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.

      

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.

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. 

30 Days of Thanks: November 10

"I found myself in a sea of busy places, in a world of blurry faces

I found myself, on the edge of insanity, I found, I found me
I was broken, torn apart
Scars line my arms, on my sleeve I wore my heart
They remind me of what is real
No longer needing pain to feel" ~ I Found Myself, Anna Clendening

I am thankful for scars and pains of my journey- they have put me where I am today.  Five years ago my marriage was falling apart, I was falling apart, my children were sick with stress, and life was challenging. I had a brave smile everyday as I worked, but the moment I stepped into my car the facade broke down, and I pieced it back together as I pulled into my driveway to be the mom I needed and wanted to be. Four and half years ago I found the courage to say enough, all of us in this house are miserable and this life we have planned is over. October 2017 I stepped into my role as a single parent, terrified, determined to prove to everyone and myself that I could do this hard thing.

I stumbled, I fell, I broke my foot, and yet I found the strength everyday to make the steps to living a life that would be filled with love, joy, and peace. I searched deep within me to find the scared girl and heal her, gain her trust, and use that to create a foundation for the woman I am in this moment. There were so many tears, so much anxiety, crippling me, bringing me to my knees, and wishing for a stabilizing force. Little did I know in those moments that I was the stabilizing force. I grew weary, wished for help, wished for that outside magical source to help me pick up the pieces; I could not understand that in rebuilding myself the way I did I created a bond and strength within me that is ever enduring, it is strong, flexible and exactly what I need for me. I found myself, I found me in those moments. 

A terrible, yet beautiful process creating internal scars that forged the woman here with you. If you have not listened to the song quoted above I challenge you to find a quiet moment and immerse yourself in the haunting piano and the soothing strength of her voice. Find yourself. 

Today I give thanks for the journey in which I found myself.

30 Days of Thanks: November 30, 2020

It's Monday, a full moon, and the end of the month. Tomorrow dawns the last month of 2020, and this post should be a beautiful summary of all of the gratitude that I have recorded over the past 30 days, yet it will not. I could certainly write all of that, but it would not ring true as that is not where my head and heart are at this moment.

Tonight, as I sit here hurting, I am thankful for the ability to love deeply, to be that vulnerable with my heart and myself. I sit tonight with tears in my eyes, sadness present, and fighting the instinct to shut it all down. For when you love openly and vulnerably you may hurt, and my heart wants to protect itself. It is yelling, screaming, pleading to close down, throw up the walls, hide away, and protect! protect! protect! Instead, I sit here letting those feeling wash over me, the tears flowing freely, dripping on my keyboard, my open pages of the letter I wrote but will not send. It simply hurts. It is old traumas coming to surface, it is new experiences intermingling with the old and a moment for cleansing and healing.

I am thankful for the ability to know that I can love that vulnerably. I am thankful for the previous experiences that allow me enough vision in this painful moment to recognize that the instinctual withdrawal is a protective mechanism and I have a choice. I can lean into the pain, or I can flee. You can read here that I chose the pain; fleeing does nothing expect create more trauma. With that I sit here wondering the path forward, yet knowing that in this moment I cannot see the path, nor could I safely choose a path. Choosing a path in this moment would be to grasp the thorny stem of the rose with a fist and squeeze, painful and a poor choice. I will trust that the next steps of the path are there, just hidden under the leaves.

Love, and loving openly, is a gift, and as it blooms so does the individual. I choose to bloom.

30 Days of Thanks: November 5, 2020

This evening I sit here and wonder what I am grateful for in this moment, this day. It's not that I don't have a grateful heart, I do, it's just I have no focus. Usually as I sit to craft these posts I have a theme, a reason, something in mind, yet tonight there is no clear reason. My purpose in doing these daily posts is to reflect and find a joy in the day, or peace, and always gratitude. 

Today I find myself grateful to have another day. To be present here on this earth, and experience this life in this body. I am thankful for the experiences I have had until this point, for each has contributed to this path that I am on. It is mine, and mine alone. Separate, yet part of the larger collective of the human and soul experience. I am grateful for having lived in 11 states, experienced life on the I-95 corridor and off of it. Life along the I-75 and I-90 corridors as well. Living in so many unique places within the continental USA has given me a distinct perspective on life and culture and shaped me into who I am. It has connected me with all different people, and all have influenced the person I am becoming.

