On Being Fiercely 40 (now that I'm 41)

Darlings. Look at this! A blog post! I had to do it. For posterity. By the time I finish and publish this post I will be celebrating my non-official birthday and will have completed my 40th year on this mortal coil.

And what a year it was, yo.

Honestly? I have lost track of time and space this year. So much has happened it feels like at least 10. Which isn't a bad way to go when you are 40 and 40 happens to have been your favourite year so far.

I have always heard women proclaiming that their lives began at 40 and everything fell into place and it was the literal best and I was like..the lady doth protest too much, methinks. BUT I AM HERE TO TELL YOU IT IS ALL TRUE.

Which is not to say for a single second that 40 has been one big joyful skip in the meadow of serenity. Not so much. Not at all. I mean when I think back on the year I feel really happy and good about it but apparently lots of shit went down (which I know cognitively and I can even identify to be all too true for several moments like earlier today around 2pm as I sat in my empty bath, fully clothed texting  "FML" messages to a friend).

HOWEVER. HOW.EVER my general sense is that this year has been awesome and that isn't because it has been easy because it hasn't all been easy.  It's just that I feel like me.  And I'm (finally) cool with who I am. All messy and twisty and volatile and angry and peaceful and kind and bitchy and hurt and healed and wise and ridiculous and immature and disciplined and driven and lazy and cool and sexy and dorky and insecure and confident and self loathing and confused and clear thinking. All of me. I'm down with it. I finally am who I am and I love this crazy broad I call Myself.  Yes I do. And I make no apologies for whatever it is I am on any given day because...I am who I am. And that's what 40 looks like. That's the gift it's brought me. Accepting that I am who I am and working within that acceptance to be the best version of me that I can muster on any given day. And some days that looks like just getting out of bed (or getting into bed and staying away from the defenseless public).

Other stuff I love about being 40/41? I'm fortunate enough to be healthy and active and old enough to know how lucky I am to be healthy and active and experienced enough to be good to my body and treat it with the respect it deserves instead of doing crazy things to make it look a certain way I listen to it so that it can feel and function a certain way.  I'm not even going to pretend that I don't care about how it looks. I want it to look as good as it feels, and when it doesn't I get frustrated and I'm not sorry about that either. I think enjoying the way we look and feeling confident in our skin is nothing to be ashamed of and certainly something to strive for.  

I'm just not willing to do weird stupid things in the pursuit of appearance at the expense of being able to enjoy life.  I have never enjoyed being inside of my body more than I have this year.  And I know these are jinxing words and I know that this might sound braggy or insensitive to those who are struggling with health issues but please do know that I cherish every moment when I am challenging myself physically or just feeling relaxation or the good type of tired or pleasure in its many forms. I don't take it for granted. I have had long periods where I have struggled with considerable physical pain with illness and crushing fatigue, I know how soul destroying it is.  Having a healthy, vital body to live inside of as I have continued the hard work of healing from PTSD has been a beautiful gift which I appreciate with a great sense of joy and wonder.  This year I have done some sort of yoga almost every day,  I have kept up with running and I feel like I'm the best runner I have ever been since I started running at age 17. 

I finally figured out good form. Seriously, how did I not know how to run properly all these years and miles later?  A few months ago I started going to a mixed martial arts gym. A couple of years ago I would have laughed at the concept. It was so not me. But do you know what? I left my comfort zone and have discovered that Brazilian Jiu Jitsu and boxing have been the most fun, healing things I have done in a long time. But more on that later.

