I have been in therapy for months now to process the trauma of being date raped when I was a teen. It has been a long, long journey with a lot of tears, anger, and healing.
I am thankful for every moment of this experience because I am feeling so much better in understanding the feelings and thoughts that I have about everything that happened.
To give you an idea of how a session goes, its like this:
I go see my counselor Kristin once a week. She asks me if I have had any Thoughts, Images, Cognitions, Emotions, or Sensations since the previous session. The answer is typically yes, as I seem to have things come up the day after a session. I then explain what it was I thought, felt, saw, etc. and then we go from there and work to process it doing something called EMDR therapy. It involves me focusing on the thought, image and feeling all at once while she taps on my hands to help my brain process the event. This often "unlocks" things I have shoved way down inside to protect myself through the trauma of the rape. When this happens, there is usually a lot of confusion and tears for me. Or anger. Then she uses this grounding technique to get me in a 'safe place' mentally (using imagery) and I head home. It is exhausting and it usually takes a day for me to feel normal and stable again.
This week when I went for my session, I explained that I have had some thoughts about the incident that I haven't had before. I am remembering things that are of little importance and details about the evening that I hadn't ever thought of. She said that was good that I was allowing myself to remember.
As we began to work tonight, an incredible thing happened.
For weeks and weeks now, I have had these conflicting feelings that this was my fault. Now of course logically I know that it was absolutely NOT my fault, but there was something going on inside me that had me feeling so confused because if I didn't want it to happen, why didn't I do anything to stop it from happening? I have tormented myself with that question!
So there we are, and I'm focusing on the incident and out of nowhere comes the memory that he was saying "Shhhhh. Shhhhh. Hush" and I had never remembered that - and of course it made me really angry and upset but then I remembered something even more incredible! If he was shushing me, that is BECAUSE I WAS TELLING HIM TO STOP! I had completely blocked out this dialogue! Then, I remembered what I was saying! I was telling him to quit! I was telling him that I didn't want this! That I didn't understand what he was thinking to do this to me!
Realizing that I DID try to stop the rape was exactly what gave me the concrete evidence that part of me needed to hear - that I absolutely did not want this or cause this to happen to me.
It was a huge moment for me. I cried and cried, because I am so relieved to put that doubt to rest. To have peace inside. I am so thankful!!
For anyone reading this that has something hurtful, something hidden deep, something that you've spent your life stuffing down or running from or hiding behind- I encourage you to recognize this and find the courage to face it. It may feel like it is bigger than you, but that is a LIE. The way out is through.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Monday, April 16, 2012
Failing hurts.
The way things unfolded, I was convinced I was meant to be a pacer. Honestly, I'm not unconvinced even now that I've failed at it.
When I ran alongside Mark during the Rock N Roll marathon here in STL last October, the thought came to me that I would be really good at the task of pacing a group in a race.
This was a huge thing for me to think I would be good at anything, but I accepted the idea and even posted about it on Facebook. It was an idea I could really get behind even though I had no idea how I would even get a chance to try in a race.
Fast forward a few months, and on a whim one day I googled "how to be a pacer" then "race pacing". I found a website with one mans email plastered on it. Without a second thought, I emailed and asked boldly, "How can I do this?" He responded a few hours later and by then I had lost all nerve and was shocked when he suggested I fill out an application and then do a phone interview the next day.
The very next morning, as I ran with my friends, I had completely convinced myself that I was not good enough to actually BE a pacer.
I got to work and talked to my boss- who happens to be one of my best friends as well- and asked her if I should just forget this whole idea, because I didn't have a recent PR to put down on the application. She suggested that I put down a recent time from a winter race I had done and encouraged me to send it in.
I was so hesitant but I did it anyway.
Then, the phone interview came. When pacer Jim asked me why I wanted to do this, my response was "I was born to do this". I meant it.
He then told me it just so happened he had a spot available for the half marathon for the Go! Stl race coming up 4 weeks later. I could not believe it.
I literally was handed a dream.
As all of my friends know, it is all I have talked about for weeks. I couldn't help me. ME, I was going to pace a group to their goal! ME!
I wasn't even nervous leading up to the race. I was nothing but excited. Not afraid to fail at all! I know that I can run a steady pace- especially anything in the 11 range because as our mileage piled up for marathon training, it was the pace we'd been running 90% of the time.
I was very nervous about fitting in with the other pacers. I was meeting serious over-achievers, after all, and I was consumed by the "I-don't-fit-ins". I didn't let them win, though. I showed up for my allotted time to serve at the race expo booth, and met several pacers during that 2 and a half hour span. Yes, they were very lean. Yes, their stories were of the Ironman and super-speedy marathon time variety. But, I held my own. I knew I was meant to be a part of this.
The next day was the pasta dinner; and by this point I was past the initial jitters of meeting a group of amazing athletes.I hadn't met everyone yet, but so far, so good.