I believe that we are never fully that person, we should be ever evolving and changing. I chose not to be stagnant, thus in choosing to evolve and enlighten myself I must be grateful for another day full of experiences. Today I am grateful for them. I'm grateful for the time spent connecting with some of my favorite people, even if it was just for a few moments. These connections nourish my soul and brighten my experience. For them I am grateful.

Are you seen?

Everyone tends to think that the 3 most important, most impactful words are "I love you" and while they are powerful and important I think there are 3 more that are even more critical: "I see you". For there are plenty of moments in your life where you are loved, but not seen, not recognized for who you are. When someone says they see you, it not only means they love you, but they recognize you for who you are. How many times have you been in a relationship of any form where you can feel the care and concern, but still not feel seen? Still be invisible?

When you are seen that other individual confirms your existence as you experience it. There is no questioning, just acceptance. A validation of you in that time and space. They see you, accept you and love you. It's a different experience than I love you. If you have someone in your life that sees you and tells you that they see you, you know that this person cares deeply about you. They understand that desire to be visible, accepted, and loved as you are. Too often I love you comes with the desire to change the person or with blinders. You are loved for an idea of who you are, not who you are at your core, an image. This is not false love, that individual does love you, they just don't necessarily see you. It could be because you don't let them see you, or they are unable to view beyond their own boundaries, regardless of the reason there is a difference in the love and being seen.

I have a small group of people that "see" me. There is no need to explain things, though I often do regardless. They see me, understand my desire to explain myself even when not necessary. They see me through the anxiety, remind me that I am me, not my anxiety. They love me, simply for who I am. They tell me I am seen. I am valuable. I am loved. To me, the distinction is important; I do not desire to be loved on a pedestal, I desire to be loved and accepted for who I am. I desire to be seen, accepted for me. Me, the woman, mother, coordinator, therapist, backpacker/hiker, writer, and coach. But most of all me, the soul in a human body. A survivor and thriver of life's experiences; one who is on a path to create a life less ordinary for herself and her children.

So I ask you, who in your life sees you?

This is 40

In the past few months I have come to acknowledge the power of 40. Forty is not the naive youth of your 20s, nor the growth and experiences of your 30s, but the acceptance of your own being and recognition of your own power. Each decade before brought it's own growth, challenges and joy, and while I expect that the 40s will do the same there is a unique magic to 40. It comes with a dread and becomes an adventure.

At 40, a single, divorced mom of 4, I am more grounded than I was in the previous years. This does not come from age alone, but the internal growth I have undergone. Forty means stepping into my power, acknowledging who I am and accepting who I am. It is seeing me for me, loving her, even the parts I would change, and showing her to the world with the statement "I am me." For at 40 I can see me, the woman with the hips that carried 4 children; legs that have run marathons, chased children and hiked countless miles; a belly marked with stripes from carrying children; and hazel eyes that have seen joy, destruction, beauty, pain, love, and hope.

I have spent much of my life fighting myself, never quite fitting in, using that as my shield and torch. I am setting down those props and embracing my uniqueness with love. I will never be the one who spends weekends with lifelong childhood friends, driving through a neighborhood I have lived all my life. Instead, I am the one who has childhood friends across the states, friends with whom I can stay at a moment's notice, picking up right where we need to, despite a decade apart. Friends in Texas, Michigan, Florida, Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, to name a few. I will always have a unique tribe, and it's something I enjoy, and at 40 am embracing with love. In fighting myself I faced every challenge alone, refusing to allow help. When the world said it was nearly impossible to complete a task, I would tell the world to sit down and watch me. It was set as a gauntlet, a challenge, not from a place of love. And you all did- you watched me fight through earning my PhD with 4 kids and husband; you watched me struggle with a license, housing and finances; you watched me battle the anxiety that was here pre-divorce and in earnest post-divorce. Now, at 40, I see my mistakes, when the task is nearly impossible I can complete it alone, but I can share the burden. I can chose to go forth in love or in fear.

At 40, I chose to go forth in love.

