Why mediocre just isn’t enough.

A lot has happened since I last wrote. I made it through the 9 months of pregnancy – yahoo! My beautiful, healthy baby girl is 5 weeks old today. The c-section went as planned, and life with two kiddos is starting to become my new “normal”. More about pregnancy and raising two little ones later.

I’ve anxiously awaited the 6 week postpartum mark. The official start of my fitness plan. The day I can get a piece of MY life back and start to build my physical self into the person I want to be. For me, success in fitness is something I can’t say I’ve ever really accomplished. A sad realization for me actually. I’ve struggled for as long as I can remember with body image. Yes, I’ve made changes in my body over the years. I’ve gone from a very overweight girl, to a fairly fit one, and then back again with each pregnancy. I’ve accomplished goals that maybe someone looking from the outside would see as successes. I ran a half marathon, completed several 10k runs, lost all the baby weight after my first baby (and am now working on it after the second!) I do realize how far I’ve come, but sadly it was never enough. There has always been something missing. Especially over the course of the last number of months, I have had a lot of time to think. Time to think about me and who I want to be as a woman, wife and mother. I realized that I’ve been going about things all wrong. It was my mind that really needed the overhaul, not my body. I realized that no matter how much weight I lose, or how fast I can run 10km, it doesn’t mean anything if I don’t change my mindset. Fitness for me has always been such a chore. I’d exercise begrudgingly, complaining and even badgering my trainer, who also happens to be my husband. (Yep – you can imagine how well that goes over!) I made excuses about why I couldn’t exercise that day, or why I ate that snack. I’d secretly (and sometimes not so secretly) be hating the girls whose body bounced back without effort after pregnancy. The girls who were just naturally thin all their lives, and even after a McDonalds feast would never even hit 120lbs on the scale. The ones who just could not ever understand how hard it is for me to get my body back and how unfair it is that my body image issues have (unknowingly until now) impacted every part of my life, for my entire life. If you’ve read my posts or you know me, you’ll know that I really did try. I tried to find my own personal success, and happiness within myself, but I never quite got there no matter how far I ran or what the number on the scale said. Until recently I didn’t realize that it had nothing to do with all of that. It was simply because my heart wasn’t in it. I exercised because I felt I had to. For that person, or that event, or that reason that wasn’t really enough to keep me motivated for the long haul. These reasons would come and go, and my weight and fitness would fluctuate right along with them. My heart just simply wasn’t in it.

Over these months a lot has happened. Outside of everything that went along with pregnancy and a new baby, I also very clearly saw my baby boy turn into a little man. An incredible, talkative one with likes, dislikes, opinions, a strong power of observation and the ability to verbalize his thoughts. Tonight was a little mommy success. (If you have kids, you’ll relate to this). I got the 5 week old baby in bed in her crib by 8pm and the 2 year old in his pjs, teeth brushed, books read and in his bed just waiting for dad to get home from work and say goodnight. SUCCESS! As I curled up in my own bed hoping to get a little nap before the baby was up again in the night, I heard my sweet little boy Deacus having a chat with his dad. He told his dad that when he was bigger he wanted to jog with mommy. He told him that mommy ran in the mud and he wanted to go too. I nearly broke down into tears right there. They continued to talk and his innocent, two year old voice was so excited as he talked about jogging with mom and lifting weights with daddy when he got bigger.

The night before I went for my first jog postpartum. The kids were both in bed but I talked to Deacus the next morning about it when he noticed my muddy running shoes at the front door. He asked where the mud came from. I told him how mommy’s boo boo was finally healed so I was able to start exercising, and that I had gone for a jog in the rain while he was sleeping. The conversation ended there, as he seemed content with my answer, and we went on with our day. For months previous I had told him that I couldn’t do this, or that because I was pregnant. And as I healed from the c-section I again had to tell him it would be a little bit longer that I couldn’t do certain things because of my “boo boo”. He was only 1 ½ when I got pregnant with his sister. He didn’t even remember me any other way than this. He just thought of his momma as a large woman who didn’t exercise and couldn’t play with him the way his dad could. I really didn’t even realize the impact of this, or that he had really taken all of this in until I overheard his conversation. He was so excited when he talked about mommy jogging.

I’ve been working hard to change my mindset related to fitness and failure, and this was another eye opener for me. I never again want to have to tell him “I can’t”. I never want to tarnish his view of the world and his excitement toward fitness and exercise or anything in life. Most of all, I don’t want to have to pretend. Kids are smart. They see through it. Eventually he will know if my heart just isn’t in it. How can I expect him to be a certain way, when I myself am not? I don’t know how it happens but somewhere along the way, we as adults start to see activity as a chore. We no longer run through fields for hours with endless amounts of energy and beg not to go inside. Yes, maybe the types of activities and reasons behind doing them change as we get older, but the joy and passion for it doesn’t have to. I don’t ever want him to lose that. Especially not because of me.

So what does all this mean to me?

