Hobby Lobby Tears

Last night I entered, in person, through the doors of a Hobby Lobby store about an hour from where I live.

I try never ever go there in person to shop.  Not because I don’t like the store… I actually LOVE the store. Oh, the happiness that store stocks on it’s shelves is second to none!

I needed to purchase a gift card, a gift for someone I love. That was the only item I NEEDED.

It’s at this point I need to quickly back up and interject a recent little pact I made with myself on behalf of my current spending, and the amount of bills sitting in their envelopes that are due and sitting on the desk beside me.

In years prior I used to pick something at the beginning of the year that I would not purchase for that entire year. One year it was books. One year it was jewelry. One year it was clothes. One year was no in person or online registrations to any running races. I could be gifted these items, but I myself could not purchase them for myself. And I actually always carried through each year.

This year I had not put down any spending restrictions (and it shows, LOL). 2023 was a financially hard year for us. Income tax nearly killed us due to some unexpected American economy / production issues (in specifically, within the car industry) – and would then prove to be a ridiculously hard medical year for us. Braces for the teenager, the hubby had a heart attack, staph infection, and a few other unexpected health issues. Medication costs, lack of coverage, lack of availability, AND the amount of personal time and effort also nearly did us in in 2023. New furnace, air conditioner, water heater… along with issues with the dishwasher, dryer, garbage disposal, and probably something else I can’t even remember also helped us finish out the year even more in the red. Do I need to continue? No. Ok thanks.

I know we are NOT alone in these struggles of all of this ridiculousness called “adulting.”

We plowed into 2024 with high hopes of somehow leaving the dramas of 2023 behind us in the dust. But that wasn’t exactly the case. It never is, right?

We did decide to go forward with an anniversary trip we had planned. It was a significant expense. But 20 years of marriage together is also significant, right? We are not guaranteed tomorrow, we are not guaranteed tomorrow together – so we booked and took the trip.

And it was beyond amazing. Beyond. No words, and all the words.
Take the trip – eat the cake – buy the shoes. Well… ok maybe don’t buy the shoes. ;-)

No seriously, I recently sat myself down and had a long conversation with myself. We discussed our love for “things” -for pretty things that make us feel pretty, for fun things that make us feel fun, for collectable things that make us feel full and complete…. Ect, again I won’t go on because we all know this draw to spend and have. We all have the inner drama between justification of the spend vs the output of the happiness received.

Even though at the very same time I also fight against the “having” and “getting” and tell myself I don’t actually need anything and have no reason to be spending in the way that I am and do.

So at the end of that conversation, myself and I came to terms and set some spending boundaries from now through the end of the year. What small sacrifices am I able to instill in my life right now when it comes to money? All money not spent, is to be considered saved, and to be put towards the bills pouring in (which some is from our own choosing and some not).

From now through the end of the year I cannot purchase for myself any: new books, new clothes / shoes / jewelry or new mugs. No new scrapbooking supplies, no new craft paper. No spending money on coffee. No drive through coffee and no store bought coffee (until everything in my house right now is completely gone). No spending on anything unnecessary and not of actual “need.” (Yippie – that means I’m still allowed to purchase toilet paper and tooth paste and laundry detergent ~LOL)

I told a few people my pact with myself – to help hold myself accountable and to just show I’m at least attempting to do “something” forward movement.

And… enter Hobby Lobby. Literally.

I was alone. I slowly touched and looked at a million beautiful things that I loved and adored and wished I could take home with me. Stacks of the most beautiful papers (which were also all 40% off this week) Faith plaques and stones and angel wing décor. Pale pink room decorations that I would have loved to redecorate the spare room with in honor and memory of Faith. And a few perfect perfect coffee mugs that would have held and served up the most delicious coffee in. I was taking photos and sending them to my friend. The one I told to hold me accountable to my said spending restrictions.

I finally picked up the little gift card from the bottom of my empty cart and checked out. My heart was heavy. I was sad, I’m not going to lie.

I walked out the door and was met with an amazing sky filled with clouds and a sunset painted only from Heaven’s finest angels. And I cried for a little while as I sat in my car in the parking lot.

My new car. A beautiful expensive new to me car that was given to me by my husband as a surprise Christmas gift (which would end up finally becoming a different new car (but one that actually “worked”) birthday gift 3.5 months later.) Which is a very long, painful story which I am currently not going to share. Perhaps someday. Maybe not. It’s quite a story actually – invite me to coffee sometime and I’ll tell you the whole thing ;-). Oh wait – I can’t buy myself coffee right now, so maybe just invite me to meet you in the park or something where nothing is required to be purchased, and I’ll share the full tale ;-)

Did I NEED a new car? Kind of, maybe, but not “really really”. Did I DESERVE a new car? My mind will tell me hells to the no I don’t deserve anything this nice. Do I LIKE the new car? I’d be lying if I said I don’t. Heated seats, heated steering wheel, back up camera, listening to my phone through the car speakers, third row seating, not worrying about it breaking down if I drive out of town… I’m human – these are amazing luxuries I lived without before, but really would NOT want to go backwards and give them up now that I’ve experienced them.

I drove home in my new to me car with my gift card, listening to a pod cast on… happiness.

I will wrap the gift card up and I honestly can’t wait to gift it to the person who will get to walk through those same doors and get to pick a few of their favorite fun things from there to get to take home to their house. I will tell them they have to send me selfies with what they get. And that WILL bring me great joy – more legit joy than any of the beautiful things I touched and longed for as I walked myself through the store last night.

