Hard

I post a lot about running on Facebook.  I share details of almost every run.  I am that girl.

I do it partially to hold myself accountable in my training.  I have a schedule that I need to stick to.  I need the inspiration that likes and comments provide.

The other reason I do it is because I never thought I would be here.

When I was in college, I faced a health crisis that took a long time to identify and resolve.  During that time, fatalism, drama and self-absorption combined in such a way that I could not see beyond the pain I felt in the moment.  When I thought about the future it was in abstract terms.  I wanted jobs, marriage, family, a future but I couldn't really see myself with any of those things.  I was sick.  I was in pain.  I figured I would die and that would be it.  The end.  No future.

But I didn't die.  My health crisis was diagnosed and resolved.  Jobs came (many, many, many jobs).  I got married.  We traveled a long path to family.  I began to see a future with me in it.

However, my old way of thinking still persisted.  Doubts, "I'm not strong", "I'm not good enough",  "I can't do this", became the soundtrack in my head.  So I didn't do anything.  Well that is not true.  I did lots of things halfheartedly.  I couldn't stick with anything because I wouldn't do it right.  Try this.  Quit this.  Try that.  Quit that.  Think about trying that other thing.  Don't try that other thing.  What about ...?  No, never mind.

Few years ago I had a wake up call.  I had to change my way of living.  I couldn't do it anymore.  It was exhausting.  I was mentally, emotionally and spiritually dead.  I might as well have been physically dead.  So I stopped, surrendered and changed.  Slowly, sometimes almost imperceptibly, I became a new, better version of myself.

As I got stronger, I saw that I could do things.  I could do "easy" things.  I got up, I made my bed, I fed, clothed and took care of my kids.  I did life.  I wondered about the hard things.  Could I do them too?

Running is a hard thing.

It seems easy enough, moving at a pace faster than walking.  But it's not easy.  I have to push my body past it's comfort zone, take more steps, go farther, move quicker.  The mental challenge is equally tough.  I have to convince myself that my mind is lying.  The familiar thoughts of "I can't", "It hurts", "No more" play like a broken record.  Those are fears, lies.  They are not truth.  So every time I am out there I have to tell my mind to shut up.  "No! I can do this."  "I am strong."

The running posts I share are not boasts.  They are my way of reminding myself that I am here.  I am doing.  I am living.

Scared

I left the house this morning with my computer saying I am going to write today.  I always have the intention to write but I get distracted with social media.  Next thing I know an hour has passed without me writing anything other than a Facebook status.  But not today, today I will write.

I had intentions of writing about running.  Running is my happy place.  It brings me peace and joy.  It clears my mind and makes me feel strong.  But that is not what I am going to write about today.

As always after I got my coffee I opened Facebook right away.  A few minutes won’t hurt, just a few.  I clicked a few links, learned some things and laughed a bit.  I saw Momastery’s series Sacred/Scared and clicked the link.  I read and started to cry real, ugly tears in the middle of a coffee shop.  

The women who shared their stories were women I admire - beautiful, strong and smart.  I had followed them for years.  I assumed they were better than me.  They had done things.  They were somebody.  They were perfect.  But they weren’t better than me.  They weren’t perfect.  They were scared.  They had insecurities and fears.  And they were strong enough to share them in this beautiful series to let us know that we are not alone.

So today I am going to share one of my biggest insecurities.

 I am afraid that I will never have friends and I will always be alone.

 

This is the same fear I’ve had since I was 4 years old.  I cried about it at 6, at 16, at 36 and even yesterday.

It’s true. 

It’s true because I am alone all the time.  I sit alone at a coffee shop.  I see people meeting for coffee.  I see them hugging and laughing while I am alone.  I sit at home with my family on the weekend.  I see pictures of gatherings on Facebook.  I wasn’t there.  I wasn’t invited.  My phone doesn’t ring.  I hear people making plans.  “I’ll see you there.”  Then they see me, say “Hi” and they walk away.  I don’t have someone who knows me, who wants me, who cares.

It’s true that I don’t have friends because I am always alone.

It’s false.

It’s false because I have friends I run with, friends I kayak with in the summer.  I get together with girlfriends from Law School for a vacation every year.   I see women on regular basis who are glad to see me.  They are always there with a smile and a hug.  I have a contact list in my phone full of women I can call at any moment.  I can invite them for coffee.  I can laugh and cry with them.  I know that it is false because I have friends.

It’s true and it’s false.  I have the potential to have friends, to make connections.  But I can’t make it a reality.  I don’t call.  I don’t know what to say.  I think people are too busy.  They don’t want to hear from me.  I don’t know how to make the connection, to say I want to get to know you.  Shy and anxiety ridden, I keep it on a surface level but inside I’m crying out.  Notice me!  Like me!  Choose me!

But if I don’t make the effort to change, nothing will change.  So every morning I offer up a prayer; please let me open up, to take a risk, to let someone in.  And today just may be that day.

Frozen

I've lived here my entire life.  I know it gets cold in the winter.  I know it gets really cold sometimes and really, really cold a few times.

But when I see - floating before a number, something deep inside seizes up.  The fear response kicks in.  Cold is bad.  Cold is scary.  Really, really cold is deadly.  So I make plans.  I stock up.  I hunker down.  And I stay the eff inside.

Except when I don't.

Frink called on Tuesday "There are Packer tickets available.  Do you want to go to the game?"  I did a spit take.  What?  Packer tickets?  There are never, ever Packer tickets available.  Ever.  My green and gold loving heart lept.  "Heck yeah I want to go!  Buy them!"

Then I saw the weather report.  Freezing cold.  Polar vortex.  Oh.  My.  God.  I'm going to the game.  Outside.  I'm going to sit outside for 3 hours.  I am going to die.

