sending an urgent message related to getting my medical leave approved, I got an official offer for my LPC position. This offer was 6 months in the making. Well, more than that if you count school, internship, and supervision for two years, it’s been more like 6 years. It has been 6 months since I was told I would have an offer at the end of the week. I was tired of waiting, and put my foot down. 

I was hoping my next step would be obvious, and it certainly was. Even though I was expecting a promotion now that I had a licence, that came with more independence, freedom, and more money, that was not what I was offered. I would get a pay cut, needing to work more hours to keep my salary the same, and my location and hours would be changed. Written in the offer, which I was asked to review and sign in just seven days of it being sent, while still on approved medical leave, was confirmation of what I feared. “This location does not support full remove work.”

In a sense, this decision was made for me. It was time to fully transition to my own, fully remote, private practice. 

Since Jewel and Ash has grown in meaning since being started one year ago, my private practice had big shoes to fill. I wanted a name that had the same kind of representation of the work I am doing, and who I am as a person. 

I would like to announce here first, the name of my mental health private practice is Aspen & Arch. There is a lot of symbolism already in this name. The first part of the name, Aspen, is not only my given name, but also the first to grow after the fire of March 2026. It is a direct result of strong determined roots, not only by the support of those around me, but also my own clinical practice and belief in the work I am doing. 

The fire was, is, real trying to deny it is not only seemingly impossible, but not something I am interested in doing. Turns out, there is a practice that involves prescribed burns. This is to allow new growth to be possible, instead of letting the current trees cover the ground cover, and therefore shading and preventing undergrowth to be possible. 

However, I don’t see any benefit in being stuck there. I am ready to move forward, which is where the arch comes in. In my vision of the brand Aspen & Arch, I see this represented by a bridge. An arched walkway over challenges. Not only do I feel having a private practice give me the freedom to set my own hours, and walk the path I feel I need right now, but it represents how I see my work as a therapist. 

Therapy is not about telling clients what path to walk, or what the way out is. It is about the healing properties of connection (Aspen) and the potential for gained perspective from an outside source (Arch). As I am writing this post, a lot remains unknown. 

Interesting, arches are surprisingly strong, and actually do become stronger with more pressure being put on them. I found this to be true in the hospital. As I was there longer, I dropped my “I’m okay,” act, and truly stood up for what I wanted and needed from the doctors. When they told me they were considering giving me a feeding tube down my nose because I was struggling with keeping food down, I told them I did not want that. I explained what I had been noticing about my treatment, and asked specifically for what I thought would help. 

I am not sure if I will have my current job when my medical leave is over, and although I did respond to the email saying I would not be able to meet the deadline of 4/15/26, the ball and power is not in my court. I do not have access to my current clients right now, and I am hopeful I will be able to give them notice of my moves… but, again, that is not up to me at this point. 

It is possible that I will start my new venture without anyone to counsel. At the same time, I feel confident that this is the right move for me and my family. What I can control is my next step, and my attitude while I do it. What I know is that I have strong roots, and I will find my way over the ash of March. 

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