My heart is finally in it. Not for the short term, not because I have to. But because I finally get it. I finally see that having legs that move and arms too, and the ability to use them is a privileged. I am done complaining. Being a mediocre version of myself just isn’t good enough. Not for me, or my family. I deserve better.  They deserve better.  Will this make my workouts any less difficult? Will this mean I won’t struggle along the way? Absolutely not. But it does mean that I am taking on these challenges that I have faced so many times before, with a greater purpose and focus. It goes much deeper than looking good in a bikini. My husband told me once when I was complaining about working out so hard: “You will hate your workouts, but you will love your life”. He couldn’t be more right. It’s not about the 60 minutes in the gym. It’s about living life to my potential. It’s about doing more than just the minimum required to get by. It’s about my joy and positivity spilling over onto those in my life, instead of failures and insecurities hindering them. It’s about my outside being a physical representation of my inside.  It’s about treating my body the way I should so I can live a long, happy life. So I can be truly proud of who I am – inside and out. For me and my family. It’s about having my heart in it and for once in my life approaching my goals with my head in the right place. It’s about truly believing in myself, as I hope my children someday will in their own selves.

The rose that grew from concrete

I thought I would share some of my favorite lyrics below.  Lyrics that I relate to very much.  Lyrics that help me celebrate who I am on days when my damaged petals seem to get the best of me.  On the days where I see those petals as weaknesses, and not the strengths that they are.  On days when I forget to celebrate my tenacity and remember the past is a place from which we came, but it does not define me.  Everybody has a story.  Everyone has overcome obstacles in their life.

Long live all the roses that grew from concrete.

Did you hear about the rose that grew from a crack in the concrete?
Proving nature’s laws wrong it learned how to walk without having feet
Funny it seems but, by keeping its dreams
it, learned to breathe FRESH air
Long live the rose that grew from concrete
when no one else even cared
No one else even cared..
The rose that grew from concrete

You see you wouldn’t ask why the rose that grew from the concrete
had damaged petals. On the contrary, we would all celebrate its
tenacity. We would all love it’s will to reach the sun.
Well, we are the rose – this is the concrete – and these are
my damaged petals.  Don’t ask me why, thank God, ask me how!

~Tupac Shakur

 

Is it Enough? Part deux.

So the answer to the big question I have been asking myself, and have publicly discussed here as I work through it.

Is it enough?

If you read my previous post about this, you know what that question means.  A deep question that is hard to discuss, for the fear of coming across as selfish, or worse yet, as a bad mother.  But in spite of the risk, I ask it anyway.  Is it enough?  Is it OK to accept saying goodbye to my former self, and dedicating all of who I am to being “mom”.  Is it the “right thing to do” to put myself on the back burner for an indefinite amount of time, for the sake of my child (and soon to be children).  Is that necessary for me to really be a good mom?  Can I accept that as my life?

My answer.  No.  

You may read this, especially if you are a fellow mom, and be shocked that I could even consider this question.  How dare I think of me, especially during these early years when children are so impressionable and dependent on the time and love of their parents.  You may think I am a terrible, selfish person for even having this conversation outside of my own head.  You may think this is a no-brainier.  You made the choice to have children and OF COURSE they come first.  OF COURSE you should dedicate 100% of yourself to raising them and their needs.  OF COURSE this is what you should do.  Well, I used to agree with you.  But I don’t anymore.  Does this make me a bad mother?  I have struggled with this question, but now realize the answer is 100%, absolutely not.

I have learned a lot over the past 3 years, and I continue to learn and make mistakes and change direction.  I think this will continue to be a life long process.  One important thing I learned recently, that I wish I had learned sooner, is the importance of “self”.  Yes, it is absolutely a beautiful thing to be a mother.  A great gift that I cherish very much, and try very hard not to take for granted even on the most difficult of days.  Being a mom gives my life great meaning.  It is a beautiful thing to be so selfless and give up so much for our children’s happiness.  But it is also a beautiful thing to remember who you are and truly foster the spirit of that person.  It isn’t easy.  It is a balancing act that I have yet to master, but I am working on it.

There will always be sacrifices and choices made as a mom, that I obviously wouldn’t make as a single person.  I am a mom, a title and role I love love love!  And I want to be a great mom.  My dedication to that and love for my babies hasn’t changed.  In fact it is because of how deeply I love, and how much I want for my children, that I realize the importance of also investing in me and fostering growth within myself.  I am still learning a very important distinction between giving of myself to others versus giving up myself for others.  I have learned that there is nothing negative about wanting to be more.  Being a mom is a huge part of who I am, but it is not all of who I am and I shouldn’t feel guilty for that.