I do not do well in social situations. This is probably why my best friends are the most outgoing, friendly people ever. I get to be the quiet side-kick that stands there and smiles nicely while they do the talking (Hello Jessie, Leandra, and Mark! I'm talking about you here!) But, I decided this was my chance to step out of my comfort zone and do the best I could. We sat with whole table of brand-new friends and had great conversation (yes, more ironman stories ensued)
Race morning came early; I was up and out of bed by 4:20. I wasn't nervous at all, which is so different for me for a typical race morning. But, of course, this wasn't the typical race morning. I had work to do!
We made it to the meeting place for photos and were out the lobby doors before 6:30. We made our way to the corrals and assumed our positions.
I began meeting very nervous runners shortly after. People with questions. People with concerns. People wondering if they could stick by me for the race. People who shared this was their longest mileage, their first race. A tiny Asian woman approached me and said she was told by her husband to stay with me the whole time. She asked if that was okay. I said it was of course, my pleasure. I announced that we'd be walking through water stations. I told everyone to wait for the later tables to drink. I told them I'd hold my pace sign high so that they wouldn't lose me. I was thanked no less than a dozen times for pacing.
We climbed a hill at mile 3 and I said loudly "If it were easy, everyone would do it!" and people clapped. By this time I had two guys running on each side of me, and they were both running their first race. We chatted about the city, about the beautiful day, about marathons. I encouraged each of them to give one a try someday.
Around mile 4, some confusion begin to set in about exactly where I was on pace. I say this because I had some mental math to do in regard to my chronograph compared to the clocks. Soon after my brain began trying to figure where we were on pace, another pacer approached me and asked what my thoughts were about the clocks. I told him his guess was as good as mine, and shared the knowledge I had in regard to the clock time when we began and whatnot.
His conclusion was that we were ahead by a little bit and that we'd keep that going. I knew I had him until mile 9.5 when he would carry on with the full course and those of us running the half would be making a turn.
Around mile 7, we began climbing a hill. I told the guy next to me to pick a visual- the stoplight at the top of the hill- and focus on getting to it. Things were going well. I had the other pacer there with me as a visual reminder that we were at a good pace.
About mile 8, I began to get worried because I hadn't been able to make sense of the clock times and I knew it was important to check in with pacing. With a handful of miles to go, if we were behind, we could pick it up still,and if we were ahead as I imagined we were,it would afford us an easy climb on the last hill up ahead.
Then, I began doubting my ability. And I began wondering if I was in fact on pace at all. Then, mile 9 came and I knew I was on my own with my group. I looked at my watch and tried desperately to do the mental math to see what time I was hitting at that mile in regard to my pace band and watches. First thought, we're off by 2 minutes.Then, no, we're right on. Then, maybe that isn't right either. Then, panic. Then, prayer. Then more prayer. Then, I told the guy next to me to carry on, to go ahead. Then before I could think twice, I stepped off the course, I found a dumpster, I threw my sign in, took my race bib off, and sat down in an alley and cried my eyes out for 15 minutes.
I was a failure. I was hurting so badly. I was so ashamed. It happened that fast.
I walked back to where I knew Mark was,which was mile 10 of the half and mile 25 of the full. I passed by my friends along the way who were looking for me. I couldn't bear to let them see me. I made it to the car, sat and cried to Mark for a few, and then I shut down.
I went to bed when I got home and stayed there until this morning when I got up as quietly as I could and left the house by 6:15 to get to work early before anyone would see me or have to interact with me. I have never in my entire life felt so ashamed as I did today and yesterday. I literally could not face even my husband.
I had him cancel my counseling appt. and I told him I'd not be going to other things we had planned this week. My friends had been sending kind text messages for 2 days but I couldn't bring myself to answer any of them.
I received an email from pacer Jim asking what had happened, he couldn't find my finish time? I told him what had happened. I thanked him for the opportunity and apologized for failing my duty.
Soon after, I received a race recap email that had my name and a red DNF (did not finish) next to my pace duty finish time.
I went outside and cried. Failure confirmed, just in case I had forgotten.
Late in the day I found myself typing my story to my friend at work and within a few minutes she had reminded me that I was brave enough to try, and that she was proud of me.
I decided to try and get back in to my couseling appt. I'm glad I did.
I was still very ashamed, but I went and saw my counselor-who is also a runner- who knew I was pacing yesterday..and told her what happened.
I told her I couldn't see the lesson and I surely couldn't make any sense of this meltdown.I told her I was so tired of getting in my own way.
I cried,a lot. She told me that this incident was very similar in many ways to the topic we've been slowly approaching in my usual sessions- the rape. I didn't understand. She then walked me through the similar feelings I had going into each event- excited, happy...and how each took dramatic turns and suddenly I was confused and afraid- and how I had the feeling I had to stop and get away.
Who knew? I certainly didn't. I am glad to know this now. I asked how do I get past this? She said I am missing a critical internal voice. The nurturing mother voice. The one that says hey, you can trust yourself, you've got this. She says we will work on this. I told her I am ready to learn.