Part of my brain knows this. And part of my brain is loudly hollering its denial.

I don’t need anything. I’m human and I want lots of things. I have envy and greed and great selfishness.

My parking lot tears were from being mentally and physically exhausted after a long day of working and driving and standing in lines at the plasma center. They were from allowing myself to feel sorry for myself. They were from my frustration at myself for allowing my expenses and debt to become a bit of a burden to bear right now.

As I said earlier – some of it is our own doing, some of it isn’t. My mind is busy telling myself I need to compare to everyone around me – I need to want all the things – I need to not wait or deny myself things I should have or could have or need to have right now.

While at the same time my mind is also telling me that I don’t deserve to have a nice car, I don’t deserve to take a nice vacation with my hubby, or vacations with my family… It’s telling me I already have too much and I need to get rid of half (if not more) of all the “crap” already in my house and in my position. 

This year my word of the year is Happy. What is happy? What defines happy? What is keeping me from happy? What does society define as happy? What do I personally inside define as happy? What if I already am AT peak happy, but think I’m not and I’m left endlessly trying to do and achieve more to reach a level of happy that might not even exist?

Yeah – an intentional deep dive into all things “happy” is on my agenda for myself this year, and I’m well into that journey. Which is a whole different blog post for another day…

But I am sure I am not the only one wrestling with want and need and desire and dreams and the complexity of wisely using and spending of our talents and resources. And so I share tonight of my own struggles and my own tears, not for pity or to be all woe is me, but to just extend a hand, a hug, a sliver of understanding and love in a really complex world of hard realities right now.

Adulting is hard. Really really hard. I don't like it right now. At all. Or at least one side of my brain is telling me I don't like it and it's not bringing me any happiness. But I'm starting to secretly wonder if it's not all (or surely as much as it's telling me) actually as "horribly unhappy" as my mind is feeding me to believe.

Carry on sweet beautiful warriors. One day at a time. One hour at a time. And no, nothing in life and love and death make sense right now, none of it, and you are not alone in your war of crazy and complicated reasoning within.

Previous blog post { Palm Sunday  } Here

Palm Sunday

Palm Sunday is hard. It’s always hard.

Nine years ago Faith was stillborn on Palm Sunday weekend. We would watch church from home, all of us sitting on our couch, numb, while watching the children waving the palm branches and singing Hosannah on the Highest, and then hearing the announcement about us… about Faith… No one knew I had even been pregnant.

Their first announcement of her life was of her loss… of her already being in the arms of Jesus.

As the years continued, Easter has always been hard. The season of Lent basically the season of her life as we knew her. Her first birth day was the following years Easter Sunday. The continued passing of the years and the waving of palm branches always a squeeze on my heart as I remember her, remember the horrible details of this entire journey.

And I am always pricked by the reality that there is one less child up there waving her palm branch and singing.

Yes, selfishly I want her here on earth with us. And yet… And yet, I am also always struck with the thought – and what if she had lived and wasn’t healthy? I am already so tired and so weary living THIS current life, however would we have continued through life caring for a sick child as well? I’m also always stuck with the thought that why would anyone wish a life on earth vs a life in heaven? The pain, the sickness, the corruption, the endless difficulties… Why would we not actually be rejoicing that she didn’t have to suffer through any of this – why are we not just beyond grateful when she opened her eyes she was already in the arms of Jesus, pain free, disease and sickness free.

Disease and sickness free – something she never once knew. She bore the burden and fate of Trisomy 18 from the very moment her first cell divided into her very existence. Sin in its most horrible state as it struck to the very marrow of the most innocent.

And yet, despite that reality – I will fully admit I still selfishly wish her in my own arms.

Today as I stood in church there were tears on my cheeks as I watched all the children and their palm branches. I didn’t want to be there. I wanted to still be hiding in the dark in my bed. And I couldn’t sing the words to all the songs praising God in all His greatness and goodness. He is. I know He is. But some days are just hard to put physical words to that when what is in my heart and soul is anything but praising His goodness.  I just could not open my mouth and sing of His goodness.

In my non-singing this morning, I was struck with a thought ~
I am not the only one who lost a child this week.

Two thousand years ago God also watched and witnessed the journey of losing His son, losing His child this very same week. He watched the pain and the suffering, and I’m sure His heart also broke wide open in the pain and sorrow we feel and experience here on earth upon our losses.

It was His plan all along. He gave His son to die. He created His son to die. To die for me… for you… for each and every one of us. And I really stopped and sat with that for a while. I’ve not thought of GOD’s grief much before. He was a father who watched His son suffer and die. He was a father who hurt and grieved just like we do. He knows the pain. He is also a loss papa.

I admit I think often of my funeral. Maybe not so much about my death, those details aren’t of concern or on my thought radar really. But the funeral itself, the happening, the event… that’s common conversation with me – both in my head and with my family and friends.

I have a notebook. It’s in my underwear drawer. It has all my funeral details in it. It’s a continual work in progress. I’m always adding little notes to it. The clothes, the coffin, the verses, the songs, the flowers, the colors, the earrings, the fingernails, the food, the drink, the coffee mugs, the little bits about my obit…

I’m not planning it in any morbid way. I’m not “planning” planning it. (I’m not suicidal or anything of that sort.) But I am ready. I am ready for Heaven. I want my celebration of life to be easy for those closest to me, and I want it to be a genuine and real celebration of my life.