I’m sure that like myself, you have read or heard all about how we as parents are the most important role models to our children.  They look up to what we do more so than what we say.  And the same sex parent is often the most influential.  At 25 weeks pregnant, with a baby girl on the way, I take this very seriously.  I have already seen that my 2 year old son recognizes who we are by what we do.  He catches on to things, and comments on things that I had no idea he could understand.  He has already started modeling his own behaviors after us, and very much after his dad.  He definitely thinks he is a personal trainer, and surely by 6 or 7 years old he will be putting me through workouts.  And it’s not just my husbands “job” that he sees (And I call it a job in quotes because it is much more than that to him).  My son clearly recognizes strength, confidence and passion in his dad and that already reflects back in his own developing personality.  It’s not just about what my husband does for a living, it’s about the traits he displays while doing it.  And no matter who and no matter what Deacus grows up to be, it is those important pieces that I hope he respects and holds on to.

I want him, and my daughter to see those things in me too.  How would I ever teach them to be a great, if I don’t become that person myself?  How do I say to them that I want them to be great, but it’s OK, mommy is fine right here just being mediocre.  And don’t we all want our children to be great?  And by “great” I mean happy, successful, confident, loving, courageous, passionate, strong and all the rest of the amazing describing words that we all wish for our children.  I want him to witness those things in me.  I want him to see me as a loving, dedicated mother, but also a woman who knows who she is.  A woman who is confident, with a strong sense of self.  A woman who is passionate and happy with who she is.  A woman who is constantly changing, making herself better as she goes.  A woman who doesn’t give up.

Yes, it’s true that I will never exactly be my former pre-baby self.  But I don’t want to be.  Yes, it is hard to juggle life as a mom and not lose myself in the process.  My physical self will never be the same.  I will carry the scars and stretch marks (proudly) forever.  I will forever carry the joys and burdens that come with becoming a mom.  And these are the things that make up who I am, and make me a stronger, better person.  These are the parts of myself that I am most proud of.  The parts of myself that give me the greatest motivation to become something more than I am today.  I’ve realized that I matter.  I’ve realize that the better I feel about myself, the more I dedicate to my own happiness, the better I am able to be a great mom and wife.  The more I am able to give selflessly and without resentment, to those I love.  I deserve to be at my best for ME.  And my family deserves to have me at my best too.

So who am I?  Where do I go from here?  How do I rediscover my identity, juggle it all and find my true happiness?

Well, this seems like a good place to start.  Hi, I’m Shannon.  Nice to meet you.

 

Can’t we all just get along!?

I don’t often write about social, political or other issues.  That’s not what I’m here for.  I’m not here to fight a cause or push my world beliefs on others.  But I have been exposed to this topic of conversation through a few different avenues in my life lately and I thought I would address my thoughts on it.

Gym bullies.  Ok, so maybe “bully” is an over-used term.  But I’ll explain the people I’m talking about.  I’m talking about the ones who smirk and stare and laugh with their friends when a less than fit gym-goer is making their best attempt at running or they happen to be bending over.  I’m talking about the ones who feel the need to publicly or privately criticize others who are simply in their presence and trying to better themselves.  I’m talking about the extreme ones taking pictures of people at the gym in less than flattering positions (and even posting them!).  We’ve all seen these people at the gym, and to me it’s really sad.

Before I go on with my mild rant, I also want to say this disclaimer.  I believe there is a difference between the person I just described vs. a high performing achiever who’s physical perfection intimidates us solely because of our own insecurities and perception.  It’s easy sometimes to put our insecurities on the fit girl who runs on the treadmill for an hour with ease and the buff guy who has big muscles.  But every fit person at a gym isn’t there to launch a personal attack on those of us who may struggle in this area.

So let me be very clear.  Not all fitness buffs are jerks.  I am married to one, and he is the exact opposite of the person I just described.  He has a body 10 years in the making that was built from the ground up by shear determination, dedication and passion.  He is the guy that you might even judge when you walk by because he is focused and at the gym for a very clear purpose which goes much deeper than the physical that you see.  But he is also the guy who has met, coached, befriended and mentored many people who have had the guts to walk up to him at the gym, simply because they want to be something more than they are.  He isn’t the guy who laughs or smirks at others who dare step into those doors.  He isn’t the guy who turns someone away because he is too good to waste his time talking to those who may not excel in their fitness like he does.  He is humble and genuinely caring and I am proud that he is the type of man who willingly shares his talents with others.

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I think some people mistake intimidation for strength, when to me it really shows a great amount of weakness.  If you are truly proud of who you are, and are successful and happy, why wouldn’t you want to share that?  Why wouldn’t you want others to feel as great as you do?  Seriously people, can’t we all just get along?

I have been on both sides of this scenario, so I get it.  I was the girl who weighed more than an averaged sized man.  The girl who gained 93lbs during my first pregnancy and had to work my butt off (quite literally) to loose the weight.  For anyone who tells you baby weight just “falls off” after – they’re lying!  Unfortunately that is not every mothers reality!  I was the girl so embarrassed to even go sign up for a membership, because my body was in SUCH bad shape.  But I shouldn’t have felt that way.  What better place for me to be than right there!  There is nowhere else I should’ve felt more comfortable and more proud.  Proud for getting off the couch and taking those steps to not accept what my physical self had become.  And so I squeezed into my extra large track pants and borrowed my husbands t-shirts.  I couldn’t have felt worse about myself.  But I was determined to make a change – and so I did!  The process was not easy, and battling my insecurities publicly as my body learned to move again was mentally and physically challenging.

