Letting It All Be.

This morning I lay on the couch and I cuddled my precious little girl. Marveling at each of her delicate tiny features and listening to her carefully sounding out the words on her ipad to me and I realised. "She can read! She can really read. And she can write. She can express herself through the written word and she can read the communications of others. And that is a true miracle for any human being and it made me a little breathless. Just as it had when my mom pointed out that I could read when I sounded out "Hot Food" in the food court at Sandton City.

And then I watched as the glass window above the front door filled with a halo of white blonde hair and my youngest son, who is suddenly a man with a deep voice, hurried to pull it open and greet his oldest brother and I listened to them talk, they way men who are friends do. And I thrilled with joy when each of them came over to wish their little sister Happy Thanksgiving and listen to her with amused affection and leaned over to let me ruffle their hair which felt exactly the same as it had when they were 3,6, 10 years old.  And I just soaked in their camaraderie as they laughed and exchanged stories and jokes about Thanksgiving morning football games they had participated in years gone by and I thought to myself. This is my family.  And honestly looking at all these handsome grown men, I still feel like I'm playing a part of mom to teen-aged boys and a girl who has her boyfriend come over to help with the pies. I can't quite fathom that it's real. It feels like I dropped into a Folgers coffee Thanksgiving morning commercial to be honest.

I don't know if everyone feels like this or if it's because my life is so very white middle class TV-ad American and I'm still very South African. And I only saw scenes like these on TV rather than in real life?  Or perhaps it's just because I'm still in denial that my son is older than I was when I got married and so none of this can possibly be because I'm still 19?  I'm still 28 with 4 little children in matching outfits. Aren't I? And then my husband hands me a cup of coffee and he says, "you made all these people. Can you believe it?" And I'm like..."hey so did you and...nope."

But instead of feeling weirded out or panicked or wistful or wishful, today I allow myself to soak it in completely. To observe it and feel absolute wonderment and gratitude and joy that this happy, peaceful scene of perfect abundance is mine. Is mine! Is of my making and of my good fortune and of my love and the love of those around me. And of the love and the goodness and the hard work and the faith and the commitment and the forgiveness and kindness of everyone in my family, and everyone who had a supportive role in my family over the years through all of our good times and our many struggles and our day to day conundrums of having too many places to take too many children. Someone always stepped in.  The Universe has shown us a tremendous amount of grace and has  never failed to channel love our way and I don't know why but I do know that this love is responsible for everything so precious and perfect in my tiny sunny living room.  My tiny very humble living room with it's random assortment of donated and found furniture and the rug which is actually a big piece of fabric from a bolt I found for $5 at Goodwill and put on a rug mat I found at Big Lots and rejoiced because the widths matched EXACTLY,  this morning and I feel purely and entirely thankful.

At the beginning of this month I was committed to posting something every day. I was derailed by PTSD. I kept writing but it was for me.  And I had many other posts lined up in my drafts for today. But none of them wanted to be published. And long ago I decided that if my heart didn't beat a little bit more quickly when I considered publishing something I wrote, it was to stay in my personal folders until it did. But here's something I want you to read it's by Glennon Doyle and it was written last Thanksgiving Eve:

Here's what we do tomorrow
We stop trying to be the director of the family show
and we just become an amused audience member

we jump on stage when it's our line
we let everybody in the family play their role

we stop fixing, cajoling, judging, and lobbying

we stop hoping so hard and start accepting

we let it all be.

And here's something I want you to know. I have a beautiful, blessed life. And I am thankful for it. And a good deal of the time I also struggle with feelings of great sadness and I struggle with them so that I can enjoy the abundance that is real. And I'm getting so much better at winning those struggles but less than 48 hours ago I lay sobbing like a very little girl in my bed, under my covers. Feeling very sad and very, very, very alone and scared and lonely.   And I wished nothing more than that all the holidays would just disappear because they trigger my PTSD rather badly sometimes. But I also know that I have a family and I don't want their holiday legacy to be tainted by PTSD and so I figured out what would make this day the very easiest for me. And that meant deciding to cater in most of the Thanksgiving meal and handle only the parts that a very scared, overwhelmed little girl felt was doable.  And once I made that decision I felt more and more like a functional adult.  So if you are feeling very sad or very alone as you see pictures on social media of big happy families enjoying time together know that we all have our struggles. Everything is not as it seems.  Be very, very kind to yourself. Do whatever you need to do to stay alive and to be present and to enjoy the abundance that is in front of you. Because it is present for all of us in some form or another. Even if it is just a comfortable place to sit, a hot cup of coffee, running water and a bed where we can rest undisturbed. Shelter from storms and from vermin. Somewhere we can go to get food.  Whatever it is, recognize it and rest in that abundance and ask nothing else from yourself. And if you simply can't see any abundance because the sadness is just that overwhelming and the fear and panic feelings are just too real, withhold any judgment. Talk to yourself as if you would a small frightened precious child. Because that is who you are. And assure yourself that this too shall pass. And yes the feelings may come back over and over again but there will be breaks in the clouds and there will be sunshine and you only have to handle what is right in front of you on this day. And then find a distraction if you can. A friendly face, something to laugh at, something to do. Move your body. Get outside even if it is just to take the trash out.  See if you can help a neighbour in any small way. All these things help. They helped me a lot in the last 48 hours. We can do this. I hope you can feel my love and my warmth and my reassurance because it's meant just for you dear reader.

Much love.

K

The Person Who Inspires Me Most

You guys, I'm kinda nailing this November blogging thing. I'm just saying.

OK. SO:

You know those people who don't get impressed by anything? Well that's not me. Life can be hard and people are amazing. There are so many people who leave me breathless with their resilience, brilliance, bravery, dedication, creativity, strength, willpower, patience, capacity to love.  Over time, particularly in the last couple of years my inner circle has become extremely small and tight and there is not a single person inside of it who doesn't completely blow me away in some regard on a daily basis.  I feel like that's a good rule of thumb for who you want in your inner circle. You want your inner circle to make you smile from the inside out, to light up your soul in some way. You want your chosen people to be the type of people who make you drift away for a moment when you are interacting with them because you are marveling over how incredibly lucky you are to have them in your life.

Sometimes I will mention to a friend how I have replayed something they have said or done in my mind when the going gets tough and I need inspiration.  Usually they have completely forgotten the incident they had a part in which was so inspiring to me (that's good to remember, you never know who you are inspiring and how).

I am inspired by people I know and love also by people I don't know. Today, I watched the NYC marathon and got teary eyed along with everyone else as the female winner pumped her fist in triumph when she realised she had won. The first American woman in 40 years to do so.

