When Life Keeps Lifing:
Lessons on Heartbreak, and Showing Up Anyway
By Samantha Mandell | Owner, Sweet Soul Wellness & Host of Skirts Up
A few weeks ago, I shared a pretty vulnerable truth with you: the human experience is all about riding the ups and downs. We talk so much about how "even the best of us fall off the horse" and how important it is to take gentle baby steps to get back in the saddle.
But what happens when life just keeps lifing? What do you do when every single time you manage to get one leg back up in the stirrup, life kicks you right back into the dirt?
Well, here I am—honest as hell with you yet again. Life is lifing.
The Nurturer’s Urge (And an Accidental Farm)
If you listen to my podcast, Skirts Up, you heard me going on and on in the beginning of a recent episode about my new baby pig, Lenny.
Did I plan on getting a pig? No. Did I need a pig? Also no. But one of the truest, most core things about who I am is how deeply I love to nurture. Last year, I was eyeballs-deep in nurturing a boatload of plants (most of which are amazingly still alive). This year, however, my nurturing nature completely transferred to creatures.
I brought home a new puppy in January. Not too long after, I added a Sulcata tortoise to our family—which happens to be a dream-list creature for me! So, yay! And then... came a 12-pound Kune Kune pig, complete with full-blown toddler tantrums.
When I made the decision to get him, I knew nothing about pigs outside of a few quick Google searches. But I was certain I had it down. I eagerly drove two hours in a pickup truck I wasn't even confident operating—because we can do hard and scary things, right?
When I pulled onto the farm, I was immediately greeted by a woman holding a piglet. She looked at me and said, "I'm SO sorry! The little piggy you were coming for passed away. I didn't know until you were already on the way."
I knew I was coming for a slightly special-needs pig, so I knew there could be issues. Honestly, part of me felt a quiet wave of relief that if he wasn't going to make it, it didn't happen on my watch as a first-time pig owner.
She immediately followed up: "But I want you to leave today with a baby. So this one is yours if you want him. He's from a different litter and a bit younger."
"I Cannot Believe I'm Holding a Freaking Pig"
He was only five weeks old. He was peacefully resting in her arms, but the literal second she transferred him into mine, he started screaming.
My eyes went wide. Oh gosh, I broke it! I held him right back out to her.
"Totally normal," she reassured me. "Give him a minute, he'll calm down."
I pulled him flat against my chest, and after a minute, he settled right down. Standing there, I had this surreal moment of thinking: I cannot believe I'm holding a freaking pig. But I loved it.
They asked if I wanted a slightly older girl instead, but I looked down at him and said no—I wanted this exact one. They asked if I planned on getting more pigs later, because he was not neutered yet and I'd need to do that before bringing another home.
"No," I said. "No other piggies. Just him."
I loaded him up and headed home. On the drive back, it started pouring—hard. Pretty sure there were even little ice pellets mixed in with the rain, so I pulled over, pulled him out of his crate in the back, and held him on my lap the rest of the way home.
When we pulled into the driveway, the kids rushed out of the house, so excited to meet him. I got him situated in a cozy kennel for the night to get used to the sounds of his new environment.
Bonding Through the Screams
I had been told to handle him daily so he'd get used to me, but holy smokes—anytime I went to pick him up, he would scream and scream and scream some more. It was so intense that I started wondering if picking him up was doing more traumatizing than bonding, so I decided to step back and just let him be.
Within a week, magic happened. He stopped running when I came out to feed him. He seemed genuinely excited whenever I pulled up in the driveway or walked outside—his little tail wagging, making sweet piggy noises.
Now, did he still throw a massive screaming tantrum anytime I actually picked him up? Yes. But he always calmed down, eventually falling asleep as I petted his nose and held him close.
As he settled in, I started researching: Are there behavioral things I need to be aware of by keeping him intact?
I learned that being un-neutered didn't really change how affectionate he would be, but I discovered something much bigger: testosterone is what drives tusk growth.
Looking around my life—with small kids running around, dogs, and who knows what other animals I might randomly bring home next—I realized I didn't want a future trip to the ER because he got overly excited to see us and accidentally impaled someone with a tusk. So, the logical, responsible thing to do was have him neutered.
When Everything Goes Wrong
Unlike bulls, pigs don't have external testicles, so a small incision has to be made to get to them and snip. I found a great local rancher who works alongside a livestock vet, and he came out to perform the procedure.
Except once he got in there... there were no testicles.
I immediately got in touch with the people I bought him from, and they assured me he was intact. Okay, weird... I guess let's just close him back up, I thought.
And then, the absolute nightmare scenario happened.
A huge, unexpected hernia pushed his intestines out of his little body. I was right there with him during the entire procedure, and I will spare you the gruesome details, but in that moment, I knew what it usually meant. I knew he likely wasn't going to survive.
I excused myself to step away and have my feelings. I took a few minutes to feel the crushing weight of the sadness, let the tears fall, and prepare myself to step back out and do the right thing: put this poor baby to rest.
When I walked back out, after what felt like an absolute eternity, the rancher and vet had somehow managed the impossible task of getting everything back where it belonged.
Lenny was still fighting. He still felt strong.
Even with the heavy cloud of "this just doesn't feel right," the rancher and vet looked at me and said, "Give him a chance. Let's have some hope. Pigs are resilient." They loaded him up to take him with them so they could keep a round-the-clock eye on him while he tries to recover.
Holding the Anger, the Guilt, and the Grief
Since that moment, I have felt every single emotion on the human spectrum.
Immense anger at the people who irresponsibly bred and cared for these animals before selling them off.
Overwhelming sadness for everything this tiny seven-week-old baby has had to endure in his short life.
Consuming guilt, asking myself: If I hadn't rationally decided to get a pig, would he have had a better life? Is this my fault?
I only got to love on him for two short weeks before this happened, but somehow, my whole family got deeply, irrevocably attached.
As I write this, I don't have an answer yet on whether Lenny will get to come home. We are living in the terrifying, uncomfortable limbo of waiting.
How We Continue to Show Up
I’m sharing this raw, unfiltered story with you today because sometimes life just straight-up feels like it hates us. Sometimes you try to do the right thing, the responsible thing, the loving thing—and it blows up in your face anyway.
When you're getting bucked off the horse over and over again, how you continue to show up matters.
Showing up doesn't mean pretending you're okay. It doesn't mean putting on a fake smile and bypassing the pain.
For me, showing up looks like this right now:
Allowing space to grieve and process: Giving myself permission to feel the anger, the guilt, and the sadness without judgment.
Protecting my grounding rituals: Taking my quiet, dark baths before bed—my absolute favorite piece of non-negotiable self-care.
Staying present: Showing up fully for my clients at Sweet Soul Wellness, holding space for their healing, and being grounded for my kids and family.
Cleansing the energy: And honestly? I don't know about you, but I am about to pull my crystals out and do a full, deep home cleanse.
If you are currently sitting in a season where life just keeps hitting you with wildcard after wildcard, please know you don't have to have it all figured out. You don't have to be "strong" every second. You just have to allow yourself to feel it, honor where you are, take care of your spirit, and keep showing up for the next small moment.
Send some love and strength up for little Lenny today.