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It took me a full year to get my body back.  Once I got into the groove of mommy hood and really committed myself to my fitness, I did a 10 week program that my husband designed for me, and lost the final 45-ish extra lbs I was still carrying.  Yes – that is more weight that most women gain during pregnancy in TOTAL.  I was officially down to a weight I hadn’t seen since college, and was about 10lbs lighter than before I got pregnant.  I felt fit, I felt proud, I felt healthy.  I was happy.  A few months later I suddenly found myself on the other side.  A woman who had seen me drop off my son at Kids Club everyday for an hour for nearly 3 months, and sweat through my t-shirts every time, asked ME how I did it.  ME.  The overweight, out of shape, post-baby body ME who was nervous and insecure walking through those gym doors a few short months back.

We aren’t all in the same place.  Some of us are fighting a life-long battle with weight and nutrition.  Some of us are trying to lose the baby-weight.  Some have experienced a tragedy and are trying to get their lives back, including their physical selves.  Some are at their peaks, with 6% bodyfat, who can run a 45 minute 10k and squat 300lbs.  Whoever we are, wherever we are in our journey’s, be proud of yourself.  Maybe that’s a lot to ask, but really, who are any of us to judge another.  Especially in a place designed for people of all shapes and sizes to go and find their greatness!

So, if you are someone who isn’t where you want to be and wants to make a change, someone who’s jeans are too tight, or forget jeans all together!  Maybe you’ve been limited to yoga pants for months, or years even.  This post is for you!  Negative people will be everywhere you go, and they aren’t worth spending a second of your energy on (Easier said than done, I know!).  Be proud of where you are and that you’ve decided to be brave and admit you aren’t happy with yourself, and get that butt off the couch and to a gym.  Don’t let anyone or anything get in the way of you reaching your goals and being at your best.  Trust me, I know this isn’t easy, and it is definitely a constant battle.  As a 23 week pregnant woman who is ballooning again quite rapidly, I will soon be there right beside you, starting all over again after baby #2!  Let’s try to enjoy the ride.

My deepest, darkest secrets revealed – my most candid post to date

I’ll get right down to it.  My childhood wasn’t pretty.  Whatever the opposite of the “Leave it to Beaver” family is, that was my family.  I was the youngest child in a family of 3.  My mother, my brother(who was 9 years older) and I.  My earliest memories involve doors being kicked off their hinges, police being called and ear piercing screams that many have only heard in the movies.  I lived a life of instability and constant fear of what the next day might bring.

I’ll start with my dad, since his story is short.  He left when I was 2.  Having a 2 year old of my own now, it makes it even harder to reconcile how a father could possible leave their child willingly.  I’ll never understand how he could live with himself, knowing I was out there, and knowing at least to some degree, the impact his absence would have on me (no matter how hard I fight it) for the rest of my life.  I don’t know if I will ever find an answer to the questions I have for him (and for many years I convinced myself that I didn’t care).  I don’t remember him.  I don’t really know why he left.  I just remember all the vial things my mother said about him over and over throughout the rest of my childhood.

As for my mom, she was a teenager when she had my brother.  A challenge I cannot even fathom.  I was almost twice her age when I had my first child and cannot imagine what she must have gone through having a baby as a teenager and raising him (and later me) as a single mom.  She didn’t handle it well.  You may think that is cold to say about my own mother, but it is the truth.  Her relationship with my brothers dad ended.  I cannot say exactly how or when.  Somewhere along the way she met my father, and I came around 9 years after my half-brother.  I have very few positive memories of my childhood.  I only know what my dad looks like from the odd picture I managed to find later on in my life.  I was never told wonderful stories of the way my parents fell in love, or  how they desperately wanted me and I lovingly came to be.  I don’t remember my Birthdays or going to the zoo with my dad or snuggling up together doing what parents and children do.  In fact the thought of snuggling or kissing a parent repulsed me until my own son was born.  I didn’t understand what it meant to have a healthy parent-child relationship, or what it felt like to have a hug that was meant out of love and not solely as an apology.  I don’t remember ever being told how special and smart and incredible I was, or being encouraged to dream big and never give up on anything (all things my son is told almost daily).  I was raised very much the opposite way.  I learned very quickly that if something was too hard, quit.  If someone upset you, yell and scream and fight.  I learned that love is unstable, erratic and unpredictable.  I learned that people are out to get each other and push each other down.  I learned that the world is a scary place and no one can be trusted.

My mother was physically and emotionally abusive.  She hit with whatever she could reach.  Kitchen utensils, belts, hands.  She reacted to life’s challenges in anger.  She didn’t know the difference between teaching a child with discipline vs. letting out her frustrations.  She was quick to react and never thought first before she spoke.  She was not equipped to handle her own emotions, not to mention those of two children, and add to that the financial burdens that she was primarily responsible for.  She screamed often, and told me many times who I was to her.  She called me evil and used words and said things I cannot even put down on paper.  Things I could not imagine saying ever, not to mention to a child.  I grew up believing her.  She was after all, my mother.