Ripped from the pages of my facebook feed:
Her "FUCK YES ✊🏻!!!!" as she sprinted at the line...gave me a total lump in my throat. So I pretty much always root for the African but it was so apparent that she was having that one in a million perfect dream come true when every oz of everything you have sacrificed and suffered comes through for you at just the right moment experience and that kind of magic...it's just an absolute privilege to watch. 

Clearly, I can never relate to the thrill of being an elite major marathon winner, but I can most certainly relate to what it feels like when all the work pays off and you are also blessed with a good running day. Running is so unpredictable and in the course of 26.2 miles alongside thousands of other people, anything can happen to derail your dreams but today, it all fell into place for Shalane Flanagan and that was magical and so inspiring. Just the shot in the arm I needed as I have been struggling with a fearful and pessimistic mindset in my own marathon training. I want to feel some of that joy again. It's absolutely intoxicating. She was every little girl who had a dream's hero today.

But if you were to ask me which person I think of the most often when I am really at rock bottom, when the tank is empty, when I can't get out of bed, when I feel like the worst, most useless or ridiculous human being in the world and I really need to get over that and get on with it. The person who comes to mind is.....

Me.

Why? Because there is nobody I know more intimately.  There is no one whose struggles I am more closely acquainted with.  There is no struggle I can relate to better than my own. I know exactly what I have overcome, and how often I have triumphed in tiny and big ways. Sometimes it's as small as getting out of bed, and forcing myself to do some household chores before I collapse back into bed to sleep off the grips of a PTSD episode, sometimes it is taking my tired self out into the freezing cold to complete a difficult run, other times it' humbling myself on the mat as I get tossed around like a rag doll at jiu jitsu or being content to look completely inept at boxing, sometimes it's as big as giving birth or completing a 1/2 marathon or naming and facing my biggest demons, standing up to my abusers, walking away from things which are breaking me.  But every time something hard comes along, and I fear I will not be able to handle it, the most powerful and effective thing I know to do is remembering all the times I did.

Reminding myself that I have survived 100% of my worst most difficult days, and I will survive this too.  Allowing myself permission to start over, to ask for forgiveness from others, to accept forgiveness from myself.  Reminding myself that this too shall pass, like all the times it did before.  Conjuring up memories of all the times I thought I was done for, when in fact I wasn't.

Let me be very clear. I don't believe I'm any better than anyone else. But I know that my victories are hard won and I know they are legit.

Which is why, as I get older and wiser, the days when I'm feeling ok or maybe even better than ok, I try to make hay while the sun shines. I try to do as much as I can. I try to stretch myself, move out of my comfort zone, face a fear, do something new, express my love and appreciation fearlessly. I try to deposit as much as I can into  the Bank of Mama Said There Would Be Days Like This.

So that when those rainy impossible days do come, I can make those withdrawals from my archives of badassery, and I can remind myself of how awesome I am and how brave and tough and strong and fierce I can be when I need to be.

Here's my advice. Surround yourself with your heroes, always be looking for new ones, but most importantly, be your own.
xoxo

Saturday morning musings. Mormon Regrets? I have a few. Or do I?

This morning as my husband brought me coffee in bed, I mapped out my running schedule for the weekend, knowing I had two full days at my disposal. He mentioned that he had bumped into a former member of our Mormon congregation at the coffee shop and their pleasant interaction,  "Oh good for them! Enjoying that coffee life too!" I exclaimed as I sipped my fresh cup of happiness. And then of course, I commented to him for the millionth time how much more wonderful life is now....

Once again my mind wandered back to a specific moment of one of the many, many times since childhood where I questioned the Mormon church. On this specific day, we had been dressed up in our Sunday best. But it wasn't a Sunday morning, it was a Saturday night. We were preparing to go to some church event, missing a community function we would have much preferred to be at, and we also had to do our grocery shopping before we left for the church function, because we knew we would be home late in the evening and we wouldn't be able to shop the next day, it being the Sabbath. I was stressed realizing that once again we had forgotten to get one of our son's new church shoes and he was going to be stuffing his feet into something 3 sizes too small.  In my tired resigned state I  remarked to my husband, "can you imagine how mad we are going to be when we get to the other side and realize that all of this was for nothing? It was all bullcrap?" (I swore significantly less in those days)   He laughed and shrugged it off. This was a half serious joke I had made since childhood.  My mom's answer for that was always, "so what if it is? Can you think of a better way you could have spent your life?"

Um. Yes. Yes I could.   The truth is, that I didn't. I was raised and I raised most of my children for a good portion of their lives in the Mormon church. It is what it is, for good and for ill. And there's a really good chance that a good portion of it was for good. But we will never know. I have at least one child who deals with a lot of emotional fallout from what I now realize was super inappropriate overreach, controlling, guilt inducing, toxic nonsense. And as a parent I take responsibility for allowing his exposure to that, even encouraging it. I give myself grace though because I was doing the best I knew at the time. I truly was. And so were the people in the church, and they still are. Still, it messed with my kid's mind to an extent that my kid has had a really tough time since. But that's ok because when we are supported through struggle we become powerful to help others in turn.

Do I regret all the Sundays I spent stressed, miserable, triggered. Shooting dagger eyes at adorable normal little children we were forced to "sit and be reverent" for the lion's portion of 3 hours? Yes. I absolutely do.  With all my heart I would like to go back, put those sweet precious little children in comfortable clothing and let them spend all sunday playing outside or going to a church where they learned only about a loving God who expected nothing from them but for them to love as fully and completely as their little hearts could muster. And that this love should start with loving themselves.

Do I regret the relationships they had with older people in lieu of geographically absent and disinterested grandparents ? No I don't . I am so grateful for every kind, invested, generous and loving older member of our church congregation who gave my children a sense of belonging, of inter-generational family. When Finny would cry because his best friend had two doting and geographically close grandma's and his grandma didn't even visit when his baby sister was born, I could point out all the people who did visit. Who did care. Who did love him and lived close enough to show him so.  We formed those relationships through church, nurtured them through weekly attendance and miss them now. Those things were categorically good.

