Know Where You Begin

Know where you begin

An interesting phenomena of being in the health/fitness/healthcare industries is how few people really know where their bodies are. Folks don’t know their current weight, blood pressure, resting/max heart rates. It’s mandatory to know where you start in order to run the race in its entirety. 

The greatest hurdle is getting on the scale. I know- I really do. I battled eating disorders for many years- I used stand backward on the scale, fearful of it’s disclosure- all #85. I was sick. ON the opposite side of that coin, is my current journey. I’ll spare great detail for an upcoming blog post, but in short order, I went from competitive athlete, crazy active, to bedridden, body nearly shut down. Lack of exercise, medications, hospitalizations, depression, a body in upheaval- I put on weight- a lot of weight. 

I had never, other than pregnancies, been heavier than #130. Even while pregnant I gained only #20-27. And then I got sick. At my heaviest I was #240- double my prior max. It was so tough. And I would consistently make my situation WAY worse. I’d get clearance to workout, get into the gym with all the vigor I could muster, workout like I always had…and then be in bed or the hospital for days. This very sick cycle lasted for years. Honestly, I’m grateful- if surprised- I’m alive. 

The principals I’ve used for clients, friends, family, corporations are being re-instilled in self. The foundational guidelines I use in re-establishing lives and communities are reseeded in the soil of my life. 

I once again know where I begin. I know all my vitals. I know, more accurately, I accept my limitations. I am kinder, gentler, more soft and loving to myself- in all respects. I’m blessed with folks who lift me up, walk the journey beside me, believe in me, and help my remember how far I’ve come. 

Keys to success: the desire to begin is all you need to get started; consistency is key, write you stuff down!, a goal is a dream with a deadline- make goals using S.M.A.R.T. method (specific, measurable, achievable, relevant, time bound). 

Start small. Start simple. Writing down part of your day can be difficult to begin, but it becomes invaluable in truly seeing your progression when you can’t feel it. Sometimes I just write a few words- how long I walked, what I was feeling that day, what I ate, WHY I ate- very eyeopening in the food/emotion relationship. I only get on the scale once a week- usually at the doctor due to the frequency of my visits.  

I started small and now implement disciplines. I write more frequently now- not just this journey, but life overall. I take no day for granted. Living fully and living alive are overwhelmingly exciting again. I’m grateful. 

This is mostly about you taking care of you because you’re important. You are needed here on this Earth. Your value is immeasurable. Your story matters, and it will change the life of someone else. <3 

What Other People Think About You is None of Your Business

OOOOOF!! Kinda like a kick in the gut, yeah? But, really, it's the truth.
From my own experience I can tell you all too often the words and opinions of others hold too much import in our thoughts and beliefs of self. Frequently to our detriment.
We are made to connect, to have community, to live life with others. It's human to want to be liked and needed-but not everyone is going to like us, or want us, or need us (and is they do, there's something amiss).
People are tricky- they're human after all. We are all guilty of thoughtless words, actions, behaviors, etc, because WE are human, after all.
However...
If you are like me, human things can quickly turn to poison. I absorbed these into the cracks of my brokenness, creating a toxicity in my being, my soul. Festering, spilling over into already open raw wounds.
When I began to believe what others (who knew little or nothing about me) said, my behavior and identity began to change. Scar tissue was yanked off, old haunts refreshed.
Rejection. Abandonment. Insecurity. The monsters we all have inside triggered fear and feelings of inadequacy. yuck.
We all have bits of monster in us- a monster who has a beautiful heart and longs to be accepted and loved. Inside every person a bit of monster lingers- fearful that if others see the ALL of us certain aspects will not be accepted. And as so often happens, that tiny part that is rejected builds into bitterness, leading to an ugliness inside and out.
I stopped responding in kindness, building walls that blocked the light of bravery. And because my face hides nothing, my true feelings were exposed-fear, hurt, bitterness. The truth is no one-not even me- wanted (wants) to take that weight on. In trying to protect myself, I succeeded in repelling many people. This, in turn, began an exhausting cycle of believing lies about myself.
There's a song I love that expresses this much better. A line I relate to is this: "If I could let go, then I could change the world, but I can't stop always tearing myself down."(Blue October- Break Ground)     The most exhausting, destructive cycle. Top this with illness, a strong body breaking down, becoming bedridden...ugh
This truth remains:

And I live a life surrounded by these people. People who KNOW me, and love me anyway. They've seen the monster inside- me and themselves- and choose to love it, and me, and themselves. And they stay- with me, beside me- some since elementary school. How spectacular?!?!?!
I am grateful, beautiful, strong, loved, wanted, accepted. By them. By me.
Through it all, this guy wanted forever- with ME: 

                                                                                             

You are beautiful, worthy of love- receiving and giving. 

Choosing to Live. Choosing to Change

Not too long ago I sat in the most profound darkness I'd ever encountered. The bottom. The mire. I could not see. I could only hear the shrillness of lies. I was giving up.

I had a gun in my mouth, ready to end the hurt, emptiness, fear. On my third go-round, I pictured my son, who's already had so much to overcome at only eight, finding me dead and I knew I couldn't go this way. For the first time I cried.

I've been in pain. My diagnosis was downgraded. Scary things were happening in my body that I could not control. I spent over a month in bed. I've battled greatly with this disease- first in total denial, then pushing too hard and not bouncing back, on to a numbing phase, to suicidal tendencies, and finally to this place.

I decided to live. To make drastic changes. Allowing myself a year- to focus, to eliminate chaos with discipline, to write/blog/journal my prayers/experiences/journey, to share with others- shifting and directing my life into an adventure of an intentional, passionate, directed life as I'd never done before.

Beginning today, September 1, rules have been revised, goals have been rewritten, hope renewed, determination, trust, worth dusted off, made shiny again.

A year. to heal my body, mend relationships, surrender to God-hand it all over, dig into my marriage and the vows we spoke, build passionately into my calling and legacy. A year of walking into fear, of faithful living like I've not fully engaged in before. A year to document thoughts, actions, outcomes, results, accomplishments. A year of freedom.

Showing up. Being mom and wife. Discipline resolves chaos. Integrity. My word. New ID. Hanging on to the past. Daily workout. Wahl protocol.

I'm Still Unlearning

It's been my attempt to learn blatant honesty and unlearn the skills of a survivor to too much.

I'm still unlearning.

Recently much of my down time has been spent in a hospital bed. New problems, pains, diagnoses, test results. My truth- in words and emotions- is that I don't believe God created me for this. I am still so strong, driven, checking off lists day after day.

My knowledge and reality is- I've been scared shitless. And in my yet unlearned behavior, I've kept it secret.

Last year I had a hysterectomy- it was tough, I mourned- but it had to be done. It was followed by unfathomable pain and complications. Three months later, my body was acting pregnant, including lactation. Not quite what I had signed up for. And then again two months later.

And during another hospitalization that required scans, a LUMP was found. I had been having pain- but in truth, I live in pain daily. As of yet, there's no solution. I was ordered to have a mammogram, but I didn't- I was very done doing and dealing.

The LUMP grew, as did the pain...and I was leaking through two shirts a night. I still did nothing. Then, another hospital stay, and I was not the one i control, calling the shots.

A 3D mammogram was scheduled in two days. I told no one. Well, I told Gail, but I downplayed it- which means I lied. I lied to my best friend, my husband, friends on other continents, mentors, leaders. I lied to myself.

I was in pain- BIG pain. Something was happening in my boobs that shouldn't be. My blood levels were off, my blood pressure frighteningly low.

My plan was to take my youngest to school, get my tests done, finish my errands, and make followup calls. No. Big. Deal.

Except the morning of, I knew I couldn't- and was not supposed to- go alone. I casually asked Peter if he could drive, I'd not had sleep. He agreed, of course. He had no fucking clue.

While he was parking they took my vitals- still low BP and temp. This was not just a mammogram, it was a diagnostic, 3D- which was them followed by a hell-fire like ultrasound. FOUR- four doctors came in. The pain and swelling increased, I remained emotionless.