She told me a story about a team doing this obstacle course that involved building trust. How every person was instructed that day to give what they believed was 100% effort. She said as each person went forward, their 100% looked very different. She suggested that I try to see that yesterday, I gave my 100% effort the best that I could. I did have a meltdown. I did not cross the finish line. I did not get my group from start to finish. I am so, so sad about that. I can't convey how sad I feel about that. I feel sad for myself, too. I deserve to trust myself.
Do you know, I looked at my watch, which I stopped when I stopped, and I did the math today, and I was EXACTLY where we needed to be. 11:20 pace at mile 9. I was right on. I had it in me to run that pace and I knew it going in.
I do not see the lesson here yet except this- I must learn to trust myself.
I am not sure how I will learn, but this certainly has given me the drive to move past my fears and learn to do so.
When I ran alongside Mark during the Rock N Roll marathon here in STL last October, the thought came to me that I would be really good at the task of pacing a group in a race.
This was a huge thing for me to think I would be good at anything, but I accepted the idea and even posted about it on Facebook. It was an idea I could really get behind even though I had no idea how I would even get a chance to try in a race.
Fast forward a few months, and on a whim one day I googled "how to be a pacer" then "race pacing". I found a website with one mans email plastered on it. Without a second thought, I emailed and asked boldly, "How can I do this?" He responded a few hours later and by then I had lost all nerve and was shocked when he suggested I fill out an application and then do a phone interview the next day.
The very next morning, as I ran with my friends, I had completely convinced myself that I was not good enough to actually BE a pacer.
I got to work and talked to my boss- who happens to be one of my best friends as well- and asked her if I should just forget this whole idea, because I didn't have a recent PR to put down on the application. She suggested that I put down a recent time from a winter race I had done and encouraged me to send it in.
I was so hesitant but I did it anyway.
Then, the phone interview came. When pacer Jim asked me why I wanted to do this, my response was "I was born to do this". I meant it.
He then told me it just so happened he had a spot available for the half marathon for the Go! Stl race coming up 4 weeks later. I could not believe it.
I literally was handed a dream.
As all of my friends know, it is all I have talked about for weeks. I couldn't help me. ME, I was going to pace a group to their goal! ME!
I wasn't even nervous leading up to the race. I was nothing but excited. Not afraid to fail at all! I know that I can run a steady pace- especially anything in the 11 range because as our mileage piled up for marathon training, it was the pace we'd been running 90% of the time.
I was very nervous about fitting in with the other pacers. I was meeting serious over-achievers, after all, and I was consumed by the "I-don't-fit-ins". I didn't let them win, though. I showed up for my allotted time to serve at the race expo booth, and met several pacers during that 2 and a half hour span. Yes, they were very lean. Yes, their stories were of the Ironman and super-speedy marathon time variety. But, I held my own. I knew I was meant to be a part of this.
The next day was the pasta dinner; and by this point I was past the initial jitters of meeting a group of amazing athletes.I hadn't met everyone yet, but so far, so good.
I do not do well in social situations. This is probably why my best friends are the most outgoing, friendly people ever. I get to be the quiet side-kick that stands there and smiles nicely while they do the talking (Hello Jessie, Leandra, and Mark! I'm talking about you here!) But, I decided this was my chance to step out of my comfort zone and do the best I could. We sat with whole table of brand-new friends and had great conversation (yes, more ironman stories ensued)
Race morning came early; I was up and out of bed by 4:20. I wasn't nervous at all, which is so different for me for a typical race morning. But, of course, this wasn't the typical race morning. I had work to do!
We made it to the meeting place for photos and were out the lobby doors before 6:30. We made our way to the corrals and assumed our positions.
I began meeting very nervous runners shortly after. People with questions. People with concerns. People wondering if they could stick by me for the race. People who shared this was their longest mileage, their first race. A tiny Asian woman approached me and said she was told by her husband to stay with me the whole time. She asked if that was okay. I said it was of course, my pleasure. I announced that we'd be walking through water stations. I told everyone to wait for the later tables to drink. I told them I'd hold my pace sign high so that they wouldn't lose me. I was thanked no less than a dozen times for pacing.
We climbed a hill at mile 3 and I said loudly "If it were easy, everyone would do it!" and people clapped. By this time I had two guys running on each side of me, and they were both running their first race. We chatted about the city, about the beautiful day, about marathons. I encouraged each of them to give one a try someday.
Around mile 4, some confusion begin to set in about exactly where I was on pace. I say this because I had some mental math to do in regard to my chronograph compared to the clocks. Soon after my brain began trying to figure where we were on pace, another pacer approached me and asked what my thoughts were about the clocks. I told him his guess was as good as mine, and shared the knowledge I had in regard to the clock time when we began and whatnot.
His conclusion was that we were ahead by a little bit and that we'd keep that going. I knew I had him until mile 9.5 when he would carry on with the full course and those of us running the half would be making a turn.
Around mile 7, we began climbing a hill. I told the guy next to me to pick a visual- the stoplight at the top of the hill- and focus on getting to it. Things were going well. I had the other pacer there with me as a visual reminder that we were at a good pace.
