Holiday Pennies From Heaven

I sit in the quiet dark of the morning. The fireplace on, the Christmas lights casting their sparkle in the corning.

I have my sweaty workout clothes on, my hand fumbling with the lone penny hiding safely in my right pocket of my post exercise zip up. I found that penny on the floor in the grocery store last night. It had been a last minute stop for a last minute stocking stuffer. I had parked my car and sat in the parking lot briefly before going in. I’d just been on my treadmill running, I’d been crying, it had been a long and emotional day, and the last thing I wanted to do was “people” and “public.” I snuck in, praying I would not run into anyone I knew, grabbed the few small items and checked out.

And then, there on the floor, in the middle of the exit area it lay, alone and shiny. My heart smiled a little as I bent down to pick it up. I know it’s silly, but it was what I needed at the moment. A sweet hello, a quick little kiss, this penny from heaven.

Just minutes earlier I had been driving downtown to do some errands, overtaken for the second time that night with emotions and again was sobbing, big tears rolling down my cheeks, stinging my already burning eyes. I have been struck with an indescribable sadness lately, mixed with the stress of normal holiday expectations and requirements, and it’s been a brewing recipe for emotional breakdown now for weeks. I’ve been stumbling along day after day, some good, some ok, some hard. But every day it’s one foot in front of the other and get ‘er done mom mode. And I don’t really say this like it's complaint, it’s just an odd and heavy curtain hanging inside of me that wants to shield me from sunlight, from warmth, from rest, from happiness. I don’t want to be felt sorry for, I don’t want to explain or really even think about it. I basically just want to ignore it all, go to bed early, keep my days busy, keep myself on auto pilot, survival mode and maybe, hopefully, it will pass.

Earlier last night I had found myself home alone and overcome with emotions, emotions I’d tried to ignore or simply not deal with, but they came over me in waves and the tears and the sobs and the utter heartache just all hit like an unexpected tsunami. I sat by myself in the basement and just let myself cry. There was so many emotions, so many reasons, so many things pulling on me, pushing on me, smothering me with their enormity, their guilt, their reality.

Last night I found myself sinking for a while back down to sit heavily on that step of anger. It’s been a while since I’ve been in this place, but I found myself thinking about how we should be buying sparkly red velvet dresses and black lacy tights and small black patent shoes. There should be matching hair bows and ponytail holders. We should get to be shopping for pink Christmas presents of Barbies and Disney princess and LOL dolls, and having discussions on how young is too young for an American Girl Doll.  But there is none of that in this house.  No pink, no dolls, no sparkles, no hair bows, no drawers of little tights and princess panties.  It made me sad and it made me angry.  And whenever I get angry, I almost always feel guilt. 

We're not supposed to get angry with God, we're not supposed to curse God, we're not supposed to question His intention and His plans for our lives.  Or at least that's what some of the other messed up thoughts are also hardwired in my little mind to make me think.  I know it's ok to be angry, and sad, and disappointed, and question.  And I know I don't need to feel guilt over any of that.  But, sometimes the rational thoughts just get highjacked by the non-rational throughs and we just need need to weather the high tide that rushes over and messes things up again for a while.

I'm not sure where this grief came from, returned from, dug itself back up from.  Perhaps it's because our youngest middle child is now double digits, and we didn't go see Santa this year, we didn't do any special kids Christmas photos by the tree this year, we didn't do the church Christmas program this year, we didn't drive around and look at Christmas lights this year, we didn't do the holiday baking and mess making together this year.  Some of this was his age, most of this was simply because I haven't it had it in me to do it, initiate it, take the time and effort to put forth towards it.  I've just wanted to hermit at home and climb into bed.

Year after year I write about how hard the holidays are for me. I wasn’t going to this year, seriously why keep beating a dead horse. Perhaps I won’t actually post this. Perhaps I will post and no one will actually read it. All distinct possibilities I guess. And yet, here I sit… here I type, my sad heart in the quiet corner in a dark house on an early Friday morning.

Soon the rest of the house will be up, the lights will all be on, the chaos and the noise will begin, will return. Most days I’m up and at it, several miles already logged in my exercise app, and I’m ready to face the day and grab the bull by the horns and run with whatever comes my way.

But not every day that luxury is afforded me. Not every day my brain decides to join in the joy and merriment of the life and day around me. Not every day my body is my friend. Some days, some seasons, everything seems to just be a battle, a clinging and clawing to anything remotely good, remotely happy, remotely normal.

But I know I’m not alone, I know so many people are out there hurting and struggling within, all dealing with various hurts and hardships and inner demons. It’s this publicized time of grand joy and celebration, and yet I believe if every single person was honest, really really honest, we are all dealing with something hard, something painful, something with a sharp edge scratching at our sides.

Oh if this is you, please know you are not alone. You are not alone as you flounder around looking for your joy, for your peace, for your merriment. Those things are inside all of us, but some days it’s just harder to find them than others. Don’t give up on your quest to find them, and don't feel guilt on the days when you can't.

And now the time has come for the lights to come on and the day to "officially" begin (never mind my alarm went off over two hours ago). It’s time to face the people and the public and the hectic and the chaotic. It’s also time to allow myself the grace to be ok not being ok, and find hopefully at least a few moments of joy and laughter and rest at some point during the day.

I’m blessed with so many incredibly wonderful people, and possessions, and talents - which I must not overlook as the dark and dreary continues to try pull me down, pull me in, slowly strangle me these days. It’s an ebb and flow, a balancing act of highs and lows, ups and downs, joy and sorrow. A holiday roller coaster ride like none other.

When we feel at our lowest, when we feel lost and sad and angry, we must continue to give ourselves (and others) grace, to hold on tight and work to find the gratitude, find the reason for celebration, find the reason to push forward, weather through, climb our way back up, all the while knowing that through every step of the way, it’s still ok to also hold hands simultaneously with the sadness and the ache.

{ Previous Post "What To Focus on in 2019" HERE }

{ Next Blog Post "Whatcha Reading 2018" HERE }

What To Focus on In 2019

We are down to the final weeks of the year. The end of 2018 is almost upon us. Was it just me, or did this year pass by incredibly fast? Story of my life. Story of all of our lives I’m sure.

I was zooming through social media recently (I know, I know I need to stop doing that) and there are people already talking about their “word” their “manta” their “focus” for 2019, and I sat there thinking how utterly I have failed my word and my focus on this year. I am nowhere near where I should be, or surly wanted to be.

My word for 2017was less. Do less, have less, weigh less, spend less, talk less.

My word for 2018 is contentment. At this time last year I knew I also hadn’t fully reached where I wanted to be when it came to the topic of less, and felt that this year I was being drawn to continue on the topic of less but at an even deeper level, a more specific, more hardcore level I guess you could say.  I zeroed in on the overall concept of contentment.

It's twelve months later and here I sit… Do I feel happy and unburdened, light and cheerful?  No. I'm so far financially in debt right now I’m not quite sure what to do about it, I have gained back some of the weight I had been so diligently trying to lose (I couldn’t even manage to maintain it this year let alone lose more), my house is still full of stuff, and things, and unneeded and unnecessary materialist objects. And as for doing less and talking less, well - I’m not doing so great on either of those areas as well… just ask the poor people stuck in the cubicles around me at work in regards to my talking. Lol. Contentment and doing less are a battle, a continual battle every single day. There are so many things, people, appointments, opportunities, expectations vying for my time and attention. It’s a hard and risky line to try balance.

I did manage to move myself from the bottom of my to-do list to the top of my to-do list this year, and I have managed to maintain that and hold true to quite diligently. But the interesting thing, to put myself on the top of my list - I merely had to move up my morning. I didn’t move everything done one, since I never ever actually made it to the bottom of the list before, I just never got down to “myself.” My soul care and my self care just never happened. And for me to make myself a priority in my own life, I had to create more time, carve out the time from something else. So I get a little less sleep now and give myself a little more love now.

I’ve come to slowly embrace and come to terms with my treadmill and my running shoes at 3:30am every morning, but it has been a battle, let me tell you.

Contentment. Oh how I lack. I am one who is always wanting more, needing more, getting more, striving for more. Why can’t I be enough where I am, how I am, who I am, with what I already have? Why in the world is contentment such a hard concept for me to grasp?

Less. This seems to be even worse. The more I intentionally attempt to decrease, lessen, purge, rid… the more I seem to aquire, gain, hoard, and stash away. Why why why is it so hard for me to simply let go? Let go of the stuff, the things, and the expectations and desires surrounding that stuff and things?

I don’t think of myself as a needy, highly materialist person, but obviously I am more so than I realize… more so than I want to admit to, more so than I want to dive into and overcome.