In my clinic, the women are treated with utmost respect, anonymity, and loving truth regardless the outcome. Which is to say Peter sat in the lobby, fully ignorant of what was happening.



In the end, after all was scored and explored- I- VERY GRATEFULLY- do not have breast cancer.

I went about my day, praying nonstop gratitude to God and His plans, but knowing I had to tell people, I had to BE the truth. I will live with the pain, I will continue checkups, I will follow the dispensed instructions and guidelines.

We went  out to dinner, celebrating nothing.

And as we were leaving, I finally spilled the reality to Peter. t was terrible.And scary. And wildly unfair. And he forgives me, but not totally- who would? and how could they? I didn't cry, I honestly had so much relief and gratitude- and rosé with dinner.

I am still learning and unlearning. I still, without intention or forethought, art the ones I love the most- and it's primarily because trust is hard, truth is harder, and bearing pain and grief alone is what I feel best.

And I am a selfish, cancer-free, giving, loving, believing student.

Bringing Light to a Dark World

It's not yet to February and already my year is beautiful. Blessed. Fulfilling.

There's this guy I met awhile back. We used to workout together nearly daily. He was kind, funny, a great help to me in getting stronger and more fit. And he thought my gym baby was cute too.

We became friends- making each other laugh at inappropriate times, making fun of objects that weren't on the ceiling, and pushing one another to be better.  He would tell me, later, that he loved when I would show up to class, that I brought a light.

Being a light is a way I'm frequently described- and it's a tremendous blessing to receive. I smile almost nonstop, I try to do unto others, and bring the laughter, of course. The thought of being a candle to someones darkness is one gift that led e to missions and nonprofit work. Lightness in the darkest of times, circumstances, and disasters servers others well.

So, back to this guy- his name is Peter and he's now my husband- he's my everything. God showed how much He loved me through introducing us. We always wanted to be together, we can talk for hours, or just sit together holding hands, valuing what we have. It was, very honestly, a love I had never felt, nor believed I deserved. When we were dating I kept asking him what his "catch" was- there had to be one, right? Men like this aren't real! I once even asked him if he was gay (not my proudest moment). He looked at me like I'd grown another head, and maybe I had in that moment.

Before we were officially dating, one of our longest conversations centered around dating, how neither of us were interested- too much BS, expectation, yada. So, obviously, we never saw anyone else after. He pursued me relentlessly- I had a bit of a commitment phobia. And finally, I began receiving his love. So, the two who never wanted to be married, and the one who never wanted children, got married-full package included.

And we went through some phenomenally tough times- my light went out. He never left my side. Still hasn't.

More recently, though, was the toughest of times. We nearly separated. Darkness.

Our marriage, however, has it's foundation on God. Neither of us wanted to be apart, but the struggles seemed to be getting too much. I talked to a couple of my closest friends, and my therapist. I talked to God nonstop, asking, knocking, begging to be shown the path back to Peter. I wrote a letter to him explaining that we were still the couple so many looked to. I don't just love him, I really like him, too! We've never had trust issues- we "get" one another to the fullest extent. We have had one BIG argument in six years. So...what the heck?

That letter served to break apart something deep inside. We went back to talking, being silly, being together. Being US. The light has returned- and it's brighter than ever.

I. AM. GRATEFUL.

Thank you, husband, for being my protector, my security, my laughter, the one who fights for me. There is no life without you. XO <3

Wondrous Suffering

A few weeks ago a beloved friend posted this to his Facebook page- and I'll admit, it's not left my mind since. I've thought so much on this I sent it  to another friend- much smarter, much more self intuited then me- to get his take on it. His response was perfectly beautiful, yet I could not quite pinpoint WHY this would not leave me.

I journaled some on it, looked deeper into the thoughts of various scholars, including Biblical ones, as to their take on suffering. The why, the meaning, the processing. Seriously powerful reading and information.

