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.

Heart

One month ago, on June 2, I dropped my best friend off in a Kroger parking lot in West Virginia to take the next steps to completing a crazy goal. I drove off in tears, consumed with grief at leaving behind my best friend. Driving the 4.5 hours home intermittently crying tears of grief, sadness, frustration and joy. Yes, joy. For you see when I had driven earlier that week to pick up my friend he wasn't my best friend, certainly fairly close, but those few days together, solidified everything and we were suddenly best friends. Despite the tears of grief, those tears of joy existed amongst them. I was happy to have an amazing friendship, one that challenged me, supported me and one in which I was safe, secure and loved. There was grief at leaving him, knowing that it would be months of grueling work on his part to complete this goal; grief at the short time we had together; fear of the unknown, for hiking does involve danger and we have already had enough dangerous encounters these past few months. 

When I volunteered to assist Rue McKenrick with the American Perimeter Trail project I distinctly remember sending him a message that I sincerely hoped that we would be friends as well as business partners. Little did either of us know that we would quickly become friends and in a few short months develop a deep bond of friendship and gain a lifetime best friend. He and I have had a whirlwind of 6 months, from nearly running out of money, hiking through the initial wave of Covid-19, to creating a logo, storefront and building a community; it has been beautiful and chaotic. We juggle the business aspect of the Trail and our friendship, often switching mid-conversation from business to personal and back to business. While it is highly unconventional it works for us. This is no ordinary business or project. This is a project that requires heart, faith and love. You can't connect people to the land and the land to communities without heart.

Heart, it's something I haven't spoken about much here lately. My heart is fully vested into this project, and in committing myself to something larger than me I find my heart opening in new ways. It's challenged me, challenged the experiences I have had over the past 20 years, and I find new pieces of myself frequently. It's been a beautiful gift that I have been given, though not without painful growth. In volunteering for this project I could have never imagined what I would be doing, where I would grow and how it would change me. I know that this project is not temporary, but a lifelong commitment. It fuels my personal goal to living a life less ordinary; teaching my children to chase dreams and that a cookie-cutter life is not the only option. This project and this beautiful friendship are a blessing and a gift, not only for me, but for them as well. I can reflect back over these past 6 months and see immense changes in myself, and it all stems from the changes in my heart. One of the best surprises of the heart has been to observe my children's hearts. I listen to them reflect on how Rue is doing hiking; is he safe? does he have enough food, money? It's statements like tonight that are made at bedtime, "have you spoken with Rue? Is he ok tonight?" that strike my heart and allow me glimpses into the hearts of my children. 

As I open more, they open more. There is less fear, less uncertainty and a more stable, loving life. As they watch me jump in and dedicate my time, heart and energy to this, they follow of their own accord, but also open their own hearts as well. In those moments it brings me tears of joy and disbelief. As a parent you often hope that your children have the ability to act beyond themselves; within this project and my relationship with Rue, I have I have been able to observe their hearts, actions and intentions. I am beyond grateful for those glimpses. So, as I drove away I cried for myself, for my children and for him; for it was not just a leaving of a best friend, but of a piece of myself. Our meeting had been 5 months in the making, and it's another 4 months to the next. I'll see you in Bend Rue.

Rue and I before the drop-off

Fears

Let's be real- we ALL have fears about something. Even that super secure person who you know has a fear somewhere, it's part of the human existence. It's what we do about our fears that's important. And me? I have a number of them, but for the most part I've learned how to recognize them and work through them. There has been one that has plagued me though: loneliness.

Even before going through this crazy divorce process I have had issues with being lonely. I know no one likes to be lonely, but I was especially sensitive to it, likely from my anxiety. As I started the separation and divorce process I suddenly found myself with lots of alone time. At that point in my life alone time equated loneliness. I couldn't see how to be alone and content, unless I was engrossed in a book; being alone meant being lonely. Thankfully, with the help of my therapist and the work I put in I learned how to separate the two and learned to be alone and content. There are still moments where I struggle, but the majority of the time I do just fine. Now, there are times I crave the solitude and peace that comes with being alone, that chance to be alone with my thoughts, feelings and just be.

There has continued to be an underlying issue of not wanting to be alone, which I assumed stemmed from the separation/divorce. It wasn't until very recently I uncovered that it's not a fear of being alone or being lonely, but of being forgotten. It's a fear of not being seen, acknowledged, included. I think we all struggle with this on some level, and primary caregivers especially. When you factor in that I'm now a single mom to 4, work a behind the scenes desk job, and was raised with mobile roots there are moments when I feel prone to invisibility. I know now when I feel invisible I am more likely to trigger feelings of loneliness and abandonment.

All of that begs, what am I going to do about it? Well, to be brutally honest I don't know yet. Knowing the root cause helps me logically, but I still have work to do. For now when the feelings hit I remember all the times that someone has remembered me, made me feel special and included me. It's certainly something I'll be addressing in my therapy sessions and working on at home. I will not let this fear rule me or interrupt my life any further. I don't have to be Nelson Mandela, Gabby Douglas, or Rosa Parks to be remembered. I just need to be a genuine me.