So why this internal clutching and clinging and acquisition? Why this more, more, more pull from within?  Why this discord of unease and internal unrest over having, needing, wanting, getting, achieving, striving?  Why this flippancy to dive in and really address the core, the root, the heart of the matter at hand?

All this around and around leads me right back to where I started… and right where I started was not one step closer to overcoming, or managing, or coming to grips with that which I have been previously felt called to focus on. Do I seek out another word for 2019? Do I just say to heck with it? Be done with even attempting to hear what I need to set as an active goal for the next twelve months to work on and focus on?

I admit there is a large and loud part of me honestly wanting to just be done, just walk away, just stop the insanity as Susan Powter used to say. Remember her? The spiky haired blond that went from fat to fab by merely getting off her couch one day and going for a walk?!? I wonder if she sat on her couch for months and months listening, seeking, searching for the desire and direction she felt called to focus on next. Or did she one day just get up… started moving, started doing… something, anything, nothing, everything…

I think for right now I’m feeling this internal pull to perhaps admit it’s time to stop seeking, stop searching and start concentrating more on just being… being without limitations or motivations or black and white checks and balances… at least for a little while. (I fully realize someone with the personality qualities I have pulsing through me will never fully allow myself to live a life free of sharp motivations and set [usually unattainable] expectations.) Being… as in more yoga and meditation (and who knows, perhaps more medication as well ~lol) Being… as in less to do lists, less chasing of the dreams and my own tail of accomplishment.

Being... as in a little less planning and a little more come what may.  Wow, writing those words just now nearly brought on a guttural reaction inside me.  I am a planner, a do-er, a have it all together person.  I'm honestly not sure just being is actually something of an easy task within the confines of who I am.

I take a few more sips of coffee, soaking in the silence of the moment, thinking over the thoughts and words I've just found and gathered and pondered and put down on paper.  And I chuckle as I realized that perhaps, right there, is in fact the word of focus for 2019.

Just Be. Just be… nothing more - nothing less. Just Be.

{ Previous blog post "Unattainable Perfection } HERE }

Unattainable Perfection

I realize that I am probably just like everyone else… I have these inner pictures of what I consider to be the “perfect” look, the “perfect” physique, you know… the “perfect” body. The toned, tanned, cellulite free, sculpted, muscular body with 5% body fat, six pack abs, and arms that are chiseled and utterly breathtaking.

I’m talking not about the perfect “life” in general here, but more one portion of the whole, one aspect within the entire spectrum. We all live in a broad bubble of what we want in our lives, what our dreams and hopes are, and then we have the bullet points, the sub categories, of how we personally picture perfection, or define ultimate success within those certain areas of our own lives.

I think we all have these visions of sugar plum perfection dancing in our heads and messing with our hearts and our minds. I think there’s a fine line between them helping us to better ourselves, to push ourselves, to challenge ourselves, and well… frankly they can also drive us utterly calfshit mad. It’s that version of “if only” that gives us both the drive to get up and get it done every morning, and leaves us utterly disappointed day after day when the reflection in the mirror never seems to morph, evolve, arrive at that desired state of sleek physique our mind has attached and settled on.

As you can probably tell, I have spent too much time lately scrolling through the oodles of pages in my social media feeds… the memes, the photos, the stories, and I’ve also suffered yet another disappointment as I stepped on that scale again this morning. The work and results I’m trying to demand of my body, and the reality of the results I’m after, are not meeting up eye to eye these days. The battle both within my mind and within the structure of the physicality of my body are at great odds again… still… as always. Story of my life.
I should know better than to get sucked into this comparison game, this seesaw game of back and forth, and up and down, between mind and reality, expectation and actuality. I should know better… but I obviously don’t. This has been my battle, my mind game, my inner war for thirty years now. Thirty years of the lies and whispers within. Thirty years of yo-yo weight loss and weight gain. Thirty years of fighting to achieve an unrealistic goal, an unattainable reality. It’s left me some days exuberant, some days exhausted, and most days a crazy mix of both and I’m left lost and floundering in the chaos and crazy of it all.

It’s me against myself. There is no one else in control, no one else calling the shots, no one else making the final decisions. Oh we want to blame it on someone else, something else… The food preservatives and high cost of organic, the stress, the busy, the expectations and obligations. But we are also the ones somewhat in control of how many appointments and dates and responsibilities fill the boxes of the days on our calendars. Yes, there are things we have to do, must do, need to do. But there are also probably a large handful (or more) of things that perhaps need to be reevaluated and reexamined. There are things we need to say yes to, there are things we need to say no to. There are things we’re currently say no to that need to becoming yes’s. There are things we’re currently saying yes to that need to become no’s.

Ahhh but I digress on this little rabbit trail and step back down off my little soap box of trying to dial back and do less in an effort to become more (smile). Another post for another day - or a previous post from a previous day. lol

I have spent a lot of time and a lot of energy battling the inner demons of perfectionism and enoughism. I know I mention this a lot, and my apologies. It’s just something so hard to overcome, so hard to honestly face head on and dive into deeply and authentically.  It’s so much easier to live in the shadows and the lies that I’m not enough, that I’m not perfect, that I’m not valid in my current state. It’s easier to come to believe that it’s useless to try and futile to care… For years I attempted to drown out the truth, numb the chatter, and plow forward day after day after day, never feeling true contentment and happiness.

Of course there are moments and seasons of joy, don’t get me wrong, but all my life there has been an underlining rose prick of being a little lost, a little misunderstood, always searching and seeking and reaching for “something" - yet never quite knowing how to define or even find that “something” that was always just out of reach, just around the corner, just after the next success.

Does this undefined “something” really exist? Is this “something” really even attainable? Or is it all really a grand illusion and the wiring inside my brain are just faulty and frail?

Year after year of this searching and questioning has merged into a mental image of what my life should be looking like, what my body should be looking like, what my house and family and income and job and bank account and success should be looking like… and it all always just continued to fall short. The weight was a little too much, the income was a little too little, the house and family and job all a little too messy and a little not perfect enough in what they are giving and offering back to me in return for my time and investment in them. Never enough. None of it. Me. Them. Me to them. Them to me. Never enough. The expectations and realities always set too high - an unattainable and unachievable bar no one would ever, or could ever reach - least of all myself.

And yet I sat with the blinders on for years and years and years as I gazed through the rosy pink stained reality, shielding my vision and sensibility every day as I looked outward at everything and everyone surrounding me and as I looked inward at everything buzzing and whirling around within me.

Within the whisper of not enough there was always an echo of questioning and discourse, of silent lashing back. The tiny specs hidden within me wanting to let it go, release it all, open the arms wide and just stop the battle, stop the war, and simply embrace it all. Embrace the imperfections, the weaknesses, the failures. Stop running from them and stop allowing them to define me, somehow releasing them and finding a way of honest love and acceptance, of removing the glasses and seeing life with a clarity I think I always knew was there but would never allow myself to examine.

To be aware of the reality of the change in mindset that needs to occur is step one, and I was beyond excited and driven to begin the journey of change, of letting go, of self overcome that I knew I need to begin working on. However, I have found that the implementation and work needed when moving into step two has been a whole other reality.

Knowing, and obtaining, and maintaining the self discipline of fully implementing any change is where the rubber meets the road. Where the real pain and reality sets in. Where the work becomes the reality that was only previously defined within our minds.

I have had seasons of success and felt I made great strides forward. And then just as quickly the season of success fell back into a season of doubt, and regression, and backward slide. The ten steps I had been able to take forward was now back to only four steps forward. Six steps again lay before me, needing to be re-overcome, and finding the drive and motivetion and self dicipline to tackle those same six steps yet again I’m finding is much harder doing the second (and third and fourth time) is much harder than it was that first time. And the first time I was afraid might kill me.

So, I sit here wondering why. Why do I keep hanging on to this defination and picture within me of the perfect body image, having on to this stupid dream and personal expectation that I know I will never, can never, honestly achieve?

Am I supposed to keep hanging on to this unattainable dream as a way to continue to propel me forward, continue to drive me onward and higher, or am I supposed to honestly come to grips with this unattainedable dream and open my arms, open my hands, and release it… lowering my dreams and expectations to something more realistic, more attainable, more achievable?

I’m torn between leaving the unattainable as the goal, or just lowering the bar and changing the expectation to something far less. If I lower the bar - will I ever know if I could have perhaps achieved that higher unattainable dream, or if I leave it too high - will I ever stop killing myself trying to actual achieve and reach that dream that is in fact unattainable?

Is it “perfection vision” unattainable merely because I just haven’t reached and conquered it yet? Or is it really really unrealistic and really really unattainable? Which is doing me more harm than good? Which is going to drive me further, faster, and more fully?