And as ever, the  PTSD thing. Man alive that's a beast! Am I right? However, it's a beast that can be conquered. With patience and determination and education and support. It can absolutely be conquered. I still struggle mightily some days. Life has a way of just pulling the freaking rug out whenever you think you are nailing it. Life is a total bitch that way.  But here's what's hopeful. I still get triggered from time to time and then I hate everything and it's the worst and I take a moment to do whatever just to stay alive and then...it passes. It. Passes.  There have not been any major spirals into despair. There haven't been any more weeks/months lost to torturous pain or perhaps worse..total catatonic numbness. There have been excruciatingly painful, confusing, isolating horrible moments, hours, maybe a day or two and one month in particular this year was grueling, but the reprieves have come quickly and regularly. This is profound progress.  Darlings, please listen to me. If you are in the catatonic numbness or the greyness of the days when you wish you could just cease to exist...please know that this too shall pass and with the right help, you are going to experience those times less and less and even when you are in them the edge will not be quite as sharp and the despair will not be as enveloping and terrifying. It honestly does get better.   And none of this is for naught. I have been so honoured to walk beside others on this journey. In places similar to where I am now, or further down or forward on the path of healing.  As an ex-Mormon, a religion which finds meaning in everything and nothing, it was weird to suddenly find myself at a loose end. Having to define my own belief system. Weird is the wrong word. It was devastating and horrifying and terrifying but also liberating AF and ultimately it has brought me so much peace.  My pain means something if I'm willing to use it to hold space for others who are experiencing their own.  And that's enough for me. I need nothing else to find meaning in my life. I'm here to help with what I've learned through suffering. There's enough struggle and grief in the world to keep me occupied with that for the rest of my days. And they will be days well spent if I do.

Being 40 has given me focus. I have streamlined my life considerably in recent months. My circle is small and tight, my commitments are few and focused, my goals are reasonable and I am patiently tenacious about achieving them. "Patiently tenacious" means that I am learning to adapt when necessary but that I'm not just rambling around in the dark hoping to get shit down. That's another thing about being 40, there's definitely a sense of actually actively figuring out how to get shit down rather than just dreaming and hoping about that "one day" when it will all magically fall into place.  I have checked a lot off the old bucket list this year. And once you get into that zone you find that it becomes easier and easier to do.

In summary this year I have loved my life (even when I've been cursing it) and I love my people. I am grateful to have lived another year of this brilliantly brutiful life. I have been incredibly fortunate in my circumstances and my relationships.  I so hope that I can live many more just as eventful, exciting, growth filled, humbling, confusing and fully alive as this one.  Thanks for being along for this ride, and for letting me be a part of yours.

And since I drink now (which by the way is really most enjoyable in moderation in case you were wondering), cheers and L'Chaim and bottoms up and all that!

Kisses,
k

On Celebrating 40: A State of Wellbeing Address

Hello fellow Being Alivers

Tomorrow I will celebrate being on this mortal coil for 40 years. 6 months ago I promised myself I would write a blog post today and this is that post.

Since February 6th I get the odd pal texting to say, "hey wasn't your birthday February? It says August on Facebook. I could have sworn it was February?"
 "Long story",  I always laugh. Here's that story:

When I think back on mid January 2016 I picture myself sitting in my car in a deserted parking lot at 10pm. The engine is off, it is freezing outside. I'm sitting in a fetal position in my front seat sobbing hysterically. I am a small child. Feeling terrified. Completely terrified. Alone and terrified. I have just received devastating news from my good kind completely innocent husband which has triggered this reaction inside my brain.  It goes from being news which cannot in reality threaten my safety or wellbeing in any way to something that is happening to me. Something which is a clear and present danger. I cannot ever see myself feeling safe or whole again. That is last Winter's defining memory. Winter ended. That dark night ended. A friend came to my rescue, that night, tucked me into bed in her guestroom. My sweet husband went shopping with me the next day for new curtains, we changed the furniture around so that my home, the place where I got that news could feel safe again.

That night was the last in a series of triggers that left me very broken. And then came putting the fractured pieces back together. Good, GOOD in every sense of the word, oh I'm choking back tears now thinking about JUST HOW GOOD they are, people sit vigil with me. In person, over the phone, reaching out late, late at night through text messages, they sent me funny memes, beautiful playlists, sent me endless patience, endless love, constant reassurance that the dawn will come, that I'm worth fighting for.

Expecting nothing, wanting nothing in return but for me to believe that.

I started seeing my blessed therapist regularly. I told her that how triggering my birthday has always been for me. What a struggle it is. How I have always actually looked forward to turning 40 but not this way. Not this way. I didn't want to feel like a frightened damaged child. I wanted it to be a celebration of the woman I am.

A woman who clawed her way through 30 years of PTSD, incorrectly labeled as depression, without having a clue of what she was fighting. A woman who nonetheless passionately raised 5 beautiful amazing children far from her home country, far from family support. Who moved across the country heavily pregnant with small children in tow, not once but twice and started all over again. A woman who finished her business degree with honours, with 4 small children and a couple of side jobs. Who achieved many things. Created businesses. Has a good heart. Helped  people. Created a peaceful happy safe fun home. Was a supportive loving wife for 20 years. Was a loyal friend. Contributed to her community. Loves and looks for beauty every day. Laughs easily, loves music, loves to dance. Loves life.