About mile 8, I began to get worried because I hadn't been able to make sense of the clock times and I knew it was important to check in with pacing. With a handful of miles to go, if we were behind, we could pick it up still,and if we were ahead as I imagined we were,it would afford us an easy climb on the last hill up ahead.
Then, I began doubting my ability. And I began wondering if I was in fact on pace at all. Then, mile 9 came and I knew I was on my own with my group. I looked at my watch and tried desperately to do the mental math to see what time I was hitting at that mile in regard to my pace band and watches. First thought, we're off by 2 minutes.Then, no, we're right on. Then, maybe that isn't right either. Then, panic. Then, prayer. Then more prayer. Then, I told the guy next to me to carry on, to go ahead. Then before I could think twice, I stepped off the course, I found a dumpster, I threw my sign in, took my race bib off, and sat down in an alley and cried my eyes out for 15 minutes.
I was a failure. I was hurting so badly. I was so ashamed. It happened that fast.
I walked back to where I knew Mark was,which was mile 10 of the half and mile 25 of the full. I passed by my friends along the way who were looking for me. I couldn't bear to let them see me. I made it to the car, sat and cried to Mark for a few, and then I shut down.
I went to bed when I got home and stayed there until this morning when I got up as quietly as I could and left the house by 6:15 to get to work early before anyone would see me or have to interact with me. I have never in my entire life felt so ashamed as I did today and yesterday. I literally could not face even my husband.
I had him cancel my counseling appt. and I told him I'd not be going to other things we had planned this week. My friends had been sending kind text messages for 2 days but I couldn't bring myself to answer any of them.
I received an email from pacer Jim asking what had happened, he couldn't find my finish time? I told him what had happened. I thanked him for the opportunity and apologized for failing my duty.
Soon after, I received a race recap email that had my name and a red DNF (did not finish) next to my pace duty finish time.
I went outside and cried. Failure confirmed, just in case I had forgotten.
Late in the day I found myself typing my story to my friend at work and within a few minutes she had reminded me that I was brave enough to try, and that she was proud of me.
I decided to try and get back in to my couseling appt. I'm glad I did.
I was still very ashamed, but I went and saw my counselor-who is also a runner- who knew I was pacing yesterday..and told her what happened.
I told her I couldn't see the lesson and I surely couldn't make any sense of this meltdown.I told her I was so tired of getting in my own way.
I cried,a lot. She told me that this incident was very similar in many ways to the topic we've been slowly approaching in my usual sessions- the rape. I didn't understand. She then walked me through the similar feelings I had going into each event- excited, happy...and how each took dramatic turns and suddenly I was confused and afraid- and how I had the feeling I had to stop and get away.
Who knew? I certainly didn't. I am glad to know this now. I asked how do I get past this? She said I am missing a critical internal voice. The nurturing mother voice. The one that says hey, you can trust yourself, you've got this. She says we will work on this. I told her I am ready to learn.
She told me a story about a team doing this obstacle course that involved building trust. How every person was instructed that day to give what they believed was 100% effort. She said as each person went forward, their 100% looked very different. She suggested that I try to see that yesterday, I gave my 100% effort the best that I could. I did have a meltdown. I did not cross the finish line. I did not get my group from start to finish. I am so, so sad about that. I can't convey how sad I feel about that. I feel sad for myself, too. I deserve to trust myself.
Do you know, I looked at my watch, which I stopped when I stopped, and I did the math today, and I was EXACTLY where we needed to be. 11:20 pace at mile 9. I was right on. I had it in me to run that pace and I knew it going in.
I do not see the lesson here yet except this- I must learn to trust myself.
I am not sure how I will learn, but this certainly has given me the drive to move past my fears and learn to do so.
Saturday, April 14, 2012
My story
As part of my new pacing endeavor, I was asked to write my story so it can be shared with others to inspire them.
To tell my story, I have to talk about all the things that got me to 320 pounds by the age of 30.
It isn’t easy to do, because in the act of overcoming, a whole lot of effort goes into leaving behind the bad stuff; the stuff that got me to 320 pounds to begin with.
But, I know that I have been blessed to be a blessing to those of you out there that are just starting your journey, and I am so grateful to be in a place in my life that I have a story like this to tell, so that is what I will do.
I grew up in a family of serious dysfunction. My mom was an alcoholic, and the disease killed her by the time I was 23. The emotional, verbal, and mental abuse was intense growing up. Being the baby in the family meant that when my brothers grew old enough to move out and get away, they did just that. That left me the prime target for her outbursts and attacks.
I didn’t know what ‘normal’ was growing up. I knew that our family had secrets, and I knew that when I spoke to school counselors and my mom would find out about it, the ridicule would ensue. What was wrong with me that I needed to talk to anyone about my problems or about our family? How dare I do such a selfish thing!
It was during these years that I began to turn to food for comfort. It was the one thing I could always count on. It was the one thing I was always given, the one consistent thing provided to me by my mother.
I was taught food was love, and boy did I embrace it!