Do I delete that screenshot of that instagram photo of the woman standing on the running track with her lean and beautiful body in all it’s perfection (as definined within my head) so I stop coming across it, stop looking at it, stop obsession over it, because I can’t ever and will never achieve that personally for myself? Or do I print it out and hang it on my fridge and bathroom mirror and treadmill as a constant reminder of all that I could still achieve if I were to keep working on it - a reminder not that that is something I can never become, but as the person I just haven’t become yet?

Part of me says delete and come to grips with reality and just figure out how to redefine “perfection” so I stop killing myself mentally and physically over something that will never be because it can never be achieved, no matter how much time and effort and work you put into it.

In other words, give it up, take the easy road and allow the dream to actually be unattainable.
Part of me says print it and quit trying to give up. Maybe it’s time to just dive in deeper, work harder, push even more, because what if I could achieve, what if I might achieve, what if I can achieve it - I just need to give myself more time and effort and work toward achieving it?

In other words, allow the dream to drive me to attain that which I currently only fear as unattainable, because I'm not willing to push and put in the hard work and self discipline to actually get myself all the way there.

To delete or to print? To give up or to modify? To not give up or to continue on?
To release the insanity? Redefine the insanity? Or simply continue on towards the insanity?

{ Previous blog post "A Few Words On Adoption" HERE }

{ Next Blog post "What to Focus on in 2019" HERE }

A Few Words on Adoption

November is National Adoption Awareness month. If you follow me on social media, you’ll know I have been posting some adoption related things every day in honor and recognition of this.

Adoption is something very close to my heart. Adoption is something both within my heart and within our home. Adoption went from something of a mystery, an unknown, a way in which to simply become “family,” to something up close and very personal.

We doctored for infertility for years. We emptied our bank accounts on doctors and medicines and procedures. We wept, we struggled, we hoped, we prayed, we waited month after month after month. We never achieved a pregnancy, I don’t think I ever even experienced a late period in which to even begin to possibly even have hope over.

We grieved, we mourned, we cried, we fought with ourselves, we fought with each other, and then one day… one day, we were done. We were done with appointments, and procedures, and recording, and charting, and failing over and over and over again.

We filled out paperwork, gathered references, got fingerprinted, took the required classes, logged the required hours. We created a profile book, we discussed what we would and wouldn’t be ok with when it came to decisions on race, sex, substance exposure, state boundaries, and many many more variables and possibilities that families who can conceive naturally never ever have to consider.

Several months later, we officially became “paper pregnant,” an official "family in waiting."

It would take two more years for us to be chosen. There had been so many possibles, maybes, hopefully’s, should have beens, might have beens, could have beens. But every time it was something… something that didn’t work out or didn’t come to be. Our hopes began to dim, our hearts began to harden.

We almost quit. We almost gave up. We almost walked away from the hope, from the wait all together. But we didn’t, we somehow hung on just a little longer… just a little longer.

I remember during those years and months thinking that adoption was not for the faint at heart. And that, my friends, was before we were even chosen or placed with a child. I thought the wait was hard… oh I just shake my head and laugh at my clueless, naive little self back then. I obviously had no idea what was in store for me in the years to come.

Don’t get me wrong, the wait was hard, I’m not discounting that part of the journey at all. I just never took the time to look, process, prepare for “after” the wait, for “after” the placement. The adoption process does not end at placement, and that was something I hadn’t fully thought about, until we were in the car driving home, a tiny newborn crying in our backseat, a distraught birth mom left crying at the hospital, and an adoptive mom who was so overtaken by unexpected emotion I wasn’t sure what to think or do.

Adoption is absolutely not for the faint at heart. Adoption is hard, and unbelievably good, and indescribably messy, and utterly exhausting ~ mentally, physically, and spiritually. I honestly can’t really put words to the full realm of the full reality of adoption. So many emotions, so many highs and lows, so many goods and bads, so many predicables, so many unpredictables.

I have never once questioned or doubted the reality that God has called my husband and I to this, and that God hand picked our son to be the child placed in our family, in our home, in our hearts. I however would be lying if I didn’t also admit that there have been days that I desperately wish we hadn’t been called to this. I realize this is something that I’m probably not supposed to ever be sharing, voicing, admitting to.

We waited, we wished, we prayed, we hoped, we paid for all of this. We chose this, and the world watched as we accepted this calling and this child. They cried, hugged, rooted for us, genuinely rejoiced with us… but I soon began to realize that not everyone “got” it. Not everyone has fully understood the magnitude of it all from an outsiders perspective. And because of that, I have carried a lot of guilt and frustration. So often I have felt misunderstood and completely not seen. I have often felt like I’ve been crawling along in the dirt and grime of the underbelly of hard and unknown and unseen, and yet knowing it was something we “chose” to do, something we “paid” to do, it was also something I could not, should not, took a vow I would not complain about, or really even talk about outside the safe circle of those few others also on the inside that “got it.”

Not all the smiles were (or are) sugar coated and forced, there was (and is) times of great joy and exhilaration. But that is the fine line where things just get a little tricky. No, not a little tricky, a lot tricky. Every day is a roller coaster and some days it’s one heck of a wild ride. Some days we’re busy taking selfies and trying to soak in all the fun and the memories. Some days I just desperately want to get off the ride and never ever return. Ever.

There are so many things I would love to say, and share, and express, and talk about on the topic of adoption. For several years when our son was very little I did actually share quite a bit on a little blog I wrote. It was a blog that I have set to private, I controlled who could view it and enter into the sacredness of that space. At that time not many wanted to share that space with me, and I was very protective with those who did. In time I slowly just stopped sharing. It was hard, the words seemed sharp and harsh, and I was again reminded just how many just didn’t fully “get it” couldn’t fully grasp the “full reality” of our life and our situation.

We were tired, so so tired. For the first six years, sleep was a long ago distant thing of the past, long days that bleed into long days, and made for a really long and hard season. That season would continue on as baby grew into toddler, who became a pre-schooler, then an elementary schooler… and now we are looking middle school dead on in the eyes already for next year.

I would be lying if I told you this didn’t scare the holy crap out of me. Am I excited to watch him continue to grow and try and accomplish new things, yes absolutely! But along with all of that also comes the homework, the academic and social expectations, the inner and outer battles that grow larger and stronger the larger and stronger he grows.

A few years ago our family went through another tough and tragic season with the pregnancy and loss of our daughter, who we unexpectedly found out I was carrying at the age of forty. We never got the joy to take her home. She went from the hospital to the cemetery, and our worlds were rocked forever. Our already hurting and struggling family did not know how to function, how to cope, how to survive.

But we didn’t have a choice, we just kept taking one day at a time, one foot in front of the other, over and over and over again, like we’d been doing already for so many years. The sun went up and the sun went down, and the days turned into weeks, and months, and years, and our daily roller coaster of attachment issues, grief and loss issues, anger issues, and the alphabet soup of other diagnoses just keep intersecting with our crazy roller coaster of stillborn grief and loss… and there are days I seriously don’t quite know how I am simply going to make it to the time when I get to take a sleeping pill, climb into bed, and just sleep, in an attempt to simply ignore and forget the burdens and reality at hand for just a few brief and silent hours.

Yes, November is National Adoption Awareness month. There are a million amazing wonderful things I could say and share and express, and there's a million hard and difficult things I could also say, and share, and express. But ultimately, this is not just my story to tell. This is a delicate and intricate story of a birth mom, birth father, adoptive mom, adoptive father, and the special child chosen to go from one to the other. It’s all of our stories, all of our experiences, all of our realities tied together separately and yet as one. It’s a colorful and complicated, and ultimately not just my story to tell. So, I will leave this post at this and simply ask for your grace, your forgiveness, your understanding, your prayers, your willingness to see us, see me, see our son, see our situation for the reality in which it really is, not the reality in which you may think it is.
The reality of adoption is something on a grand scale far far beyond the wildest imagination of most, which can cause both a gap, a hole, a divide deeper and darker than you can describe, while at the same time also can cause a connection, a coming together, an immediate bond with both the stranger and the friend both near and far.

Adoption is filled with hurt and filled with joy. Adoption is laced with drama and frustration and blanketed in hope and grace. Adoption is beautiful beyond words and adoption is ugly beyond imagination. I wish there was a nicer, easier, prettier way to express and share this. But there isn’t, at least for me there isn’t.

If you’re reading this and even a tiny piece of your heart and soul gets it, relates, knows, connects… please know you are not alone. You are not out there struggling along alone. Send me a note, reach out and connect with me - I would love to hear your story and give you a hug.