This is 40:

• seeing the woman in the mirror and loving her crinkles at her eyes, the light in her eyes, and all the little imperfections
• understanding that accepting help does not make you weaker, but stronger
• learning that love comes in all forms
• following passion and dreams, not only for yourself, but to model to your children
• finding the rhythms of parenting 4 unique individuals and accepting that you are never going to have all the answers
• accepting the situation at hand and then changing what you can
• taking risks, refusing to let fear and anxiety dictate
• choosing a life less ordinary and crafting it
• finding the courage in large and small situations to express my opinion, needs and desires regardless of the outcome

At 40, I go forth in love.

Gratitude

I was asked earlier this week to identify how I want to be thanked, acknowledged, recognized. How would I best like gratitude expressed to me? I stumbled in my response, this wasn't the usual survey that you complete at work that has basic options such as do you want to be publicly recognized, no public recognition, would you like a specific candy treat, etc that I have completed before. This was a genuine question and concern to acknowledge me and my contributions in a way that would be most comfortable and address my needs. Again, I stumbled. Maybe you know right off the bat, but I certainly didn't and promised that I would think and reflect.

It's uncomfortable to sit and think about this. Why? It's not that I don't believe that I am not worthy of the praise, nor that I don't deserve it. It's partially that I am not used to that type of recognition. Those of you who were around in the early years of this blog, following the journey to the PhD there was very little praise, it was a lot of criticism, not always constructive either. Those years certainly left a mark on me, as well as my marriage. It is a different feeling to be acknowledged for being yourself. The contributions I am making are certainly worth being recognized and gratitude expressed, though what I am doing is such a core part of me that at times it seems silly to "thank me" for doing what comes naturally. Though, I know from past experience that if I am not recognized it can lead to frustration, anger, resentment, and a lot of hurt feelings and misery on my end. So, I have to sit with my discomfort and find what is going to be the most accepting to balance my need to be recognized and seen and not be placed on a pedestal.

Two things that are always important to me are words and actions. It is through these that I feel the most loved, appreciated and seen. When you examine gratitude it is a form of love, so it only makes sense to tie back to what makes you feel loved. I want to hear it out loud, see it written and know that it comes genuinely from your heart.  Private notes, letters, texts, emails are wonderful ways to express this to me, as well as some recognition on a public level. The publicity is less important, as the critical component is the genuineness of the words. In taking the time and effort to acknowledge me in these ways you are also performing an action. Words are critical and crucial to me; though actions are also important. Tying this need into an expression of gratitude and recognition is challenging. I think for these purposes it means follow through, the completion of the desired action. Action isn't the same as gifts. While I enjoy receiving flowers, I appreciate the gesture as much as I appreciate the flowers themselves. Action is taking your time to do something for me, whether that is cooking for me, teaching me a new skill, or even sending me a song, poem, or book I might enjoy.

Through all of this the themes that emerge are connection and genuineness. The expression of recognition should be genuine, personal and written both privately and publicly. Expanding on that gratitude can be expressed through actions that reflect our connection. These may appear to be simple to many, but there is such beauty in the simplicity. I am not one for complexities in areas that do not require. As a woman with a complex, intricately chaotic life, the simplicity of my desires are a reflection of my core self. The external chaos requires a counterbalance of simplicity and connection. I desire to be seen, acknowledged, and recognized for my core being.

A human connection

Did you know that nights and bedtime are the roughest?

It's facing night after night an empty room and an empty bed. You can typically find me stalling going to bed, staying up significantly later than I should be. I am texting a friend, sending messages or scrolling on Facebook or Instagram, just to get that human connection. There's no one here to reminisce about the day or just decompress. I am not saying that I am incapable of doing these things alone, but that I miss that human connection.

The point is that there are aspects of this journey that hit you everyday and while they are easier than at the beginning I have a daily reminder of the major difference in my life. There are nights that are certainly easier than others, but there is often no predicting what will happen when I turn out the light. A while ago I turned out the light and had a massive meltdown. I couldn't tell you what exactly set it off, but lots of tears later I was finally able to crash into sleep. I have moments in the evenings when I can just anticipate that my bedtime routine will be challenging and have learned to reach out to my friends. I am lucky enough that I have a few friends that are generally awake and willing to chat with me for practically hours on end.