I told her that I didn't want to feel as though 40 was something that happened to me against my will. I wanted to welcome it and celebrate it for the huge privilege it is. I told her that I had an idea. I would celebrate it on August 6th. A historically happy day. The day my cherished little brother's first son was born. Also my "1/2 birthday". It would be in the summer! It would be a date for me to work towards. And I would even change it on facebook to make it official. "It's brilliant!" she laughed. All friends and family who knew, were forbade from acknowledging February 6th as my birthday. And I went to work.

I went to work. I went to therapy, I ran, I did yoga. I started to eat better. To avoid sugar and other foods which made me feel sick or sluggish.  I read all I could on PTSD.  I tried to be more disciplined about rest. I started to come alive. I started to feel whole again.

And then I made a big mistake. I stopped therapy for a while. I'm not exactly sure why. Then a slow, slow Spring arrived and with it the perfect storm of triggers. The terrible, frightening feelings rushed back. The PTSD went through what I now recognize as its predictable cycle of shutting me down.  But this time it was extra devastating. This time it arrived with a chilling message: I would never be ok. I thought I would but here I was, right back where I started. I couldn't keep doing this I could not. I couldn't do this to my family, to my children.  I tried so  hard to explain to my inner circle why it was better that I didn't. They told me I was wrong. That I was entirely wrong. That the PTSD was full of bullshit and lies. That I would beat it. They rallied again. AGAIN. They doubled down on love, reassurance, they sent more music, more funny texts morning, midday and night. One friend divided up a book he had written and sent me it to me in daily postcards. A book! Into DAILY POSTCARDS.  A friend called when I told her via text that I wasn't ok but no, I wouldn't be able to talk. She said, "but can you just listen, baby?" I could listen. I did listen. By the end of the conversation I was laughing. Of course. Laughter always saves me. Laughter and love.

My siblings rallied with comfort and advice at all hours. My sister was ready and willing to fly me to her in South Africa on a day's notice. Research on how to help me was made on my behalf. Texts flurried back and forth between my girlfriends and my husband. I was given the message that all that was expected of me was to heal.  Other friends quietly, practically and faithfully did everything they could to keep things on an even non-stressful keel for the family. Kids were ferried to and fro without me even having to ask. My husband was both mother and father. So many huge and small but always quiet acts of service and love were performed for my children on my behalf that I may never know but that I will always, always feel unspeakable gratitude for.  Thank you. So much. This human connection gave me the faith and hope that life wasn't just a ridiculous cycle of marking time until death.

Once early in the year I lay under my covers, a dark safe cave. Listening to music.  I had just listened to a song by the Verve that had been recommended by my friend, one of my lifelines with whom I was texting, as he described the bright future he felt was definitely ahead of me. As I read the hopeful reassuring words, the next track, One Day by the Verve came on. It was what I call a movie soundtrack moment.  Reiterating all that was being said. All the things that had been said. Nothing can really penetrate a message into my soul the way music and nature can.

Whenever I feel low or I feel that I need the reminder to be disciplined about doing the work I run in the woods and listen to this song. And whenever I do,  I think about paying it forward. I send my love out to all the people I know who are walking in pain and all the people I don't know who are walking in pain.  With every footstep on soft forest floor and with every heartbeat I send this message to  those beautiful people as the message was sent to me

"You've got to tie yourself to the mast my friend and the storm will end."

Tomorrow I'm going to celebrate the privilege of being alive. In all its ugly glory. And then I'm going to get back to work. On myself and on paying it forward. I have taken many notes along this journey and it's time to share them in a more practical accessible way than I've been doing up to now. This blog has taken on many incarnations through its lifetime and I hope that this one will be its most valuable. That it will serve and help and comfort. That it can be added to the sea of voices that are out there to remind us that the fight is worth fighting. Even if you don't understand it, even when it seems pointless and ridiculous. 

