Warmth in Winter

Today marks an end and a beginning - a swirl of emotion so quick moving I cannot capture one to claim as the dominant force. After six weeks of recovery following surgery, it is time to return to work and life as usual. I have been on disability during this time, laying in bed for two weeks, aside from frequent, short walks around the house. The following four were more active, but not by much. I watched copious amounts of television, including at least three full seasons of the show Suits and more movies and miniseries created for Amazon Prime than is natural for any one person to consume. I hurt, but it wasn't the physical pain that ever felt overwhelming. I ached to participate in the life happening around me. To lay around is not on my list of top qualities. I was missing my girls' games, practices, play dates, parties...I was missing everything.

That is, I was missing it all until I started to use the time to my advantage. When I accepted my situation for what it was - rest - I allowed my body and mind to relax. I was able to focus on the parts of me that needed healing in ways I never had before. As other folks were working on their New Year's Resolutions to lose weight and get physically fit, I was dropping lots of extra mental baggage and strengthening my thoughts. There aren't cool Instagram selfies to take laying in your bed contemplating your goals and vision of your life like all my friends in the gym, but I can promise the effort was just as intense. There were books, podcasts, and vision boards to read, listen to and create.

I actively practiced gratitude, especially on the days pain or sadness were at their greatest. I dreamt of what the best of my future self would look like and began to create goals to get me there. What will I do? How will I act? Who will surround me when I get there? Each day was a chance to get closer to joy. There was meditation, prayer, tears, laughter, and sharing with others. I started speaking my plans out into the world...claiming my success as if it had already happened.

Taking the time to care for myself, and allowing others to care for me, reminded me that it is okay to stop the mad rush. It allowed me the incredible opportunity to embrace all I have with tremendous appreciation, let go of the things weighing me down, and invest in loving on those who lift me up. Wellness is so much more than working out or eating right. It is feeding your mind and body the positive thoughts, beliefs and mantras it needs to keep going when you are at your lowest. We find the strongest parts of ourselves by pushing through the tests we are given. Our faith in God and in each other is forged in the fires of pain and difficulty. It is easy to be strong when the sun is shining, but in the cold, darkness of winter, when you can find light and warmth, you are dialing in on the graces that make you powerful.

Healing Peace

What is healing?

How do I heal?

Will I ever fully heal?

As I contemplate or attempt to answer these questions, the one thing I know for sure is that true, deep, pain always requires dedication. To rid - or even diminish the hurt to a dull ache - means a commitment to bettering and strengthening the weakest parts of myself.

Is it physical pain? Is it emotional? Or, is it the pain that moves from mind to body and back to mind all over again - pushing and pulling from the mental and physical anguish that becomes difficult to decipher? I've had it all. I've fought it all. Now, I am learning that fighting the pain isn't the answer. Fighting through a challenge - sure. But the pain itself cannot be defeated by being pushed around.

For me, accepting hurt as a real and present "thing" is the start. Like a Rubiks Cube needing to be solved - all the colors mixed up and twisted - I hold my struggle, acknowledging its brightly colored squares and its jumbled pieces each one representing the parts of myself not in the right place. I see its causes and search for order. I feel the pricks of its reality and the frustration of not being able to flip the pieces around easily.

Hurt is something I can't just solve, though. In the moments of holding my struggle in my heart, mind, and soul I am allowing myself to be vulnerable and strong all at once. Because looking a monster in the eye is a scary premise, but in staring him down, I can start to see him for who he is, peeling away his armor and weakening his venom. I tell myself it is okay to cry or scream - letting the fear release from my physical body. It is around me and in me, but in seeing and holding the pain, I can now find a way to walk through the darkness and disarm the monster.

I find space to acknowledge my grief and struggle - where I can live with the hurt for a minute. Mine is best found by the waves of water lapping on the shore. The vastness of the sea and its appearance of never-ending depth and distance brings me back to earth and somehow connects me with God. My purpose in life is big, but my problems are but a single grain of sand in this world.

I breathe in the salty air.

I exhale the struggle.

God did not give me life to center on the pain I am feeling. I am experiencing this tough time, because I am human. In this moment I actively call to mind times where I overcame, where I felt the joy of success, what it feels like to be loved. I conjure the good and breathe in and out, in and out. I practice the feeling of knowing I will prevail. The work is never done, so I breathe in and out again and again. I allow myself to listen and feel.

I turn the struggle over to God. I set it out for the world. I know in my soul what I cannot control. And what I can, I take ownership of. I am accountable to myself and admit the role I play in causing myself this pain. I take the hurt apart and look at each piece. I move forward with the plan and purpose of correcting my wrongdoing and my course. I forgive those who have brought me to this place. They will need to answer for their own pain. I don't need to own that, too. I let go. I have faith that between God's grace and favor, and my own dedication, accountability, and hard work, I will heal from this hurt.