I proceeded to freak out for the next few days.  If you saw my Facebook feed, you know what I'm talking about.  The fear kicked in.  It took root in my brain and would not let go.  I could not get over the fact that it would be that cold.  I would freeze, get frost bite, die of hypothermia or a heart attack.

I tested out my gameday outfit 3 days before the game.  I went to the store and bought more.  More clothes, more layers, something, anything to protect me.  Frink saw me freaking out.  He didn't make fun of me.  He simply said "Let me know if you don't want to go.  I need to find someone else to go with me."

I had an out.  But I never took it.  I was terrified but I was going.

So I freaked out.  I added layers and more layers.  I updated my will (because of course I'm going to die).  But I never backed out.

I settled down during the two hour drive.  I was calm during the walk to the stadium.  I was approaching happy as we stood in line.  I was excited by the time we got to our seats just as the ball kicked off.  I screamed.  I cheered my heart out.  I was sad at the end.

But I was never, ever cold.

Contagious

Activity begets activity.  It's evident in my running.  Once I start I can't stop.  I run one day and the next thing I know I am waking up at 6 am four days in a row to pound the pavement.  I love it.  I need it.

I'm finding it now in other areas as well.  Rather than sitting and watching reruns of Grey's Anatomy during Lion's nap time, yesterday found me on my hands and knees digging through our game and puzzle bins.  Games and puzzles that had not seen the light of day in months were taken downstairs.  A part of me wanted to take them directly to  Goodwill but baby steps.  Once I know they have all the pieces and no one asks where they are, they will be gone.  I know that now.

After I hung the canvases on the wall, I knew it needed more.  So Lion and I got the paints out and went to work.

It was fun.

It was comforting.

It was familiar.

The rhythm we had was so much like the one I used to have with Bunny when she was his age.  The questions about what will happen if you mix one color with another, the desire to paint one after the other, all so similar.  He's even painting his own version of Hamstacks (albiet without the fascinating backstory of French scientists who live at the circus).

And now I'm blogging again.  I haven't blogged with any real regularity in months, maybe even a year.  But here I am three days in a row in a place I haven't been in so long.  I don't know why but it just feels right.  It feels like something I need to do.  My first blogging home But Why Mommy doesn't feel like fits anymore.  I'm still a mom but it's not all I am.  This is freer, there are no expectations here.

I once had dreams of being a style blogger, a craft blogger, something.  Now I don't.  Maybe it's age, maybe it's maturity, maybe it's apathy.  I'm writing for me.  I'm writing about the things I want.  There are no apologies for being gone for so long.  I obviously needed the break.  There are no promises of more.  I may be here in a week, a month, a year or I may not.  But I am here now and I think I'd like to stay.

Half Finished

I am the queen of half finished projects. 

I get a brilliant idea in my head.  I rush out to the craft store.  I start.  And then I don't finish.

My room is full of baskets containing unfinished crochet projects and yarn that didn't quite make it into a project.  The craft room of doom contains piles of beads, empty canvases and a dormant sewing machine.  Even if I finish a project there is no guarantee that anything will be done with it.  It may lay forgotten on a table or a shelf for months.

Last year we repainted our green living room a lovely latte color.  It is brighter and lighter but it lacks the punch that green had.  So one day when the kids were painting, I decided to join in.  I grabbed three canvases, some mod podge, textured paper and a bunch of paint.  I glued, papered and mixed the paints on the canvases.  It was fun and I was pleased with the results.

I had every intention of hanging the canvases on the living room wall near the TV. 

I meant to do it, I really did.  But I didn't.

The canvases were added to the piles in the craft room of doom.  Every time I saw them I meant to hang them, I really did.  But I didn't.  I did nothing with them for months.

And then one day in a fit of inspiration, I hung them on the wall.  The organization may not be the greatest but they are on the wall.  I finished something!

Day 33 - Starting Is Good But Finishing Is Better

So I am 33 days into this little project and I've learned a few things about myself.

First I am a bit of a magpie when it comes to my crafting. I fit the definintion of a person who collects things widely and indiscriminately. I flit from project to project. If it strikes my fancy at the moment I will follow where it leads. Its like every day I see something shiny that distracts me, which leads to my second discovery . . .

I can start projects with the best of them but I don't always finish. Sometimes its because I get distracted easily. Newer is always better. But its also has something to do with my perfectionism. If I can't get it just so, if its not right or perfect, I toss it aside in frustration. I started this sweater for my friend's daughter but for the life of me I cannot get the skirt of the sweater right. I have worked and reworked it but it just does not come out like its supposed to. So it sits there taunting me in a pile of other unfinished projects.

Maybe bigger isn't better for me. Maybe I need to work on small, discrete projects so I can actually accomplish something. Or maybe I just need to follow that shiny muse to see where she takes me.

Day 31 - When The World Is Running Down

You make the best of what's still around.

Yesterday I was happily crafting away on the Dabbled Anti-Valentine's contest when my house literally started running down around me. We had issues with both (yes both) toilets. Neither were flushing well so we called the plumber.

I hate calling people for help. It costs a lot of money and you usually find out that you could have fixed it yourself for half the cost. But toilets are a necessity so I called, only to find out that there was nothing wrong with the toilets or the pipes.

We got a vauge diagnosis that it was a "problem" with the air vent. The guy thought it might be frozen or clogged so we need to find someone to climb on to our roof to find out. Well all righty then.

So now we are living in a broke down house with buckets instead of flushing and I spent the rest of the afternoon drawing cartoon hearts with glitter glue. It kept me from crying, which I guess is all you can ask for in this circumstance.