Would my children have been as well behaved, as driven, as responsible as kind to each other if we hadn't based our parenting on the very specific frameworks set up within the LDS church designed to keep families in touch with each other, high achieving and focused on a common purpose? We were pretty good at playing the Mormon game, I won't lie. And so I can't honestly say. I don't honestly know. I would like to believe that I would have been just as good and focused of a mom and I have a dreadful suspicion that I actually might have been a much better mom without all that pressure and with the assistance of coffee and the lack of permanent crippling guilt and strain of a hundred million expectations (as if raising 5 kids without any extended family assistance whatsoever, is not loaded enough). But I just cannot honestly say.  I see our non-Mormon friends and their happy successful families, their kind, high achieving children, and it's hard to connect the dots from being a good Mo to having a good family, but truly. There is no way to know how it all might have turned out for us ours and since I feel really grateful for where we currently are as a family, I'm willing to give credit to the church if it's due.

Here's what I can say. I can say that life now is so damn good and that I might never have known and fully appreciated, no, cherished how unbelievably wonderful an ordinary life in its simplest form as an autonomous guilt-free adult can be.

How incredibly pleasant it is to live free from the shackles of responsibilities that don't feel right, that don't make sense that feel controlling and nonsensical. How blissful it is to drink a hot black cup of coffee and feel nurtured, encouraged and enlivened by that.  How fun it is to enjoy a couple of drinks with friends and feel truly relaxed and enjoy the fact that they too are feeling truly relaxed because life is bloody stressful sometimes and I've always said that I can party just as well sans alcohol and oh boy, can I! But not everybody is like me and I like to see others getting that little bit of assistance to have fun too. That's really fun for me.

Without being a lifelong Mormon, I would never have known the pure and simple joy and elation it is to know on Saturday night that we have a full day on Sunday to work, or relax, or shop, or run.  A whole extra day to spend enjoying each other instead of the tense mornings spent snapping at each other, getting to church late, being judged for getting to church late, spending 3 hours feeling miserable, hypocritical, judgmental, angry, guilty, bored stiff, exhausted, and being cut in half by control top hose . (I do miss the weekly opportunity to wear heels though).   The relief of spending Sundays productive and happy at home rather than going home to a trashed home and a frantic feeding frenzy with a van load of irate, low blood sugared children. Sweet, impressionable, good kids who had not often, but definitely sometimes, been thoroughly mistreated by frustrated resentful exhausted teachers of their own, (or occasionally by completely deranged people who were allowed to teach kids when it was clear they were wrecking their own children in spectacular ways. UGHH. but those are few and mercifully, far between).

Without the Mormon church, I doubt I would be just coming into my own at age 40 and 41 when a lot of people are feeling as if they are fading.  I don't understand that sense at all. I'm constantly thrilled at how much I feel in my prime at this age and I'm sure that having this huge weight lifted from my shoulders has been the most rejuvenating experience ever. I think it shows up in my face, in my attitude, in my energy level, in the way I feel about myself now, in the way I carry my body. I'm pretty sure that leaving the Mormon church has given me an an unusual new lease on life for a woman of my age or honestly, of any age. I may have more lines around my eyes now, but I'm almost sure they are from laughing more.  Why do I feel such a huge sense of freedom and joie de vivre in my femininity suddenly? Well. For instance:  Instead of wearing bizarre, uncomfortable and restrictive Mormon underwear dictating my fashion choices and reminding me that my sexuality and my body somehow doesn't quite belong to me. I am finally free to wear my own lingerie. And that feels pretty damn awesome. DO YOU REALISE THAT I WAS AN ADULT OF ALMOST 40 who did not have the option of wearing my own lingerie? Not if I wanted to be with my family forever?  (Go ahead laugh out loud reading that because I'm with you but up until pretty recently, it was a life and eternal death matter, you guys!

Do you understand how liberating it might feel to a woman to finally be able to pick out  her own style of panties? Or to not have to worry about wearing anything to sleep in? Do you know that endowed, temple going (family forever brand Mormons) are required to wear long underwear day and night. Some members take it off for showering and sex only (and they put it right back on post-coital...fun times!!)

I thank the Mormon church for the fact that after being required to wear garments both day and night, sleeping in nothing or next to nothing every night feels like the most luxurious thing of all time. No 800 thread count sheets required. No island vacation required. Every time I get into bed I feel the sublime joy and freedom of a kid skinny dipping in the moonlight. My husband certaintly isn't sad about it.

Without the Mormon church I don't think I would be as effective a mother to teenagers as I am today because I understand first hand in a very vivid and recent way that feeling controlled can be suffocating to a person.  That extreme expectations do not help, they hurt. That hypocrites telling you want to do will only make you really really mad and extra rebellious. I have learned the great value in not preaching to kids, not trying to enforce a one size fits all morality on them. I have learned the value of allowing them to make mistakes and of helping them to know that mistakes do not make a man (or woman). I have learned how much better we do as a family when I do not sweat the small stuff. I have learned that a family can be even more united and loving without bringing them together in prayer, without forcing them to gather at inconvenient hours to read from ancient scriptures in language which rings and hollow and irrelevant to most children and teens but instead taking the time to laugh with them over the Office and agonize with them about their problems.

There are Mormon families who seem to have cracked the code. Who don't feel oppressed or stressed by the expectations. Who find comfort and guidance in the rules. Who have found the sweet spot where they feel all the love and none of the guilt and are able to help their kids find that sweet spot too. I rejoice for them. I do. I bear no ill will for Mormons just doing the best they can and not encroaching on the rights of others. None at all.  I know so many women and wives who genuinely feel blessed by the opportunity to send their kids far away for 2 years with virtually no contact or to give up their husbands to church service for huge portions of their children's lives.  It works for them. It breaks my heart to even contemplate but they seem genuinely happy. So..ok then. Thank god I only have to worry about living my own life. (That's new too ;)

And as for me and my house. It's the heathen life for us. We are delighting in the hedonistic pleasures of the living the "worldly" life which is somehow just suddenly so simple...and it actually feels more wholesome. It really and truly does.  We delight in loving whomever we want to love and allowing others the unequivocal right to do the same. In speaking breathing and believing with no more cognitive dissonance. We are grateful for the lazy Sunday mornings together. We find tremendous joy in parenting our sons and daughters as young autonomous men and women without the expectation that they become missionaries and mothers.  We are are basking in finally feeling fully free and alive. This works for us.  The Mormons quote scripture very often referring to the beauty and necessity of Opposition in All Things.  We have pain so that we may enjoy pleasure.  Well said. Well said.

Regrets are more or less useless. And so, in the end I choose to dwell on none. I am grateful for my path and if it is grace that has led me to this place, it will lead me home too.

Amen, and amen.  Happy Saturday

(this post counts for Friday, I bet I'll do another before the day is out because I said I was going to do a post a day and I mean what I say...until I get too tired and I want to lie in bed drinking wine and watching Riverdale.)

On the road less traveled, 13 year old FBI agents and other stuff I'm happy about..