Traumas and disappointments don't just vanish upon first defeat. They come back at inopportune times and are often triggered by memories or images we aren't expecting to confront. But having the strength and understanding that I looked down the barrel and lived once will help me do so again and again. I slayed that monster, remember?

So yes, I will struggle again. That is the way of life. Yet, I will have a place - even if it is an escape through the memories tucked in the corner of my mind - where the sounds and feelings of the sea and sand settle my soul and center my heart. I will know what healing feels like. It is peace.

Warrior

I visited an urgent care office today. My face was throbbing, daggers shooting down my throat, and my head aching. I had my vitals checked by the nurse, and was assured I wasn't dying. Cue the doctor and the normal battery of questions - family history, allergies, current medications, last menstrual cycle...

I froze. How do I answer that properly?

"Well, I had a hysterectomy on January 7th, so, I guess..." I stuttered.

"Oh, no worries," she cut in. "That clears up the question. You're just so young."

While the hysterectomy was medically necessary, and I had made the decision to have no more children years prior, it was weird to say "hysterectomy" out loud to a stranger. The words felt like marbles in my mouth, and her apparent shock hit me in an unexpected way. I felt judged and defensive. A spoonful of reality I had swallowed willingly suddenly tasted sour. I seemingly failed the intake questionnaire.

As the day wore on, the optics of the conversation changed. I was able to refocus and recenter my thinking. Friends, I remembered what this whole thing was about. And it was never about my ability - or now inability - to have children. I did that miraculously and with sweet imperfect perfection twice. My age wasn't a factor for me. I needed this surgery, so I worked with my doctor to respond to my issues in a way that made sense for my health.

This period of time in my life has been intended for healing. I'm not my pain, but I did live with it for much too long. I am not a failing uterus, and I am certainly not less of a woman because I had mine removed. Rather, I am a woman who will strive tirelessly for wellness, strength, and the ability to be there for my children in a real and present way. I have been fighting against my own body for close to a decade. At 40, I decided that wouldn't be my future. Not because I will never feel pain again, but because I won't be defined by it.

So, my dear, put on your war paint (or charcoal mask), your battle gear (or camo athleisure), and demand better for yourself. No one will do it for you. If you look at yourself and see hurt, you will find it at every turn. But, even during recovery from a major surgery, if you choose to see a warrior, you will find her. I promise.

(And, so you know, it was a sinus infection. With some steroids and antibiotics, I should be fine in no time. God bless modern medicine.)

Finding Joy at 40

Today, I am 40 years old. 40. I couldn't wait for this day to come. For more than a year I have been planning the party that will take place. I have envisioned the location, people, decorations, and general feeling of celebration. I love birthdays, and such a milestone brings fanfare and fun. That's totally my thing.

Yet, in the months leading up to this big birthday, life took a shift. I was thrown blow after blow. First, the barn we are building would not be complete. There went the location I had been decorating in my dreams. Then, I literally smashed my face into pavement, breaking my nose. There went the pain free, physically active everyday streak I was on...and the leave from work I planned to take in order to prepare for the shindig. Next, a category 4 hurricane made landfall and ripped through our home away from home in Florida. This upended my eagerly awaited couples' trip and put into question our investment properties and retirement plan.

The joy and anticipation I had been building up was now buried beneath disappointment, hurt, and fear. Not because I was getting older, but because I couldn't see beyond the punches to the gut I was taking. I woke up everyday questioning God's plan. What was I supposed to be learning from this? Why was this all happening - and at once? Like cold water to the face, I needed to wake up to the truth. Again, I was the problem. Crap happens. Life isn't always going to go my way. I haven't been working so hard everyday for months to practice gratitude to learn how to be happy when life is roses and rainbows. I was training myself to reach for gratitude when I am feeling low.

Since this is still a muscle I am learning to use and flex, it didn't come easy. The tough stuff is tough after all. But when I started to look for the cracks of light through the dark clouds, I kept finding more and more sun shining into my heart.

I have a home to welcome my family and friends into for the celebration I planned. The layout is different now, but the party will go on. The barn isn't a wasted effort. It is moving along (though at a slower pace) and will be completed at some point. We'll be so happy to have future parties there, and they, too, will be fabulous.

My nose, though it still hurts, is put back together. I still look like me, and I am BLESSED to have great medical coverage. In addition, my friends and family were incredibly loving and supportive as I navigated through the trauma. I was showered with love and gentle care, encouragement and more love. How can you not see the joy in all of that?

From Hurricane Michael, our condominium building saw a little damage, but our units are fine. The area of town where we are situated was mostly spared from tremendous and devastating destruction. Sure, my vacation with friends needed to be postponed, but our dreams were not reduced to rubble as we feared.