My life has embodied suffering. I don't mean falling down and scraping my knee- I mean deep, open wound, harrowing suffering. My  childhood memories aren't of laughter, stories, snuggling, safety. They are, rather, detailed remembrances of the death of my baby brother- whom I found dead in his crib; the anger, violence, fear of my parents splitting up, screaming vulgarities at one another, while us children sat in between crying.

Two incidents that forever changed me and the course of my life also happened at this time- I believe I was four, maybe five. When my father left, we- my two sisters, brother, and pregnant mother- had nothing. We lived in poverty- food stamps, welfare, raggedy hand-me-down clothes. For a period of time, we also lived without electricity- we simply did not have the money to pay the bill. We would boil water on the gas stove, mix it with the cold tap water, and we would all bathe in the same water.  We lived by candles and oil lamps- I can still smell them :). I did not understand everything at that time, but I remember a constant feeling of shame at school. And my mother trying to hold it all together...But one day, we arrived home, and the fort porch light was on. The. Light. Was. On. Electricity had returned. Who had paid the bill? Not us, we still could barely have food on the table. It was our community. They saw the great need, without asking or pausing for second thoughts, they came together to help our family. It's never left me. To this very day, my heart grows full and overflows to tears at the gesture. At that tender age, I understood the critical nature of community, of serving, of being selfless and unconditional when it came to those in need.

The second incident is not as sweet. Actually, it's scary, ugly, unsettling. Suffering, by it's ver nature, is relentless and unwavering. The strongest person placed under the weight of unrelenting suffering will seek a means- any means- to have a break, to not feel it, to escape- if only for a brief period of time. I still don't fully appreciate how my mother endured for as long as she did. But one night, she needed to stop feeling for a bit. So she drank- a lot. It was so scary, so sad, so full of defeat and pain. A friend cam ever to help- again, community not failing. We all made it through, the next day was filled with emotional conflicts nonstop.

Shortly after this, Jeremiah,my baby brother, passed away. Unimaginable suffering- still difficult to comprehend.

And the suffering did not stop, or seemingly ease up, from there. I've survived emotional, physical, psychological, sexual, abuse and manipulation. I was brutally raped, held hostage in his home for nearly nine hours as he violated every piece of my body- my middle son is the result, incredible child. I developed eating disorders, abused alcohol, used-and severely hurt-many men, I became overly competitive and perfectionistic, I was a gross control freak, I lived my life my way and readily ignored anyone who tried to invest in me. I was lonely, miserable, living in fear and shame- and said  in my suffering because I believed I deserved it.

Dichotomously, I also volunteered and served nonstop, too. The lessons of old never left me, and i was adamant about being engaged in community, giving all I possibly could, letting others know they were valued and worth investing in. Confusing.

I prayed for so long, to a God I was certain had left me behind, to help me change, to understand why i was acting this way, to- if there was ANY way possible- let me get paid to volunteer. It was a long journey  to answers and understanding- but that journey taught me the beauty of suffering.

It sounds farcical, doesn't it? Beauty and wonder in being torn apart in all manners?? But, that's what happened. I ssssllllooooowwwwly- slightly slower than snails pace- began making changes, but seeking to understand the WHY of the behavior. I started getting involved at church, in groups, telling my story. The telling of my story began a seismic, all encompassing shift.

I began to understand that suffering opens doors to purpose, to deeper community, to freedom from all the crap. The walls I had solidified and reinforced began to come down, I began to embrace the childhood I had lost, the unwanted acts of sex and violence that I had been forced into, I had my eyes opened to the fact that I could change the legacy of my children- I could break patterns, I could show them a different life, better outcomes.

I fell in love with the beauty of suffering because it led me to the person who I was created to be. And I love this girl.

Suffering is snot of God, but it's often who we blame. Nothing the happened to me was an act of God, they were all acts of broken humans living in a fallen world. At my weakest, I was in the darkest pit of despair, depression, self loathing, bitterness I'd ever encountered- it was after the birth of my middle son. I was gathering laundry, the baby had finally fallen asleep, I went to step down tot he basement to start yet another load of clothes- and I fell. From the tip-top all the way down- and I lost my shit. I was ugly crying, cussing God out, saying vulgar things I'd never say to another human, all the while surrounded by poopy baby clothes. And I sat there for a bit just crying, it was all I could do. I didn't want to do it anymore. I was done doing everything alone all the time- caring for two young boys. I was done. Kaput. Defeated. As i got still, preparing to pick up the mess and continue on, a voice inside said "remember this exact moment." It made no sense, and to be frank, I out loud replied "fuck you."

