Lauren Damrich - Invidious

Lauren Damrich

Radio Host TV Host Cosmopolitans with Lauren, reporter, screenwriter, content creator, TBI and domestic abuse survivor
Blogger, fitness expert, voice over, branding

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Lauren Damrich

www.facebook.com/share/1GFp2BdjV3/?mibextid=WC7FNe…, Peeps, I’m Still Here!

Adventures in Motherhood, Mayhem, and Survival

By Lauren Damrich

Well, peeps, no—I haven’t died, disappeared, or absconded with some priceless historical treasure I uncovered during my research.

Although, given my track record, I wouldn’t blame anyone for assuming the first possibility.

I believe I’ve had more accidents than Evel Knievel, and yes, I’m showing my age with that reference!

Sometimes I feel a little like Johnny Depp, a tremendous thespian whose extraordinary ability to portray completely different characters is unmatched.

The difference? Johnny Depp gets paid millions to become different characters. I seem to become a new character every few months, usually through some unfortunate accident, medical catastrophe, or unexpected life adventure.

And unlike Johnny, I can openly admit that my performances in some of these roles have been seriously lacking!

Lately, I’ve been playing several characters simultaneously: recovering concussion patient, back rehabilitation enthusiast not by choice, full-time nurse, exhausted mother, and personal assistant to a suddenly disabled four-legged diva named Bandit.

And let me tell you, the reviews have been mixed!

Motherhood: Round Three

As many of you know, my beloved Bandit suddenly lost her sight after developing diabetes.

One week, she was my independent little companion. The next, our entire world changed.

Now, I find myself back on full-time mommy duty.

I’m talking middle-of-the-night bathroom trips, constant supervision, preparing meals, administering medications, and trying to anticipate every possible need before she even knows she has one.

And somehow, taking Bandit outside three times a night feels harder than getting up with my two babies when one was six months old and the other just a year and a half!

How is that even possible?

Perhaps because I’m no longer that energetic young mother who could function on three hours of sleep, a cup of coffee, and pure determination.

Or perhaps because my body has finally decided to file a formal complaint against its owner.

Either way, motherhood has returned with a vengeance.

And despite the exhaustion, I wouldn’t trade my little girl for anything.

My Big Day Off Lasted Approximately Seven Minutes

Recently, I actually had something resembling a day to myself.

Imagine that!

No constant worrying about whether Bandit might bump into something, need to go outside, or become frightened because she can’t see where I am.

For a brief moment, I remembered what it felt like to simply be Lauren.

Of course, that moment didn’t last long.

Because when you’re a mother, whether your children have two legs or four, a part of your mind is always somewhere else.

You’re always wondering whether they’re okay.

And that got me thinking about the years when my children were little.

The Mother I Didn’t Have—and the Mother I Became

I always said that being a mother was the greatest joy of my life.

I loved raising my two babies, even as a single mother, and if someone offered me the opportunity to do it all again, I would say yes without hesitation.

I loved every single stage.

The sleepless nights, the little hands reaching for mine, the endless questions, the laughter, and even the chaos.

I couldn’t stand the thought of missing a single moment.

In fact, I paid for preschool every month but rarely sent my children!

Yes, you read that correctly.

I paid for something I couldn’t bring myself to use.

Why?

Because I couldn’t bear the thought of someone else experiencing their first discoveries, their funny little conversations, or those ordinary moments that become extraordinary memories.

I wanted to be there.

I wanted to see everything.

And perhaps, looking back, there was a deeper reason.

My own childhood wasn’t always filled with the security, tenderness, and unconditional love that every child deserves.

Maybe I was determined to create something different.

Maybe I wanted my children to experience the childhood I had wished for myself.

I wanted them to know that home was safe, that love wasn’t something they had to earn, and that their mother would always be there.

Not because I was perfect.

Lord knows I wasn’t!

But because loving them was the easiest and most natural thing I had ever done.

And Then Came Bandit

Life has a funny way of bringing us full circle.

Years ago, Bandit came into my life and became much more than a pet.

She became my companion, my protector, and my service dog during some of the most difficult chapters of my recovery.

When my brain injury changed everything, she was there.

When pain made ordinary activities feel impossible, she was there.

When I needed comfort without questions or judgment, she was there.

And now, suddenly, the roles have reversed.

The little girl who once helped guide me through my darkest days needs me to guide her through a world she can no longer see.

I am her eyes.

I am her security.

I am the familiar voice that tells her everything is going to be okay.

And although I am exhausted beyond anything I could have imagined, there is something incredibly beautiful about being able to give back the love she has given me.

Maybe There Is a Reason

I’ve spent much of my life trying to understand why certain things happen.

Why some people experience seemingly endless adversity while others appear to move through life relatively untouched.

Why, just when we think we’ve recovered from one catastrophe, another comes knocking.

My latest concussion has been particularly difficult.

After everything I endured recovering from my traumatic brain injury, finding myself once again struggling with neurological symptoms has been frightening and frustrating.

Add a back injury, chronic pain, and a newly blind dog who needs constant attention, and you have the ingredients for a rather questionable reality television show.

But perhaps there’s something to learn from all of this.

Maybe life isn’t asking me to prove how strong I am anymore.

Maybe it’s asking me to recognize that strength doesn’t always mean pushing through pain, ignoring exhaustion, or pretending everything is fine.

Sometimes strength means accepting that we need rest.

Sometimes it means admitting that we can’t do everything.

And sometimes it means understanding that the people—and animals—we love need us healthy, too.

The Forces We Can’t See

I’ve always been fascinated by history, human behavior, and the mysteries of life.

Perhaps that’s why I continue searching for meaning in experiences that don’t always seem to make sense.

I don’t believe every hardship arrives with some grand lesson neatly attached.

Some things are simply painful, unfair, and exhausting.

But I do believe that how we respond to those experiences can change us.

I’ve survived things I once thought would destroy me.

I’ve learned to walk, speak, and rebuild parts of my life that I thought were gone forever.

And I’ve discovered that sometimes the greatest victories aren’t the ones other people applaud.

Sometimes victory is getting out of bed.

Sometimes it’s making it through another difficult day.

And sometimes it’s watching a little blind dog confidently find her way across the room because she trusts that her mother is nearby.

So, What’s Next?

Well, hopefully fewer emergency rooms, concussions, and unexpected medical adventures!

I’m working on recovering, rehabilitating my back, caring for Bandit, and slowly returning to the writing, research, and creative projects I love.

I miss my work.

I miss connecting with all of you.

And I miss feeling like the energetic, slightly mischievous woman who could juggle a dozen projects while planning the next adventure.

But she’s still here.

Perhaps a little bruised, a little slower, and considerably more tired.

And apparently now operating a 24-hour assisted-living facility for one very spoiled dachshund.

But I’m still here.

Still laughing.

Still learning.

Still loving.

And still determined to make something meaningful out of this wonderfully ridiculous, occasionally heartbreaking, and completely unpredictable adventure called life.

So, peeps, don’t count me out just yet.

After all, Evel Knievel didn’t become famous by staying safely on the couch.

Although, given my recent history, perhaps the couch wouldn’t be such a terrible idea!

With love, laughter, and a little bit of insanity,

Lauren Damrich

Cosmopolitans with Lauren