This past Monday was shaping up to be one of those days. My anxiety was on the rise and I was dealing with emotional fallout from an encounter that morning. All day all I wanted was to be at home and be sad and process everything that was swirling within me. Sadly, single mom life called and there were what felt like a million errands to be run and a tight schedule to keep.

As the evening wore on I was exhausted and craving solitude, but around 9pm my phone rang. The number was one unknown to me, but based on the location appearing in the caller ID I had an idea who was calling, and I just couldn't pick up the phone. I was out of courage, exhausted and trying to wrap up my evening of chores and duties. The call went to voicemail and I felt guilt, big guilt about not answering. About 30 minutes later my phone rang again, same number, I gathered what remained of my courage and answered. Maybe you're wondering why I needed courage, but this was not an average phone call. I knew that this phone call had the potential to offer a life changing connection, and I was anxious. After a few moments of chatting my new friend and I were conversing like we had known each other for years and away fell my anxiety, fears, the stress of the day.  I am always in awe in the power of a human connection. That phone call was the reset that I needed to go to bed that night at peace.

At my core I believe in the power of human connections and healing nature of healthy connections. Not every human connection is a helpful one, and not all will heal, but when the magic of one appears you can't help but be changed. This specific connection has the additional magic of fueling my plans to a life less ordinary. Who knew that in an hour conversation with a person who was essentially a stranger at the beginning would create such magic and healing?

Solo

Armed with the confidence from a single backpacking trip I decided to close out my summer as I had started it, a trip along the AT, just this time I would be solo. I studied maps, joined two all women facebook groups dedicated solely to hiking, and made my plans. I guessed on mileage, and planned for a 2 night trip. I bought supplies and arranged a shuttle to pick me up from my car, drive me out 30 miles and drop me off.

The nerves hit the night before as I packed, double and triple checking my gear and food. If I forgot something I was on my own, there was no magic but my own to fix the situation. I tried to remember everything my dear friend had taught me. I hoped and prayed that it would be enough. Nerves carried me to the trailhead after my drop. A few deep breaths and my poles, pack and I were off. Within 10 feet the nerves were gone, my body seemed to remember how to use the poles and stride with a weighted pack. There was no fear about being alone on the trail, for I was alone. It took three hours to spot another human.

I walked in silence and peaceful bliss along a tree covered ridge-line with a smile on my face. There were not many views, but there was peace and beauty. I had packed headphones in case the silence became deafening, but it never did. I enjoyed listening to the birds, insects and my own thoughts spun uninterrupted. Personally, I had been craving this trip, a chance to get away with my own thoughts and heal without distractions. On the trail my mind was clear, there were no distractions, but the initial driving impetus of this trip had fallen away. This trip became about me being comfortable in the silence of my mind. For someone with anxiety, this can be a challenge, there's always a lurking fear that the anxiety will take hold and spiral you. I could not afford to have an anxiety spiral on the trail. Thankfully, my anxiety never surfaced, not even when I was a few miles from camp and running low on water and energy. It wasn't one of those times where I had just mastered the anxiety or was ignoring it; it 100% was not present. The mountains were speaking to my soul, and in that moment I knew that I was going to be fine.

This trip was not about the recreating the magic found on my first trip, but creating a new type of magic. There is no recreating that kind of magic that I had Memorial Day weekend. I carry it with me still.  This solo trip required a new brand of courage and for me to delve into my own magic. I'm not saying there weren't moments that I didn't wish for my friend, but I was content to be solo. Alone on the trail you learn more about yourself than imaginable. If you read accounts of thru-hikers or talk to any you will learn that they all say the same thing after finishing: life will never be the same. While my short hike (28.5 miles or 1.3% of the AT) cannot compare to a thru-hike, I know that I am forever changed.

I know that I am a stronger hiker than I thought when developing my plans. My Memorial Day hike we covered about 26 miles over the 2 days, so I planned a 28 mile hike figuring that I would be moving slower without assistance. Day 1 I covered 16.8 miles and realized that I would reach my car the next day around 2 at that pace. I made plans to hike past the car to get my 2 nights in the woods. Apparently, the universe had other plans for me, as on Day 2 the rain came crashing down about a mile and a half from my car and the forecast called for more rain and thunderstorms. While I had the opportunity to continue hiking, I decided that I had achieved my goal and consider it a successful hike even if it was just 1 night out.