But it was that moment, the moment where all my guards were down, I knew I had no control, I was exactly myself- not pretending to be anyone else because I was alone. The moment I let everything go and got totally real with myself, my emotions, with God, with life, that I embraced every part of my story, my journey, my suffering, my hurts, my disappointment, shame, and fear.

My true community appeared, those who were unhealthy fell away. I began to figure out who I was and what my purpose, intentions, ID in Christ, my actual self was. Tings began to make more sense as I began to listen and understand the WHY of pain.

I was invited to share my story in many forums, I began to help change the lives of women who had endured so much and had lost hope. I began to seek mentors and others began to seek me. Redemption. Beauty.

Here's the thing: we ALL encounter pain and suffering. It's not if, but when. And what I've learned, what I continue to learn, what I base the mission of my nonprofits on is this- pain and suffering are transformative tools used to go into this world and help others. And that's the beauty.

Glennon Doyle Melton says this: ..."run toward your pain, let it be your fuel"..."the warrior knows that heartbreak is the map that will lead to purpose and tribe." (my paraphrasing).

Wondrous suffering, indeed.

The Wordless Headstone

Time engraves our faces with all the tears we have not shed. -Natalie Clifford Barney, poet, playwright, and novelist (31 Oct 1876-1972) 

Allow me to preface this by stating that I know many of you are still waiting for Nepal ohs-has, views, and posts. These have been neither neglected nor forgotten. There are still some things I am personally wending, reflecting, processing,  and working through; but, more importantly, there's some very cool behind the scenes work in the making currently that we are not quite ready to let loose yet. So, please, forgive the delay. 

This post is about here, life in these United States. We've been under some weighted, pressing matters of late- and I...well, I a still trying to locate the big girl pants that allow me to adultly deal with such issues (I'm still looking, btw). 

By my own admission, I am not a crier. Not only am I not a crier, I am hardly an emotional-er at all. I desperately want to be heard, but then my voice gets shoved down. I really miss communicating with Peter, but in the end it seems nothing arises from me other than nods and grunts- attractive, no? And it's odd, because I currently have three journals going, I talk to my therapist, and always my best friend...and yet....

So, today, after therapy, and another evaluation for Solomon, I was kinda on the edge of some unidentified emotion. My plan was to drop off a few cards, run a couple errands, give my girlfriend in her own battle a hug, and head home. But, when I stopped to comfort my friend, out of my mouth jumped words, major words, and we were code talking around her kids in the dining room. 

And then. I. Was. Crying. Well, we both began crying. But wet things began to stream from my face. I could not complete thoughts or sentences, I'm sure I sounded like a buffoon, but I cried. 

I left soon after and came home to journal, and clean, but mostly journal. As I was reading, the featured quote came into my path and it stopped me. It's too true. My life has been challenging in every possible way- which is why emotions and tears don't come easy for me. The past few months have piled on difficulties of every nature- and I've held it all in, bravely (read:stupidly). 

It is not brave to withhold from those who love, support, encourage, bold into you, and hold you whey can't hold yourself. It's selfish. Everything held in becomes a permanent engraving/tattoo somewhere in our body. It takes a tool- on relationships and on the physical body. 

I'm learning. I doubt I'll turn into a tear factory anytime soon, but today's experiences touched me in many raw places I've been ignoring. 

My life is spent helping others, traveling the world, finding their needs, solving problems. My heart breaks for and goes out to them- I literally dump all of my being into these folks in need. But, I a a folk in need- and Peter, Alex, Jonah, Solomon, Gail, Natasha, the list is endless. 

It's time for me to stop ignoring the tenderness and embrace myself and those I love most.