As I sit here writing, I realize I have so much more I want to write, to share… There is so very much in my life that I have not documented, have not shared, have not blogged as I would have liked over the last years.

I am deep in my season of hard. Deeper yet in my season of busy. It’s been a rough go lately. Not that all things are negative and horrible… but we’ve been trudging through some pretty significant things that I’ve not taken the time to share about. My running, my health and wellness, Brian’s health and wellness, the teenager, the grandbabe, my cake business, my word of the year, trips and vacations we’ve taken, our current car saga, thoughts and stories of hurts and joys and triumphs and frustrations and celebrations...

Through all these things I’ve had to let my love for blogging and sharing currently just not be a part of this current season of busy. Someday perhaps it will be different. Someday perhaps I’ll have time to write my book, update my blog, share my life and loves and wisdom through my love of words. But that is not this season.

So I will pop on now and again out of the blue with an update or two for now, probably Faith specific. And today the world is a little harder, and a little heavier, so I will take the time to say a few words as we continue to walk forward into another Faith week this week. Another Easter season. Another Palm Sunday. Another birth day to be celebrated without her here with us in our house, at our table, in our lives.

Our sermon today naturally talked of palm branches. And that they signify the recognition of hope and future. That Jesus is coming. That whatever is holding us down right now, He will lift us up from… Lift me up from, lift you up from.... When the tears fall from our eyes, may we welcome Him into our hearts.

When I walked out of church, I found my heart still aching, my soul still dreading trudging through this week, the tang of my bitterness still lingering within me… but for the first time in nine years, I also walked out feeling slightly different about my thoughts on palm branches and Palm Sunday.

And... perhaps I need to add a little note in the notebook to incorporate a few palm branches here and there at my funeral.

Previous Blog Post { Back To Basics } HERE

Back to Basics

After another long hiatus of silence from me, here I am jumping on to leave a few words and thoughts, and I never quite know where to even start. So much has happened, so much to tell and explain and share between then and now… but for now I guess we skip the majority of the “then” and touch on a little of the “now.”

I’d love to promise I will come back and fill in all the missing stories and moments, but as much as I love writing and long to actually be a writer and write, I’m just too busy right now. Well, I’ve always been too busy, and I know I will always continue to be too busy to be a "real" writer (you know, how I'm always going to be too slow to be a "real" runner)… so you will just continue to get a few random ramblings here and there from me, and that’s all I’ve got to give. 

Even though I would love it to be more.

So, this morning marks day number three in a row that I got myself out of bed to workout. And for years and years and years – I went never ever missing three days in a row of working out.

And yet, here I am. I’m in the heavy shadows of turning fifty, and I’ve found myself in a year of just not caring, not trying, giving up perhaps.

I’ve gained the weight and lost the muscle. I’ve let go of my endurance and let all goals float off into the wind, and perimenopause didn't even knock, she just walked on in and took a seat - and has never left.

I recently had my phone crash and I lost everything on it. All the photos, all the videos, all the apps. Some I was able to restore, most of it all just gone. Starting back over. Reset to factory settings. I lost my runkeeper app, and with that I lost over 13,000 workout entries, which equaled I don’t even know how many miles logged. I gave my son my garmin watch at the beginning of his cross country season this fall. He reset it and started over with his current running journey coursing through it. All of my miles and stats gone.

The same day my phone crashed, my computer also crashed (not related oddly enough) and they had to wipe my entire computer and set it all back to original settings, all data lost. It’s been a bit of a slow painful journey trying to just get back up and working again on my phone and computer. Passwords, work, files, documents, apps… all needing to be reinstalled, resaved, reset up.

Back to the basics.

Recently I also found myself transitioning from working from home for the last three and a half years – to having to work back in the office. Oh and I also transitioned to working a second job again full time as I reopened and launched my full time cake and cupcake side gig business (we need the money, it's just as simple as that). OH and I also changed jobs at my full time job within the last month - and all the stress in which that entails while transitioning back to the office. I’m still working at the same company, but a different job. I am now actually back to working at my very original first full time job in my career as a graphic artist – as a junior designer. I worked in that position for fourteen years, and would unexpectedly not return to work after we adopted our son. His care needs were more than we had expected and childcare ended up needing to be done by me, at home. I transitioned from full time working mom to full time work from home mom with a teenager and an infant and growing a tiny little cake decorating side gig into a full time career, at least for a few years.

Ten years (minus two days) later I would find myself back at full time office work back at the same company. I stepped into an art admin roll after someone retired. Five years later, another wonderful friend and employee retired, and I decided to apply and try return to my original full time artist / designer position.

During all of this transition of back to office and applying for a new job, I also found myself on the other end of a phone call from a distraught husband I needed to pick up on some random gravel road outside of town and rush him to the emergency room where I sat on a hard metal chair watching all the doctors and nurses clamor and poke and administer textbook heart attack procedures on my forty-two year old husband.

As I sat there I was asked if he had his power of attorney paperwork in place, because it wasn’t in their computer. Power of attorney? For my husband? No. No, that had never been discussed or thought about. We are both busy doing all of that exact paperwork things for both of our parents right now, this was supposed to be a call about my dad first – not my husband. Not now, not yet.