I found peace and happiness along the trail, despite the challenges and pain. I found more of me. I listened to the voices in my head about true abilities, my courage, my love and the possibilities of the future. Though I left the trail soaked and looking like a drowned rat, I left with hope and love in my heart, complete in a newfound magic built on the base created in May.

Day 1 (16.8 miles)

Day 2 from start to a wet soggy finish at my car (11.7 miles)

Me, just me

I'm sitting here in Madison halfway through my trip and already learned a big takeaway from this trip. As you know by now every single trip I take to Madison I have self-discovery, and this trip is no different. Tonight, was the big party night at Epic and I was all alone as I had been for most of the trip. Now the thing is that I am not the only one here from my company, there is a group of at least 10 other people here. Mind you, I am the only one here at my level, everyone else is in a formal leadership role and well above me. They're lovely people, but not people I interact with on a daily basis. They are the ones who judge and interpret my work (as well as my peers).

So, here I am all alone in a HUGE sea of people eating and crafting and hanging out. Guess what? It didn't bug me one bit that I was alone. I was quite content to eat my dinner, find a craft to do and then head out. There was no scanning the crowd to see if I might see them. There was no disappointment or anger at being excluded. There was no wishing that I was part of a big crazy group. I'm not saying I wouldn't have enjoyed it, what I'm saying is that it didn't bother me. I wasn't jealous or sad or frustrated. I was content. This is in direct contrast to last year where I was annoyed at being excluded and lonely. It's not to say last year I didn't enjoy myself, but there were underlying emotions impacting my night. Tonight there were none. It was truly an "I don't care" moment. I don't care that I'm one of the few singletons here in a sea of groups. It wasn't a let's show up and prove to myself (and everyone else) that I'm fine alone; it was just me being me. For that I am thankful and grateful.

Growth, it's all about growth.

It's not always loneliness

Today I had the privilege of bringing my kiddos to a fun fall festival at a quaint town not too far from us. This isn't something necessarily out of the ordinary for us. They're used to adventures with me and in the summer it's known as #mondayswithmom. We had on coordinating shirts and had a great time doing crafts, taking a little hayride and walking the streets.

I can say that previously I have done these things and had jealousy issues and left them feeling crushed and lonely. It would hurt to see these "intact" families and know that it's just me and my crew. You wonder if it's bothering them too, especially when they don't say anything. It's a hope and pray that they're doing ok and just keep on trucking because there is nothing else you can do.

Today was different. It was the first time I've been to one of these events and not had massive feelings of jealousy or loneliness. I was content; I was happy; my kids were happy. This isn't to say there weren't moments of other feelings. There was a time waiting in line listening to two moms chatter behind me about not being able to take their two kids to this event because it would have been "too much" without another adult. I get it. I've been there, but I would have been stuck home my entire mom-life if it was "too much." I was the mom wearing a baby on my back and one on my front at times, or wearing one and pushing 3 in a double stroller. I'm not being judgmental about these moms, but I wanted to turn around and say I'm here with 4, alone! You can do it! It might be scary, but it can be done!

Despite these moms and being surrounded by intact families there were a few moments of just wishing that I had someone to share the experience with besides my kids. It really wasn't loneliness, just a desire for companionship. I'm at the point in my healing process to start to recognize the differences between the two. It's a good distinction. I can say that a few months ago I didn't think it would ever be possible. Thankfully, with a push from a friend or 2, my therapist and a lot of my own grit and determination I've grown a lot over the past 4 months.

It's not to say I don't get lonely. I certainly do, but it was nice to understand and be aware of the difference today. Especially after an event that would often trigger something. To me it's all part of the healing and growth process. I'll keep saying it until it sinks in- divorce is a grieving process. Those of you on the outside will never fully understand it unless you have lived it. Though we are grieving, we should also be growing. I like to think that at this point I am doing more growing than grieving. I think that today was a good reflection of that.

It's a good thing to be able to see that my family is whole and happy and "intact" in my eyes. I may not match what you think of when you think of a "intact family," but it's my views that matter more. My kids and I are happy, and I can't ask for more most days. I may have a wish and desire for companionship and a partnership in the future, but for now I am content to be me.