This week I went see Coldplay (again) with my oldest son who is starting college in a couple of weeks. We experienced a pretty intense range of emotions that night from euphoria to flat out fear when our attempts to get home were more complicated than anticipated. Honestly I'm still recovering. Some of it was amazing and some of it was terrible but I wouldn't trade that night for all the world. Ending up at 3am in a hotel room with my son laughing hysterically over the events of the evening. Feeling that connection. Feeling so much love and pride in this amazing human being and so much privilege in sharing this connection. That's life. Sometimes it's wonderful and often it's terrible but it's a privilege and it's meant to be done together. If you're not feeling it right now, you will. Just tie yourself to the mast, my friend, this storm will end.  And then another will come. But that too will end. And through it all we will have each other.  xoxoxoxox

One day maybe we will dance again
Under fiery skies
One day maybe you will love again
Love that never dies

One day maybe you will see the land
Touch skin with sand
You've been swimming in the lonely sea
With no company

Oh, don't you want to find?
Can't you hear this beauty in life?
The roads, the highs, breaking up your life

Can't you hear this beauty in life?

One day maybe you will cry again
Just like a child
You've gotta tie yourself to the mast my friend
And the storm will end

Oh, don't you want to find?
Can't you hear this beauty in life?
The times, the highs, breaking up your mind
Can't you hear this beauty in life?

Oh, you're too afraid to touch

Too afraid you'll like it too much
The roads, the times, breaking up your mind
Can't you hear this beauty in life?

One day maybe I will dance again
One day maybe I will love again
One day maybe we will dance again
You know you've gotta
Tie yourself to the mast my friend
And the storm will end
One day maybe you will love again
You've gotta tie yourself to the mast my friend
And the storm will end

The long awaited Beautiful Game..and why aging is kind of beautiful..in its own way…I guess..sometimes..

When we first decided to move to South Africa we had hoped to leave mid-July. Correction: I had hoped to leave mid-July. The rest of the family would hear nothing of it. Why not? you might ask? They wanted to enjoy their last Summer in the US? The boys wanted to celebrate their birthday with their friends?  Nope.  Nope.
The answer as it inevitably is when I am in conflict with my family was…of course… SOCCER.
We had tickets for a soccer match. And thus our life’s plans had to be adjusted accordingly. If I’ve said it once I’ve said it a thousand times. “Soccer Rules Our Lives”.  And usually that rather infuriates and disgusts me.  But this time I couldn’t muster huge outrage. It wasn’t any soccer match. Kind of a once in a lifetime.  Here’s the thing. Benj’s all time favourite team Real Madrid played Finny’s all time favourite team Manchester United.  An hour away from our home. It was kind of a huge deal. 

Being so close to their birthdays and considering the lifelong consuming soccer obsession passion going on around here,  we figured that it would be a memorable family event and invested approximately 500, 000 dollars in tickets for the family. Really bad tickets actually (they sold out before they were supposed to even be on sale and we had to take what we could get.  Scalpers! You’re ruining it for everyone!)  Happily,  Benj’s coach scored some good seats and so we were able to get Benj and Gabe into those, but the rest of us were relegated to the oxygen seats. I didn’t have particularly high hopes with regards to actually seeing everything but figured it would be enough to be in the same stadium with such legends as Cristiano Ronaldo and Wayne Rooney…and 109,000 other folk.
 
At last the day arrived. We squared away the dog and the toddler and were on our way. Yay!  There were two slight dampers on the day…the promise of thunder storms and news that Cristiano Ronaldo was injured and would not be playing.  But we were still plenty excited as seen below. (Ella is looking at this as I post it and is most indignant not to be included in the shot).
  
We left home with plenty of time to spare we thought but by the time we parked, walked a couple of miles to the stadium, consumed a 7oo dollar hotdog each  (this was some terrible planning on our part…..always, always come into the stadium well-fed my friends,) it was getting fairly close to game time.

I made them pose for this picture  before I would give them their tickets. Benj especially was delighted about it.

We came into the stadium and as we gasped for oxygen (we seriously were in the second to last row) the first thing our younger 2 kids saw, (the older 2 ditched us as soon as they were in possession of their $2,000 hotdogs,)  were some of their favourite players warming up.  That moment was pure magic. They both involuntarily gasped and shrieked. They were there! They were real! They were playing! In living breathing colour!  Even I felt giddy. It was the coolest thing. Worth every penny, even the ones for the terrible hotdog. And turns out there aren’t really any bad seats in The Big House.  We could see the action a lot better than we anticipated (don’t judge the view from the terrible phone picture).