Long story short – we’re about a month out from all of that now… He is home and we are grateful all testing came back showing no heart damage. He is back to work, he is eating many more salads, and you know what – we still haven’t had that conversation or done anything about that power of attorney stuff for us yet…

Although, I did finally fill out and turn in all the paperwork to try get a passport. I said I would never get one, mostly because I wanted the excuse to never have to travel somewhere where God would use me and wreck me entirely (this is the honest to God truth). My hubby may have also gone to the travel agent and booked a resort trip for us in Mexico over my birthday and our twentieth anniversary this upcoming March.

Funny story, I got the mail earlier this week – and in it was a letter that my passport application had been rejected. I will leave the rest of this story for another blog post ;-)

I’m working a new job, we’re battling surviving day to day with an angry, hard to love teenager (whom, by the way, we love to the ends of the world and back which is just a hard hard journey for us right now), that is just finishing a long field marching band and cross country season, my hubby is working on stepping forward with his health journey, we have a beautiful granddaughter and my oldest son and his amazing wife – and I've found myself too busy to see them for weeks, which I realized as I stepped into the emergency room waiting room and seeing them for the first time after probably six weeks. My heart aches that I can’t be a better grandma in this season for them, but I praise the Lord daily that they are currently so so blessed with health and happiness and are just getting to love living their lives loving the Lord and others so well right now.

And in all of this… I walked away from my health journey.  Maybe I ran away, maybe I let it slip away.  However it happened... I am very much currently ..."away"....

I entered January 2022 absolutely exhausted, burned out, done. I was done chasing the miles and the steps and the calories and the macros… I knew I needed to dial back, but didn’t know how. I spent all of 2022 trying to just do less and figure out how to be more (or “enough”) in that “less.” I battled how to do less and not be “less than.” I’m still battling that, and I’m sure I probably always will be.

I entered 2023 training with a RunDisney Princess Weekend event registration, and plane tickets and vacation plans made to check off the biggest bucket list wish off my goals and dreams. Before I crossed the final finish line of that event, I had already registered for one more attempt to cross off yet another bucket list event, the elusive Deadwood SD Half Marathon. The race I had registered for in 2019 (couldn't get off work) and 2020 (covid canceled) and 2021 (oldest got married that weekend) and 2022 (my first grandbaby was born that weekend) – so I had yet to actually run this race.

In an epic adventure with a bestie I actually finally crossed that finish line in June 2023, and I walked away and never ran again.

Ok, that’s maybe a tiny bit exaggerated, but not by much.

I was (am) registered for nothing. I had (have) nothing to train for. I was (am) exhausted mentally, physically, spiritually…. And I rested. I spent the entire summer resting. I didn’t get up early. I didn’t work out. I didn’t really do anything, except rest in this unending state of survival.

My mind tells my I'm lazy. I'm weak. I'm not enough. I'm not worthy.  I try not listen, as I eat the chips and desserts and hit the snooze over and over and over again.

Suddenly it’s another October. The weight is back on. The demons in my head have almost stopped fighting with the other side telling me to get up, show up, shape up…

Why? Why care? Why try? Why eat the vegetables? Why drink the water? Why lift the weights and run the miles? Just be done with it all. Eat the cake, drink the alcohol and just stop caring.

And yet… deep down, I do care. And that little voice holding my “why” in its hand, is still on occasion whispering to me my health is important, and that I do actually still care.

Three days ago my alarm went off and I actually got myself out of bed and went down and struggled through a few slow ridiculously hard miles. It was worse than I remember it was when I started all those years and years ago.

I told myself (for the millionth time) it was another day one. Another starting over. But where do you even start at this point? So, I told myself – I was simply going to just work at getting back to the basics.

A little bit of intentional movement every day. Meditation every day. And back to the very basic of intermittent fasting every day. 16:8 / 7pm-11am. That’s all I can offer to allow myself to start with.

I haven't downloaded any of the tracking apps again (maybe in time I will, I don't know). Do I post sweaty selfies again on social media?  Does anyone care?  Do I actually care if anyone does or doesn't care? I don't know.  I honestly don't know anything right now.

Forget about the half marathons and full marathons I’ve trained for and run. Forget about the weight I have lost. Forget about the run streaks and nutrition logged every single days for years and years and years.

It’s all gone from my phone. It’s all gone, period. Time to turn back around and just take the next best step forward. Slow. Hard. Awkward. Sad. Frustrating. Just simply back to the basics.  Again.

Yesterday my alarm went off, and I got up again. I put on the running gear and I drug myself through some sunrise miles. I can’t even remember the last time I’d done that.

This morning, day three… my alarm went off. I didn’t get up. I went back to sleep. But then I DID get up and I DID get in a few miles and I woke up the grumpy teenager and said we were going to in person church (I faithfully watch church every week, it's just so much easier to watch from home then actually walk in and worship in person).

And we DID arrive, and we DID walk in two minutes late (because of teenager negotiations to get him in the car) and my dad who works at the church was so excited to see us arrive, which made my heart hurt a little – and he told us there was still room by mom in their normal back pew.

We walked in slightly late, while all of the little children were singing their hearts out up front (and in the thirteen steps from the back door to the middle back pew my heart squeezed tight knowing our little Faith was not up there singing with all the kiddos that should have been her classmates) and I sat down right next to my mom. In the same church, and same back row of the same church I attended all through my childhood.  The church I have recently returned back to (two years ago) after attending (and working at) another church in town regularly for most of my adult life.

Oh the things we run from... and the things we return home to...