When I was 21 I married a different kind of addict; a gambling addict. We were young, foolish, and soon found ourselves with a honeymoon baby on the way. I found out I was pregnant the same weekend he had left to have an affair with a person I had once called my best friend.
I thought it was my responsibility to “fix” my mother and I also thought it was my job to “fix” my husband.
As a matter of fact, they agreed that it was my job.
I failed miserably, of course, and the shame piled on in the form of overeating.
After my mom died, I went through about a 4 or 5 year stretch of depression that included eating a full box of Little Debbie brownies in a day. It also included a whole lot of medication that numbed me from feeling much of anything. I was turning to anything I could find to take the pain away.
Food, of course, was still my number one drug of choice.
Right after my 30th birthday, I decided to go see the doctor because I was feeling terrible.
The doctor did not mix her words. She told me that I was obese, and that I was also pre-diabetic.
I knew I was uncomfortable, but I didn’t realize how out of control my life had gotten. Nor did I realize how much I was hurting inside.
That very day I decided that changes had to be made.
First, I stopped drinking soda. Then, I bought a calorie-counting book and began learning about nutrition. Then, I began walking the dog. The exercise videos came soon after.
As I began to take back my life, I began seeing my marriage fall apart as a result. Change is a very threatening thing to people and this situation showcased that.
I began to believe that I deserved to feel better; that my daughter and I deserved to have electricity ALL days of the year and not just when my husband decided to pay the bill. I began seeing that maybe life didn't have to be this way; maybe I WAS worthy of a good life.
Maybe losing weight had a whole lot more to do with taking a stand for myself and taking control of my life than it just had to do with counting calories.
I was empowered. I was terrified.
After a few more years of trying to break free, the day came that I took a stand for my daughter and myself.
I had no plan in place, but I was determined to not ever have to hear another lie again.
By the grace of God, we found our way and got on our feet. I was 152 pounds lighter by this time.
We began healing and started moving forward in a new direction. One that was void of drama, deception, and addiction.
During that time, I would walk in circles around our apartment complex after putting Madi to bed for the night.
I had so much stress, worry, anger, and hurt inside that I still hadn’t dealt with that there were many nights that I would stay out there for an hour or more, working through whatever I was feeling.
As the anger came out, I began to run for very short distances- the car 10 parking spaces up, for instance. Or to the corner. Or to the half way point around the building. I began running through the pain of the past. It was awful and it was exhilarating at the same time.
And then I measured the distance one day. It was a half mile loop. Then I began seeing how many laps I could do. The night I made it 7 laps around I cried. It took me months to get there, but I did it.
Then one day, the manager at my gym suggested that I run a 5k race.
My response was “Oh no, I am not fast. I could never”
And he explained that races were not about running to beat others, that they were social and fun and that everyone was in it together.
I didn’t believe him. And, I still wasn’t good enough to run one.
But, I looked up the race he had suggested anyway.
And then, I signed up for it.
Shaking, utterly terrified, worried that I looked fat, that I was one big giant faker that DID NOT BELONG and the world knew it and would see it on my face when I showed up.
But, I showed up.
I showed up and I ran. And I panted, and I walked part of it, and I thought I might be dying. And about half way through, a woman next to me said “Hey is this your first race?” (Uh, can you tell by my red face and fact that I’m gasping for air that it may be my first?!) When I confirmed that it was, she said “It is mine too, let’s finish this together”
I was floored.
It was true- we were in this together and I belonged.
That race changed my life.
I really did barely make it across the finish line alive that day. I couldn’t wait to do another. I began running races every single weekend after that. As I ran, I learned that I am capable. I am worthy. I am able. I am blessed. Along the way, I learned what love really is. I married my best friend and fellow runner this past fall. We wore running shoes with our attire.
I learned that I feel more joy when I am moving than at any other time. I learned that I am my highest functioning self when I am running. I learned that I have been given a gift, to share with others and to be a living example that you can overcome if you’re willing to hear the truth about who you are instead of listening to who you aren’t any longer; and if you’re willing to show up despite your fears.
When I ran my first marathon, I learned that I am so much stronger than I give myself credit for. I learned that I really can do all things through God. I learned that there are runners right alongside me in any given race that have more amazing stories than I will ever have- and we are all on our way to the same goal; to make it through and to be better off as a result.
It all starts with showing up for yourself.
To tell my story, I have to talk about all the things that got me to 320 pounds by the age of 30.
It isn’t easy to do, because in the act of overcoming, a whole lot of effort goes into leaving behind the bad stuff; the stuff that got me to 320 pounds to begin with.
But, I know that I have been blessed to be a blessing to those of you out there that are just starting your journey, and I am so grateful to be in a place in my life that I have a story like this to tell, so that is what I will do.
I grew up in a family of serious dysfunction. My mom was an alcoholic, and the disease killed her by the time I was 23. The emotional, verbal, and mental abuse was intense growing up. Being the baby in the family meant that when my brothers grew old enough to move out and get away, they did just that. That left me the prime target for her outbursts and attacks.
