2 Years

Two years ago I walked into a quaint little coffee shop for a first date, slightly nervous, yet excited to meet this cute guy who had a distinct sense of humor that made me smile. Over iced matcha lattes we lost track of time sharing stories, laughing, and finding a rhythm that has become part of who we are. Today we celebrate 2 years of dating.

Two years of adventures; from snowboarding trips, concerts, breweries, whitewater rafting, and hiking, to family dinners, kitchen adventures, backyard fires, and plumbing mishaps we have certainly experienced quite a range. It has not been easy, combining our very different lives into this one that we are creating. Moving from a single mom of 4 very busy teenagers to being in this relationship has challenged me. It has brought old traumas to the surface and forced me to confront them, while navigating the needs of our relationship. We have misunderstandings and communication breakdowns, each of us navigating our past while trying to find what works for this relationship. Even in the difficult times I know he supports me, loves me, and wants me to take care of me.

We tell each other on occasion that if you had told us at the end of that first date that we'd be where we are today neither of us would believe it. Sitting sipping our beverages there was no way to know that he'd help me find a passion in snowboarding, we'd encourage each other's creative sides, and that I'd help him love the outdoors more than just in a single season. There was no way to see how well he interacts with my crew and how they have come to care for him, and how we are finding our way as a little family of 6. Reflecting at dinner last night over the past 2 years it amazes us both at times, and while there was minimal talk of what was to come we know that there is more. 

This is a season of change for me, with one graduating high school and the others following directly behind her it is difficult to plan and even more difficult for me to imagine what my life will look like when Miss B graduates in 2029. What I do know is that I am excited to have him by my side as we navigate this together.

The End 2024

There is not a single word that can describe the year of 2024. There was laughter, joy, compassion, tears, heartache, pain, and indescribable bonds. My house was a construction zone, a nightmare at times. It was no longer a safe haven, a place to relax; it was simply a space to endure and exist as they drilled, hammered, made huge messes, and frustrated me to tears. I often felt adrift without a space to call my own, sanctuary lacking, though sanctuary was found and created in a new space, an unexpected one. One that at times terrified me, while still exciting me. A space that was freely offered by the incredible man in my life; what started as a simple workstation, a place to get away from the noise, dust, and disturbance of construction became my lifeline. From there it spread to more spaces within his home, and now his home is a sanctuary of its own for me. There is something in the simple act of having your own space within another's that creates bonds.

As 2024 progressed so did my own personal journey. There were old traumas to address: the pain, hurt, anger, frustration, and disappointment at having my life upended, losing the person I considered my best friend, and moving from simply surviving to living. I cried, I wrote, I had therapy sessions that left me drained, and through this I have found my footing. While much of the future is not yet planned, I am healing enough to start planning. It's little things like a trip this summer with my family, and how it will be to take S off to college; as well as larger things like what life looks like 5 years from now when my crew have graduated high school and are no longer home full-time. A year ago looking that far ahead was impossible, today it is something I can begin to envision and shape. I find myself looking at a future that includes companionship of the best kinds: solid relationships with my children and a best friend that loves me. It continues to be a change to think of life in terms of 6, not 5, to shift my words and phrases and thoughts of doing so much solo to knowing that I have a partner. There have been so many moments over the past year where I could have chosen the easy path and let the trauma, pain, and hurt of the past overtake me, damage my relationship, and I find myself beyond grateful for the work to get me here today.

From one that has spent so many years being solo, and doing things solo for a multitude of reasons 2024 has gifted me opportunity for community and companionship. There were muddy hikes and kayaks with a friend that brought me such joy, walks in the woods with my man and his pup, volcano hiking with my kids and mom, beach-time with my kids and parents, and snowboarding with family. Last year we ended the year with a 2 day trip to trial snowboarding, and this year we ended it with another snowboarding adventure. There were 2 days of laughter, falls, joy, and growth in the Poconos. Progress was made with each of us and I found myself reflecting back on our time from last year as we fell, slipped, crashed, and laughed. Last year I remember looking down the mountain and finding that person there just for me, cheering me on for doing nothing more than not falling; this year they were there doing that too, yet the dynamics have changed and there was a smile and hug waiting for me from one that loves me. In the space of a year we have created a tradition that I hope carries forward with the 6 of us. 

I know that 2025 brings forth intense change with S going off to college, G starting their journey towards college, and the end of middle school for B. These are the known changes and as always there will be a host of unexpected changes. I did not expect to be unemployed for months in 2024, yet it has brought me back to my roots of pediatric physical therapy and I find myself thriving in treating kids in their homes as I did as a new graduate, a full circle moment. 2024 brought me the opportunity to teach PT students 2 mornings a week in a daycare. These students have reminded me in the best of ways that there is a wealth of things I know after being told repeatedly I simply didn't know things over the past few years. With 2025 upon us there are new traditions being established with snowboarding trips, family vacations for 6, and adventures for 2 and 6. This past year has been intense for me, for my kids, and for the incredible man in my life. There has been so much that I would change, yet if changing any of things did not land me where I sit in this moment I am not sure I would opt to change them. The trajectory for 2025 and onward is filled with joy, laughter, change, adventure, and companionship, all things simple and beautiful.

A Year of Change

From snowboarding to scones to fondue and cheesecake it was a weekend of food and memories. I had the pleasure of spending the weekend celebrating a milestone birthday with my guy. We hit the indoor slopes on Friday to snowboard, enjoyed dinners with parents on different nights, family bonding, and plenty of time just as us. I spoiled him with a few of his favorite foods, and he enjoyed, and is still enjoying, discovering penguins hidden throughout his house. Presents were opened and to quote him "It was a perfect weekend."

It was quite the contrast to where we were 1 year ago. A year ago we had just broken up, as our relationship was simply too much for both of us. I was in denial that it was too much, but in truth the traumas that we had both experienced over the past 6+ months were impacting us, and impacting the relationship that we were building. There was a mutual respect for each other and an agreement to stay in touch. We both knew that the other was a person that we still wanted in our life, yet something had to change. His genuine heart, unique perspectives, and ability to make me laugh were not things that I wanted to lose. Even though I did not want to lose contact with him I knew that space was needed for both of us. I needed to grieve this change, find my footing, and more forward in healthy ways. It provided me the opportunity for growth and clarity, demonstrating that I did not collapse, my world did not collapse, when something unexpected occurred.

These lessons came after the spring of 2023 where everything burned and my world appeared to be no more. Only 6 months later arrived the ending of something special, and I found myself sad, upset, and yet still standing with strength I did not have prior. I also had hope. I had hope for the continued friendship of us. While our contact was extremely minimal at first it grew slowly and tentatively. We had to navigate being only friends while still processing our previous traumas and growing into our own. As the time progressed there was still a hesitancy, but glimmers of our connection appeared. And when I opened the discussion of snowboarding the barriers began to fall faster. 

He helped me navigate and plan to take my crew snowboarding for the first time. His generous nature shining through and overwhelming at every turn and text. With a common goal we found ourselves in more frequent communication and our friendship growing. There were some challenging moments, but with the pressure of an intimate relationship removed the communication was easier. Laughter came frequently and the night we went to dinner as friends is one that I like to revisit in my head. While there were a few moments that challenged me the hours we spent chatting and laughing reminded me so much of our previous dates that I was extremely happy to have him back in my life. It was these moments and the ones following that strengthened our friendship and carried us through the holidays of 2023.

Two and half months following our break-up we found ourselves starting again. It was unexpected, and yet it felt right. Slowly we have found our way, and this was a capstone weekend for us. It was a year of change, a year of growth, and a year of falling in love with ourselves and each other.

      

The Other Side of Healing

What no one tells you is that when you are healing from past traumas and experiences is both the fear and the freedom that you experience. Fear and discomfort at the unfamiliarity of the situation, fear that somehow this will change or be taken away, discomfort at breaking new patterns and experiencing new ones. Every step forward away from those traumas and negative experiences breaks the pattern and helps to create new ones, or at least space for new ones. This past year has had a multitude of them for me and I find myself frequently in a space of not knowing what to do. I know ultimately what I want, but the path to achieving what I want, believing that what I want will occur, and making those steps often has me stumped. How do I accept this new place when everything to this point has told me otherwise that it simply is a pipe dream? What do I need to do here to believe otherwise enough to make a change in my own self?

These moments are taxing, they are breaking, but they have been worth it. The moments of "I don't know what to do with this" are usually my first indicator that I'm standing at a precipice with a choice to trudge back down the familiar path or jump forward into this new space and existence. I wish that I could say I have jumped with each of these opportunities but I have not; fear, anxiety, habit, and the safety/comfort of the familiarity of retreat have overtaken some of these. For the times that I do leap I am filled with a nervous energy and excitement, overwhelmed in the moment and sometimes startled to find myself in this new space. Sometimes these are important transitions, and others are simply small ones, but each new one still unknown. What they don't tell you is that these are often scary, they present their own fear. In breaking my patterns, leaving the comfort of the unhealthy I have to face myself, my history, my previous choices and give grace to that woman so that the one in this moment is free.