In past Novembers I made a habit of posting 5 things I was grateful for every day of the month. This always made November my favourite blogging month because it's just so much fun to reflect on everything that is awesome about your life.  

Lately, I've  tried to make a habit of doing that when I wake up. I have an active and often difficult, troubling and disturbing dream life which means that I'm not always feeling swell when I first wake up. When I remember the dreams it's easy to start ruminating and getting lost in sadness or trauma and it's an awful way to start the day. I've actively started replacing negative thoughts with thoughts of people I love, funny interactions I have had, sweet little moments between my kids, whatever comes to mind when I direct my head in that direction. The more I do it, the more natural it becomes. But it's still so nice to have it on record and to share these things from time to time.

I''m not sure if I will do the 5 things on the blog every day of this month because I have so many other things I want to post about this month. We will see. But here are 5 things I'm grateful for today:

People who love me at my worst. This has been a tough week for me and I have had some truly monstrous moments. When I am experiencing a PTSD setback and I am triggered and act awful, nobody could hate me more than I hate myself. It's a terrible feeling and could easily spiral into a cycle of self loathing and hopelessness. But I am so incredibly lucky to have true blue, ride or die people in my life who are gracious enough to ride out the storm with me even when it's blowing straight into their faces. To be loved when you are being completely crazy and unlovable is the most healing thing I know of and is something I do not take for granted.

Every time I take the road less traveled 

I saw this scene in the woods when I went running yesterday. My run finally took place after an endless internal struggle  followed by a comedy of errors, stomping around the house in trying to find all the gear I needed (it turned out I was wearing it all along) and the line from Robert Frost's poem immediately came to mind.

You guys, its so much easier not to do the hard things, not to stick with the program, to give up on on dreams because of the daily grind required to accomplish them. And every time time we do the harder thing we are taking the road less traveled and it really does make all the difference.  I'm so grateful to be in a place where my choices are once again my own. That I have the power and strength to push through the resistance is such a huge gift, so hard won through such a hard fight by so many people on my behalf.

Magical little moments when Ella brings me a book that she has written and put together regarding the joys of it being November 1st. There is just so much to love about this and it's hard to remember anything else not being completely perfect when I am present to this type of goodness.

A 13 year old son who took on a mammoth sink load of dirty dishes completely on his own initiative while I lay in bed sleeping off my body's attempt to get sick this afternoon. (I will not get sick because my 13 year old let me sleep and did the dishes and getting sick after that would be the epitome of ingratitude.  Also, he had the best Halloween costume ever as an FBI agent making the type of arrest dreams are made of.

Ongoing traditions and people to share them with. As the kids get older, the traditions evolve slightly but it's a credit to the organizers of these events and the friendships we have formed that the seniors in high school show up to hang out and hand out candy just as predictably as they did when we were pulling them door to door in wagons.  This is a beautiful thing and I am so grateful and moved that my kids have had the safe happy childhood that they have enjoyed thanks to this village.

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

Becoming: Ex-Mormon Girl Part 1.

The other day, I was regaling a friend with a story about an unfortunate family interaction with members of the church recently. (We had found it fairly amusing, given that we assumed they weren't trying to make sure that the family stayed away). After I wrapped it up I commented,  "you know what? These guys have no idea what they are even doing wrong.  Why people are leaving in droves. They put so much energy into getting them and then they lose them.  And they don't seem to get it at all. I almost want to help them. Like, as a consultant. You know like how security companies interview burglers to improve their systems?"  I warmed to my topic...

"I could be EX-Mormon Girl. I could go around the country training LDS leaders."

I was only half joking. "our stake president is actually a really cool guy, I bet he would let me get experience speaking to our stake for free".

"No" said my friend.  He knew I was mostly kidding but...."Don't do that. They are looking for a type. And you ain't it."

Yeah. Good point. Ok I guess I will have to come up with another brilliant plan. But I think this conveys how complicated leaving this faith can be. How conflicted it is. How confusing it is.

Here's the thing. The Mormons have been extraordinarily good to us.I have talked about it often on this very blog. Some of the people I most love in the world are active Mormons. They are good people. And there are some cool things about the Mormon church. I'm a confident public speaker in no small part due to them, I can conduct music in a rudimentary way. I've been in plenty of leadership positions even as a stay at home mom. When we moved to places where we knew nobody and had no family, we could always count on the church network. We always tended to gravitate to having more friends outside of the church than in it but everywhere we lived we have found a least one or two families to become close to and those relationships have been precious. Our children were given a great sense of intergenerational family thanks to the church, and the many kind and loving teachers and leaders they have had in it.  And the church has helped us out tremendously in financial ways over a long period of unemployment and at another time when we were struggling very badly.  In addition we have received a lot of service from members of the church.  We have been beneficiaries of great good from the Mormon church. There is no escaping  the truth of that and I would never want to downplay or deny those things which were absolutely saving graces at the time.

None of this is simple. Being a Mormon is difficult. Leaving the faith is very difficult. Life after leaving the faith is lonely and full of conflict. It's all just...difficult. But then it gets less and less so. In that regard anyway. Leaving the Mormon faith is a decision I am more grateful for every day.  The Mormons warned me it would be though. They covered this contingency. "Little by little the Spirit will cease to strive with you, your heart will be hardened, Satan will have you in his grasp." And so still. To this day. I find myself second guessing my decision. There is a little part of me which probably always will. And everyone will have their opinion on why that is. The Mormons will say that my soul knows the church to be true and the Spirit is striving with me. My brain will say that the Mormons are very sophisticated in their brainwashing. I really believe that to be true.

"People can leave the church but they can't leave it alone" One of those catch phrases much beloved of Mormons.  The truth is that they set it up that way.  From the earliest ages you are taught to doubt your instincts if they are "leading you astray" or "causing you to doubt what you know to be true." Doctrinally they talk a really good game about examining your faith. "search, ponder and pray" is preached and sung about and urged. But there's a catch. Search, ponder, pray..but if those measures turn up short, and you don't find yourself embracing the faith, that's on you.  You are wrong.You did it wrong. Keep trying.  Sort yourself out. Figure out why. That's the only option available to you.