I didn’t know what ‘normal’ was growing up. I knew that our family had secrets, and I knew that when I spoke to school counselors and my mom would find out about it, the ridicule would ensue. What was wrong with me that I needed to talk to anyone about my problems or about our family? How dare I do such a selfish thing!
It was during these years that I began to turn to food for comfort. It was the one thing I could always count on. It was the one thing I was always given, the one consistent thing provided to me by my mother.
I was taught food was love, and boy did I embrace it!
When I was 21 I married a different kind of addict; a gambling addict. We were young, foolish, and soon found ourselves with a honeymoon baby on the way. I found out I was pregnant the same weekend he had left to have an affair with a person I had once called my best friend.
I thought it was my responsibility to “fix” my mother and I also thought it was my job to “fix” my husband.
As a matter of fact, they agreed that it was my job.
I failed miserably, of course, and the shame piled on in the form of overeating.
After my mom died, I went through about a 4 or 5 year stretch of depression that included eating a full box of Little Debbie brownies in a day. It also included a whole lot of medication that numbed me from feeling much of anything. I was turning to anything I could find to take the pain away.
Food, of course, was still my number one drug of choice.
Right after my 30th birthday, I decided to go see the doctor because I was feeling terrible.
The doctor did not mix her words. She told me that I was obese, and that I was also pre-diabetic.
I knew I was uncomfortable, but I didn’t realize how out of control my life had gotten. Nor did I realize how much I was hurting inside.
That very day I decided that changes had to be made.
First, I stopped drinking soda. Then, I bought a calorie-counting book and began learning about nutrition. Then, I began walking the dog. The exercise videos came soon after.
As I began to take back my life, I began seeing my marriage fall apart as a result. Change is a very threatening thing to people and this situation showcased that.
I began to believe that I deserved to feel better; that my daughter and I deserved to have electricity ALL days of the year and not just when my husband decided to pay the bill. I began seeing that maybe life didn't have to be this way; maybe I WAS worthy of a good life.
Maybe losing weight had a whole lot more to do with taking a stand for myself and taking control of my life than it just had to do with counting calories.
I was empowered. I was terrified.
After a few more years of trying to break free, the day came that I took a stand for my daughter and myself.
I had no plan in place, but I was determined to not ever have to hear another lie again.
By the grace of God, we found our way and got on our feet. I was 152 pounds lighter by this time.
We began healing and started moving forward in a new direction. One that was void of drama, deception, and addiction.
During that time, I would walk in circles around our apartment complex after putting Madi to bed for the night.
I had so much stress, worry, anger, and hurt inside that I still hadn’t dealt with that there were many nights that I would stay out there for an hour or more, working through whatever I was feeling.
As the anger came out, I began to run for very short distances- the car 10 parking spaces up, for instance. Or to the corner. Or to the half way point around the building. I began running through the pain of the past. It was awful and it was exhilarating at the same time.
And then I measured the distance one day. It was a half mile loop. Then I began seeing how many laps I could do. The night I made it 7 laps around I cried. It took me months to get there, but I did it.
Then one day, the manager at my gym suggested that I run a 5k race.
My response was “Oh no, I am not fast. I could never”
And he explained that races were not about running to beat others, that they were social and fun and that everyone was in it together.
I didn’t believe him. And, I still wasn’t good enough to run one.
But, I looked up the race he had suggested anyway.
And then, I signed up for it.
Shaking, utterly terrified, worried that I looked fat, that I was one big giant faker that DID NOT BELONG and the world knew it and would see it on my face when I showed up.
But, I showed up.
I showed up and I ran. And I panted, and I walked part of it, and I thought I might be dying. And about half way through, a woman next to me said “Hey is this your first race?” (Uh, can you tell by my red face and fact that I’m gasping for air that it may be my first?!) When I confirmed that it was, she said “It is mine too, let’s finish this together”
I was floored.
It was true- we were in this together and I belonged.
That race changed my life.
I really did barely make it across the finish line alive that day. I couldn’t wait to do another. I began running races every single weekend after that. As I ran, I learned that I am capable. I am worthy. I am able. I am blessed. Along the way, I learned what love really is. I married my best friend and fellow runner this past fall. We wore running shoes with our attire.
I learned that I feel more joy when I am moving than at any other time. I learned that I am my highest functioning self when I am running. I learned that I have been given a gift, to share with others and to be a living example that you can overcome if you’re willing to hear the truth about who you are instead of listening to who you aren’t any longer; and if you’re willing to show up despite your fears.
When I ran my first marathon, I learned that I am so much stronger than I give myself credit for. I learned that I really can do all things through God. I learned that there are runners right alongside me in any given race that have more amazing stories than I will ever have- and we are all on our way to the same goal; to make it through and to be better off as a result.
It all starts with showing up for yourself.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
words I would say
Mom:
Do you have any idea how sick you are to say the things you say to me? Do you know how wrong you are? Because you are. Nobody is 'bad since the day they were born'. Nobody. That's absurd and YOU KNOW IT. Do you know how hard I have tried to be good? How badly I want you to see that I am NOT awful? Do you know that you don't know me at all? You don't, and you're wrong when you say I am crazy; that I have serious problems because I fight back when you say these things to me. YOU have the problem. Not me! I am just a kid!