A little later, my dad snuck in on the end and I found myself sitting between my parents, just like my childhood, only it was my teenage son beside me instead of my teenage brother.

Talk about back to basics.

I listened to my parents sing, my mom handed out mentos candies after the sermon started. I opened the Bible. I sang the Doxology.

It’s as back to the basics as I can get right now. It’s all I can try for, hope for. Another day one. Another start to hopefully another season of health journey for me.

Will I get up when the alarm goes off tomorrow? I don’t know.

I don’t know how to even start over – how to place healthy boundaries between myself and my expectations of myself. How to figure out the inner balance between perfection and self love and acceptance.

I’m not good at this. I should be, after having to start over again and again and again so many times in this damn life of mine. I want to say I’ve failed again, but I haven’t failed.

I’ve lived. And I've loved.  And I’m one who does all of that with all of my heart. I’m an all in or all out person.

And now... I just need to work on how to get back to being all in after being all out for so long.

Previous Blog Post { Narry a Real Runner }.  HERE

Nary A Real Runner

So. I have officially crossed off two of my top bucket list items in the past few months; Doing a live RunDisney marathon weekend, and the Deadwood SD Mickelson Trail Marathon weekend.

I can’t decide if it’s a good feeling, or more of an odd feeling, to be on this side of them after so long working towards them. At the moment, while my legs are still incredibly sore (my legs are "blown" is the term I always use when they feel this way) and I’m still dragging my tired body along behind me as I attempt to recover and reenter the land of “living” again, I would strongly say it’s an odd feeling.

Slightly good and gratifying, while slightly sad and maybe even a bit … scary.

So what is next?
You know… I actually don’t know. And I guess that is both a little scary and a whole lot freeing.

I do have other things on my bucket list other than running. Witnessing the Northern Lights in person, going to a hot air balloon night showing, photographing eagles in the wild, and writing a book are still on there. I suppose I could start looking into those a little closer now. I don’t know.

Oh, and I know I still owe my oldest a trip to the top of the St Louis Arch, because I was too scared to do it with him that one time we stopped there when he was little and I was a single parent. Ugh, my gut still aches just thinking about that one. Sorry kiddo. So so sorry.

I do feel I need to circle back just a minute to finish processing this latest “accomplishment” – which is something I admit I have a bit of a hard time saying, or giving myself the due credit for… since the initial intent was far from the final outcome. Five years. Five years ago I first registered for this race in Deadwood, SD. On paper, it looked to be the perfect race. Early summer, downhill course, beautiful scenery. (*side note to add now that my feet have run it in person and not just my eyes running it on paper - do not be deceived... this is not a cake walk race by any means... and it is not all downhill, no matter what that elevation map shows.)

(Ok back to five years ago...) Surely I could train hard core all winter and spring and blow a sub 2 PR (aka: I could run the whole race in under two hours time, which would be a new personal record for my best time.). Because, for whatever reason, in my mind if I could achieve a sub 2 – then maybe I could actually consider myself a "real runner."

I didn’t get to run this race five years ago. Or 4 – or 3 – or 2 – or 1 year ago either for that matter (although I was registered for them all...) Five years ago I did get a 2:02 finish at a race in Minnesota in mid June, and that is the best this body would ever be able to give me. So close, but… nary a “real runner” … (so says the demons in my head).

I think what was the most difficult for me with this race… that I knew going in, that the final outcome would be nowhere close to what I had originally hoped/planned for when I had initially registered. I’m older, more tired, ankle and back injuries, covid, anxiety, weight gain (I won’t continue – you get the point…)

At the very first stop we made as we traveled there, I found a mug that said "You are enough." Enough. Just as I already am. I bought that mug as this trip's theme mug... It was just perfect.

I went. I ran. I walked. I finished. I gave it all I had. It was very far from a sub 2. But after five years, it’s officially done and crossed off the list. So there is that.  And that is probably one of the main reasons I didn't tell anyone I was going to do this race weekend. I already knew I was going to disappoint myself (well, disappoint that annoying self inside me that nags on me continuously for perfection), surely I didn't want anyone else to know about it. And I was too scared to hype it up, to yet again have something come up to keep me from even starting it.

It left me with only the pressure of performance within myself, which I also knew, was thee only pressure there was. No one else could care less how I did, and I was more than fully aware of that.  Me against myself ... that thing that makes me both the best me and the worst me, all at the same time.

But, the best thing happened on that trip – which would have never happened any of the five years prior – I got to be there and watch my friend cross the start AND finish lines to both her first 5K and first half marathon! Too amazing and fun for words. Honestly. So proud of her grit and determination and love for all things.  I loved getting to do this adventure with her! I loved getting to climb onto all the school busses with her and stand at the start lines with her. And I loved watching her enter the finishers chute and crossing those finish lines... priceless.

No, this WASN’T the same race in any aspect as it would have been five years ago. Different stages of life, different paces, different goals, different people along, different outlook, different runners registered … and yet – the same race. The same path, the same miles, the same start and finish lines.

I will never have a sub 2 half, but I will always have the memory of her firsts. And the second, I’m sure will forever be far more filling for my soul than the first ever would have been.

And yes, I know... "real runners" aren't classified by the times and paces, they are classified by the blood and grit and determination that move us forward, one foot in front of the other, over and over - until you reach the finish line.  (I'm totally stealing my friends quote here!)