There is this one "General Authority" (are you noting the weird lingo? This stuff never even struck me as off until very recently) who every Mormon I've ever talked to really digs. He's cool. He's chill. He's handsome. Ex-pilot. Cool accent. They call him  "The Silver Fox". As an aside, the bar is set suuuuuper low for these dudes in terms of charisma.  Poor sweet Mormons. Shit, that comes across so condescending and yeah, I guess it is. It's just that they ask for so little from these old guys. Everyone is so eager to laugh at the tiniest bit of levity. (That always did strike me as off. I remember rolling my eyes even as a young kid when one of the General Authorities would do something like pause, or raise eyebrows or make a vocal inflection that indicated he wasn't quite as serious as usual, and people would eagerly roar with laughter. It wasn't even funny you guys. And I found it sad. On that level I always knew what was up and I found it really demeaning.One could say it was a warning bell for me. When people are giving other people that much power that they will laugh at their unfunnies...something is off. I was growing up in an environment with an unhealthy power deferential and I was attuned to it.

 Anyway, so this guy is incredibly popular for the reasons I listed above but also because he generally preaches actual Christian tenets. Like loving and not judging and being accepting of where people are on their journey.  He might be the only reason some Mormons hang in there. He imparts many beautiful quotable quotes, Many gems. Yet still,  I would venture to say that his most pinterested quote is...waiiiit for it.

"Doubt your doubts before you doubt your faith."

How about this. How about faith and doubt coexisting?

I know some highly intellectual Mormons. People who are more brilliant and more intellectually curious and more logical than I am or can ever hope to be. They are Mormons on their own terms. They sort through all this shit and make it work for them. I don't know how they do it but I believe that they do and more power to them. I think most of them figure out a version of Mormonism that they can handle and stay "active" for the sake of family and community. I don't think there are a lot of people I describe who are highly intellectually curious and don't see some fatal flaws in the doctrine. But hell, what do I know.  I don't share my story for those folks. They will be just fine.

I share for the ones like me. Smart, aware, tuned in to reality and themselves enough to question. Intellectually curious enough to say, "heeyyyy what about..."  but for whatever reason not able to break free. Guilt, fear, self doubt. I don't know. But something is tying them down and if they are like me, they often aren't even able to articulate their truth and why this is not working for them. I listened to a podcast last week, Jordan Peterson was speaking and one phrase resonated so hard. I scribbled it on my kitchen blackboard. I'm in the zone now so I'm going to  have to paraphrase but it was something like, "The ability to speak your truth will be a bulwark between you and hell".

Over the years I flirted with leaving the church. I had a handful of periods of inactivity. Once I remember being in the kitchen of friends and just freaking out. "How can you believe this shit?" I raged.  "How can you believe in a God who is a literal terrorist? Who insists that you jump through a thousand hoops, that you participate in all sorts of crazy rituals, that you go to the temple, that you dress in weird clothes and memorize rhymes and riddles and secret handshakes to come into his presence?! And if you can't keep up, if you can't do "all that you can do" or hell maybe you just don't want to...he will take everything you hold most dear and separate you from it? Are you kidding me? He dangles your family, being with your family for eternity in front of you.  THAT. IS. TERRORISM. Do what I say or risk losing your husband and children forever. Does THIS NOT STRIKE YOU PEOPLE AS MESSED UP?"

Everyone in the room told me that I needed to be on meds. They literally did. And I literally got on meds. And stayed on them for years.  I did not need the meds. I needed the ability to speak my truth. Until I did, I was in hell.

And yet. Even after articulating this rage, this fear, this rage from living with this fear, from never being able to keep up, from being so completely exhausted by the cognitive dissonance required for all of it,  I took the dry blue pills. I went back. I kept going back. Even though I couldn't cut it. I couldn't do what I was supposed to do. I couldn't believe what I was supposed to believe. I was always so angry. But I went. Even though I would come home from church every.single.sunday seething. Even though every time my husband and I piled our 5 tired, disgruntled hungry children who had been made to to sit still and "be reverent" for 3 hours while dressed in their sunday best in the van and we drove home screeching at each other every Sunday. Miserable. Resentful. Drained. Even though with the barest examination this clearly wasn't bring my family closer to each other or to God. I went back. And I took my kids with me.

Ok so here is what. Since  I was a little girl, I sensed I had a specific purpose. It was very clear that I was to help people. To comfort them in some way.  I was so excited to discover that way was. Would I be a Dr? A psychologist? A lawyer fighting for their rights? Over the years I have been a doula, a personal trainer, a motivator...but still I waited for my real purpose so that I could settle into it and give it my all.

Yesterday I went for a really long run and as I ran and thought about conversations I have been having with people who have been reaching out to me lately, it finally became clear. It's not a big revelation, friends have been trying to tell me this. Family have assured me of it. Here's what is is. That mission? The purpose?
You've been doing it.
You. have. been. doing. it. for years.
I'm a truth teller. I'm an oversharer. This is my job here. We all have a job. Mine is to tell my truth. Nobody else's.  I speak from my soul, the truth of my experience. I speak to my tribe.

I don't think of myself as remarkable or unique. There are many of us with this purpose and I might not have anything new to say. I probably don't. But somebody reading this, might find something that they haven't read anywhere else which resonates with them. Something which makes them feel understood. Less alone. Less Other. Less of a failure, less of a freak. More emboldened to speak their own truth. To trust their doubts. To trust their faith. To trust their feelings.

Yesterday we were driving to a party. Ella told me about a boy who had pointed out once that he could see her underwear when she was wearing a dress without leggings underneath.
 "It hurt my feelings mommy, and now I don't like to wear dresses anymore without pants."
We talked about it.  About other words for hurt feelings. Expanded her vocabularly into words like "embarrassed" and "self conscious" or "uncomfortable" or "defensive" or "exposed."

 As the conversation wound down I said to her, "the important part is that you always listen to your feelings. Your feelings are real. Your feelings are smart. They might not always be telling you what they seem to be telling you right at first but it's important to pay attention to them. We can always look at them and try to figure out what they are saying and what to do with them but remember that you have smart feelings."

I'm going to post this before it gets too long and I overanalyse it to death. It's going to have typos, the editing has been minimal. I wrote it on a picnic table in the woods fresh from a run before the battery on my ancient laptop ran out. I have so much more to say but I'm starting here.  I feel like I need to post this today and I have smart feelings.
xox

Hello. We should talk...

It's been a while darlings and everything has changed.
It might be the strangest time in anyone's life. Or it might not be. For me, it's definitely up there.

I last wrote when I turned 40 on my own terms.

When I turned 40 I found my voice. It's been there all along of course, and from time to time it squeaked out and said tiny bits of what I was really thinking but most of the time it was strangled. As long as I can remember there have been nightmares of calling for help on the phone and not being able to talk. Or not being able to see the numbers to dial for help.

And then the truth, as it always does, set me free.  It wasn't a pretty process, the birthing of the truth. Kind of grisly actually. Lots of stitches, lots of scars. Still in the recovery process. Hell of a ride. But so worth it. As birth always is.