Remember when you told me if I stopped being fat, you'd stop being drunk? Guess what? I stopped being fat. And guess what? You killed yourself being drunk. Who overcame? I did. That's right. Me. I overcame, and you will never take that from me. I'm stronger than you ever thought I could be, and I did not deserve ANY of what you did to me. A mom is supposed to love you, and say nice things, and encourage you. To be your biggest fan. You never did any of those things!
You are missing out. You will never get to know me and you will never get to know Madi. You will never get to see how I am determined to be a better mom than you ever were to me. I don't even know what I'm doing but I'll be damned if I follow in your footsteps!!
I'm not done with this; I have only just begun. But for now, I'll end with this. Thank you for all of it. All of the abuse, all of the mean words. All of the never ending fights and screaming. Thank you. Because it has made me who I am today. It has shown me how NOT to treat others. It has shown me what not to do. It has shown me how sick YOU - not ME- were. Let me say that part again. YOU were the sick one, the crazy one. The one with the problem. Not me. NOT ME. I will never, EVER take that on myself again. Have it, it is all yours.
Do you have any idea how sick you are to say the things you say to me? Do you know how wrong you are? Because you are. Nobody is 'bad since the day they were born'. Nobody. That's absurd and YOU KNOW IT. Do you know how hard I have tried to be good? How badly I want you to see that I am NOT awful? Do you know that you don't know me at all? You don't, and you're wrong when you say I am crazy; that I have serious problems because I fight back when you say these things to me. YOU have the problem. Not me! I am just a kid!
Remember when you told me if I stopped being fat, you'd stop being drunk? Guess what? I stopped being fat. And guess what? You killed yourself being drunk. Who overcame? I did. That's right. Me. I overcame, and you will never take that from me. I'm stronger than you ever thought I could be, and I did not deserve ANY of what you did to me. A mom is supposed to love you, and say nice things, and encourage you. To be your biggest fan. You never did any of those things!
You are missing out. You will never get to know me and you will never get to know Madi. You will never get to see how I am determined to be a better mom than you ever were to me. I don't even know what I'm doing but I'll be damned if I follow in your footsteps!!
I'm not done with this; I have only just begun. But for now, I'll end with this. Thank you for all of it. All of the abuse, all of the mean words. All of the never ending fights and screaming. Thank you. Because it has made me who I am today. It has shown me how NOT to treat others. It has shown me what not to do. It has shown me how sick YOU - not ME- were. Let me say that part again. YOU were the sick one, the crazy one. The one with the problem. Not me. NOT ME. I will never, EVER take that on myself again. Have it, it is all yours.
Thursday, February 9, 2012
Reassured.
Nearly every morning, as soon as I wake up, there is a moment when I know I need to decide how I will spend my day- will I let worry, fear, frustration, etc. fill my mind? Or will I focus my attention on prayer, gratitude, and the moment I am in, instead? This morning, as I began my run on the treadmill, it took me a good mile and a half to get comfortably in the latter mindset. Running helps me do this easier, and I am grateful every day for that blessing..
After my run, I picked up my daily devotional book as I was headed past the bookshelf on the way up to shower. Most of my run was spent thinking about, praying about, the scary therapy that begins tonight. When I read today's devotional, I smiled, because once again, I was given the reassurance that I always seek. (my apologies for the fuzzy photo)
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Sprint tri
On a lighter note from yesterdays post...
My friend Jessie suckered Leandra and I and a few co-workers into doing a sprint triathlon. (She basically made us sign up ;)
Last year, I signed up for one and convinced her to join us because misery loves company and I knew it would be something she would enjoy.
Well, its been a year and here we go again,.
Why, why, why did I sign up for this again?! I think my swimming has actually gotten worse since my last attempt at this. Last week, I stopped mid-lap and choked several different times.
Despite my feelings about swimming, (and my lack of ability to stay afloat without inhaling underwater), I am going to do this and make the most of it and complete what I signed up to do.
The good news is that I know what to expect, I know I can backstroke if I need to (I absolutely need to) and it will be over in no time because after all, it is a sprint triathlon. Right? Right? I can do anything for 50-60ish minutes.
500m swim, 8 mile bike (stationary), 2.5 mile run.
I have a long run scheduled for that Sunday as part of marathon training, 15 miles. Not sure if I should do it Saturday and swim/bike/run on tired legs or attempt at finishing 12.5 miles after the triathlon. Not sure I will have the mental fortitude to do a long run after the exhaustion of trying to stay alive in the water :)
Will update with pics after the race!
The above photo is an example of what I do not look like when I swim.
My friend Jessie suckered Leandra and I and a few co-workers into doing a sprint triathlon. (She basically made us sign up ;)
Last year, I signed up for one and convinced her to join us because misery loves company and I knew it would be something she would enjoy.
Well, its been a year and here we go again,.