Her relationship with my brother was even more volatile.  I never fought back physically, he did.  Their verbal disagreements would often turn into physical ones.  I remember clumps of hair being pulled out, doors being kicked down, holes punched in walls, people laying on the floor.  It was not uncommon for there to be doors missing from places we lived in.  I remember being 10 years old and running to the neighbors screaming for help because I thought for sure they were going to kill each other.  I phoned the police for help many times.

We moved often.  The bills would pile up so my mom would decide it was time to ship out.  I sat down and counted once, and I lived in over 20 places before the age of 16.  I switched schools constantly.  Making friends and fitting in is hard enough for a young girl.  Now add to that my insecurities about my home life, my obvious financial situation and never knowing when I would be leaving again.  Kids will be kids, and some were very cruel.  But, they were young too, and definitely didn’t know what I was really going through at home or how their teasing cut me so deeply.  They just knew that I was the new girl, who had no dad.   The girl who couldn’t afford pizza lunch, who brought expired yogurt to eat (because it’s what we could afford), whose secondhand shoes were old and dirty.

There were good times too.  Though I often have a very hard time finding those memories through the fog of misery that I do so clearly recall.  Christmas was the one time of year that no matter what, everyone got along.  I have very happy memories of Christmas Eve around the fake fireplace my mom had made out of brown paper bags.  We put it up every year, wherever we lived.  Or the candlelight service we’d go to at church.  And of course Christmas morning where we would wake up to Pillsbury turnovers and stay in our pj’s all day.  There was a peace and happiness I felt at Christmas…at least our version of it.  I looked forward to it every year.

By 16 I had moved out on my own and never looked back.  I have spent my whole adult life working to reverse the damage done.  You may be surprised to know that I don’t have hatred for my mother for all she did(or didn’t do).  As an adult now and a mother myself, I can understand the challenges of motherhood that push you to your limits.  And I can see clearly that my mom did the best that she could with what she had.  She did try.  Sadly, her best was far from what I needed as an impressionable, vulnerable little girl who just so badly wanted to feel love and security.

My childhood shaped who I am and I cannot take it back.  Do I wish as an adult that I didn’t have to explain to people, who stare perplexed at me, why I don’t have a relationship with my parents.  Yes.  Do I wish my childhood prepared me for life’s challenges and helped me find confidence as a little girl, rather than building on my insecurities?  Yes.  Do I wish I had a mother I could call for help when my baby was crying, to have her come over and tell me it’s all going to be alright?  Yes.  But that is not my life.

Everyone has a story and THIS is mine.  I didn’t choose it, and I don’t wish it on anyone.  And I am also very aware that many people grow up in much worse situations, with worse outcomes than I had.  And so I can say that I am grateful for how my life turned out.  To those people who have come from similar situations or are in them right now, I wish for them hope and strength.  I know it is not easy.  But there is always a light at the end of the tunnel.

I have a wonderful life now, and am completely blessed to have great friends and a loving family who stand beside me through my successes and struggles.  And don’t for a second look at me any differently because of where I came from.  And my son…my son who I would never EVER lay a hand on or call a bad name.  I don’t know if it just wasn’t in my DNA or if it was because of my desire to break the cycle, but those feelings of anger have not carried on through me.  My sweet little boy is the light of my life.  I am so grateful for him.  Though I will never feel it as the child, I feel now as a parent what this love should feel like.

So what was the purpose writing this?  My whole purpose of writing in the first place is to provide myself with clarity and share my experiences with others who may be able to relate.  (This is the best and cheapest form of therapy that I know!) 🙂  Acknowledging my past is a big step toward realizing who I am and getting closer to who I want to be.  To no longer being ashamed of the things I am not in control of.  To develop a clear picture of my strengths and weaknesses and become the type of role model I want to be for my children.  With every challenge I face, I still fight the little voice in my head that tells me “You can’t”.  The voice that says I will always be that poor, pathetic, insecure, unloved girl who won’t make anything of her life.  So as my journey as a woman, a wife and a mom continues, this is my challenge.  To put one foot in front of the other, and not just exist, but to be great!  To let go of my past, and no longer use it as an excuse in my future.  To be proud of who I am now and how far I have come, and work hard to become more.  And most importantly, to never let that negative voice in my head stop me from reaching my goals ever again.

Find Your Greatness

I came across this Nike ad that I found inspiring, and thought I’d share.  This boy in the video is only 12 years old.  Sometimes things in life seem impossible, whether it be physical or emotional challenges.  We all have them.  But we all have to start somewhere.  One foot in front of the other, one step at a time.

Have a great day everyone!!