What no one tells you about healthy and healing is that the path is not linear, nor is it a staircase; it is a trail through the woods and mountains, winding about, often times reversing back on itself. Finding myself continually challenged with ideas, experiences, choices that I think I have changed and accepted, yet they reappear as the trail winds. Making the changes internally is a process, one that is nearly as intense as experiencing the initial traumas. It has a depth and complexity to it that is difficult to explain. In learning to be vulnerable and trust I have to acknowledge the previous moments where I was vulnerable and was left stranded on the path. I have to find the courage to believe and accept that this moment is different, or I find myself retracing steps, repeating, and allowing the fear of healthy overtake the security of unhealthy.

When you have experienced such intense time periods in your life moving into something that is stable and healthy feels unstable, feels unsafe. While it is the thing you crave, the thing you desire, and the thing that society thinks should be an easy acceptance, "simply choose it and it will be so;" those of us who have walked this can speak to the challenge. Moving from a pipe dream to facing the reality that it is no longer a pipe dream is it's own challenge. Grappling with your own sense of worthiness, ability to be loved, and to be seen and accepted for who you are- not what you can provide is difficult. That movement into accepting each of these components it's own journey, it's own path in healing and growth that can be just as violent and life-altering as the times that took those away from you.

welcome to the other side of healing

A Unit Circle

Not that long ago it was told to me that my kids and I were a tight-knit crew, not closed off, just extremely close. I always considered the 5 of us to be close, just not in the manner with what was described. I have used that feedback to sit-back and reflect on who we are. We are close, we are a unit; one forged of love and trust and adventure. We are by no means all friends, my kids are certainly friends with each other, as well as siblings, but I am clearly the parent, at best the leader of the group, at worst the outsider. From this outside perspective I was told it can be intimidating to enter our circle, not because we're not welcoming, but because we are such a unit. Finding a place in the circle when we inherently know our strengths and weaknesses would be a challenge for someone, and I had never considered it; never considered how our unit might appear to others and how that has impacted our social life.

We are the family that hosts bonfires and everyone is welcome. Come over, bring a chair, enjoy the fire and s'mores and simply hang out. We enjoy hosting people, and prior to our crazy lives with 4 teenagers we used to have more frequent gatherings. From college parties with home-cooked food to young adult parties with an extensive menu, the majority of my life I have been a hostess. This all carried over into my adult life with parties and gatherings, simply bringing people together to share food and laughter and make memories.

I want my children to remember the gatherings, the fun, and think of these times when life seems simply too much. I want them to remember that sense of community, and yet as I reflect on the past decade I struggle to see that community. I see us hosting again and again, bringing over friends and neighbors, even complete strangers to enjoy time with us. They have been beautiful moments for us, but ones that are rarely, if ever, reciprocated. I have observed friends and neighbors hosting gatherings of their own, mixes of friends and family, and rarely has an invitation been extended. I wonder now if it's because of our unit. A few years ago I remember driving by a friend's home that was clearly having a party and my children commenting on the party and then asking why we weren't invited. I made some answer, but I remember feeling crushed that my children were starting to notice the differences. Now I look and wonder if it's because we are such a unit, that what I see as a happy, loving family, appears to the outside as closed off, unreachable. I can certainly hope not, but as we close out another holiday and I see the photos of the picnics and gatherings and parties, all I can see is that another has passed without an invitation.

Somewhere along this path when I truly began noticing that we were continuously on our own for holidays I began planning things for us to do together. We have a host of happy memories of camping, hiking, bonfires, all clearly feeding into our closeness. I have broached the subject of our apparent lack of micro-community tentatively with a few people and it often comes back to me as, "well you're usually busy" or "you're always welcome to join us". Busy I understand- we are a busy family, and yes I often plan things these weekends as I do not want to waste time waiting on an invitation that may never arrive. The phrase "you're always welcome to join us" is not an invitation, at least not for one with anxiety like mine, and one who has a history of being invited places, then treated like I was not welcome. I would prefer to avoid repeating those experiences, and would like to prevent my children from experiencing them. I never quite know what to say in response to these statements, so I opt for brief explanations about our schedule or my need for a clear invitation so as not to intrude. All which creates a cycle of us being busy and and bonding and separating ourselves from this community further.

As most parents and caregivers do, I try to do my best by my children, and yet in these moments when I see these micro-communities around us I feel like I have failed them. That in my desire to create memories with them and shield them I have separated them from these microcosms and more. Failed in that they do not have this surrounding community that so many others have. It is more challenging when you do not have local family, and yet having grown up without family nearby I know it can be done. I have fond memories of growing up with my parents and attending parties, arriving with a salad or cookies or something and being welcomed; I feel sad that my children have nearly none of these moments and memories. All I can do is hope that the memories they do have are enough.

 

Lattes, Laughter, & Love

It started with lattes, finished with laughter and a year later I find myself in love with the most incredible man. I have laughed more this past year, smiled until my cheeks hurt, and experienced things that were on lists that I had only hoped to experience. Pipe dreams and beyond. Not every moment has been easy. There have been tears, there has been fear, and I have had a number of traumas come to light. I have run away literally and figuratively. No fights, but heavy conversations with heavy topics- yet what do you expect when you have the ability to be truly open and honest with someone? 

A year of texts, calls, conversations, and did I mention the laughter? I have never met anyone that makes me laugh the way he does; there are times it is unintentional and then there are the moments that he sets about the make me smile and laugh. Even sitting here now reflecting on the past year it makes me smile. My kids like to ask what we talk about, and the answer is everything and anything. We discuss our day, my kids, an adventure we're planning, cars, books, the chaos of life, computers, technology, food, beer, and so many things I can't even begin to list them. We talk about us too. We talk about where we are in the moment, where we are looking, and dance around the topic of the future. It's there, we know it is, yet there is something about being present and accepting of where we are right in the moment that has it's own beauty. I have been in other relationships where I spent a lot of time in my head about the future and planning the future that I missed the simplicity and beauty of the moment. This incredible man of mine helps me stay in the here and now. While we're in the midst of making plans for this upcoming winter we have the ability to look at the now, for which I am thankful.

I have spent much of this year healing from intense past traumas, and he has been there every step of the way, even when I'm terrified. In the moments when I am overwhelmed and running he has met me with patience and honesty and understanding. In April I was triggered by a small series of little things, things so small I could not explain them, but I bolted, took off to the trail without a goodbye, without a note, nothing. I knew I was running, I knew I should turn around and yet I just kept driving and then hiking. A few hours and buckets of tears later I picked up the phone; standing in a small windbreak at the top of a ridge on the Appalachian Trail in New Jersey I called to apologize. I stood there fighting back tears and shared that I was not ok, but that it was not ok how I left, how I treated him. As we navigated that phone call my tears subsided and I was able to find a bit of peace in the remainder of the hike. Peace I needed so that I could identify what had happened and connect with him post-hike. Full of fear and trauma response I met him after that trip, unsure how I would be received. He had told me he had forgiven me, but I knew I had hurt him, and the trauma and fear had me walking into that restaurant shaking. Seeing him sitting there smiling with a beer on the table I was brought back to the matcha latte table, the two moments overlaid for just a moment, and with that I found the ounce of courage I needed to step forward, sit down and begin a difficult conversation. How do you explain the trauma, the hurt, the fear from something so small when the person sitting next to you wants nothing but the best for you?

There have been no straightforward paths over this past year, and it has been challenging navigating my own traumas, hurts and fears, while he deals with own. Finding the balance of asking for my needs and meeting his needs is something I work at daily, and while it is easier it still takes effort. Finding myself on the receiving end of beautiful caretaking is a first. "I don't know what to do with this" is a phrase I use often. I have cared for myself and my crew for so long that I do not know how to be the receiver of such caretaking gifts. It should be a simple thing to have someone make you a meal, show up when you're not well, celebrate your birthday, and gift you something because they thought of you; in fact it's what I do. Yet my history is not such that it is something I am accustomed too. In the end it is something that I do not want to become accustomed too, it is something that I never wish to take for granted. I want to cherish and honor the caretaking, the heart and thought that is poured into some of these things.

I sit here a year later sipping my wine, wishing it was a matcha latte with company, yet we have had a year of matcha lattes, and we have more coming. More snowboarding, more hikes, more meals, more laughter, and more of the little things that are part of this journey of ours. 

"Deep within us—no matter who we are—there lives a feeling of wanting to be lovable, of wanting to be the kind of person that others like to be with. And the greatest thing we can do is to let people know that they are loved and capable of loving." ~ Fred Rogers

Sanctuary

Find one that makes you melt with a touch, smile at their words, and wraps you in their arms into a space of sanctuary.

These are the words I posted to an Instagram story the other night.