The pre-game atmosphere was awesome and it got off to a stirring start with the national anthem followed by an awesome flyover (you can watch it on my instagram account). Being the the nosebleed seats meant that we were the closest to it….sooo neener.


These are our “yay! We don’t have a three year old with us!” smiles.
It was a great action packed game with a final score of 3-1

the halftime entertainment was cool..in fact a kid from the boy’s school was in there somewhere…

The weather ended up being perfect and toward the end of the 2nd half me and Gracie thought we saw a familiar face on the big screen…but surely not…yes it was! The pretty boy himself…warming up..the crowd went beserk.

Everyone regardless of which team they allied with was beside themselves. He’s a soccer god. It’s got to be hard to be humble and it’s also got to suck being on a team with this guy. Basically you’re just along for the ride.  But he’s not just a pretty face man, that guy’s footwork is just….well it’s beautiful.
This kid had to have been pretty excited. (He had CR 7 carved into the other side).
 
In the end, pretty boy not withstanding MY pretty boy’s team won and he was stoked.
 
And so naturally we were too. This picture taken by an extremely inebriated yet pleasant young man who claimed to be a professional photographer. He got us all in the shot…can’t ask for more than that!

We hung out for a little while after and got to watch some post game playing,  a fully clothed “streaker” who managed to evade several burly security men for an admirable stretch of time touching various players before he surrendered and was unceremoniously piled upon and handcuffed.  I’m sure the next few hours weren’t particularly fun for him but it’s something to tell the grandkids after all. I overheard the woman in front of me telling her very well behaved three year old. “You’re not allowed to run onto the soccer field but if you don’t do that at least once in your 20’s I’ll be very disappointed.” Who says soccer moms aren’t cool? ;)

And then it was time to return to the real world… the scenic walk to our car

practicing our newly discovered moves along the way was the fun part. A little less fun was waiting in traffic for a couple of hours while officials figured out how to get 109,000 people out a small area which had been (prudently) mostly closed for construction. It’s not as if they had any warning that this was going to happen….erhem.
   
It was touch and go there for some people who had not had enough sustenance in the stadium…we did not expect another 2 hour wait for dinner but happily everyone survived and we ended our trip with a frantic run on Trader Joe’s whereupon we acted like animals and ripped open packages of food in the aisles in a feeding frenzy. What we didn’t eat on site we bought because…never let it be said that we do not learn from our mistakes of find ourselves snack-less in a vehicle and after all…we had to get back in the car again to drive home. When I got home last night and surveyed what we had bought it can only be summed up as a Celebration of Carbs. Holy moses. 
The drive home was probably  my sweetest memory though. Much as we all adore the Ella-bee she does tend to monopolize our energies on trips and when she is in the car we are mostly focused on entertaining her or studiously ignoring her. But yesterday it was just the first four and we got to crank the (non-Frozen soundtrack or Pharrell Williams’ Happy) music and just be silly together.  I was reminded again of how much of my mojo was lost to my foray into later in life motherhood and it made me resolved to access the fun and silly side more often. Babies and toddlers awesome as they are tend to put one into survival mode more often than not.  It was just a great experience for all of us.
Speaking of accessing my mojo…project reconnect is still in full swing over here (hence the 3rd blog post this week…say whhhhhat???” and check it out…today I went for my first run…well mostly run with a little walking…well mostly shuffling with a little walking or as we like to call it “wuffling” in something like…forever.  It was wonderful and a tiny bit terrible. Hello shin-splints my old friends. But mostly wonderful.  Oh trail, how I have missed you. Oh discomfort from something that is actually natural and good and challenging…how I have missed you. Oh workout playlist…how I have missed you.  I even finished with some crunches and a say whhhaaat,…one minute plank. Don’t scoff. I used to be the community center plank queen don’t forget (3 mins 33 seconds or something not that I cling to faded glories or anything I mean, who am I? Napoleon Dynamite’s uncle????” but everyone has to start (again) somewhere, am I right? Oh it felt so good. It felt so.good.