 

 

The failure lies in not trying

My story isn’t filled with tales of happiness and success.  My story is about my struggle to reach my goals (and I have many).  Along the way I have, and will continue to stumble and fail over and over again.  If you’ve read any of my posts, you know I am candid about this.  These failures are the most important part of my story.  They are what make me who I am.  My response to these failures represent the forks in the road that determine who I will become tomorrow.  Will I continue down the same path, or will I make a change and DO better, BECOME better.

Today I failed.

Today was the 10km run I had planned to do for months, and had signed up for with a few friends.  It was raining hard this morning at 6am.  It had rained all night long.  I felt completely unprepared for this run.  I have been eating left over turkey and stuffing for a week, and my exercise has been inconsistent at best.  I have lost a total of 79 lbs and am proud of this, but have really been struggling with the last 14lbs.  I should’ve lost all of my baby weight by now.  It might seem like I’m being hard on myself, but I’m not.  Doing it the healthy way, it is not unreasonable for me to be back to my pre-baby weight by now.  I’ve struggled with finding the time to run long distances and I’ve always struggled with the motivation to do any form of weight lifting (which I KNOW is very important).  It is my on-going struggle to manage baby and fitness…oh, and life.  But, I know I could be doing better.  I have definitely not been in the “zone” where I know I need to be to reach my fitness goals.  And then it rained.  The rain was the perfect excuse for me.  There was some legitimacy in this excuse.  It wasn’t a good day to bring the baby out, and have him and my husband find an indoor place to hide out in while I ran.  And since the race started and ended at different places, my husband and baby did have to come in order to drop me off and meet me at the finishline.  BUT…and it’s a big BUT.  I could’ve figured out.  There is always a way.  But today the rain gave me the perfect excuse to blame something other than myself for my inability to complete what I had committed to.

It might seem trivial.  It was just a run, right?  No.  It wasn’t JUST a run.  To me, it represented much more than that.  This was my next goal in a series of goals that I have set for myself since having my son.  It was a chance to accomplish a goal.  It was a chance to push myself.  To complete something I find difficult.  To push through something challenging.  To put myself out there and possibly fail.  I realized something important as I sat at home watching the rain fall.  There is no failure in trying.  Completing a race in a time that I consider embarrassing, is really not embarrassing at all.  Not trying at all though – THAT is embarrassing.  I realized (too late) that the failure lies in not trying at all.  I made the wrong choice.  I chose the easy road.  I made excuses, and I even believed them.  I want to set the example for my son.  I want him to never be afraid to try, and to grow up knowing what I just learned at the age of 29.  There is no failure in trying.  Never.  Period.  I let everyone down.  I let myself down.  I let my son down.  I let my husband down.  I let my friends down.  Of course they are to kind and supportive to see it that way.

Everything I go through doesn’t have a happy ending.  I don’t feel proud of myself today.  Today I took steps backward, not forward.  But lucky for me, this isn’t the end.  My story is one with an outcome that I re-write everytime I get back up when I fall.  No, I’ll never get the chance to re-do this day and make the choice to simply try.  But I can choose to get back up, and try again tomorrow.

I will never forget this day, this feeling of failure.  I will never forget the lesson learned.  There is no failure in trying.  Failure lies only in not trying at all.

A decade of love

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10 years ago I met my now husband.  It was his 19th birthday, and my first time at a bar.  My husband isn’t and wasn’t a drinker (unless we’re talking protein shakes), so it’s a bit ironic that we met how we did.  I guess it was meant to be.  We were 19 year old kids, who didn’t realize we were about to meet the person we’d spend the rest of our lives with.  After 6 months of him calling me (he’d tell you a different version of this story I’m sure!), I finally agreed to go on a date with him.  I always wondered what HE saw in ME.  I soon realized the person I had stumbled upon, and quickly fell head over heels.  He was the type of person who knew exactly what he wanted out of life, and had a plan to get it.  He was the guy who as a teenager, saved up all his money and bought himself a car.  He worked all the time (except for the nights I’d convince him to call in sick).  He saw the big picture.  Me?  I was unemployed with $5 in my account (If I was lucky), and I rode the bus.  I didn’t know what I’d be doing the next week, not to mention the next year, or in ten years.

Physically, he was a much smaller version of himself.  He was always very athletic and fit, even as a 19 year old kid.  Can you believe the first thing I ever said to him was, “Oh my goodness, do you workout”?  And I was serious when I asked.  I had never touched an arm like this, and was so surprised at how firm it was.  Yes – embarrassing but completely true story.  His abs were ripped, and his face chiseled (sounds good, doesn’t it!)  But he was certainly not the beast of a man that he is now, if you can believe that.  The past 10 years have worn well on him.  Sadly, I cannot say the same for myself.  Yes, I know I had a baby 6 months ago (can’t believe it’s been that long!), and that pregnancy is a valid reason for the body to experience a bit of a downslide – I’m still working on body-after-baby.  To make me feel better I’d like to attribute my husbands more-attractive-10-years-later-body to good genes, testosterone or some other act of fate.  But, anyone who knows him knows none of those are responsible.  The bottom line is that he is the man he is today because of hard work.  I have seen him consistently work hard, literally for 10 years.  And his body is proof of that.  The 19 year old that I met knew what he wanted to be, and if I was the judge, I’d say he reached his goals.