Similar phrases and words that I have seen others post, yet something I never have experienced fully until recently. It is approaching a year that my incredible man has been in my life, and while we have not been officially together the entire time, it bears celebrating. Over the past 10 days I have spent much of that time overwhelmed and stressed, pushed to and beyond my breaking point, and there he was- always a supportive text away. Countless text messages, voice memos, and a few long phone calls all of which were received while he was dealing with his own intense stressors. There were no complaints, nothing but support and care and concern for me, solutions and suggestions were offered and never once did I feel like I was being a burden. Never once did I feel dismissed, or that my current problems were less important than his. I was too stressed and overwhelmed to even have a moment to allow my trauma responses to surface. I focused on breathing, the miniature plans that we made, and doing my best to find a way through each of the compounding difficult moments.

There were hugs that grounded me, reset my heart-rate, restored my ability to take a deep breath, and move out of the adrenaline phase where I found myself. Hugs that I never even had to ask for; I walked in his door and he simply wrapped me up and held me until he knew I was calmer. There were countless cups of hot tea made, pancakes prepared, and all done of his own accord without prompting- nothing more than him being him. A retreat away was offered, a space to rest, recover, and reset with nothing more to do than exist in a safe and peaceful place with his calming company. I received caretaking in a way that I have gifted, yet not previously received from someone in this role in my life. In a period of intense stress I found healing.

After a recent dinner we found ourselves in our usual space: talking, laughing, and sharing in his kitchen. With a hug and gentle touch from him I melted into his body, my body and mind finding peace. Words he crafted for me that left me both speechless and smiling; words that had me leaving that night with eyes welled with happy tears; words that even in this moment bring a knowing smile to my face. There is sanctuary in the space that we are creating.

There is peace in the stability that is us. Don't ask us what the future holds, we do not know. While we make tentative plans, we are happy and accepting in evolving us in a time and space designed by us. 

Soul Compassion

With the simple touch I could focus, even if just for a moment. The gentle pressure of the hand on my forearm and the thumb movement allowed me to breathe in a way that I hadn't before. Though my eyes were closed the world became crisper and I could feel the individual points of tension in my body. I used that touch as an anchor point, lowering my shoulders from my ears, and drawing a deep enough breath to release the tension starting at my toes. The shame, the weight, the overwhelm at bay with the grounding touch. A removal of my anchor point had me floundering almost instantaneously, I reached out blindly, unable to open my eyes, unable to speak, but as a hand grasped mine it all stabilized.

There we sat, my head in my hand, my other hand wrapped in theirs, and me simply trying to breathe. Minutes passed and I worked diligently to release all of the tension, focusing again on that point of contact, grounding myself, reassuring myself through that point that I was ok, I was safe, and I was cared for. When it was time I raised my head and was met with eyes full of care, kindness, concern, and compassion. It was overwhelming to be greeted as such, and nearly enough to make me want to bury my head again, yet I fought through the urge and simply sat there. Safety and security were offered, and upon standing my heart began to pound, clearly the fears not yet passed and my body responding as if I was unsafe and needing to flee. Wrapped in a deep hug my breathing calmed, my heart-rate slowed, and the tension that coiled again slowly dissipated. 

Never could I have imagined that sharing a story would have impacted me so deeply. I did not expect the nearly instantaneous fallout that occurred; the grief that I felt in moments, but it was the overwhelming shame that came crawling out of my body and onto my skin that surprised me the most. It was a story that I had spent a significant amount of time in therapy processing, working through, and healing from. Yet here I was, a mess, but I also knew that this was different. This was not the same intense emotions I had previously experienced with this memory, this was a different set of emotions, and the unique part of this moment was that I was not alone. I was not abandoned, dismissed, or gaslighted; I was supported, cared for, embraced, and given what I needed without even being asked. Safety and security abounded in the simplicity of the touch.

At some point I knew that I was moving beyond a reaction to the shame I had been feeling after sharing my story, though I knew I had nothing to be ashamed of. I knew that the intense reaction I was experiencing was from the caretaking I was receiving. This was new; being raw and vulnerable and then being met with such kindness, care, and compassion from someone in this role in my life. I paced, I dug my nails into my palms, I tried my best to share what was happening internally because I could see the concern growing on their face as they watched me unravel. I knew I needed to breathe, I knew I needed to find a way to ground myself, and I knew I needed to fight against the overwhelming desire to bolt. I shared what I could, that I was overwhelmed with them caring for me, that this was something very new for me, and that I was concerned for them and how they were dealing with this entire situation- from the story I shared to how I was currently behaving.

With words that I didn't know I needed to hear I was told that I had nothing to be ashamed of, that they were not upset with me, and that none of this was my fault. I was offered choices and when I stared at them blankly and managed to say that I can't make a decision right now they were there, giving me the support I needed. It was a series of little things that were done, that both felt so unnatural and exactly what I needed. I was not in a space to ask or even know what I needed in that moment, my brain in flight mode, and what I could manage was breathing. A hot cup of tea, a hug, a hand to hold, and a shoulder to rest my head upon were given freely. A safe space to not only share my story, but then process the unexpected aftermath was gifted to me. I offered apologies that were not necessary, and were thus accepted, but told repeatedly that they were not required. I offered thanks to them for simply being them and caretaking of me in ways that they intuitively knew I needed. 

It was an intense few hours for us both as we navigated this entirely new experience. With the dawn of the morning brought brief moments of embarrassment and shame from me, again the overwhelming desire to bolt from the situation, and again I was met with patience, compassion, and a cup of hot tea. As I clung to the teacup I appeared deep in thought, yet my thoughts were not deep- they were simple: breathe in, breathe out. A focus on the breath to dissolve the tension, shut down the flee response, and focus on the point of security within my view. With a cup of tea in me the world was a little clearer, and I was a little calmer, yet throughout the day I went through cycles of doubt, and each time I was given the reassurance I needed that all was well.

The physical connection, the caretaking, the compassion, empathy, and continuous support provided was overwhelming and yet healing. It is a moment to reflect upon and also celebrate. I know this is another step in allowing myself to be cared for, to be vulnerable, to remove the stress and barriers, and allow another to see me in my most human of moments. It is in these moments that my humanity is on display and my soul laid bare, an offering of extreme trust, one which was accepted wholeheartedly, for which I can do nothing more than smile.

Roots

I sat in the car, eyes full of tears, and as the procession exited and headed towards to the church I thought to myself, "please don't let us go by the house." Yet, at the familiar stop light we made a left turn and then a right turn, and I found myself being driven down the street where my father grew up, and the last stable, tangible piece of my childhood. The house grew closer, it's grey-blue front, the driveway, the porch, and though it no longer belonged to our family, I could see within and feel the love and laughter. The tears fell slowly as we drove by on our way to one of the churches of my childhood to celebrate the life of my paternal grandfather. Roots, I reminded myself, it is roots, and though your last grandparent has passed you have your parents, your extended family, and your own family.

It has been almost 8 years since the passing of my grandfather, the man with whom I played cards, took me bowling, out to eat, made me laugh, and told me stories upon stories. He was at all of my graduations, helped me move into college (more than once), and gifted me with the most incredible pasta rolling pin. He was the last of my grandparents to pass, the final deep root that kept me anchored. Growing up moving around the country I always knew that no matter what I had my extended family, my grandparents back in the hometown of my parents; it was the one constant in my life. With his passing I was uprooted, and while I knew I had my parents, my own family, and my extended family, everything was different. 

Six weeks ago I lost my my longest childhood friend, another root removed. After battling illnesses for 4 years she passed away, a month shy of her 44th birthday. A leap baby, I would tease her about her age, yet in truth she had more wisdom and grace and compassion than most of us. Jess was my kindergarden friend. The one person that managed to keep track of me despite me moving away at the age of 8 and then moving multiple more times.

In the midst of my undergraduate years she found my email and we emailed occasionally. Nothing too frequent, nor anything too in-depth, but the connection was there, yet life took over and we lost touch again. With the advent of Facebook we reconnected and finally we connected in person, 20+ years in the making. When I divorced it was the catalyst our friendship needed, pushing us into a new space as I tried to find my footing as a single parent.

Jess became the person I would call when I was on a long drive; she was the person I called when life was good, when life was crap, and everything in-between. We laughed a lot, cried some, and she offered insight, guidance and simply held space. The past 6 months she was the person I left messages for every morning; a check-in on my day, a well-wish for her for the day, and a promise to connect.

When my life fell apart last year I could always count on Jess, despite the fact that she was ill herself and dealing with ongoing medical issues. Jess held space like no other. We made plans to celebrate her discharge from the hospital with a bonfire like no other. We made plans to celebrate her birthday with cheesecake and laughter and kitty snuggles. The last month of her life we sent voice memos, endless voice memos, simply unable to connect on the phone, and when we finally did briefly it was with a plan to catch-up again soon. It never happened. 

I lay prone upon my bed the night of her passing, unable to move, tears that would simply not come, despite knowing I needed them. What was I going to do? Another root, another stable point gone, and I knew in that moment, without fully understanding, that life had changed again. There are still so many mornings and so many drives that I pick up my phone to leave her a voice memo, to call her to chat, and I simply cannot, so I speak to her, knowing that somewhere she is listening. At times it helps, at others it is nothing more than an exercise in futility and I fight back the tears for my loss. She's happier and healthier where she is, yet I find myself again uprooted, working to create new roots, new anchors.