If you’re reading this and shaking your head wondering why I would write any of this, share any of these words that are remotely negative, and hard, and casting a dark light upon our situation, our child, our lives, then I am sorry. I simply ask you to try to stop and recognize the possible hardness harbored within, the blinders that might be covering your eyes, the inconsideration that might be clouding your thoughts. Please just try open your heart… just a little, open your mind… just a little, open your eyes… just a little. All I’m asking is to simply try see, and accept, our reality as that which is probably different than yours.

I’m doing the best I can, and I know most days that it’s not good enough (for you, for me, for my family, for anyone) but it’s all I’ve got to offer. I would simply love someone to at least attempt to see, understood, recognize the effort and perseverance through the days and times when things aren’t what they should be, aren’t what I want them to be, aren’t what I need them to be. It’s hard enough when the battles ensue within the walls of our family and of our home, but then to add the battle of the world outside us that seems to be always warring against us, and it can make everything just that much harder. Those are the days when the weight of the world seems to be on my shoulder and the force of the world seems to be against me.

Honestly, I just try every day to merely help find their find success. I want my son to find success in the realm of that which he is able to achieve. I want the teachers to find success teaching him, I want his friends and family to see and accept the true person he is inside. Some days that’s his happy and true self, and some days that is his grumpy and unhappy self. He is equally both, and needs to be equally loved in both. Some days it’s easy and some days it’s not, we honestly never know until the moment arrives. I can plan and prep and attempt to stay a step or two ahead at all times and in all ways, but even that is never enough.

While I never know what to expect or what is going to be coming our way, I do know that I was chosen for this and I’m in this for the long haul. I’m on the roller coaster for the entire ride. I’m going to stand by and try to continue to stand strong through the good and the bad, the easy and the hard.

November is National Adoption Awareness month, and it is my prayer that I can somehow be a small puzzle piece that opens the window of awareness between the worlds and perceptions that are sometimes missed and misunderstood. Though my eyes and heart, I pray the world might be able to see just a glimmer of the joy, yet also know the brevity of the hurt and the hard when it comes to all things adoption related.

The good, the bad, the ugly. It’s all there, it’s all a part of it. Hand in hand, side by side, it’s all what makes it the grand journey that it is.

{ Previous Blog Post "The Dark Night" HERE }

{ Next blog post "Unattainable Perfection" HERE }

The Dark Night

You are good. You are good.

You are good to me…
You’re never gonna let, You’re never gonna let,

You’re never going to let me down…

Today I sang those words at church ... well, those are the words on the screen that I was supposed to be singing, but they caught in my throat and I couldn’t quite get them to pass my lips. They blocked, and choked, and stuck there with a burning fire that spread and seeped from the depths of my chest to the corners of my eyes, trickling down my cheeks, sliding silently under my chin.

My soul again filled with that aching and hurting and leaking out from within.

I didn’t feel like singing God’s great praises of goodness today, I couldn’t make the words leave my mouth. I didn’t see the goodness. I didn’t feel His goodness. Or perhaps I just didn’t want to see or feel it. I know He’s there, I know He’s holding my hand and “blessing” my footsteps… But it’s just so hard to lift my eyes and my voice to praise His greatness when I’m finding myself back on the back steps of my inner darkness.

It’s so hard, and takes so much work to look for, search for, reach for any kind of light, any kind of goodness, any kind of praise when I’m sitting in the dark. And I’ve sat here over and over and over throughout the last forty three years of my life, and damnit … I don’t want to be here again. I don’t. The concrete beneath me is so hard, so cold, so damp, the darkness so dark I almost can’t see my hand held in font of my face right now.

I don’t even know how I ended up back down here, or if it’s even as bad as I’m feeling it might be right now… But I do know I’m suddenly hit again with a quick return of another unexpected dark night season. I know I don’t want to be here, and I know I don’t want to have to dive back in and do the hard work to dig myself back out, yet again.

Oh it’s hard. So so so hard to get back out from under here. Patience, courage, vulnerability, pain, time…

Yes, I know this is merely another passing of yet another season in my life. I know this too shall pass, I know this is the ebb and flow of my life, and my feelings, and my passions, and my fears, and my desires, and my hopes and dreams.

I’m actually not surprised by its return this time, I am however saddened and deeply worn down, so worn down.

I thought I was doing better. I honestly thought I was, and perhaps I was. Yes, there was a season of light, and warmth, and praise, and sunshine on my face after a long climb up that dark and rickety ladder shrouded with darkness and despair. That wasn’t a mirage, that wasn’t a lie, that wasn’t a dream or fabrication in my mind.

I was happy and filled with renewed hope and promise and joy-filled praise.

Two years ago I sat in a similar place as to where I am now. No, two years ago I was further down, much further down, than where I am right now, but this returned darkness immediately brings me back to those days, that season, that heaviness within.

Two years ago I was in the beginning phases of the clawing, and dragging, and scrapping myself along as I slowly worked on trying to figure out how to pull myself back up, back out, back to the light that I’d lost sight of over the previous two years.

I’d been sick. I’d delivered and buried and stillborn daughter, at the age of forty, after nearly two decades of infertility, and I never thought I would recover. I never thought I’d forgive God, I never thought I would praise Him, worship Him, love Him again.

For most of us the dark night appears through crisis, through loss, through hardship, through great and deep burdens laid heavily upon us… that which is given to us but never asked for.

I know God is with us in our suffering, in my heart deep within of course I know this truth. But the why’s and the waiting... oh the why’s and the waiting. How long oh Lord? The obedience, the patience, the vulnerability, the trust we must put forth, create, seek out, hang on to. I know He’s working His promises for me and I know I’m merely living out His grand plan for my life. But why … why does it have to be so hard Lord?!?

I know He will never waste my pain, my tears, my darkness. But again I just can’t help but cry out Oh how long oh Lord?!? I don’t want to be back in this darkness. I don’t want to wait again for the light to start to filter back in to my soul. I don’t want to have to surrender my everything, again. I just don’t want to. I want the control, the answers, the timeline all filled in with neat black and white concise happy entries.

I’m not sure if the fact that I can’t run a sub 2 half marathon, the dreaded “holidays” are again nearly upon us, I can’t keep the extra pounds from showing up every morning on the scale, and I can’t ward off, block off, keep away the inner lies and deceit is the reason for, or the consequence of, but my inner self doubt is again loud and it is again whispering loudly in my ear that I am “not enough.”

Oh I know better than to think and believe all these things, these lies, these false insecurities swirling within me. I know God is holding my hand and there right beside me, even when I don’t see Him, don’t feel Him, don’t want to know Him. I know He’s listening, and loving, and longing for me even when He is silent. I know even through I feel alone and abandoned and unseen, He sees and He hears and He has not left me alone to die in the wilderness.

I look out the window and watch the last remaining leaves whither and fall from the trees. I wonder if the trees feel a relief in their release, as if that extra weight and burden has again left, again given reprieve to it’s branches and roots as another season passes into the next. Or do the trees feel the sadness, and the heartache, of this dying and death and loss of all their color and beauty and vibrancy, that just days ago was catching the glorious rays of the sunshine and basking them with a golden beauty and radiance for the world to see.

Perhaps it’s a mix of both… both a relief and heartache. A juxtaposition of all that has come to be and all that is perfect and good… with all that has come to an end, all that his shriveled and slipped away silently in the wind.

The seasons continue to come and go, there is no option, no pause button, no changing of this reality. The seasons outside as well as the seasons within us are continually caught up in this whirlwind of days and nights, darkness and light, hot and cold. We must learn to somehow weather the storms, embrace the changing of seasons, and trust that the steps before us will in fact someday be the path behind us that has paved the way for an over all beautiful journey.

Today I may not feel like praising, may not be able to sing of God’s goodness, may not be able to see the light that has mysteriously disappeared and slipped away from my heart yet again for the moment.

Today I again feel the weight of the world and the deep heavy burden of sorrow and unfairness surrounding me. Today I know I’m again being pruned, and trimmed, and cut, and in need to pursue, and process, and trust the days which lie before me. As I've come to learn from going through this over and over in the past, that I need to simply try embrace this season and not try run, and hide, and numb in hopes of avoiding it.

Avoiding will not make it go away.  Avoiding will not make it better.  Avoiding will not magically fix all the woes and wrongs.

I am again standing at the wall, again finding myself needing to find the feet of Jesus and fall upon them with my tears, and my burdens, and my insecurities. I am again needing to fight for the light, search for the cracks in my soul that will let the most light in. I am again needing to do the hard work of healing, minding, mending the hurts and disappointments and fears warring within me.

I must continue on with the song, even when the words are hard, as their message is still true, and someday the dark night holding on to me will again have it’s daybreak into a new dawn.

You are good. You are good.