Mostly those nightmares have gone away. I don't feel strangled or stifled anymore. I'm no longer aware of  that constant lump in my throat of that brick like weight in my solar plexus, almost literally physically holding me back from...wherever it is I'm going or whatever it is I want to say whoever it is I am going to be. Now it's just actual real life, irritating logistics that get in my way but those are a lot easier to work through. I can see the numbers to dial now and my voice works just fine.

Let's talk briefly about that cringey "Letter to my formerly depressed self" about a year ago. I'm not even going to link to it. I am not. Ugh. don't remind me. No seriously you guys need to stop referring to that shit every time I get low. Real talk: I hate that letter so much. I have thought of deleting it, but I'm not going to because it's part of the record of my process.  Depression doesn't just go away. It never becomes "Former".  Neither does trauma.  It circles you down the drain either forward or in reverse.  That's the quickest analogy I can come up with. At your worst, when you are trying to go it alone,  you are right around the grungy hole of the drain, the abyss is echoing, you might have one leg and one arm already being sucked down into it. Maybe you are ever looking into the black nothingness of it with something like longing and relief.

Getting help pulls you back from the grungy hole, drags you away from the sewer system..the great unknown. Once you get help and while you work at it, the circumference of the swirls get bigger and further away from the black hole, but the black hole is there. It is always there. If you neglect the things keeping that force field in place the swirling suction starts to feel stronger.

Sometimes it has nothing at all to neglecting your self care. You can do everything right but life just sucks. I don't know about every type of depression. I deal with PTSD and that can be fixed but it takes time. I'm really happy with my progress. I'm cruising along really well supposedly. Still. Triggers just happen, shit comes to the surface at unexpected times. It can suck but I'm learning to sit with that. Life is hard for everyone. Everyone has some sort of damage, some sort of battle. This thing is my basket of deplorable (to coin a phrase). I deal with it, I hope to deal with it less and less over time but I can do this. I got this. I don't like it, but I got this. Probably. I hate to tempt blog fate. Blog fate can be such a little bitch. There are days when I definitely don't got this. I get by with a lot of help from my friends. Moving on. Because enough already.

Ok wait.  I have to make just more than a glancing reference to the Ultimate Shit Show.
So.  Donald Mothereffin Trump won the election. It's a total shock to the system on a daily basis. Honestly I still can't quite grasp it.  And most of you can't either. There's no big revelation here.
But what I do find fascinating is that in such a short time it has really had a part to play in reshaping my outlook, how I spend my time, who I spend it with. Which brings me to:

Hey! I was published in a book.   Over the years, I have been published in magazines and newspapers, I used to have a paid column on a major internet network when that was still a really big deal. I've been paid for my writing here on and off over the years, but seeing my name in print between hard covers. For a book that mattered. Telling a story that I thought I might never acknowledge even to myself?

That feels..like an accomplishment. That felt good. I almost didn't do it. And the fact that I pushed through and did do it feels even better.

Now. It's not my book. It's a collaboration of stories. We all met in the aftermath of aforementioned Shit Show and as women do, we came together, freaked the fuck out, then poured all that angst into something major and created a miracle. In three months, thanks to the grit and tenacity of a few and the bravery and love of all, 80 women from across the country had written a raw, an honest an often untold story of what the election of  The Creature meant to them. For many it was a similar process as what it was for me...first the bad, ofttimes the pain, the trauma, the hurt and the unwanted feelings...and then came the fire,  The resolve, the fight. Cliff notes: As women we have unified. This is our moment. This is our time. This is our movement and because we aren't going down with the biggest, screamiest fight of our lives, we will ensure that future belongs to our daughters. It's their turn. Our sons will be just fine.

I would not have survived the days since November 8th 2016 nearly as well without my new posse of fierce, funny, brave and brilliant friends and even so, it's been a struggle for us all. But struggle is life. And life has been not boring. That is one thing I can heartily attest to.  I hate boring and life...is. not. boring. in, 2017. I wish it were exciting in a less terrifying and disappointing way but the sparks of light and love that shoot up to the surface of this horrifying garbage  heap do inspire and invigorate me. Every penny of that book goes to help other women. You should get it. We didn't have a cent for marketing and that thing is holding it's own. That book is a Nasty Woman.

So that's good. That's really good. But I sometimes miss my old life. This one is really noisy. I asked my friend if he thought things would ever go back to the way they were and he said no. I believe him and that makes me sad. I miss when I had more intimate relationships with the people on my facebook page. I miss the mundane silly things. I miss the friends I have become estranged from since the election and since I left the Mormon faith because I have spoken out about things. Sometimes with too much anger and too little measure. I have hurt people. That makes me sad.I don't know if I regret it though. I can't honestly say I do. I regret losing people I love but I don't regret saying what I needed to say. Even if it was in a messy angry way. I used to say that above all else I didn't want to hurt people. But now I'm different. I'm a bit darker or maybe more honest. Maybe I'm moving through something to get to the other side. And here's the truth. I avoid hurting people. I actively dislike hurting people even if they deserve it and I abhor hurting those who don't. But here's what else. I am through with allowing myself to be the collateral damage in that goal. First do no harm. To Oneself. I'm on the list now. It was about time.

And sometimes, like maybe yesterday, I take a tiny bit of guilty pleasure (ok make that a lot) in the possibility of inflicting discomfort on someone who has done me wrong. But this is not about that either.

I find myself composing essays lately. As I run the wonky trails in the woods, I will have a big idea for one, it makes me quicken my step, catching a tiny little of air as I skip down the tiny hill. They come to me as I drive, turning the radio down as a thought carries me away and blooms into a topic. Then there is an essay, a series of essays. It won't all fit...that's going to have to be a book...

 As I go through the motions of washing dishes,  as I  watch the morning's wasted cereal being sucked away by the garbage disposal. As I methodically sweep the floor and push the broom into those weird little cracks between appliances to get the tortilla chip my youngest son leaves as his calling card every morning, I am far away lost in questions and words and ideas.

Sometimes I sit immobilized on my couch in my silent house gazing across the living room at my laptop, paralyzed with the agony of all I want to say and wondering how to say it all. All the questions I want answers to. I want to record things, I want to ask things, I want to explore things. And my process for doing that is by writing about them.  I need to write about the things which shaped me as a girl, and a woman and a mother. About the community I walked away from, about the friends I have lost. About the friends I have gained. About the strange awkward numbness of estrangement  and the unbreakable threads of enduring love between families devastated by lies and sickness and secrets. About when it's better to forgive and work through things and when it's better to let go so that you really can.