If I close my eyes and listen I can hear her telling me that I am rooted, that I have my children, my parents, my ancestors, my widespread friend circle, and a new path, a new root growing. She would tell me that my maple is more rooted than I believe, and to listen to the heartbeat of my forest.

Jess and I at her 40th

Teas & Memories

I crossed the slush covered street, stepping lightly and quickly, a smile coming to my face as the cold wind whipped into my hoodie. It was far different weather than my last visit to this quaint place. I stepped inside, my eyes darting to a table and little smile and a memory came to the forefront. Seven months later nearly to the day, I found myself standing in this same sweet little coffee shop thinking about iced matcha lattes despite the bitter cold outside the door. Today there was no one waiting for me, yet the memory lingered and if I looked past the 2 people sitting at the table of my memory I could see myself there, a black and white stripped sundress and black sandals, sunglasses likely perched on my head smiling at the gentleman across from me.

I stood at the counter in my hoodie contemplating: iced matcha latte despite the frigid temperatures or something new. A lavender honey black tea hot latte caught my eye and in that moment I knew this was not a time to reminisce with my previous beverage. With a beautiful piping hot beverage in hand I sank down onto the couch, just beyond a small divider from where I had sat months previously. A smile crept onto my face as I sat there sipping the steaming latte and reflecting on my first trip into this shop.

It was a sunny warm day in June and I walked into this cute little beverage shop in a sundress and my favorite sandals, a nervous flutter in my stomach but a smile on my face. I looked around briefly and spotted my date, matching his picture thankfully and my smile grew bigger. He sat there with a iced matcha latte a small smile on his face, looking slightly relieved from my perspective. It's always a little awkward those first dates, even after conversations on the app and seeing pictures it still never quite captures the uniqueness of the person you are meeting. I sat down briefly and we chatted before I popped up to order my drink. I stood there at the counter somewhat overwhelmed with the choices and distracted by my date sitting at the table, eventually landing on a matching drink. My mind was spinning at moments thinking "I hope he doesn't think I'm ordering this just because he did". In truth, his drink looked appetizing; I was just learning to enjoy matcha lattes; and, at the very least, we could compare notes on drinks, yet somehow I knew that we would likely have much more to talk about than our drinks.

Back at the table I smiled, took a breath, and simply started talking. I likely babbled, but the longer we sat there the more we shared and soon we were laughing and sharing stories. The drinks long finished and the conversation flowing easily, no awkward pauses or uncomfortable silences. Questions were tossed back and forth, and I would think that to those around us they would not likely know that we were sitting there on a first date. It was certainly easier and lighter than the others I had been on prior. As always on those first dates I could be nothing more than me, yet I knew this was a more authentic me in that moment. Sitting with my hot lavender latte I could fade the patrons away and see us sitting there 7 months ago, awash in conversation from books to Mini Coopers to adventure stories. The conversation and joy flowing easily over the hours. Time was lost on that day, it was a harsh awakening back into the world when he realized the time. I found myself shocked that nearly 3 hours had passed over a single beverage. I had thought maybe an hour and a half, yet it was double. Little was I to know in that moment that this would be a standard for our interactions, time speeding by as we discuss politics, snowboarding, technology, life, divorce, food, and yes even matcha lattes.

The scent of lavender fills my nose and mouth with each sip, soothing my anxiety momentarily and drawing up happy memories from the past 7 months. I want to sit on this couch for hours and ground myself in the memories, yet life beckons me onward to cheer for my children at a cheerleading competition. I am still reluctant to leave, just as I was on my first visit here. On that day in June we walked back to our cars together smiles on both our faces, a lightness in my heart, and a strong desire to see each other again. I promised to text him later as he did not yet have my number, and with this successful date I was ready to share my number. That first text was the start of many, just as the date was the start of many.

It has not been easy, there have tears and panic and anxiety. There has been miscommunication, projection, fear, and triggers. There was a break much needed by both parties, even if not wanted by both, but mutual respect for each other and a desire to maintain the friendship kept the communication lines open. Seven months later after those first iced matcha lattes we find ourselves together on our own unique path, undefined, yet inherently us. The conversations continue in similar fashion to our first, bouncing from subject to subject and time is lost. Invariably one of us catches a clock and realizes it is hours past when our time should have ended and one of us has to leave. There are nights when the conversation continues onward via text, and others it simply ends for the night to be picked up the following day. The connection and chemistry transcending physical presence.

It would have been nice to return to the scene with him accompanying me, yet today it was the gift that I did not know I needed. I sat in silence, smiled, reflected on the journey, dreamed about the future, and had a grounding moment in a day of anxiousness. It was not planned to return there today, it simply happened. I was in the area and wanted a hot cup of tea, as I walked in the bitter wind towards the shop it was only then that I realized where I was heading had history. I could see us there with our teas, I could reflect on the drinks we've had over the past 7 months, the meals, the laughter and the growth within each of us. Maybe one day we'll revisit and sit and enjoy iced matcha lattes again, maybe we won't, yet today's visit gifted me peace and for that I am thankful for the tea and memories.

Goodbye 2023

I'm not here to say that 2023 was the year that forged me, or give the year that broke me a silver lining. 2023 was brutal, and no amount of sugar coating will change that. I lost friends in unexpected ways, in the cruelest ways, lost community, and lost myself. It was a year of anxiety, depression, medication ups and downs, frustration, tears, tears, and more tears. I fought, I cried, I crumbled, I dissolved. I got help, lots of help. I reached out to the best of my abilities, and yet I still kept so much to myself, until it would come pouring out like steam from a teakettle on an unsuspecting bystander. There were days that a single look could trigger me.

2023 broke me, shattered me, burned me to the ground. Ashes left. No path, no direction. I left a job with a team that I enjoyed when my world burned away. I had to start anew, and yet it wasn't the fresh start that I truly envisioned. I was still so broken, trying to find something among the ashes. I struggled to do the things I enjoyed from hiking and backpacking to reading to writing. My blog silent as the thought of sharing all the details and struggles were simply too much. Many days were simply about breathing and finding the energy to get through work and caring for my kids, extra activities were simply that- extra. 

As I left the fog of the spring and found my way into summer I was still so broken, yet I was coming around, finding time and space for me. Seeking out new friendships, exploring new relationships, yet still dealing with anxiety and depression. Hiking and backpacking which had always been a beautiful escape and healing place was not always a safe space with the ongoing unhealed trauma of forcibly losing the APT. There were so many unknown triggers, and yet there was an individual who made me feel safe. They listened and welcomed me, cared for me, and simply let me be the mess that I could be at moments and was there when I came to the other side. A beautiful safe person among the chaos who simply liked me for me.

My 2023 adventures were nothing of what I had planned. The trips, the hiking, the backpacking, the outings with my kids, all a struggle while working through the remnants of a mental health crisis. As the summer progressed I could see that the late winter and spring had truly been a mental health crisis for me, and while I was on the healing end of it, it was, and still is, at times terrifying to see where I was. I found comfort on the water, instead of on land with a pack on my back. Time on my paddleboard or in a kayak became some of that refuge, as well as books. I could lose myself in a story and forget about my own world, lost in a character, lost in the fantasy world of magic and Fae. The strength of these characters a lifeline for myself who had lost her strength, her spark, her everything. Even as the summer progressed and I began to find my footing and moments of joy and happiness and laughter found me more often there were struggles with anxiety. Court came and went, changes to a custody agreement that had been in place for 5 years, with the knowledge that more changes would be coming as the year progressed.

The fall came and kids became a large focus again with school beginning, activities, and I needed to also make time for me. Hiking began to appeal to me, so a few short trips were had, these with such different feelings from years past. No longer about mileage, but about being there. Breathing in the air, listening to nature, stopping to read my book for a while at a stream with my feet in the water. Stillness, peace, healing must have been what I sought, that I could not simply find within the confines of my home. Peace and healing also occurred with the person who made me feel safe, though there were triggers there too. When one has become accustomed to trauma, abuse, and instability in a relationship the safety of another could trigger me. I was waiting for the explosion or implosion, projecting history onto one who was simply not that way.

2023 left battle scars. I lost weight from the depression and anxiety, the medication that I so desperately required made me gain it all back and then some. Emails, texts, and social media posts could trigger me into an anxiety spiral. There were so many moments where I felt like I could not breathe, and physically I had breathless moments. November found me digging out my inhaler from my drawer as illness descended and moving air became a challenge. My house a construction zone, my new job becoming ever more a challenge and a pain point, my kids activities taking over, custody battle ongoing, and the holidays closing quickly. I craved comfort, peace, safety, security, and yet it was so far away, nearly unattainable.