You are good to me…
You’re never gonna let, You’re never gonna let, You’re never going to let me down…

When the night is holding onto me, God is holding on…

{ Previous blog post "Today Was Race Day" HERE }

{ Next blog post "A few Words On Adoption" HERE }

Today Was Race Day

So… today was race day. A big race day. A half marathon race day with 7,300+ other runners and several thousand spectators throughout the route. There were more people in this race than there are residents in the town I live in. And yes… we were packed into a several block radius behind the starting line, corralled within cattle gates on both sides of the street for the entire length of the start. And yes, I am one who gets quite claustrophobic in large crowds. ~insert smiley emoji… and the gnashing of teeth emoji. lol.

This was actually my sixth half marathon, my second time running this particular one. I do a mix of virtual races, where it’s just me, and a few larger on location races when I’m able to. The breadth of the size of this race is quite unbelievable to me. The amount of work, and volunteers, and time, and money that has to go into an event like this leaves me basically speechless.

I have been training hard all summer for this race. I have put in the miles, and the distances, and checked off all the boxes, with all the numbers, on all the dates. I knew technically I was ready, I was prepared, at least according to paper I was. I however was still nervous and still wary of how it was going to go, how I was going to finish, and I still carried that fear within that I wouldn’t even be able to finish at all.

I’m not sure if every runner is this way, or if it’s just an odd mix of my personality, my perfectionism, my lack of contentment and self confidence, or the way my mind is wired to continually over think and over process absolutely everything, usually at warp speed. But the reality within my mind is that I will carry a fear and anxiety of every possible scenario that might go wrong, or might go slightly wrong, or might just go a little bit wrong, and it leaves me in this annoying and odd state of always being a little anxious, a little edgy, a little cautious, a little hesitant, a little wary, a little skeptical, a little too logical, and always a lot too hard on myself.

I have been running at a more serious running level for not quite two years now. I have been running on a very low capacity, low mileage level, off and on, for probably about twenty years. I don’t actually consider myself a runner. I hashtag most of my social media posts as #runningnonrunner. Yes - I know, I know… if you are moving at a pace faster than a walk, you technically are “a runner”… but within my mind, within my personal definition, I am not a runner. I am a non-athlete who has decided to try really hard, who decided to put in a lot of time and miles into training, and I try sign up and run a few races. I am not fast. Nothing comes easy or naturally for me, so surely I am not a “real runner.”

Two years ago I initially decided to take it up a step and do this, for the simple fact, because I could. Because I have two feet that are connected to two legs and a body that were physically able to regain health after a small journey of being sick and not healthy. Never in my life had I had to experience that before, until I was forty. After an unexpected illness, I slowly began to heal physically, and I also started to push myself to start to heal mentally and spiritually. It would slowly become an entire health journey that I would embark upon, for the simple fact… that I could.

That I could.

And that is a luxury not everyone is granted, and I am well aware of that. I suddenly had a different outlook on the gift of my health that I had been given, and decided to be humble, and grateful, and to try make a difference both to myself and to my body, but also to everyone around me, as best as I could. Total transformation.  And it was not easy, and it was not quick, and it was not "comfortable." And it is still very much a work in progress.

I spent an entire winter attempting to run and train, and I ran my first half marathon as a virtual race, by myself, and my only goal was simply to finish. And shockingly enough, I did.

My second half marathon was this same race, one year ago. The amount of people and everything involved was so new and so foreign to me, I also just wanted to go and finish, and survive, and bring home a metal. And shockingly enough, I did.
I continued to train through the following winter and would do a visual half on my elliptical in March to celebrate my forty-third birthday. In June I did a very small, completely unorganized half marathon that started and ended on a covered bridge and had been on my bucket list. It only had a few hundred runners, basically no spectators, and again, shockingly enough, I somehow managed to not only finish, but to also get 3rd place in my age group.

I have to admit, I had secretly hoped to Sub2 on that covered bridge race. Meaning, run the entire race under 2 hours. And I really didn’t mention this goal to anyone, other than the voices within my head. If I didn’t tell anyone what I was hoping for, and I didn’t actually achieve it, then I had failed nothing and disappointed no one. Well, other than myself of course. Which in running, really is the only person that matters. I ran my poor little heart out, in the pouring down rain, and came in at 2 hours and 2 minutes. Enough to get a new PR (personal record) but not enough to Sub2.

I drove home with two metals and overall was happy that day, but a tiny bit disappointed. I wasn’t disappointed in the covered bridge run itself, I felt I had run it as strong and as fast as I possibly could, I was just disappointed that my best effort wasn’t enough to equal a Sub2 finish.

After that race I would continue on with my training, knowing I was already signed up for this race. I cycled back to training, week one and went through the motions and miles to train for another half all over again.  And after a little health scare when I found a lump in my breast, I also signed up for an unexpected virtual half marathon in honor of my stillborn daughter and to give myself one last half marathon race, just in case.  I didn't PR on that race, and I still didn't Sub2 - but it was within seconds of my finish at the covered bridge half, so again so close... so so close.

Yesterday two friends and I said goodbye to our families and headed to the city for a moms weekend away. We picked up our race packets and checked in to the hotel. I pulled my bib out and turned it over and saw I had registered for an estimated time of 2 hours and 20 minutes, which is the goal I had typed in at the time of registration. I knew the day I registered my goal was finishing at a Sub2. Of course it was. But, I put 2:20 just to make sure I was safe in hopefully achieving at least some sort of goal, my "fall back on" goal.

Why in the world do we do this? Or is it just me? Why lie or sugar coat something in hopes to possibly protect our own disappointment with ourselves if needed? Why dumb down the real and honest goal merely in order to protect ourselves from failure?

The alarm went off this morning and I got dressed, attempted to keep all the butterflies and lies at bay within my stomach and my mind, and a few hours later we found ourselves corralled in with blocks and blocks of body to body runners lined up, I was ready to take on this challenge.

I woke up probably the least nervous of any race I’ve done this morning. I was almost nervous that I wasn’t nervous. It would end up being probably the hardest race I’ve ever run. I was trained and I was ready, and I still silently clung on to that silent Sub2 goal and hope. While of course telling myself I also wasn’t really a “real runner.”

Mind games. Ridiculous mind games.

I actually allowed myself line up next to the 2:00 pace setter, in the 9:00 min / mile area, and pepped talked myself over and over again that I could do it. Today was going to be the day, I would do it today. I didn’t make myself line up at the 2:20 area and make myself try move up, I just started right where I honestly hope to be able to end.

It was crisp and cold. My legs were stiff and sore and not wanting to cooperate, I felt like I had to just drag them along. I won’t get into the gritty details of all thirteen miles, but this was a race that was hard, really really hard for me, a race that I did not enjoy doing, a race that I had to literally fight my way through more than ever before, a race that was so cold, and surrounded by so many other people. It was so mentally and physically exhausting to me, far worse than I was honestly prepared for.

I spent over two hours dodging in and around thousands of other runners, cold, ill, and just off on the inside. I battled a pace and a distance in my head that I just could not quite reach with my body. I disparately wanted to quit, to at least walk… but I didn’t. I dug in and continued on… I somehow just continued on.
Mind over matter. Mind over miles.

And I didn’t Sub2. I didn’t even PR. But… it was close. I was twenty four seconds off from a PR and two minutes and twenty four seconds off from a Sub2 finish. But I did not Sub2 and I did not PR. But I did however, get myself from the start line, back to the finish line, without stopping, without quitting, without walking.

I’m not actually sure why I’m even writing any of this right now if I’m honest. I didn’t meet my hoped for goal. I didn’t create a new personal record. I merely finished. Why am I admitting my “failures” out loud to you all right now? Why am I telling the world outside myself some of the secrets that I have been silently carrying around deep inside for so long but never actually admitting, never actually sharing…

Perhaps a moment of weakness.
Perhaps a moment of strength.

Yes, perhaps it is a moment of strength, a moment of vulnerability, a moment of transparency.

I sit here tonight thinking over all this and just have to finally ask, finally have to just wonder out loud, why is it that we feel we need to hide our real true hopes and goals and dreams. Why do we have to fear “failure” and why do we have to even define “failure” as “failure” if we don’t actually meet and acquire or attain any of the said real and true hopes, goals, dreams at the level in which we have placed it within us?

Yes, I think we all need to continue to set things that help push us and aspire us to be bigger, and better, and bolder people… things that bring us joy and on journeys that help us find wholeness and worthiness within ourselves. But why hide and sugarcoat and underplay the really big dreams coursing through us? Why are we scared to go after, really go after, some of those crazy big scary hard, possibly unattainable, but possibly attainable things in our lives? And why do we feel we need to set the final bar of “failure” directly on (or above) that exact goal, dream, hope?