About how weird this idea of aging is. If  the beauty industry didn't tell us that we needed to start looking out for "seven signs of aging" would we notice it  when we were in our 30's or only when we were much older?  In some ways I guess it's good. To become acutely aware of your own mortality. So that you can stop wasting time. I want to talk to other women about how 40 has made me love being in my own skin.  About how there are moments when I hate looking in the mirror. How can I feel feel so healthy and strong, probably physically better than I have ever felt before yet look like the crypt keeper. What the ACTUAL HELL?! And then there is another moment when I am laughing and unconscious of myself and I look up into the mirror visor in my car and am surprised to be staring into the eyes of a woman with a such a confident and lively expression on her face. How for the first time I see a woman who I would like to be friends with.  A woman who looks..well like a woman, not a little girl. I love that look. It's a subtle change. I don't know if it's a change in facial structure or something less concrete but I've seen it more and more over the last year and I do believe that it's my favourite look. Even if it does come with "fine lines and wrinkles". Why is there this this incredible shift at around 40. When we suddenly own it .Hormones, experience?  It's magic is what it is.

And sex! I want to explore why so many people think most women don't like or want sex after they have kids. And why for some reason everyone is down with that. It's a total crisis when a guy stops wanting sex or can't make it happen but women...well they are so tired after all. What the hell? Sex is awesome. It's really awesome and I think women should be enjoying it until they die or are close to dying just like it seems that men do. I mean. What on earth not? We have all that equipment designed solely for enjoyment y'know? Seems like a terrible thing to waste. Not just sex. Pleasure in general. Why are women so afraid of pleasure. Why are they so into self deprivation? What's in it for them?

I want to talk about friendships. The ones we have from cradle to grave, the ones we have for certain seasons, the ones we have that fulfill just about every emotional and intellectual need and the ones that fill only the shallowest of them. Why some of the most intense and lovely ones can just fade away after time and why that can be ok sometimes and why some that shouldn't die do, and how sad that is and maybe what we can do to rekindle them.

I want to talk about parenting relationships and the weird social constructs we have imposed on those. The ideas of how we should be communicating with our kids, or not. The limits we should supposedly be imposing on them. How I have defined my role as a mother and how I don't actually give a damn about what people think about me in that regard anymore and how much it is has improved my relationships with my children.  (OR HAS IT? I want to talk about that!)

I want to talk about why I left the Mormon faith. Because sometimes even I get confused regarding the reasons.  I want to talk about why life is so much better for me and my family since leaving. (OR IS IT??? I want to write about that!)

I want to talk about how much I hate where I live and how much I love it. I want to talk about how I have grieved and celebrated the circumstances of my life and my fantasies for the future.

But I don't want to just talk about all these things with reference to myself. I want to talk about them with other people.  I want to have conversations. I have gravitated to facebook because it is a place for conversations. But there are so many limits. Today I wrote something that had come up in the LDS General Conference. It made me mad as so many things regarding the LDS corporation do. Somebody I have known for many years responded. I feel her. It's something I might have done from her side of the fence not long ago and I respect her for it. I think it took a courage of convictions and I admire her calm confidence. She prempted by saying she knew she would be ridiculed and torn apart on my page for expressing herself. Initially I found that fairly irritating and I resented the accusation. I don't allow bullying. I do allow vigorous debate with a no nonsense style.  I accept that tensions get high and people aren't careful about feelings. I'm pretty comfortable with that in a debate scenario. But it doesn't mean that everyone else is.  I have lost many familiar and cherished faces from my facebook page. I know they think I  have become a dark and cynical person. They would rather not deal with my brand of..whatever. I get it. And if things are going to turn ugly and personal I do think it's best that they keep their distance. And yet.

I know that if they heard my voice  and they heard me discussing these things with other people though, they would probably get a different sense. I am endlessly curious about the human condition.About how other people see the world. What makes them tick.  I miss the diversity. I miss having people who are brave enough or thick skinned enough or to coin a Mormon phrase, contentious enough to come to my page and challenge me. I want them to change my mind as often as they reinforce my confidence in my own choices.  But the written word has limitations.

Today I thought about doing a podcast. It seemed like the natural easiest solution. I even researched it a little bit. Logistics and technology are not my bag. I can't think of anything I have less interest in. If you want someone to come up with content, to be engaged and engaging, to keep the conversation going though, I'm your girl.  I think that's going to be the next move for the blog but I need logistics people. And I need people who are willing to talk about stuff with me. And maybe we have 3 listeners. And they will be our tribe.And that will be enough. And that's what I want to do.

So. What do you all think about that?

Well I'm out of time.
So ends the longest blog post of all time. Is anyone still out there? It's ok if you aren't. I understand. This is not a blog post I might want to read on someone else's blog either. Or maybe I would?

Either way, I am satisfied. Satiated for now.  Because I scratched an itch. I filled my craving. My craving takes many forms and today was a day to indulge. In the grey light of this morning I snuck out of bed and sat cross legged and started writing as a new friend recently suggested that I should. I hand wrote, stream of consciousness in a beautiful grey Moleskine journal. I don't remember what I wrote but I remember that it flowed and that it was delicious.

I bought a pack of six of those journals last night. Tonight I will go back and buy 6 more and I will fill them all because that's another craving I have denied for a very long time now, and indulging it felt sublime.. And perhaps I will end up with 12 journals filled with nothing of any type of substance but they will be meaningful to me.

Because I am a writer and I won't pretend any longer that I am anything less.

Thank you for being my reader.

I Remember When

I've been working on another blog post but the theme of change has been thick in the air today and late this morning a friend of mine asked a question which triggered some memories. So I thought I would jump in....many prompts late with the 8 minute memoir project a couple of my most admired bloggers are doing right now. I hope that's ok. Even if it's not. I'm doing it. Because that's the kind of crazy maverick I am you guys. ;)

I remember when everything started to really change for me. When things started shifting in a solid way. I had never been comfortable or satisfied with the status quo. Never. Even as a child.  But I remember when I started to feel it in my chest.  And then in my throat. I remember when it would start making my pulse quicken and my stomach feel hollow with it. When the whole natural universe seemed poised to squeeze it out of me and to hold me up while it did.  A little bit more every day, it built and built and built. It actually felt like it was seeping into my bones, making me stronger until I was ready to pour what was left of it out.