2023 closed with a new adventure, snowboarding. Something I had wanted to enjoy with kids earlier, yet life had always intervened. Two days in the snow in the Poconos of Pennsylvania learning, falling, laughing, and falling in love with something new. The inner joy and pride at looking up a slope and seeing that this time you made it 3/4 of the way down without falling; knowing that this current fall was because you were trying to turn and dug in too much of an edge, not because you panicked. This trip gave me a multitude of gifts, one of which is simply finding the joy in adventuring again and the resilience in picking yourself up again after falling. I watched my children cheer each other on; I watched them cheer me on, and we all bonded on the snow. Though many runs blend together a few stand out, and as I balanced and made my way down I found I had a personal cheering squad, a single individual there applauding me, and that my friends, made my day. A single person there solely for me, happy for me, proud of me for doing nothing more than not falling. A simple little gift, but one I will cherish. I never would have imagined at the start of 2023 that a small mountain with manmade snow would be the highlight of the year, but it has been. 2023 broke me, challenged me, changed me, and left me adrift, yet it ended with a beautiful adventure. No silver linings, a simple shift into 2024 with a new love and a goodbye wave to 2023.

Out of the Ashes

"I told you that this was going to happen!" I nearly yelled into my phone as I paced in the street in my socks and running gear. The calm and peace of my recent run obliterated with a simple phone call to my attorney after another custody issue. While I could not bring myself to say the words "I told you so" I offered her a version of it, speaking my truth, knowing that the arrangement that was set in July would not work beyond the summer. I stood in my running gear, my mind remembering that morning.

Standing outside a courtroom, my heart pounding, shaking slightly, awaiting an attorney that I had spoken with on the phone, but not yet met in person. My usual attorney unavailable, so a new one for the practice come to represent my and my interests in this ongoing custody battle. My anxiety threatening to skyrocket as I remembered the moments a few months earlier when my world crashed just around the corner from where I currently stood. I breathed slowly, centered on the details upon the wooden door in front of me, and fought to calm myself. As my attorney arrived we smiled and I was boosted by her countenance. In we went, I entered with a small measure of confidence, having been assured that nearly nothing would change with this simple hearing. The officer spoke, the attorneys spoke, I heard snippets, but I also heard a roaring in my ears. It was nearly too much at moments, yet I stayed as calm as I could. Moments of the discussion haunt me; his attorney twisting my actions and my generous nature into something different while my attorney sat there in silence. I managed to stay quiet, knowing that it was not for me to speak to the officer in that moment. It is only now that I regret not saying anything to my attorney.

Into the hallway we went to strategize and come to a "solution" to the custody issue that the court found at hand. I had no issue with the current arrangement, yet with their dad wanting more time there was an issue. Back and forth the attorneys went between us offering ideas. I balked at so many of them, beginning to grow angry and ever more anxious. What was happening? I had been assured on multiple occasions that this would not be happening right now; that I would have had more time before anything changed. I downright laughed at a few suggestions. I told my attorney multiple times that the proposed changes would work for the summer, but that there would be issues come the start of the school year. My voice was not heard, ignored again. Years of experience and failed expectations meaning nothing to the person representing me, nor the court. In defeat I agreed to a plan, it was that or enter the courtroom and let them make a new arrangement without having any input. Back into the courtroom and the officer was pleased we came to an agreement temporarily. It was determined that we would return in a few months to discuss adding even more time before a final court date would be determined. I was defeated, confused and angry.

Leaving the courthouse I shook in anger and disbelief. How did this happen? I regretted my decisions a year ago to try to move to Oregon and find a fresh start. I began to berate myself, thankfully a friend intervened and helped remind me that I was allowed to want a fresh start, to pursue big dreams and goals. There is the possibility that without the propulsion of my relocation bid this custody change may have never occurred but there is no knowing, and with the guidance of friends and someone special they helped me reset and find some temporary peace with the upheaval.

Standing in the street my anger rising at the loss of my voice months earlier I unleashed more of it on the attorney. Document, document, document I was told. He's been given an opportunity and continues to fail at parts of it she tells me. A few weeks later we are repeating this conversation and I am yelling at her, my frustration at its breaking point. It's not fair to the kids, it's not fair to me, and it's in violation of the agreement. I am powerless in the moment to do more than yell and document it all. Documentation in the moment feels futile, sitting and holding space for a time that is months away with nothing that can change in the interim. My needs, the needs of my children feeling as if they have been thrown aside for what feels like a whim, though I know it is not a whim. I know in my heart that their dad loves them, and wants more time with them.

It is my fears, my experiences with him, and watching their experiences with him over the past 6 years being divorced, and then the years prior that have me proactively advocating for them, defending them. For 6 years I have been there nearly every night for them, driven them to practices, picked them up, taken them to the doctor and more. In about 5 years Miss B will graduate high school and my life will be forever changed with them as legal adults and high school graduates. All of this swirls in my head and more as I speak with my attorney, unable to easily voice my concerns and voice them coherently. My children, my crew as I often call them, are a huge part of my world, my goal to raise them to be kind, compassionate humans without a sense of entitlement. I fear what happens to them when they have less time with me during these teenage years when they require more guidance and shaping. The teenage years are a revisiting of the toddler era yet with humans that can speak clearly, and in my case are all taller than me. It is in these years that they work to find their identities and they need enough freedom to explore and experiment, but the safety and security of home with love and boundaries. How do I provide that in the manner that I feel they need when they are with me less? I know that many split families do this constantly, and yet I can't help but challenge against something that feels so inherently wrong for my family.

With a final court date arriving in a month I think about those afternoons spent pacing in the street in my running gear, sans shoes, advocating for myself and my children to my attorney, a mother's passionate plea to adjust things to provide more stability to the 4 humans that I am blessed to call my children. I can see the fear I held, and that I continue to hold. I hear the underlying intense love I have for them, and the protectiveness that so many parents feel for their children. I see a woman finding her voice after being burned to ashes, left with nothing, and doing this out of love, not desperation. I see her acknowledging her fears, her own inadequacies, and yet still finding strength and stones upon which to stand and step to pursue what she believes is best for her family through love and advocacy. There is no phoenix here rising from these ashes, nor a rebirth; there is a woman growing, changing, loving, and fighting with love for herself and her family.

Ashes to Ashes

 A little over 2 months ago my life imploded and crumbled to dust. It was the darkest period of my life, even more dark than periods leading up to my divorce and early post divorce. Anxiety and depression assaulted me daily and I began a course of medications to find some balance. The side-effects of the medications became as much of a problem as the anxiety and depression, and it was one more battle I had to try to find the energy to fight and manage. But this story is not about the medications and effects, this story is about the creation of the ashes of my life.

I had a plan.

I had a plan to move to Bend, Oregon and raise my children in a town that better meets our needs and lifestyle. A town where I feel at home, safe, protected, and at peace. A town that values the outdoors, being active and community and connection. A town that strives to care for its own, and while it is not perfect it is trying, more than I see in so many other communities. I had a job in Bend, I had my non-profit in Bend, my best friend in Bend, and a growing community of friends through my job. I had a plan to move there and continue to grow the non-profit and eventually transition to working that full-time as a paid employee and likely a small job on the side to supplement income as needed. I had a plan to create a lifestyle that supported my physical and mental health in ways that are extremely challenging living in my current community. I had a plan.

Having primary custody of my 4 children does not give me the right to just move them across the country, I had to come to an agreement with their father to move them. In brief he was not agreeable to them moving, thus began a year long legal battle for relocation. On April 20th, the day before my birthday, we all attended court, the children spoke to the judge alone and expressed their opinions which were relayed back to me via my attorney. I found myself in the very real and very painful position of continuing my quest for relocation and likely being denied relocation and primary custody of my children, the only option that was guaranteed was to rescind the relocation request and have the battle for change in custody follow due process through the courts. In 10 minutes I was forced to make a decision: fight for my move and potentially win or potentially lose everything, or give up relocation and keep custody until it could proceed through the court. My heart was breaking, I sat in the courtroom hallway fighting back tears, breathing, shaking, trying to find the decision that met my needs and the needs of my children. This move was for me and for them, and I knew that if we moved it would be incredibly challenging for them, I knew that it would strain our relationship, but I also knew that given time and space to heal and move through it we would do well in the end. Having grown up moving I know the resiliency of children and moving, but also the trauma of it. I sat in the hallway battling in myself, the clock ticking, my heart racing and breaking all at once, torn, watching my world finishing burning into ashes. The last important component of my life fuse lit and burning out. I made the decision to pull my relocation request, I simply couldn't take the risk of not moving and losing primary custody. It would break me further than I was already broken at that point.