And in full honesty, I am pretty sure this was my last in person half marathon I will do.  I have been cycling through race registrations and race training now for a lot of years.  Today, right now, is the first time I have not been registered to run something... to have to train for something hard that I would do within the next twelve weeks.

I've done that on purpose, so I wouldn't (couldn't?) stop pushing myself and making myself continue forward.  When I crossed the finish at runDisney - I was already registered for the Deadwood Half, so I knew I wasn't done, I knew it would be a small week off to recover, and then I would need to get back at it.  Back to the early morning and the long miles.  The weight lifting and the perfection slave driver inside me drilling me over and over on what I should be doing, what I needed to be doing, what I was supposed to be doing...

But this time I went in knowing it would probably be my last.  When I crossed the line this time, there was nothing "next" waiting for me to have to train for.  I don't have a "next" right now.  Except walking, for some reason walking just sounds so amazing to me, so I think I'm just going to rest and walk and wait and see what my "next" is going to end up being.

Don't worry - I'm sure I'll keep you posted!

Previous blog post { Too Tired To Hate Myself Anymore } HERE

Too Tired To Hate Myself Anymore

I’ve had the pieces and parts of this post floating around in my mind for a while now. I just haven’t allowed myself the time to sit and really let myself settle in and explore it all in depth.

I have spent much of my life hating my body. I’m not even sure how or why it started, but I know I was already over-excersing and under eating as a first year teenager. I was not athletic, I have never considered myself an “athlete” and my exercise was driven purely as a punishment for what I ate.

Over the last year and a half I have been trying to slow down, to exercise less and eat more (or actually eat “better” is the more correct statement) and to just start loving myself better. It’s been long, it’s been hard, and while I have made some forward progress, I still have so far to go.

Many times as I’ve sat and thought about it all recently, I have found myself thinking that perhaps I’ve finally reached a point in my life where I am just too tired to keep hating myself on that intense level that drove me for so many years.

It takes a lot of work to hate yourself, to punish yourself, to drive yourself towards an unattainable perfection you know you’ll never reach, and yet refuse to let yourself let go of.

I am forty-eight years old. Things are changing within me. I’m on the runaway freight train of perimenopause. I have battled hormone and fertility issues my whole life, and now inside this body, that I’ve cursed and battled against for two and a half decades, is now in the process of officially shutting down and finishing up the thing that never really worked correctly to begin with. (I take that last statement back, I have the most amazing biological twenty-six year old son whom everything worked correctly for, and I wouldn't realize just how great of a gift he actually was for many many years)

I have always struggled to lose weight, to maintain weight, it’s always been a hot mess rollercoaster for me… but the older I’m getting it’s been even harder. I am fortunate to be surrounded by some amazing similar stated and minded women right now. And I have been doing a lot of reading and research and conversations about this time of life that I’m in. And oddly, like infertility, it’s something that isn’t really talked much about.

So where am I even going with all this, Sara? I’m not even exactly sure. I just know that self love is some incredibly hard shit to do. The flip in mindset and toxic thought patterns is a hard thing to break.

My body is so tired right now. My mind is tired, my soul is exhausted. (But it always is… always…) And I’m entirely the one to blame for all of it. I fed the demon mind games for all those years, telling myself all the misconceptions and untruths over and over again. I fought with a body that naturally couldn’t be or do the things I was wanting it to. I fought with a body who’s ideal weight is nothing close to the ideal weight my mind seems to be stuck believing in. I fought a body that just wasn’t able to create and sustain new life as I so desperately thought I needed and wanted.

And recently in all my tiredness and all my lost weariness, I am just trying to allow myself to be who I am, well - I’ve always allowed myself to be who I am in my personality, but this time I'm trying to allow myself to physically be who I am. The miles and miles of running just cannot physically be done any more. The strict protocol of restricted eating just cannot be done any more. The weight is creaping back on. The running and the pace has slowed to a point of basically not even happening. (Though both probably not as horrible in reality compared to my minds reality.)

But does it matter? Does any of it really matter? Obviously it does because I’m still fretting and stewing and writing about it… but I think right now I’m just lost in the unsettledness of it all. How do you love a body that you’ve hated for so long? How do you embrace a physical form you have tried to change your whole life and be ok with it, as is? How do you forgive the living mass that carries you daily and has robbed you of the life of the child you so disparately wanted?

Going back and re-reading this I’m stuck again with an age long wonder over why I can’t just enjoy the blessing of what God created me to be? Why do I have all this guilt over not fully loving myself the way I was created, in God’s image, as a child of God… a daughter of the King… Why is this just not enough for me?

I don’t wish this thinking on anyone. I would never want a friend or family member to ever say the words I’ve said or think the things I’ve thought about their bodies and their selves. And yet, for over thirty-five years I have found justification in saying and thinking them of myself, and not giving it a second thought.

I’m currently trying to rewrite this narrative in my head. And in some ways it’s really simple, and in others it’s so unbelievably hard. I’m pretty sure it’s the simple that is making it hard. It’s the voices in my head at constant war over what is good enough and what isn’t.

For the past year and a half I’ve been working on slowing down, changing my overworked mindset, surrounding myself with likeminded people who support and encourage in this similar stage I’m in. I stopped following the ultra trainers and the lean fit twenty somethings doing all the amazing things in their utterly amazing bodies. For the past nine months I have been intermittent fasting 16:8 and not tracking anything I eat. What a freedom to be free from the slavery over logging every little thing.