And while we couldn't make the couples' trip work, we will reschedule. Everyone was disappointed, but no one is giving up on the trip. We just had to switch the timeline. And my husband, being the brilliant man he is, recognized the stress and struggle I was fighting through and swept me away to one of our favorite places for fun. It wasn't the weekend we planned, yet it was the answer to my prayers. He reminded me - yet again - why I choose him everyday. I was treated to a four day date where everything was as I wished - meals, naps, gambling, drinks, a comedy show, shopping, movies, more naps. There was romance and friendship. There was rest and a break. He saw me. Nothing feels better than that level of love.

There was joy. There is joy. It is all a matter of perspective.

In my twenties, I received my college education, moved out on my own, and got married. There was a sense of infancy as I began that decade of my life, slowly learning to toddle my way through adulthood. I started a career and began to take on new roles - like wife, lessee, car owner, and payer of bills. Everything was exciting and new, but also so much bigger and heavier than in my teens. The decisions I made really mattered and carried weight. I had to learn how to budget both time and money. People relied on me at work and at home, and responsibility started to mean more than getting an essay in on time. I began to carve out a path for myself. The terrain was rough, and I had the skinned knees to prove it. My footing became more and more sure of itself, though, and the path became a little clearer and smoother. Lots of winding and hills, but it was mine.

My thirties, on the other hand, felt like puberty - lots of change that wasn't always as awesome as you imagined. Hello, motherhood. There was one - and then two - girls who changed my life in ways words have yet to define. Learning to be a mom is a work in progress, obviously, but the shock and gravity of the "job", and the worry that comes alongside it, was something to grapple with before I could truly stand securely. As I worked to figure out what being a mom meant to me (how it felt, what it looked like), I teetered less and less and began to take root.

Throughout this time, I also sought out people to help when the earth shook me off my axis (or I just needed someone who simply understood the current day's drama). I navigated my way through the mommy circles to find my tribe. The women who have become confidants and cheerleaders gave me a sense of community and belonging I needed to build my individual confidence. Through new and lifelong friendships I stitched a beautiful quilt of connections and warmth - my very own safety blanket.

Plus, I got to witness my husband growing as a father to our girls and a partner for me. That was also a tremendous boost for me. Our family grew, and we did, too.

As I enter this new decade, I am excited beyond measure. I feel much less awkward and gawky. The need to impress others or seek their approval is of less and less importance. I have in no way, shape, or form figured it all out (like, not at all), but I am so much more confident in my beliefs, character, and sense of self. It is freeing and empowering. I continue to work on me everyday, which includes the needed effort to reach for joy on the bad days (yes, it is oh, so hard). Being happy is most definitely a choice. And I am choosing to make this my happiest birthday yet. Today, I am 40. Today, I am joyful.

Veiled

I have been in a state of mourning too long. Someone dear to me passed away 8 years ago. My heart broke, but not only for the loss, I was devastated to not have a memorial to attend. Her family held no funeral service or wake. It was as if she never existed.

At the most inexplicable times, I would catch a glimpse of her smile. I could feel her presence when my second daughter was born, when I crossed a 5K finish line, when I threw a party. She was there, but only in the background - a fuzzy feeling in my head and an ache in my heart.

Her death felt like a storm inside me - rumbling, crashing and dangerous. I never had the closure of a goodbye or the peace knowing she was resting in comfort, so the storm continue to swirl. The resentment boiled up into anger inside of me. No one cared to acknowledge the loss, talk about her, or attempted to understand my pain. How could they go on as if nothing changed?

I took my hurt and crawled into a cave for which no one else had the address. While I have incredible support and companionship in my life, I have been immersed in such a sadness that a shell of pity surrounded me like the cloud of dirt and smell around Pigpen in the Charlie Brown cartoons. The pain became a barrier between me and everyone else.

There was a bridge not one person could cross. I was saving it for her.

It was a revelation when one day I woke up and a veil was lifted. My girls were playing down the hall in their rooms, while my husband's smooth sleepy breathing was a perfect, even tempo. It was extraordinarily ordinary. The same old thing felt new. I smiled and felt her rise up within me. While she changed at the scene of the crash all those years ago, maybe she didn't die. Maybe people weren't grieving her, because she was there...just different on the inside. Maybe she was lost.

I climbed out of bed with purpose. Everything would change now. I remember her - carefree, fun, and full of wit and joy. She had a spark and a great thirst for life. It's time to help her quench that thirst.

“being confident of this very thing, that He who has begun a good work in you will complete it until the day of Jesus Christ;” Phil 1:6

God did not start in me what He did not intend for me to finish. It may have taken me way too long to feel His arms around me, carrying me, but I am grateful He didn't give up. Now, as I learned to walk as a toddler, I will learn to walk out of the dark cave, practicing my balance, building my strength, and loving myself despite my many broken pieces. I will find confidence in my scars and power from my trauma.