Earlier in the month of April I lost my best friend. My best friend of the past 3 years simply decided to stop speaking to me, stop being there for me, stop answering calls, texts, anything. Having been as close as we were and having supported them through so many trials and challenges it was killing me to have lost them, lost their support when I needed it most. I needed that person that simply understood me and grasped that this was more than "just a move." They knew what this meant to me, and understood how deeply important to me it was, and I was abandoned by them without explanation. A fight had been had 2 months previous that had not been resolved, but I had been hoping that we were going to move forward as we had in the past. Every other fight, disagreement, and confrontation we had had over the 3 years we worked through, and we always told each other we worked through it because we cared about each other. I still cared about my best friend and I wanted to work through it, but I also desperately needed that support from them. Support that I had received previously, and I could not, and still cannot understand, why it was withheld. Why, when I needed them the most they abandoned me? Left me, ignored me, triggering so many of my trauma responses I swirled and spiraled more. Court loomed closer, there were challenges with the children and court, my birthday loomed, and the person that I had been closest to for 3 years was missing by their choice. My heart broke, my soul adrift, and I began to crumble, to implode, unable to bear anything more, fire burning throughout.

I struggled to sleep, I struggled to eat. I struggled to get out of bed and get to work at the desk next to my bed. I did it though. I got up slowly, I struggled to focus on my tasks, taking double and triple the time to complete tasks as April wore on with the loss of my best friend and court approaching. With the loss of my best friend also came my resignation from my non-profit. The non-profit that I helped create; the organization that I built from the ground up; from the logo and community and website, that was driven primarily by my effort. It was a passion project, one that I poured my heart and soul into. I was proud of the work I did, it brought me much joy and it was such an honor to be a part of it. Yet the organization was changing and the leadership and I were in conflict and I could no longer stay with an organization that did not value my opinion, my work, my time, and did not appear to believe in open and honest communication anymore. The non-profit was the one thing that I still had hopes of, the one thing that was going to be my light in this time of extreme darkness, and it went away. With the loss of my best friend and my non-profit I crumbled, but had little time to grieve those losses. Medication was not working, therapy was still in place and yet it was still not enough. I was unbearably sad, yet also so numb to everything. My body and mind unable to process anymore hurt. Food was a chore, everything was a challenge, from a simple shower to making dinner. I persevered, the kids were fed, chores completed, and life moved on. I was not ok, yet there was no time, no space to fall apart.

I sat in that courtroom hallway with only a small fuse of life left, having burned away so much with the other losses, and now it burned away my job and my move and my future. Ashes, dust, nothing left, no pieces to make a puzzle. No strength. I am not a phoenix to rise from the ashes. I am a woman, nothing more. One who was incredibly broken, not ok, and yet still asked to carry on, to move forward. To grieve quickly and briefly because it's "only a move" "only a job", yet it was never just those things. It was a lifestyle, a safe place, a peaceful place, and a place that provided comfort in the pine tar and smoke tinged air with the snow capped mountains surrounding the town and the river carrying the heartbeat of the mountains within it. It was gone. My chance removed of my own accord. The sacrifice I made for my children that I did not want to make. I made it because of my deep love of them, but this was one that broke me. In a month I lost my future, my best friend, my safe place, my organization, and so much more. It's challenging to put into words all that was lost. 

I have not grieved it all. It seems impossible at times to grieve it all. Where do you start? How do you portion it out? How do you find the time and space and safety to become vulnerable when you are already dust? How do you share this with the world?

Two months later and I still struggle to find the words, to grieve it. Tears come at times, life is moving forward and there have been some incredible moments over the past 2 weeks and amazing people coming into my life, but I know I have more grieving and healing to do. I do not have a path forward, I do not know where I will be in a few weeks, a few months, much less a few years. It's ok not to have those answers, but there is so much instability that I drift. I am thankful for the people that have become anchors, and the new ones that are supporting me with open hearts and empathy. What a challenging time to come into my life, and yet as has happened before people have arrived in my life at challenging points and made such lasting impacts that I have a small amount of hope blooming again.

There have been more smiles and laugher in my life these past 2 weeks than there have in the past 2 months, for which I am thankful. I see and feel parts of me that seemed to have been lost forever. It is not a return of those parts, but an emergence of new. I do not have a path, I do not have a plan, but I find more moments of strength and courage. In this I can take some comfort, and in knowing that anchors are there for me.

Tomorrow begins the start of the next chapter. Tomorrow their dad begins his battle for joint custody and I have to find the strength, courage, and energy to fight for what I believe is best for my children. What is best for me as well. I am scared, I am terrified, I am exhausted, I am sad. Knowing I have a handful of people supporting me is giving me the strength to proceed and I will. 

As I have said so many times before reach out to your friends, to your family. So much of this story has been withheld, and maybe I will write more on it one-day, but without those people texting me in April, giving me hugs, and calling me I would not be where I am today. Without all of you being there despite me not reaching out or reaching out right before I would have fallen further. My heart has gratitude for all of you for being there, even when I told you I was alone, and you told me I wasn't. Thank you for letting me disagree with you and have the space to move through some of this grief safely. 

Turning 43 in the middle of all of this was not what I wanted, not what I envisioned and again I find myself with trauma on and around my birthday. Six years ago I knew my marriage could not be saved on the weekend of my birthday, a turning point in my life, and here I am with a no plan again coming off of a birthday. I love plans, yet at this point I can do no more than walk through each day, each moment, each breath and let things unfold.

Peace, I pray for peace.

Bend October

I stood up at the river, turned my back on the Deschutes, went to pick up my backpack and the tears came instantly. They took me by surprise, yet they should not have as I had been crying intermittently all day. The last day of a momentous trip and the emotions overtook me. I turned back to face the river and allowed the tears to fall as I sobbed quietly. When they slowed I donned my sunglasses and backpack and walked along the gravel path back into downtown Bend, keeping the river on my left. Tears appeared at times as I walked along the path towards my final meal in Bend. I knew that as I walked I was leaving a piece of myself in Bend.

I shortly came upon the pedestrian bridge, my thoughts instantly drawn to the previous Saturday, and I walked on, yet a few steps later I turned, drawn back to stand on the bridge and look out over the river towards the mountains. I stepped on the wooden planks, uneven, studded with screws, and walked to the middle. The sun shone over my shoulder and I stood simply letting the tears gather. I knew I needed to mark that moment, and I recorded some videos, unsure of exactly what I wanted to say. I let the tears fall as I expressed my gratitude, my joy, and even my sorrow. 

Saturday, October 8th marked the completion of the first scouting hike of the American Perimeter Trail. My best friend, my business partner, and one of the most important people in my life walked the pedestrian bridge over the Deschutes River into Drake Park in Bend, OR completing a 3 year journey. As I watched him cross that bridge I smiled, I laughed, I cheered, and I was overwhelmed. With a smile, tears in his eyes and a swing of his flag he completed the loop. I thought I would cry, instead I smiled, we hugged, we laughed, and I was overwhelmed with it all. Another demarcation in my life, one of joy, sweetness, and a lot of dedication and work. A moment made possible by a simple connection on Instagram, an offer to help, and an acceptance.

The past 3 years were not easy for either of us. There were traumatic moments, changes in course, but most importantly there was connection and a willingness to go forward. At the transition points we talked, we argued, and we found a way to move through as friends and business partners. It has been a gift, a privilege, and an honor to accompany him on this journey, and even now, 6 weeks later, the moment he crossed the bridge brings me to tears. They are tears of joy, gratitude, and love for a friend and a project. A project that was not mine but quickly became my passion, my own project; integrating into so much of life I cannot imagine, do not care to imagine, how the past 3 years would have unfolded without it. 

Now the project moves on a new path and I cannot help but grieve some of what was. It was never perfect, but it was familiar and faced with the unfamiliar there is fear as well as excitement. For nearly 3 years we journeyed to this space, and finding ourselves having crossed here I find more tears. They are powerful tears, ones that hold space for the grief of the loss of the familiar while holding hope for the future. Around the bend we find ourselves.

I went backpacking

 I went backpacking.

I went backpacking Memorial Day weekend to ground myself, reset myself, and get away from everything that had been occurring over the past few days previously. Friday night I attempted to pack my bag, but my mind was too scattered, unable to focus on even the simplest of tasks of packing up my quilt and grabbing pajamas for the trail. Saturday morning I awoke, anxiety still looming, panic moving slowly throughout me, but at least I had a clear head. I gathered my equipment, my food, and prepared for an errand I needed to run prior to leaving. In the middle of packing and preparing a text came through from a dear friend: call me. My heart sank and my heart-rate skyrocketed, the panic began swirling faster and I took deep breaths, reminding myself I was safe. I replied with a simple, I will try, but I am not OK right now. A boundary, a piece of self-care, and a reminder to my friend that I had told them I needed space.

As I finished my packing and my errands my mind swirled, no response from my friend. I finally text them again: is everything OK? No response. I began my northwest drive to the trailhead, munching on my breakfast finally deciding that I will call when I finish eating. I knew I could ignore them, but my mind was swirling and spinning and I'd be thinking about it so I knew the best course was to deal with it head on. My phone rang and it was my friend. Nothing was wrong, but the conversation did not go well. We argued, picked at each other, and eventually I had to say I'm not OK, I'm not having this conversation right now, we can continue it when we're both in a better place. On I drove, music off and on, GPS guiding me.