It’s quite a bit easier to love yourself through grace and gentle acceptance than to hate yourself through punishment and strict and rigid guidelines and rules. But there is this whisper in there still calling out the carbs and the calories and the guilt over the glass of occasional wine all the time.

And it’s that where it’s all so tricky.

“Healthy” isn’t only the state of your physical body. Your weight, your BMI, your muscle defination. Health is so much more, the state of peace and contentment in your heart and your mind and your soul. And somehow all those signals get so easily jumbled up and messy. We want to be healthy, inside and out, and we wrestle with what society and tv and social media all loudly shout at us vs what our mind and hearts are silently pleading within us. I’ve spent my lifetime chasing physical health, leaving my mental health in wreckage.

So here I am, a year and a half in of attempting to work on loving myself and loving and honoring and respecting my body better, and I’m nine months in to changing my eating to IF 16:8 and not tracking anything in my eight hour eating window. And it's been an absolute love hate relationship of change.

And it’s hard. It’s hard to do all the things well. It’s hard to allow yourself the grace to live within increased happiness. It’s hard to allow yourself to step back from the perfection profile tattooed within the mind, an image that is never anything close to what I see looking back at me in the mirror every morning.

As I said earlier, part of it has just been so easy. So easy to not track, not log, not exercise all the hours and run all the miles every single day. So easy to just eat the food and enjoy the conversations and memories and moments, rather than obsess over the food details.  I don't even want to know how many pieces of pie and cake and ice cream I have not allowed myself to enjoy.  Not that eating pie and cake and ice cream is the end all be all for self love, but there is definitely a long lost loving correlation there somewhere.  I said no as form of punishment.

The other morning I looked at myself, after skipping yet another workout because I just could not get myself out of bed to do it… and as I looked in the mirror I wondered how I’d let myself get to this point (the extra weight, the loss of muscle, the added inches around my waist, the added cellulite on my legs) and I just took a slow breath in and sighed…

I must just be too tired to hate myself like that anymore. I’ve been married almost twenty years to the same person, who bless his heart doesn’t see my physical flaws. I’m established in my careers and learning how to be a good grandma and mother in law. I’m still a struggling mom to a hot mess teenager, but that just is what it is, that is my current season with him.

Apparently it was my endless drive of imperfection, the inner plea to fix and punish a broken body that got me up every morning, that got me through the workouts and the miles and the rigid diet requirements. Such a daily battlefield. Such endless exhaustion.

It’s not that it’s not currently still a battlefield and I’m not currently still exhausted - because it is and I am, but the battle is possibly raging just a little less within me, and the exhaustion is possibly coming more from outside stressors of work and teenagers and finances, and less of that personal perfectionism and I'm seeming to slowly allow to fall through my fingers, disappearing behind me in a quiet trail of lost sparkles.

I have a very very long way to go, but I’m restless, and I’m aware, and I’m continuing to figure out what self love for myself actually is. I’m trying to model to my granddaughter and niece and others watching that it’s about fighting for the love and not the perfection about ourselves.

Oddly, while the perfection level I hold (held?) within me,  is (was?) only about myself. I have never thought or viewed others through that same skewed lens for some reason. In fact, so many times I am envious of all those who clearly are happier and so confident in their minds and bodies, because I know it, feel it, see it in them… while so tightly holding back on to the love reins on myself.

My love was so provisional. It had to be validated. It had to be explained. It had to be earned. God doesn’t require any of that with His love to us, so why is it so hard to grant myself that same grace?

This isn’t a start and finish piece. This is just another chapter in review along my long journey to faith, within the steps and beats of my own heart every day. It’s my season of working on self love, and it’s super easy and super hard all at the same time. It’s something I will never fully overcome or master, it will forever be my work in progress.

And for today, I’m ok with that. I’m simply too tired not to be.

 

Previous Blog Post {  Mother's Day, It's A Tricky One } HERE

Mother's Day. It's a Tricky One.

Mother’s Day
It’s a tricky one.

I personally am in circles of moms that have angel babies, and moms who have buried their children, of various ages and reasons. Hard.

I’m in circles of women praying earnistly for God to grant them with a live, healthy baby. Hard. 

I’m in circles of adoptive moms who are largely caught between the grief of a biological mom grieving the child she placed, and the joy and gratefulness in being the mom that was chosen for that job. Hard. 

I’m in circles of moms who are in the depths of raising those hard-to-raise kiddos, the ones rejoicing at God’s slightest hint of hope and deliverance, right alongside those who grieve and mourn and ache over those cut and broken relationships while they continue to weave through the mess of it all. Hard. 

I’m in circles of new moms, old moms, moms who are grandmas, moms who have moms, moms who have lost their moms, moms caring for sick family members, moms who have had to place firm boundaries up again their moms. Hard. 

I’m in circles of fur moms (which totally still counts as being a “real” mom!) moms who are single, moms who are married, moms who are divorced, moms who are remarried, moms being moms in blended families, moms letting their kiddos have another mom in a blended family that isn't her own.  Moms who work outside the home, and moms who don’t. Sports moms, music moms, star student moms, and moms getting calls from the principal's office and the police station. Hard. 

I'm in circles of moms who mentor and listen and hug and walk alongside, and moms in the thick of needing and receiving all the mentoring and support and prayers.  Hard

I’m in circles of moms with littles, and moms who are empty nesters, both seasons incredibly hard. 