Did I want to PR and Sub2 today? I sure did. Did I openly tell and admit that to anyone prior to this moment? I sure didn’t. Did I run my heart out and give it my all. I sure did. Does this leave me a failure after all is said and done and the officially race times are published publicly online for one and all to see if they wish? It absolutely doesn’t. The satan in my head is telling me I’m a failure, the satan in my head is telling me this unmet hope and expectation has yet again left me unworthy, still a non runner, still a non athlete.

I knew before I I turned the corner and saw the finish line a few blocks ahead that I hadn’t gotten it done. I still pushed through and finished, and those were the hardest and longest final two blocks ever. I still was proud to have that finishers metal placed around my neck. I still had fun cheering on and talking with others around me while I waited for my friends to finish.

Afterwards, I slowly walked back to the hotel (ok - hobbled is a more accurate term) and I was cold, chilled down to the very bone, sore beyond what I can even describe with words, mentally and physically done, shut done, finished. I had nothing left, and I had nothing gained.

I arrived back at the room without a PR and without a Sub2 to proclaim to the world, and I contemplated if I should just not share anything at all about any of it, since in essence, in my mind I had come home a “failure” from this race.  

But you know what… I’ve decided to share about this because I actually didn’t come home a failure at all. I chose to sign up, train, and compete in a half marathon, surrounded by over 7,300 other runners, in the cold Iowa fall wind. I had fought my mind and my body for over thirteen miles and for over two hours - fighting the a screaming cries to quit, to walk, to give up. But I hadn’t, I had somehow dug deep and willed myself to continue on.

I had continued on, and I crossed that finish line.

As I stood there afterwards, breathing, stopping, processing it all... all alone within the chaotic corral of finishers volunteers handing out metals, I also held in my hand and heart the burning reality that my best, my hardest, might never be Sub2 attainable.  A 2:02 just might be the best I will ever be. And if that is in fact my best, then I need to just be ok with that.

I am not actually a failure, and I am not weak. I do have strength, and perseverance, and tenacity, and grit coursing through my veins, and you know what… I am a runner. Whether I view myself as an athlete or not… I am not a failure, and I am technically, and officially, a “real” runner.

Let’s stop hiding our hopes and goals and dreams behind our masks of insecurities and unsureities. Let’s stop worrying about what other people might think, might say, might view us as - and start working on what we think, what we want, who we really are, and what we really want to become and achieve in life.

Let’s be daring, and willing to set dreams and goals as high and as bright as the moon and stars above, and then remember that “failure” is not “failure” if you are putting in the time, the passion, the drive, the diligence, the determination to reach for, to desire towards, to dive into it, whatever it is, with all our hearts, and souls, and minds.

Don’t let the whispers in your head, the lies from the world around you, the unattainable expectations that weigh it all down with a force greater than most can withstand, stop you from believing in yourself, loving yourself, bettering yourself, finding yourself. Finding the real you, the true you, the you that God ultimately crafted you to become. Be daring, be strong, be vulnerable and go after what it is you really want. But don’t define yourself as a failure based on a black and white invisible scale or line or specific number.

Dreams matter, so dream big. Don’t be afraid to name them, define them, openly share them, and then chase them down. And then remember, it’s actually the journey, the process, the entire path along the way that is what ultimately defines the success, the greatness, and the accomplishment.

Today was race day.  Today I was a runner.  Today I was a winner.

Previous blog post { "Today I Remember" } HERE.

{ Next blog post "The Dark Night" HERE. }

Today I Remember

Today is October 15th. It’s the National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. All day I have felt like I should blog something… post something… share something… feel something.

And here we are, nearly at the end of the day, and I’m still staring at a blank sheet of paper.

There just aren’t words coming to my fingers like there usually are. I’m just not sure what to say. I’m not sure what message needs to be shared tonight, what words needs to be spoken from my heart to yours. My heart feels a little empty, a little heavy, a little achy… but not at the intensity in which it sometimes does. It’s a little dulled and hazy today. Perhaps its the whirl of the chaos around me, perhaps is the healing salve that time has given me, perhaps is just that today is a good day, a day when the pain isn’t so intense and the reality isn’t so harsh.

Today I remember. I remember the little child within, whom we had so hoped, begged, pleaded, prayed for for so many years. Years and years and years we had waited to be blessed with the creation of life within. Years and years and years we had doctored, and tried, and researched, and cried. Oh the tears that we cried throughout all those years.

The ache, the empty, the disappointment, the desperation. Years and years and years we endure and carried on, and continued on without choice, without change.

We would adopt and we would continue on for many more years trying, and doctoring, begging and pleading, fervently praying to be healed from this disease that no one saw, this illness that no one recognized, this disorder that no one understood.

Infertility. Ugh, what a word. What a thick, rough, ragged, silent, ugly word. Unexplainable secondary infertility, an even uglier phrase, an invisible diagnose of the most mean and degrading manner.

Never did I dream I would find myself nearly forty years old, and sick… so very very sick. Never did I dream I would hear those fateful words “there’s a baby in there” when I least expected it. I was so caught off guard, so taken aback, so shocked I could barely process it all that day as I lay on my back on the narrow table in the dark room. I was only hours away from officially entering my second trimester. And we were only weeks away from officially having to say goodbye to this dear miracle.

Oh the whirlwind that followed. The appointments, the emotions, the tests, the waiting, the bed rest. The walls of my life and my bedroom continued to close in on me over the next several weeks. It’s a girl. Trisomy 18. Palliative care. Funeral arrangements. Cemetery plots. Insomnia. Emotional overload. Mental over-processing. Internal attempted numbing.

And just about as quickly as we had found out about her, we also had to say goodbye to her. The heartbeat was silent. The life within no longer alive. My life within nearly died right along with her.

The shattered dreams and hopes. The unexpected love and loss of something so tiny, something so unknown and still so completely known and fully loved all at the same time.

God chose to dance in Heaven with our little Faith MaryJo before we got to dance with her here on earth. God chose her to come live with Him before we got to live with her here on earth. I don’t pretend to understand, I don’t say that I’m ok with it all… because I don’t understand and I’m really not all that ok with it. But, I trust. It’s all I’ve got left to fall back on really. I trust the story, my story, our story, her story. I trust that God does have my back and does in fact have her safely in His arms right now.

So today I remember. Today we remember. Today we take a moment to light a candle and reflect on all that was and all that will never be. We think of those around us also on this journey of loss and pain and hurt and confusion. We take comfort in knowing we are not alone on our journeys of love and loss. Oh no, we are not alone. We may often feel like we are drowning in our own sorrows and in our own silence, but we are not alone.

We have the hope of our savior, the promise of forever in Heaven, and the love and support surrounding us of all those around us who are also grieving the loss of children that they had hoped and dreamt and pleaded for as well.

No, we are far from alone, even when we feel like we are lost and the only ones on this hot, desolate, dessert island of grief and confusion and anger and despair.

Remember and honor today with me. Remember the babies and infants, the lost heartbeats taken too soon, and yet exactly at the right time according to God’s timeline for all that is right and meant to be. Remember the moms, dads, grandparents, siblings, families, friends walking through this reality, this loss, this heartache, this quiet unknown.

Remember. Love. Honor. Cherish. Pray over. Extend grace. Remember.

{Next Blog post "Today Was Race Day" HERE }
{Previous Blog Post "The Other Me" HERE }

The Other Me

The shower water is running, the heater in the corner is on… I stand here in the steam and silence amid the heater hum.  It’s that moment of transition I seem to have to face every day. That time of going from that “one self” to that “other self."  From putting away that “pushing for me” self, to that “pushing for others” self.

I will wash off the sweat from the me that just pushed through four half marathon training miles immediately followed by a thirty-five minute intense workout video. I will close the shower door and emerge clean, looking over at the clothes laid out and wonder if they will still fit. The fancy cloths, the dress up clothes, the real clothes... the ones that don’t contain spandex and lycra and are guaranteed to fit and be comfortable no matter what size or number is on the scale.

I will dress-up, and fancy-up, to face the brutality of the day ahead, to greet the world beyond my own tiny, personal, silent, little bubble.  Switching gears from introvert, to extrovert.

I wonder what kind of mood the boy will wake up in today. What kind of crazy battle I’ll have to endure to get from this moment to the next moment when I clock in at work. I wonder what kind of day it will be at work and what kind of crazy battle it will be to get me to the next moment. The moment I clock out and return to the boy, to the home, to the to do list at home. Oh that damn to do list. The homework, the meals, the laundry, the cleaning, the bedtimes, the bills, the adulting.

Some days it’s all just too much and I just want to get in my car and drive away. Flee. Disappear.  Never come back.  Ever.