I picked up my pack, loaded it on and headed south on the Appalachian Trail towards Duncannon, determined to close out another section. I was completing a section I had been avoiding because of a road walk. I headed down the mountain, across the Susquehanna, through the town, and then back up a new mountain. There I set-up camp at Hawk Rock, a lovely little outcropping with an incredible view of the river and land. I knew I needed to ground myself more, so instinctively I decided to cowboy camp (sleep on the ground without my tent). I was nervous, but felt safe and gave myself permission to setup my tent at any point in the night. The locals and I enjoyed a beautiful sunset and I drifted off to sleep shortly thereafter. A porcupine awoke me around 4am, and the sunlight woke me around 5, with the locals coming in around 6 to watch the sunrise. It was the first morning I woke up without anxiety looming and panic lingering. My head the clearest it had been in days. Sunrise, breakfast in bed, and then I was up and off to retrace my steps, now headed north to close out more miles in this Pennsylvania section.

A long 16+ mile day of hiking, but slow. I ambled about, not caring about time, just letting my body be and my mind wander. There were daydreams, there were prayers, there was quiet. There were other hikers that I passed and chatted with, whereas the day before I kept to myself, barely talking to anyone. I could feel myself coming back into me, coming back into my body, my soul grounding within me. On one particular section I fell into such a rhythm that I fairly forgot I was in Pennsylvania as my mind had drifted to other places. As the day progressed and I spoke with more people I felt more and more comfortable. I set-up camp at the shelter, my tent my home for the night. I ate my dinner among other hikers and attempted to chat with them, but the fatigue of the day and the previous days had caught up and I quickly excused myself. 

Tucked away in my tent I found myself again. The social interactions in passing in the day had been just enough, but dinner had been beyond my limits. A thru-hiker set his tent up across from mind and we conversed through our tents. I felt safe in my tent, away from him, but enjoyed the social interaction. It was a small gift given to me. That night I needed the security of my tent, just the same way I needed to sleep in the open the night before. This long anxiety and panic attack at least had me listening intuitively to my body and my needs in a new way. When your nervous system has been on overdrive for days filtering information becomes challenging and this time in the quiet of nature with the healing power of movement I was finding that connection between myself and my needs.

Monday morning I awoke, rested and connected. Grounded. Calm. No anxiety, no panic, just me. It was another gift. One I gave myself, one I spent the weekend working towards.

As I hiked back to my car all I could think was "I went backpacking"

Hawk Rock Sunset

Quiet, Comfort, and Tears

The tears that would not come yesterday have made their entrance today. A day that started with a need for quiet, for peace, for comfort and solitude. As my youngest went to the bus I made myself a small breakfast of yogurt, blueberries and honey, comfort food and nutrient dense. Something light enough to put in my stomach that wasn't overly interested in being filled, yet was asking for something. With my anxiety often being triggered by hunger I knew this meal was important, and it went down smoothly, yet by the time the meal was done I wanted nothing more than a snuggle and quiet. On my couch I soon found myself nestled against the cushions, unable to read, unable to do anything, my brain and body tired, exhausted. As I felt myself drifting to sleep I set an alarm so that I could make my way upstairs to work.

I settled into the couch and drifted contentedly in and out of that light space. It was not peaceful, but it was comfort. My phone rang, a certain ring tone letting me know an intimate friend was calling, but I ignored it. I needed space, I needed time, and I needed to be in the moment for me. As I made my way upstairs to begin my day the phone rang again, my person calling me a mere 10 minutes later, and again I ignored the call. It was too heavy, too much, all of my energy was being driven into logging into work to begin my day. I played soft music, instinctively knowing that the music I often listen to would be too much for my overwrought system. We rarely discuss the physical and emotional fallout that comes from a panic and anxiety attack. Fatigue, physical fatigue, poor emotional regulation, impaired coordination, body aches, altered hunger responses are a few of the things I have experienced throughout today. Thankful for a quiet Friday at work with no interruptions from my team and the comfort of steady, monotonous work I went about my morning. 

Today I set boundaries for myself with my friends and my business. I am taking the weekend off to be with me, my business, my passion project, will survive without me for the weekend. My friends were told I am not ok, but I will be and I need this space, this time to be with me. I cannot care for them, cannot care for my children, cannot do what I love if I am not ok. I am not ok. These boundaries are difficult. I want nothing more than to call my best friend, yet I won't. Maybe that seems counterintuitive since we are taught and told to reach out when we need help, but I know me, I know what I may do, which is share briefly and then focus on them. This delays going through my process. This delays my own healing, so I let the tears fall and do my best to honor these feelings and move into them. I cannot be who I am without tending to me.

Over lunch I went for a walk, 2 houses from mine I wanted nothing more than to turn home and take a nap. Maybe it was anxiety, maybe it was fatigue, maybe it was fear, but it seized ahold of me and I found myself tensing and my knees wanting to buckle at the same time. My body confused about what it should do, neurons firing haphazardly after the previous day. A few deep belly breaths and with mental fortitude I was able to walk the neighborhood, tears randomly slipping down my cheeks, a soft jazz station playing in my ears. Each song speaking to me, a gift from God and universe, in the midst of the tears I knew these songs were meant for me, meant for my journey, and spoke to me of something special. 

"and I'll see you in the high and low, in the high and low I'll find you" 

"You've got a friend in me, When the road looks rough ahead And you're mile and miles From your nice warm bed You just remember what your old pal said, Boy you've got a friend in me"

"Look now There's more to see See how I used to be There's a memory Something only I could know It's a wildfire Burns everywhere I go But I know the way home, I know the way home"

The day progressed, I eventually responded to a few texts, sent calls to voicemail and simply told those of you who reached out I cannot today. I simply cannot. There is too much to put into words, too much to process, and I don't know where to begin. The tears cannot fully be explained other than a physical release of everything. As my children came into the home my body changed, tension returned as they went about their day. They provided a small boost of energy to me, but as they left for their dad's this weekend I deflated. Thankful for them to be gone so I can focus on me, but I miss their energy, their love, and their distractions.

Sitting with yourself when you are in this space is difficult. I can be alone and alone with myself in many different ways, but this one is challenging me. I will see what the weekend brings. It is planned to bring me to the forest with a backpack, a journal, tissues, and my basic necessities. It will not be about crushing miles, but finding my feet, steadying my ground, and listening. Listening to the woods, to God, to the Universe for the next steps. Patience my friend I know it will say at some point. As part of me wants to revolt against this process I am gently reminded of the prose that I found this morning:

"We view our life by running at it head-on. By always chasing after one emotion to the next. We try to avoid pain by never acknowledging it, by always covering it up with people or places or things to do. But that never allows the pain to heal. It never allows the wounds to close over and create the scars that tell our stories. If we stopped and acknowledge the pain, embraced the pain as an emotion that belongs to us, then we wouldn't always be running" ~Watering the Soul

So I sit in these emotions, knowing that tomorrow will be different. Tomorrow will bring new energy, a new dimension to my healing. There will likely be more tears, there will be pain, there will be loneliness and struggles, but there will be growth. There has been growth today. The first day, the first step, the first moment is always the most challenging, but today I made that. I am not ok, but I will be. 

The Run of Panic

I can't adequately explain what it's like to wake up and know you're not ok. That the moment your eyes open you know you are simply not ok. The anxiety begins to course moving rapidly from your brain to your limbs and your stomach, sending it churning and your limbs feeling both overly sensitive and disconnected from your body. Then the panic begins, the beating and racing heart, a feeling of spiraling impending. The moment it begins you try to breathe, try to find your center, and yet you know that today those tricks are not going to work. That today, because you did not sleep well the night before and were unable to utilize your tools you are going to have to work at not having a massive panic attack.

I awoke in a strange bed after a rough night. I fell asleep uneasily, woke repeatedly with my mind racing, questions and conversations that needed to be had in the near future circling in my brain. Being in a different place I did not have my tools, my journal had been forgotten at home, no paper in the room I was in, and my phone battery dying so mindless scrolling, a game, or even writing there not an option. I took deep breaths, performed my visualizations, and simply prayed for sleep. It came, it went, the dreams were vivid and odd, not disturbing, just odd. I awoke to the morning doves calling and was at least reminded of a pleasant memory and dear friend, and then came the crash. I waited impatiently in my bed for time to pass so as not to disturb the others in the household, breathing and praying. Dressed I stepped quietly down the stairs and booted my work laptop to charge my phone and distract myself for a while. I found mindless tasks to distract me for an hour or so until my phone was charged enough to go for a run.

I prayed the run would move some of the anxiety and panic from my body. My heart was already beating fast and I knew this would not be an easy run, so I set out to run a simple 5k in unfamiliar territory. As I sat on the floor lacing my shoes, somewhat soothing music playing in my ears a friend found me and wished me good morning. I mustered a response, turned back to finishing my shoes, tears pooling in my eyes as I became overwhelmed and wanting nothing more than to go to my friend for a hug. Fear and anxiety kept me back, and knowledge that I did need to move my body, pound the pavement and put this adrenaline to some use. The run was hard, my legs wanted to quit, my heart-rate took forever to stabilize and I struggled to find the rhythm that I knew I had been achieving these past 2 weeks. I began to beg for tears, hoping that they would help me release more, yet the tears could not and did not come. I reached the halfway point and realized I had missed a turn somewhere, found myself lost momentarily in this new town. Thankful for an app with a map I found the turns necessary to make it back. A few sprints in the driveway to help clear away the last of the panic and I clocked in at 4 miles.