I didn’t know then how life would turn out, and I couldn’t have predicted that boy at the bar would end up being the love of my life.  So much has happened over the last decade.  We have loved and lost.  We have stumbled, taken steps forward and back.  We have grown, changed for better and worse, and learned so much about life, love, family and each other.  Our life together started in a small bachelor apartment.  I was barely able to pay rent, living on mac and cheese and Mr. Noddles – dry.  (Oh the good ‘ol days of college).  And now, 10 years later we are husband and wife with a little boy, and live in the home we plan to raise our family in.  We are more in love than ever before.  Time has grown our respect for each other, and the people we are, and what we contribute to our relationship.  We are very different people in many ways, but we have the same goals.  We believe in the same things, and agree on what is really important in life.  So at the end of the day it doesn’t really matter that I love pizza, and he loves chicken.  It works.  We work.

Having a baby can be hard on a relationship, but it has made us stronger.  It is still a challenge for me to balance being a mom, and then shut off that side, clean off my dirty shirt, become a wife and attempt to have an adult conversation.  But I’m working on it!  Nick supported me when I was a self proclaimed “crazy person” right after Deacus was born.  Sleep deprived and miserable, and his love for me didn’t waiver.  I remember shaking my head at him when he said I’d feel like myself again, and saying to him, “You don’t undersand.  I am not the same.  I am not the woman you married, and you deserve better”.  I really thought at the time that I’d feel “crazy” forever and that he should go find a better wife (yes, THAT is how crazy I felt).  Thankfully he was right, and those feelings passed and I returned to a new version of myself.  But even during the lowest time of my life, he never questioned who I was, or that we would be ok.  He told me he knew me, and that he believed in who I am even though I didn’t.  The best part – he meant it.  He wasn’t just trying to say what I needed to hear, and I could feel that from him.  I wouldn’t have survived those first few weeks without him.  THAT is a good husband, and dad.  And I am blessed.

Our love has spanned a decade.  I still can’t believe it’s been that long and that we are now the adults.  Where does the time go?  Life is so full of uncertainty, but the one thing that always remains, is love.  I am certain that we will continue to have our ups and downs, like any healthy relationship.  And I am also certain that we will continue to get through anything that comes our way, and that we will spend the rest of our lives together.  Don’t believe me?  I’ll prove it to you in 40 or so more years.

Proudly Imperfect…breaking the silence

Let’s get right to it.  I am not perfect.  There, I said it.  Do you like me any less?  Should I feel embarrassed?  I have never pretended to be anything but me, and I don’t apologize for my imperfection.  In fact, I don’t strive for perfection.  It’s not that I’m intentionally less than the best I can be.  But I sure do make mistakes along the way, LOTS of them.  I’ve never been one of those people who always says or does the right thing at exactly the right time, my jokes aren’t always that funny (though I am pretty good at making my 6 month old giggle), and I have a long list of less than perfect traits that I am sure will stay with me for the rest of my life.  I still don’t have the body I expected to have by 6 months post-baby.  I am still trying to find balance, and remember that I am also a wife and my husband needs me too (and I him).  I am not a perfect mom.  But I promise you, I try hard every day to be a great mom, and I am learning as I go.  And isn’t that good enough?  I think so. 

I have had so many women reach out to me privately, and thank me for my honesty.  I love and appreciate the comments, and knowing that others relate to what I am going through.  It also helps remind me when I am unsure, that I am somewhat “normal” and that what I’m writing doesn’t sound completely abserd to those reading it.  Well, maybe it does to some people, but thankfully I have yet to hear from them!  I am so shocked and saddened that taking candidly about these topics is considered rare.  Why, if so many women are going through or have gone through the same thing, don’t more of us talk about it?  I completely understand those who don’t want to talk, and certainly don’t want or need to advertise their “problems” all over the internet in order to deal with them (yes, I am a bit crazy for doing so).  I respect that 100%.  Those women aside, why are so many women who want to talk about it, suffering in silence?  I had many women tell me they had not even discussed (or admitted) their challenges with their closest of friends and family.  Is it embarrassment?  The need to maintain the illusion of perfection?  Or simply the hope that if we don’t talk about it, one day we will wake up and life will be perfect again?  I remember reaching out to everyone, and anyone I could early on, and not one woman I spoke with said she had an easy time with post-partum.  Thankfully they were honest with me when I asked.  And after chatting our conversations usually ended with the two questions: “Why don’t more people talk about these things” and “Why didn’t anyone warn me”?  I have asked these questions myself MANY times since having my son.  And what is the answer??  Why didn’t anyone tell me about the road ahead?  I don’t know that I’d have believed them anyways, but I’d have appreciated having the information prior to crashing and burning on my own.  I don’t blame anyone for not sharing.  I mean, how do you bring that up?  “Oh by the way, I know you think your life is going to be wonderful, but in fact, after having your baby your life is going to suck really bad for a while.  If you’re one of the lucky ones it will only hurt for a few weeks, but some suffer for years.  Have a nice day!”  Why does our society tell us that it’s wrong to feel these things, and that as moms and wives we have to be perfect or we are failing?  Well sorry “society”, that doesn’t work for me.  I am proud to be imperfect, and anyone who is perfect can feel free to judge me now.