And then I hear that damn whisper of guilt and shame at how good I have it, how blessed I am, how selfish I am. I have running water. I have food in my cupboard. I have milk in my fridge. I have heat and air-conditioning and a roof over my head. I have two vehicles in the garage attached to my house. I have a husband and a family. I have a full time job, I have insurance, I have friends, I have family surrounding me, most within a five mile radius. I have a camper with two bathrooms, four beds, four tvs, a fireplace, and ceiling fan in it for crying out loud. How could I possibly not be just giddy with overflowing abundant joy every single second of my life?!?

I have no reason to be the drama queen my head is screaming at me to be from within. And yet… I find myself utterly exhausted and hanging on with broken fingernails at the very very end of my rope some days. Yesterday was one of those days… and today might very well be following in its footsteps, I don’t even know yet. It’s 6:30am, I’ve been up and at it for three hours, and to be honest, I am just dreading having to wake up the boy and face the rest of this day today.

I don’t want to do that other me today. I don’t want to... I want to be tired, and lazy, and selfish. I want help, I want rest, I want to be thanked. I don’t want to have to be angry or hollering to be seen in this house.

I want easy, I want rest, I want harmony, I want someone else to come in and take care of all my stuff… and I want them to do it to my standards, if not higher. Basically, I guess I just want it all and I don’t want to have to do anything to get it, have it, keep it, maintain it. That’s surely not too much to ask for is it?!?

I’m battling a half marathon mind game that is wearing on me. The tired side of me is telling me it’s ok to go in half hearted, half trained, go slow, tank it, and just get it done. And there’s another side throwing her hands up in disgust at me telling me of course I’m capable of running it in a sub two and I’m going to be a huge loser and disappointment if I don’t finally reach that goal in two weeks.

I’m battling a hefty mileage goal I set for the year that is also starting to take it’s toll on my mind and body. I’m battling those darn perfectism tendencies that keep hanging on for dear life around my ankles. I’m battling grasping a life's reality that is not what I ever imagined it to be. I’m not even sure what reality I actually even thought I would have in my life, but I guarantee this was not it.  (On a good day of course I will tell you it's far better than I'd ever hoped or wished for, but on the occasional bad day it's more-or-less just an all out Calgon Take Me Away mentality.)

Disappointment, heartache, exhaustion, overbooked, over extension, unattainable expectations, unknown destinations … all things that I have again allowed to cloud my sunshine, dull my sparkle, halt my momentum momentarily.

As much as I don’t want to do that “other me” today, I will climb in the shower, I will wash off the hard work from the previous miles and minutes of work. I will dry off and dress up and face the day. I will tackle the morning battles, I will clock in at work, I will give my everything to my day job. I will clock out, come back home and tackle it all yet again. One more morning. One more day. One more night.

One more… and then one more… and then one more… Some of those one more’s will be fantastic, some will be far from. Some will be easy, some not so much. Some will be memorable, some I will surely want to forever forget.

Our one more days will continue to come every single day that God chooses to wake us up and give us life and breath. Breathe in deep and find the grateful, find the grace, find the Lord have mercy on my soul ~ come on girlfriend you got this!

Each day is a gift, whether we feel it or not, whether we want to get up and do it or not. Each day is a new day to make a difference… make a difference in our own lives and the lives of others, in the “pushing for ourselves” us and in the “pushing for others” us. Whether we think it or not, whether we feel it or not, whether we own it or not... it does matter, yes... our days do matter.  So dig deep, hold on tight and continue onward.... Simply, continue onward...

{ Previous Blog Post "Days When I'm Done" HERE }

Days When I Am Done

I haven’t talked much about one of my rather larger goals for 2018. I’ve mentioned it briefly, on a few occasions, but I am one of those people who keep things relatively quiet along the way… you know… “just in case.” Just in case I don’t actually reach that goal. It’s much easier to just not talk or share about something that didn’t happen, or that you were disappointed in, or didn’t go quite like you’d hoped, than to have to publicly face the shame and openly explain the failure.

Emotional protection I think would be a good term for this mentality. And I’m a master at it.

All that being said… I set a goal at the beginning of the year to log 2018 intentional exercise miles in 2018. Running, elliptical, and power walking. I’m not just opening my health app at the end of every day and recording the total number of miles registered, I am logging and tracking in my running app, and I am keeping a daily / weekly / monthly penciled in calendar as well to help keep me on track and try not fall too far behind.

I am almost at 1700 miles for the year. I’m actually getting close to the end, perhaps that’s part of the problem… Because if I’m honest, I have also reached that point where I. am. done. I am sick of it. I am tired. I am wanting to quit. I am wanting to just reach that final number, throw myself some confetti, and just be done for a while, maybe forever. I have taken less than a handful of actual “days off” of zero mileage “rest” days. That is a lot of mind over miles and a lot of intentional, deliberate, self motivational planning, and it is starting to take its toll.

I am just in from a six mile run. I am sitting here still my workout gear, my body in that odd mix of being over dressed in warm clothes while yet wet, sticky, and sweaty that leaves one shivering and cold to the bone thanks to the cooler temperatures that have again returned.

I already miss summer, and it really only just left less than a week ago…

Six miles on a Monday morning. Never miss a Monday they say. I thought I was ready for the week, I thought I had done well filling my tank this weekend. I thought I had allowed myself rest and recoup. I took photos, I blogged, I took naps, I read. And yet… as my alarm went off this morning I could hardly pull myself out of bed. I had to fight myself to get dressed, get my socks and shoes on, get the headphones and chest lamp on. I had to will myself to open the door and enter the cool breezy darkness and force my body to simply move forward. My head was not in it, my heart in even further disconnect.

It was a battle this morning, a real battle. Much more so than I typically have. I have had a lot of mornings when it was hard to get going… but it’s been a long time since I’ve had this intense of a struggle of mind over body, of wanting to skip, to quit, to honestly just be entirely done with all of it.

The weather has switched on the fall button. The air is crisp and the breeze leaves a chill. The dark seems a little more black, and the length of its stay seems much more drawn out. There’s no more sunrises, no more whispers of dawn before I get back home at the end. There’s no more warm air kissing my sweaty skin, there’s no more fragrant trees and blooming flowers that leave their magical invisible lingering in the dark. It’s crunching leaves underfoot, wet soggy leaves pasted into the crevices of the curb. It’s all sorts of creepy crawlies out looking for warmth, no longer nestled in their warm and protective hiding places.

I’m half marathon training again (or still, depending how you look at it) and I’m getting to those dreaded double mileage runs that are so hard to mentally prepare for, so hard to find the time to actually fit into my day and schedule, and so incredibly hard on my body. My back, my feet, my bunions, my knees are all screaming at me. This week it’s eleven… next week it’s twelve… in less than a month, it’s race day.

I just want that race to be done. I just want this training to be over. I could very easily be talked into skipping that weekend all together. Staying home, no girls weekend away, no massage, no PTO day off work. (Ok maybe just skip the whole 13.1 miles part and leave the rest.) I just want that damn app to tell me it has finally logged the required 2018 miles and I can just be done with that as well. I don’t want to get up early. I don’t want to count points, and calories, and log everything that goes into my mouth. I don’t want to justify using creamer every time I have a cup of coffee. I don’t want to put in any more miles, any more workouts. I don’t want to lift any more weights or drink any more workout recovery drinks.

My toes and toenail polish is a wreck and I should not be allowed to wear flip flops in public. My hair is driving me crazy. It needs a cut, a color… heck it just needs a basic washing most days (and no, I have never used dry shampoo). My weight is creeping up, my motivation and positivity is creeping down, and the state of my house… the state of my house likens that of tornado aftermath.

I don’t want to balance my checkbook, I don’t want to go to work, I don’t want to wife, I don’t want to mom, and I sure as heck do not want to do spelling words and homework and read one more page of Percy Jackson Book III. I want to stay in bed until everyone is ready to leave for the day. I want to kiss everyone goodbye and be home all day with my own self and my own silence, and the sunshine, and my puppies.

I can’t. I just can’t even anymore. And yet… I have to. I just have to. The reality of that most days causes me to grimace and inwardly groan a little as I continue on, but there are days and seasons, like right now, when the reality of this nearly leaves me claustrophobic in my own skin… this inner tension and wildness clawing and biting and seizing my sanity from deep within.

I know it’s not just me… I know I’m surrounded by a world of others down in the same trenches as me… inching forwards on our elbows, shoulder deep in the dirt, and dust, and grime of day to day survival. I have hung on and fought the war... and fought the war... and fought the war… and now, yet again I seem to have reached that epic end. I am done. (Oh yes, I have been here before… all too many times before.)