I breathed, I sat briefly for a picture and a vulnerable Instagram post. I breathed and paced and worked towards centering myself. Finally feeling a brief sense of respite I walked to the door to find my friend standing there with a worried look and "what's wrong?", I shook my head as my heart started to pound and I felt my chest seize, I squeezed out the words "panic, anxiety" and dashed out the door, headphones, phone, arm band in hand. Off I flew to my car, dropping them on my bumper as the panic rushed through my body. I was trapped, needing to flee my own body and yet there was no where to go. I ripped out my ponytail, pulled at my hair, shook my head, tried to take deep breaths, paced, and tried to find a way to escape and also calm myself. I heard noises, but I couldn't focus, my vision blurry as I withdrew inward wanting to escape the torture that was my body. Hands on the car bumper I hung my head, trying to breathe, alternating bending and straightening my knees as if pushing invisible pedals that would propel me away from myself.  If there were thoughts I could not manage them, nor can I recall them now. I heard a voice, indistinguishable as I formed a cup around my nose and mouth and did the best I could to focus on my breathing, knowing that centered breathing was my only hope. Yoga breathing and alternate nostril breathing could not be attempted, I could not coordinate my body to do more than it was doing. I was trapped within this disconnected organism, my skin crawling and my body shaking. Arms enveloped me and held me still, my knees and legs shaking at times. Maybe there were words, maybe there was silence, I cannot recall. I know that the physical presence, the rhythmic breathing of another individual was holding me together. A brief moment or maybe minutes later and I was able to embrace them, rest my head on their chest and begin to feel my body again, slowly. How long we stood in the driveway in this embrace I know not, yet it was what I needed. A shift in both of us and we walked quietly to the house where I sipped water and tried to find the words that would not come.

I thought I was fine as I stood there, but my dear friend knew otherwise. Asked me if I needed something more, asked me a question or two that I cannot recall. I remember saying I'm better, see my heart-rate has come down. Yet it had not, standing there I checked my watch to show them only to have it show at rate of 114 beats per minute, high above my resting rate. I sipped more water and we moved to a different space where I could find a brief respite.

We talked, we cried, we hugged and we found a way forward through my own anxiety and theirs. It was a painful goodbye as I loaded myself into my car, not wanting to leave this person who had been there for me. For the first time in my life when having a panic attack of this magnitude someone was there, giving me exactly what I needed. I did not need to pull myself together on my own, set a time limit on my phone to allow a timed breakdown, or any other the ways I manage these when they arise. Thankfully the times of panic and anxiety attacks are few, but I can recall so many of those and the feeling of desperation that courses through me, wishing for someone to give me simply a hug and hold me until I can breathe again.

Today was incredibly rough as anyone who suffers with anxiety knows the anxiety lingers, and panic attacks physically drain you. The anxiety ebbs and flows, with moments of lightening and moments that it crushes you. A friend called me on my drive and let me vent, a safe space to share the stressors of the past 12 hours and my feelings. There was no judgement, no commentary, a listening ear and holding of space. There was a text to my therapist who was able to squeeze me in last minute today for an hour where I just unloaded everything from the past 2 months.

Today it all hit, everything that has happened since I put in my resignation at my former job. There have been health scares, an ongoing custody dispute, a job in peril, a friend in and out of crisis, kids activities mounting and changing as the school year ends, and a nonprofit that I feel I am failing as I balance all mentioned and more. Yes, I am taking time for self-care. I am focusing on my nutrition and movement, running, lifting, and getting outside. There are simply moments when the mind and body can take no more and last night triggered a storm within me that unleashed this morning.

I am thankful for new understanding coworkers, a healing hug in a time that I needed it more than ever, and the 2 listening ears provided from a friend and my therapist. Tomorrow will be different, but today, today I am not ok.

Post-run moment trying to breathe

Birthday

These past 2 weeks have brought a host of changes to my life. The ending of my position at my previous hospital after 9 years as I decided to transition to some place a new, a week off between positions, a birthday, the starting of the new position, and an unexpected surprise. For 9 years I called one amazing children's hospital home, first as a pediatric physical therapist, and then as the Epic analyst for therapy services. Both were rewarding, but it was time to continue to something new and stretch myself.

With a week off between positions I picked my favorite form of self-care: hiking. Backpacking was not feasible, but solid day hikes were on the agenda most days, as well as being able to witness S competing in her first track meet as a pole vaulter. In the midst of this week of self-care I began to find myself again. Find the woman that I knew and loved, one that had been missing for the past few weeks as I managed to survive a host of stressors. I began to look forward to my upcoming birthday, instead of approaching it with a mild feeling of dread and impending disappointment.

My birthday I celebrated by hiking my favorite section of the Appalachian Trail in Pennsylvania, Pulpit to Pinnacle. A solid 10+ mile hike with incredible views, rocks, a good climb, and some ridge walking. It's one I discovered by accident a few years ago and have been back a number of times. The hike, the views, the birds, and the entire experience never grows old. I packed in a cupcake from the local bakery and celebrated atop Pinnacle with a chocolate cupcake, alone, but happy. My birthday is often a source of anxiety and stress, and post-trauma response, yet each year I work through new parts of it and this hike was what I had envisioned for my 40th, yet it took me an additional 2 years to manifest my vision. It was worth the wait and this birthday was filled with even less stress, anxiety, and minimal trauma response.

My belated birthday gift arrived this weekend. A backpacking trip with my best friend. This was unexpected as they had been across the country and I had been happy to simply have the long phone calls we shared on my birthday. My solo backpacking trip to close out more miles of the AT in Pennsylvania rapidly transformed into a trip for 2. We have joked about hiking and backpacking together for 2 years but the constraints of time, location, health, and money have impeded every attempt. When he was gifted a trip to Pennsylvania we were still unsure if backpacking would happen, though we knew a visit was at least possible; our first in person in nearly a year. 

With a plan in place Friday afternoon I drove partway across the state and found myself in a state of shock hugging my best friend. Here we were embracing nearly 3 months before we were to see each other next. I nearly cried, and instead found myself laughing. Saturday we packed up the remaining gear, split what we needed to carry and set out for Pine Grove. The sun shone, the birds called, and there were quaint flowers bursting pinks, purples, and white at us as we walked on the pine needle covered dirt path with our packs lightly on our backs. Up and over the peaks, down into the valleys briefly we hiked, laughed, and shared the joys of being together in person. We have an incredibly complex and intricate relationship, balancing our friendship, our passion project, and a business. As we are used to phone calls when we are in person it often takes me a moment to settle in, and sometimes I simply need to take a quick moment and close my eyes, yet our friendship is one of the most precious parts of my life. This was an unexpected gift, a belated birthday gift that was worth the wait. We bonded in new ways, the ways that you only can when you're laughing as your foot slips as you attempt to climb a small boulder or sitting on the rocks at a view while the sun warms and dries your back relieved of its pack. 

Business called and we bypassed a camping spot that looked divine but lacked cellular service. We enjoyed 2 hours on zoom in my tent laughing with our members, my phone propped on his pack before we realized we needed to hold it. If you've never run a zoom session from your tent on the Appalachian Trail in the dark while wrapped in your quilt I have to recommend it. We laughed, swapped stories, and made plans for our big event this summer. As the evening wore down we laughed more on our own and fell easily into sleep, each snug into our quilts. As the sun rose and woke me, I found myself briefly confused as to the person in my tent as I've only ever shared this tent with S, and then my dear friend rolled over and cracked a joke. For 2 hours we laid there laughing, sharing and simply relaxing before we decided to break camp and make the 10 mile trek back to the car.

My heart was light, my body grounded, and my soul connected. I knew I needed to backpack this weekend. I knew I needed the physical reset and grounding that is provided when I sleep in my tent and hike over the earth. What I didn't know was that I needed to share this experience, and specifically share this experience with my best friend. As we hiked out the rain began, a steady spring Appalachian rain, one that quietly comes and finishes rinsing you of the detritus that you carry unknowingly. We shared more stories, more of our visions, and expanded our passion project to new areas. Reaching the car drenched and ready to dry off I wasn't sad, I was content in our shared experience. It wasn't until I dropped him off that the tears threatened. It was sadness, and as much as it was that it was a brief moment of being off balance. Together we ground each other in a way that only close friends can do, and in that moment as I shifted to independent grounding I was struck by the transition. My heart and my soul are grateful for the time and connection we were afforded this weekend, even as parts of it are sad at the briefness of it all. I honor the sadness while still celebrating the beauty that we had. It was an unexpected gift, one that I will treasure. Until our next meeting.