Everyday I wake up, and do the best that I can.  I tell myself that today is going to be a good day.  Surprisingly, this type of self talk actually helped me out a great deal during some of my more difficult, sleep deprived days.  And at the end of a rough day, when I am completely exhausted for no particular reason, I tell myself that tomorrow will be better.  And it usually is.  And then there are the days when everything goes perfectly well, and I feel guilty because I have a great life, and a wonderful husband and son, and yet somehow I still feel tired and wonder if I’m doing a good job.  These moments come and go.  I am sure they always will.  Life isn’t like it was.  There is no pause button.  There are no days off, and even “relaxing” doesn’t quite have the same meaning when your mind is always working overtime.  Is he breathing?  Am I doing the right things for my baby?  Will he grow up to be happy?  Soon I have to send him off without me to school (he’s 6 months old).  Will he be a good person?  Does he know he’s loved?

Being a mother is much harder than I could’ve imagined.  But I love it.  Many people told me I would, but I didn’t believe them.  The other day my husband told me he couldn’t ask for a better mother for his son, and I cried.  We moms try so hard, and feel so much pressure and guilt.  It helps me to know that we are all in this together.  I am doing a good job, and my baby is going to turn out just fine…better than just fine.

I am not perfect.  I don’t want to be.  I am a great wife, a great mother.  And I am proudly imperfect.

Enjoy the climb

I had stared down that empty country road many times.  I could barely remember what it looked like beyond the stop sign where I used to turn.  I hadn’t been down that road in a while, about 11 months in fact.  I tried to be positive, but inside my head I kept wondering if I would ever make it that far again.  Yesterday, only a few minutes after blogging about my fitness struggles, I laced up my running shoes again and hit the road.  Deacus was enjoying a visit with a friend (Thank you Taunya!!), and I was off to attempt another 7km.  I looked down at the ground for most of the run, dodging rocks and bugs, convincing myself it was only a little bit further.  A few km’s in, to my shock, I felt good.  I felt a glimmer of what I used to feel when I’d run.  Tired, but strong.  The wind was at my back (literally), and I felt as though I was physically being given that push I needed mentally.  I looked down at my Garmin (my trusty, yet quite old GPS watch that I couldn`t live without), checking my pace and time every couple minutes.  I could hardly believe it when I hit the 4km mark, turned at that stop sign that I hadn’t made it to in so long, and kept running.  It was at that moment when I decided today is the day!  I am doing it!  That hill that I had struggled with so many times, suddenly didn`t seem so big.  A challenging, but bearable 5km more and I was back home.  I did it!  10km!!  This 10km consisted of 1hr 8 minutes consecutive running, followed by a 4 minute walk then 9 more minutes of running.  Yes, it took me 1hr 21 minutes.  I have a lot of room for improvement, but I am proud to be able to say that I did it!  12 weeks since my sons birth, and 6 weeks into my training, I ran my first 10km!  I really didn’t think I could do it until I got out there and proved it (to myself).  I had lost the confidence I used to have.  I had been trying to stay positive, and be patient with myself and my new body.  But deep down, the fat girl inside me was telling me my body and confidence were gone forever and that a 10k run was too much for me.  I believed I was weaker now – physically and mentally.  Boy was I wrong.  The minute I started to believe in myself again, my outlook and progress changed – instantly.  As I ran, I just put one foot in front of the other, and told myself quitting wasn’t an option.  I began to feel such a feeling of accomplishment.  For the first time in a long time, I was proud of myself and the person I was working toward becoming.  I couldn’t wait to tell my husband and have him give me a high five and say “good job”.  Knowing that on inside he`d be glowing with pride.  Besides myself, he is the only other person who I know would really understand and appreciate what I had just done, and what it meant to me.  I vowed to him while I was pregnant that I would not be an out of shape wife and mother, and I felt good that I was on my way to keeping that promise.  I believe I am a better wife and mother and a happier person when I am fit, and my son and husband deserve that woman.  I deserve to be that woman!  This would be one of the most difficult, but more rewarding journey’s of my life.

I immediately think of the amazing ladies who have come before me and set the bar so high.  I am proud to know you, and hope to someday join you up there.  I’m up for the challenge.  It wouldn’t be that fun to be at the top of the mountain all the time anyways, would it?  Ok – maybe it would be a little fun.  But for now I’m going to give myself credit for what I’ve accomplished so far, and enjoy the climb.  To Victoria, a certain mom I know who recently ran 10km in 48 minutes, wow!  You inspire me, and push me to be better.  I hope to someday run beside you.