I am done trying, I am done caring, I am done loving others, I am done loving myself. I am done pursuing, I am done persevering, I am done pushing relentlessly, I am done not being done.

I think I want to try see what it feels like to be irresponsible, and unprepared, and ill equipped.

Actually, no I don’t. I know I don’t, but it is so tempting isn’t it?!? It gets so hard trying to juggle it all and do it all well, and well ~ there will be days like this my mama said, as put best from that song from long ago. (And no, I don’t know the title or the singer and I’m too tired right now to go google it. You’re singing the lyrics in your head right now, same as me… so we’re all good, right?).

I guess this is when we need to rally up our troops, we need to SOS our tribe, we need to get out the Ben and Jerry’s and hot fudge sauce (microwave and pour directly into the carton … not that I would know anything about that) binge eat and cry for a while. Pour ourselves some wine, sink into a hot bath. It’s ok to be tired and give in to the weight of the world that is resting on our shoulders. It’s ok to have a little me-tantrum.

And then we need to breathe deep, close our eyes and whisper to ourselves that we really are rockstars, and we really are beautiful, we really are worthy and enough, and we really are capable of somehow handling it all. We may not want to, we may have no idea how to, but we really do have this - even when we are convinced we don’t.

It’s often in our lowest that we often are able to push off and yet again rise triumphantly back to the surface, back to the reality, back to the daily grind, back to the hope and strength needed to propel us forward, push us gently into our tomorrows.

No, we may not want this, we may not want to and we surely may not like it… but we do have this, we do really do. We mire through alone, and we mire through together, this strange and perfect mix of you, me, and us. Alone we do the work, together we do the work, and somehow, some way we will triumph and we will overcome and we will just … survive. Yes, we will survive, even on the days we don’t want to and don’t know how to… especially on the days we don’t want to and don’t know how to.

So as much as I desperately want to quit this stupid mileage goal, quit my health, quit my sanity, quit it all to be quite frank... I know that I have a line of beautiful people behind me, there for me to help me stay strong and forward moving, help me see my worth and relocate my strength, and I am proud to also be in their lines standing behind each and every one of them.

And as best quoted by Rachel Hollis in Girl Wash Your Face

"Friends, it's not about the goal or the dream you have

It's about who you become on your way to that goal." 

... It's about who you become on your way to that goal ...

{ Previous blog post "Confidence In Her Un-Confidence" HERE }

Confidence in Her Un-confidence

I read something that really struck me this week.

“You will always be too much of something for someone;
Too big, too loud, too soft, too edgy.
If you round out your edges, you lose your edge.
Apologize for mistakes.
Apologize for unintentionally hurting someone-profusely.
But don’t apologize for being who you are.” (Danielle LaPorte)

I realize I have talked about this before, but really, my whole life I feel that I have lived with this feeling, this perception, that I have always been a little “too much” and a lot “not enough."

I was too loud, too imperfect, too lost, too bold, too different, too heavy, too impulsive, too… well I could go on and on. And mixed right in with all of that was also this feeling and perception that I have never been enough. Never skinny enough, smart enough, athletic enough, happy enough, graceful enough, doing enough, making enough, providing enough. Never… never… never…

So I have basically spent forty three years of my life chasing around my own tail. Running in circles trying to create, and please, and overcome, and perfect myself to the bar and standards set by the society around me and the unrealistic demons whispering their mantras within me. I’ve listened to the lies and propaganda and been sucked in to the shame game over and over and over.

Two years ago I reached a point when it all became just too much.

The loss, the tragedy, the unmet expectations, the imperfections, the disappointments all just got too high and came crashing down all around me.

I finally begin the hard and tedious work of plowing into some of this mess head on. The health and fitness. The inner healing and growth. The spiritual forgiveness and grace. I have read, prayed, run, slept, intentionally connected, been open and vulnerable. I have willed myself to stop numbing and try to fully feel, to fully hurt, to fully process, to fully start unpacking some of the junk weighing down the suitcase of life that I’m dragging along behind me.

It has not been easy. It has been long and grueling and exhausting. It has also been unbelievably life transformational.

I have made a few inches forward I think, but still have miles and miles in front of me to continue on trudging through.

Over the last two years I have decided to be honest and real on things I’ve felt, experienced, wanted, lost, needed, didn’t understand. I have decided to share and talk openly about things I’m not proud of, things I’m held hostage to, things I know I need to change but can’t.  I've also allowed myself to openly talk about things I've done, things I've accomplished, things I've struggled through and made some progress on.

I’ve decided to stop trying to change, and conform, and remold myself... and simply try and own my “too much’s” and my “not enough’s”.

Believe me, this sounds much easier than it’s actually been, but basically I guess I have decided to just have confidence in my un-confidence. I’ve decided to try and be “more than” in all of my “less than."

 I have decided to try love myself as I am rather than hate myself for all that I’m not.

I’ve decided I’m worth putting my own self on my own to-do list, and that it’s ok to put myself on the top line, rather than the bottom. And it’s ok not to erase myself off that list when it gets too long and something needs to be taken off. It’s ok to take time to exercise every day, and do my devotions, and order my groceries online, and even treat myself to a massage after running a half marathon. Heck, it's even ok to believe in myself and allow myself to train and actually run a half marathon... that is actually the real accomplishment, not just the justification for a massage...

It’s ok to let the ten year old wear whatever he wants to school and eat ice cream and little debbie's for breakfast. It’s ok to live in a house filled with clutter and mess and not need to be clean every moment of every day.

I’ve decided to try work through those feeling of selfishness, and shame, and uncertainty… and just try figure out who it is that God really created me to be, and what it is that God really created me to do, and what it is God has created me to say through my words and actions every day.

I am not “all that” and I never will be. I am not “perfect” and never will be. I am not “all together” and never will be. I am not the perfect wife, mom, daughter, housekeeper, friend, employee… and I never will be. Of course I will still die trying to be, because that’s just the nature of the blood coursing through my every vein and vessel of my body. I’ve been hardwired with a perfection complex and it has fed and thread it’s way through all of me and all of my relationships. It’s kept me from trying a lot of things, it’s kept me from a lot of happiness, and it’s kept me from enjoying a lot of life’s moments and memories. It’s made me incredibly hard to love and even harder to live with. It’s made me snappy, and crabby, and exhausted, and feeling lost and defeated for years and years and years.

And you know what, I’m still crabby and exhausted and hard to love and live with. And I’m still lost and defeated all the time. But I’m trying to simply learn to be ok with that. To stop trying to change that, to perfect that, to stop that, to overcome all that.

It’s ok to not be ok.

It’s ok to say no to things, it's ok to say yes to other things.  It's ok to fall apart at the seams, and it's ok to do what I need to do to pick myself back up and put my pieces back together again.  And it's ok if that doesn't happen overnight.  It's ok if that takes five years, or longer.  It's ok to mourn, it's ok to celebrate, it's ok to cry, it's ok to laugh.  It’s ok to post selfies, to get tattoos, to get odd places pierced, and to go to bed at 8:30pm.  It's also ok to choose to say no to the food you have chosen to not eat, even when it’s awkward and inconvenient and no one seems to really understand or care.

It’s ok to leave my raw, edgy, sharp corners just exactly the way they are... raw, edgy, and sharp.

I’m trying to dim, lessen, not see, not dwell on the bad things about myself that are continually trying to blind me, so that I can more clearly see, hear, touch those around me who are also hurting, and lost, and exhausted, and desperately needing to be loved and seen and encouraged. I'm trying to look outward more, and inward less.

It’s trying to give myself and others much more grace and much less of all my unattainable expectations.

I will never “arrive” this side of Heaven. I will always struggle, I will always battle, I will always be lost and I need to stop letting all that make me hide and cower and beat myself up over.

I hope to simply continue to strive to be more fully accepting (of both myself and others), to be confident in my un-confidence, and to push to be the me who I really am, without apologizing.

It's ok to be too much, and it’s ok to never be enough - because the truth is, we really are enough, and we really are perfect, because we were created in the image and likeness of God.

 Let me just say that one more time… we were created, on purpose, to be exactly who we are, in the image and likeness of God.  He creates only the best, the most beautiful, and the most perfect.  He did not envision or create you or I to be anything less than that.  He knew what He was doing, and He smiled when He was done.

“You will always be too much of something for someone;
Too big, too loud, too soft, too edgy.
If you round out your edges, you lose your edge.
Apologize for mistakes.
Apologize for unintentionally hurting someone-profusely.
But don’t apologize for being who you are.” (Danielle LaPorte)

{ Previous blog post "Summer Evolution Growth to Rest" HERE }

{ Next blog post "Days When I Am Done" HERE }