I remember running that summer. In the woods and on the beach.  Running, listening to music. Always the way in which I find clarity, the way I meet with myself.   Two memories in particular stand out to me that summer. Running along the beach . The shore was narrow and uneven where the waves of the lake broke and scattered across it.  My left leg was lower than my right on the sand.  It was awkward but I was determined. I had to struggle to find every foot hold and my bare feet made light circles as they displaced the water in the sand. My music was telling me that I had to be braver. That my voice was worthy of being heard. That yes it was uncomfortable but it was ok.  No it wasn't wrong .Yes. ok. More than ok. Needed. Desperately needed. A sense of triumph and resolve started to grow inside of me.

I remember running in the woods, wanting to please the God that I had grown up with. Pleading for things that made sense to my kind and inclusive heart to synch up with what I heard when I sat on the soft upholstered wooden benches and the cold metal chairs. The way they seemed to for all the other peaceful looking people there.  Pleading for my kind and inclusive heart to stop warring with my rebellious, impetuous soul. 

I remember the moment the music went quiet. The notes of the music melded with the notes of the birds in the woods. I remember that I saw a lovely doe. It looked at me expectantly but fearlessly and suddenly there was absolutely no doubt. None whatsoever. Just love.  My kind and inclusive heart and my rebellious soul were one and they were perfectly in synch.  And my voice was strong and brave and needed to be heard.

I still haven't made my voice heard on the issues I was wrestling with regarding my religion and faith in the way I envisaged and I will know when the time is right for it. If ever.

But I made my voice heard in my own personal life. The courage I took from those moments. The peaceful confirmation of myself as a wise and valued member of the universe taken from those sacred moments, offered to me by the sand and the water and the soft forest floor and the birds and the butterflies and the doe and the sun filtered through the green of the trees. That acceptance and courage allowed me to confront ugly truths and damaging people when I least expected to have to.  And that confrontation was painful and dark at times and took almost everything I had to offer. But I never regretted it. Not even for one moment.

I will never swallow or doubt my kind and inclusive heart or my rebellious soul when they clamor urgently for my voice to be heard again.  And the knowledge of that feels like the sun rising inside of me.

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

A note to my kids..

Hi my babies,
As you well know, sometimes I have random thoughts that I am compelled to share with you before they get lost in the mess of mind and today I was having a few of them. Here they are.
Today I told one of you something I wish I had told you or even understood for myself a long time ago but I’m a slow learner. That’s ok. I get there eventually.  Here’s the thing:
It’s not your job to make me or your father (or anyone other than yourself) proud. Whether we are proud of you or not is irrelevant.

Once when you guys were really little I remember Benj saying to me, “Wow mommy, you really care about the way things look”. That was a major knife in the heart for me because it was true. I put a lot of energy into the way things looked.  Maybe more energy into things looking good than things feeling good. That was a big mistake. The way things look is irrelevant.  That’s something I still have to work on every day.

We put a lot of emphasis in our culture on being proud of our kids. Sometimes we think we are being awesome parents when we tell our kids how proud we are of them. #proudmom
But it’s not our job to be proud of them. Our pride is irrelevant.
Here’s my job:  To love you unconditionally and to support you in your journey through life as best as I can.  Sometimes I will fail horribly but I will always try and I will always do my best. Sometimes my best will not be good enough.  When I know better, I will do better and I will never give up. This is my job and I promise to do it.

Here’s your job: to learn and to grow and to live your life as well and as honestly as you can. This means that you will make a lot of mistakes. You might have some great successes and we’ll celebrate those,  but I can guarantee your mistakes because mistakes are how we learn and we are here to learn.
The knowledge and growth we gain through learning is awesome but the mistakes that lead to learning are often awful and painful and sometimes really awkward and embarrassing.  Your mistakes may embarrass me or make me mad or both. My mistakes may embarrass you and make you mad.  At times your mistakes will break my heart and my mistakes might break yours.  Here’s the scary part: your guides (that’s me and your dad ) are still learning too.  We’ve figured some stuff out but we don’t know everything. Here’s the comforting part: When I screw up I promise to tell you and to do my best to do better. When I screw up I won’t pretend that I didn’t.  I want you to be able to trust that I am doing my best by you at all times and your wellbeing will always come above my need to seem like I know what I’m doing.

The problem with putting too much emphasis on the whole “I’m proud of you” thing is that apart from being irrelevant, I think sometimes it really creates a barrier in us doing our jobs properly. I can’t help you or guide or support you properly if I don’t know what is going on with you. And you might not want me to know what is going on with you if you think it might make me less proud of you.  Can you see how this might create problems?  If that happens, I’m not doing my job of supporting you because I don’t know what type of support you need, and you’re not doing your job of growing and living because you’re so busy worrying about how things look.

Here’s what I know. Life is so messy and ugly sometimes. It just is. It just is.  Here’s what else I know. If things look good but feel bad, they are bad.  I would much, much rather see the ugly, real stuff and live it with you than let you live through the ugly stuff on your own. I would much, much rather be there for you, than proud of a less than honest version of you.  Every time.

I captioned the picture I took above as “Life” because to me, it’s the perfect visual metaphor for it. Sometimes the sun shines warmly and beautifully and brightly but the clouds are pretty much always around, waiting to waft in. Clouds aren’t a sign that you are doing anything wrong, they are just part of the design. Sometimes the clouds are thin and we can see the sun through them, things aren’t perfect but they are just fine and we know things will be just fine, sometimes the clouds are really heavy and dark, and they get locked in for days or weeks, sometimes there is no sign of the sun whatsoever and we are pretty sure life is going to be dark and grey or even black and stormy forever. But the sun is always there and it will eventually always come out again. There will always be another sunny day as hard as it is to believe sometimes. 

Here’s another way of looking at my job. I’m here to help you to deal with the weather. I am here to remind you that the dark days, the stormy black days are not the end of the world, and that the sun will shine again because yeah, you might know that but sometimes in the thick of it is almost impossible to believe that. Again, I can’t be there to help you remember or believe if you don’t share the weather report with me regularly. If I don’t know your weather I can’t offer you an umbrella when it’s raining, or a coat when it’s freezing, and I can’t remind you to put on sunscreen when it’s sunny and awesome and you think nothing can hurt you.  I know you hate it when I do that, but it’s my job and I promise you’ll thank me for that one later.  I promise.

And yes, it’s nicer for all of us when the weather is mild and lovely and so you might feel tempted to try to make me believe it’s sunny to save me from being sad or disappointed but again, I’d much rather you just help me to do my job. Let’s recap: my job is to be your guide and support and to love you.  Your job: to live your life, to learn, to make mistakes and to grow from them.
I’ll love you forever. No Matter What.

Mom