I’ve gained some weight due to my various illnesses, minor surgeries and injuries and subsequent mindless eating over the last several months which is somewhat concerning knowing that my metabolism is increasingly not on my side, but not nearly as devastating as it once was before I had my life-changing weight loss/body acceptance epiphany. I know that when I decide to lose it (and I think I’m just about ready), I will, and that the whole process might be a challenge but that it’s totally in my control.  I am actually feeling pretty good in my skin lately which has nothing to do with how I look.
I used to think people said they loved getting older because they were trying to compensate for how atrocious it is to get older, but truly, while some parts of getting older are atrocious, there are some things about it that totally freaking rock.  Finding your voice, finding your courage, not caring about what people think about you as much.  Starting to figure out what does and what doesn’t matter, become less fearful in general.  I mean I have a million miles still to go in every one of those areas..a million and one. But I feel so much more accepting of myself lately, more patient with my flaws and foibles uncertainties and questions, less interested with fitting into an uncomfortable and unnatural mold where I will never fit and was never meant to fit. 
Speaking of aging, here are my handsome boys. I got some weird shots on their birthday so I took the opportunity to snap a couple (dozen) of them while they were still all beautified after church. Ok seriously, I felt like they got into a time machine for this first one and went back to 6 and 4 just as a special present for me….they are going to die if they see it but that’s what you get for being goofy every time your mom tries to get decent picture of you.  The brotherly hug was spontaneous by the way. Awww…
 
These boys live to mess with me. Jerks…<3
   
And here’s my newest baby.  I insist on daily picture and video of her and Thalia has been quite kind in obliging me.  I remember picking out this little frog outfit and thinking it was so cute.  OMG I had NO IDEA how cute it could be.
 
Happy SUNflowerDAY! Hope it was a good one for you too.

Project Reconnect

You guys! Thank you for the warm and generous welcome back to the land of blogging. Especially given what you had to work with! That post was such a marathon. I was literally just randomly clicking on photos and and stream of conscious rambling forever and a day and…yet several of you read it all the way to the end. That’s some human kindness right there and I appreciate it so much.
But hitting post on that behemoth was the best therapy. I really felt like I was coming up for air for the first time in a long time.  I can’t say I’ve been depressed, I’ve actually been feeling pretty stable lately. I’ve just been..absent. Like I can’t quite remember what I’ve been doing, where I’ve been. It’s the weirdest sensation that I can’t even articulate.  I’ve been busy as can be. Anxiously engaged. Focused.  But still that weird disconnect.
But today, I have a blog post up and that felt good. It felt like me.
Then I figured I would exercise because it’s been…forever.  I was suitably careful but I got a nice sweat going and that felt good. It felt like me.  I’m making a goal to exercise however briefly for at least 5 days a week  every week of August.  Brief being the operative word. I can do that. I must do that. I need a challenge.
And since the whole random, oversharing blogging thing felt so good yesterday I  figured, let’s keep a good thing going shall we?  Why the heck not?  Last night in my picture perusal I saw a few I wanted to share that did not fit in with the “cool stuff we did in July theme”.  Mostly from Spring and again…totally random. I ’m trying to keep my hand in there whilst actively trying to overcome my OCD perfectionist tendencies of picking just the right photos and editing them and putting them in the right order. So now you have some mediocre shots, minimal editing for no rhyme or reason…let’s call it therapy….bear with me.
She calls the scooter her roller-skate.

 
Escapee balloons on Finny’s birthday. I still need to do that post don’t I? ;)
 
Benj’s team after the most exciting soccer game I have ever seen. They were absolute underdogs who finally won against the 3 year state reigning championships after an 8 shot PK shoot-out. I mean….
  
The face of sheer mind over matter. I miss challenging myself like this.

Peek a BOO. She still believes that if her eyes are covered, I can’t see her. Every time I leave the room and return she has her eyes covered and I have to say, “oh no! Where did Ella go?”
 
She calls her toys, her “fwends”. I find this sad and endearing at the same time. She really needs to start preschool….and get some cousins closer by ;) But truly, I have never seen a kid so deeply committed to their toys before. She can entertain herself with them for hours.

Benj’s induction to the national french honour society.

Gracie and Miah after their orchestra concert and Gabe and Ryland, the orchestral jokers getting ready to perform.
 
Signs of Spring…just in time for the end of Summer… I liked the first day of August. It was a good day.   Goodnight friends.