I’m in circles with organized Pinterest pinning moms and hot mess express moms. Moms who stay up late and moms who go to bed early. Moms who workout and moms who don’t. Moms who make all their own meals and moms who praise the Lord for drive through and pizza delivery.

I could go on and on about all the amazing women and moms out there- all caught in the cross fire of emotions on this social media highlight reel, boasting “reality” in such a way we’re all left feeling unsatisfied and less than, and entirely not enough, especially to ourselves.

I want to celebrate the moms in my life and the greatness they are. I want to celebrate my daughter-in-law who is now an amazing mom herself. I want to be celebrated as a mom for all the little and big things I do every day 24/7/365. I want to grieve the child not in my earthly arms today. I want to celebrate our birthmom and grieve with her sad heart as well. I want to honor all those amazing women in my family who came before me leading the way for me and my footsteps...

How do you celebrate and grieve and honor and rejoice and stay humble?  How in the world does one begin to know how to do all that well, and all that at the same time at that?

I have zero answers for any of those questions… I just know that this week, and this coming weekend, is going to be hard for a lot of women, for a lot of different reasons. 

So let’s hold hands together and embrace the hard of it all and look up. Look up into the eyes of all those around you, and look up into the eyes of yourself looking back at you in the mirror. Be kind to them, but also, be kind to that one looking at you in your own mirror, and don't forget to also love her well.

Give yourself and everyone around, the love and grace and acceptance they need… that you need. We don’t know the depths of pain, and reality, and the stories within every person around us, and sometimes we aren’t even strong or honest enough to fully grasp or know this about what we carry deep within our own selves. 

 
Blessings to those celebrating this dear but damned holiday. And also bless those who are mourning. And angry. And confused. And hurt. And lost. And hopeful. And doubtful. And cheerful. And joy filled, and every possible feeling in between. 

From the keyboard from one very weary mom out there, to all of you… please know you ARE loved.  You ARE greater than you can ever imagine. You ARE enough. You ARE worthy. You ARE valued. 

YOU ARE EVERYTHING, and more… and you are NOT alone…

Previous Blog post { Donald Half Reimagined Round Two } HERE

The Donald Half... Reimagined... Round Two

I woke up Sunday feeling off.
This is nothing new… every day lately I have been feeling off, for months now.

I have some depression and just finished traveling through a very long Midwest winter, through the month of March and the season of Lent and Easter. Hard months and milestones for me. It’s made me what to stay hidden in bed and it’s taken away my desire to pursue my health as I have so passionately done in the past.

But I have been sitting (laying) in this uncomfortable place of hiding and hurting for just long enough that I’m starting to get antsy again. It’s time to do something again… except I’m not actually pinpoint sure what that “something” is.

Sunday morning, after somehow getting myself through pushing play and doing a weighted workout, I found myself laying on the floor looking at my race medal rack that I have hanging on the wall next to my treadmill.

I was specifically looking at the jumble of runDisney Donald Half Marathon metals that I had worked to collect throughout 2020, and then went on to earn virtually throughout 2021 in my basement, before I ever allowed myself to actually think, hope, dream of doing an actual live in person runDisney event (thank you 2023!) In the past I have mentioned this little challenge I did to only a few people in passing. But regardless of who I told and who I didn’t, in 2021 I set a goal to do a half marathon every month, and then after having completed that every month, I would then have officially earned an hour massage for myself – usually all on the same day if I was able to schedule that all. And… I actually did it. It was often on a Monday, “quick-a-minute” before I would have to log on to work.

Recently in a previous blog I spoke briefly of this and mentioned perhaps “next year” I will have to try redo that challenge again, only this time actually go through with what I had originally planned to do.

See, originally, I had decided to start the hunt for used runDisney Donald Half Marathon medals that people were selling after they, or someone they knew, had physically completed the live in person race through the streets of Disneyworld. I was wanting to do a blog each month featuring a different year’s race medal – and then researching all the details from that year’s race. The number of participants, the winner, the temperature, how long it took the race to sell out after registration opened… things like that. And I really wanted to also feature the original runner holding that same medal at the finish line and including a little story about the their experience and memories. I also of course set a top price limit in which I would bid on or purchase each medal for (#disneyonadime here folks!). The whole thing was quite a fun thing actually, from start to finish. Although, I never did publish even one blog post about it, because I was unable to contact any of the sellers directly due to privacy issues.

Anyway, Sunday morning I was laying on my yoga mat looking at those medals and thought -yeah, maybe next year I’ll try that all over again, only this time with the blog posts.

And then I had the thought, but why wait until the beginning of the new year? Why couldn’t I just start it … like now… this month? I mean, what is stopping me from that? Nothing except myself.

So oddly enough, the idea had been planted (or do I need to say – re-planted?) and it was starting to fester and grow a little in my mind once again.

One little problem… my back is bothering me, I’m even older and more out of shape than I was two years ago (“runners” have to actual “run”), I’m hardly ever writing anything on my blog anymore (“writers” have to actually “write"), and I still have no way of contacting any of those original sellers to get their stories to share (excuses, always the excuses).

Minor details. (ha)

But, I just keep thinking about it. It keeps poking at me, and I think that I’m going to just start by… starting. I’m going to write this little update and hit publish and then see where it’s going to take me.

Pop back periodically and see where I actually end up running with it ;-)


Previous Blog Post { My Season of Ugly Year Eight } HERE

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