Why, why, why did I sign up for this again?! I think my swimming has actually gotten worse since my last attempt at this. Last week, I stopped mid-lap and choked several different times.
Despite my feelings about swimming, (and my lack of ability to stay afloat without inhaling underwater), I am going to do this and make the most of it and complete what I signed up to do.
The good news is that I know what to expect, I know I can backstroke if I need to (I absolutely need to) and it will be over in no time because after all, it is a sprint triathlon. Right? Right? I can do anything for 50-60ish minutes.
500m swim, 8 mile bike (stationary), 2.5 mile run.
I have a long run scheduled for that Sunday as part of marathon training, 15 miles. Not sure if I should do it Saturday and swim/bike/run on tired legs or attempt at finishing 12.5 miles after the triathlon. Not sure I will have the mental fortitude to do a long run after the exhaustion of trying to stay alive in the water :)
Will update with pics after the race!
Monday, February 6, 2012
going back to move forward
I have been in therapy for a couple of years now. Cognitive (talking) therapy, with a Christian counselor. It has helped me in so many ways! It has greatly improved my relationships with myself, and with others, which I am so grateful for.
Over the sessions, it has become even more obvious that I have some pretty big traumas in my life that play more of a role in who I am today than I have ever really realized.
I speak often about how I used to be obese, and how I have worked really hard on overcoming emotional eating. I also mention pretty frequently how I was raised in a dysfunctional family, as my mother was an alcoholic.
What I haven't spoken about is another really big trauma that happened when I was 18.
I was date raped by someone I trusted would not hurt me, someone I considered him my friend.
Just typing that brings up a huge amount of anxiety and fear!
What is hardest about this is that the people I was close to at that time in my life actively told me that they believed I welcomed it, that I was lying, and that it was my fault. Even a big part of me believed that I deserved it, that I could have/should have done something differently to prevent it.
Until a few years ago, I could not say out loud that I was raped. It was about a year ago that I let this out in therapy. Why had I held it in so long? I was ashamed. Ashamed that it happened, ashamed that I did not prevent it, ashamed that it was effecting me still like it is.
When the topic finally came up, and I heard for the first time in my life someone (my counselor) say the words "Do you know this wasn't your fault and that you didn't deserve this?", the flood gates were opened. I had finally heard the thing I had waited all these years to hear!
I remember going for a run a few days later and abruptly stopping and taking a moment to be alone with myself, and I forgave myself that day for ever thinking I deserved that to happen. It was a big moment for me, but I am certain I am not done with all of the feelings and the trauma of what happened to me back then. I know this because as I sit here typing, I am full of emotion right under the surface that is about to spill out. I know this also because my counselor has recommended that I see another counselor to do some specialized therapy that deals specifically with traumatic issues. I am starting that therapy this week.
I have mixed feelings about this- I am excited to move forward in my life and my relationships and I know that I will as I dig some of these big things out with someone and sort through them and heal- but I am also terrified of recounting and dealing with the emotions that will come up and out as I do go through the process. But, I'm ready. I am trusting the process. I have come so far, and I know that things just keep getting better for me as I do things I'm afraid to do.
I am sharing this for a number of reasons, if you are wondering why I would even bring this heavy topic up.
1. I have spent far too long keeping this inside.
2. I want to encourage anyone else feeling ashamed of something they had no control over to hear the truth that it wasn't your fault!
3. I want others to understand how important it is to talk about things that aren't talked about. Because I lived in a family that you didn't talk about the problems, and every big problem was a secret, something to be ashamed of.
Well, I'm changing that today. No more shame, no more secrets. It's time to move forward.
Over the sessions, it has become even more obvious that I have some pretty big traumas in my life that play more of a role in who I am today than I have ever really realized.
I speak often about how I used to be obese, and how I have worked really hard on overcoming emotional eating. I also mention pretty frequently how I was raised in a dysfunctional family, as my mother was an alcoholic.
What I haven't spoken about is another really big trauma that happened when I was 18.
I was date raped by someone I trusted would not hurt me, someone I considered him my friend.
Just typing that brings up a huge amount of anxiety and fear!
What is hardest about this is that the people I was close to at that time in my life actively told me that they believed I welcomed it, that I was lying, and that it was my fault. Even a big part of me believed that I deserved it, that I could have/should have done something differently to prevent it.
Until a few years ago, I could not say out loud that I was raped. It was about a year ago that I let this out in therapy. Why had I held it in so long? I was ashamed. Ashamed that it happened, ashamed that I did not prevent it, ashamed that it was effecting me still like it is.
When the topic finally came up, and I heard for the first time in my life someone (my counselor) say the words "Do you know this wasn't your fault and that you didn't deserve this?", the flood gates were opened. I had finally heard the thing I had waited all these years to hear!
I remember going for a run a few days later and abruptly stopping and taking a moment to be alone with myself, and I forgave myself that day for ever thinking I deserved that to happen. It was a big moment for me, but I am certain I am not done with all of the feelings and the trauma of what happened to me back then. I know this because as I sit here typing, I am full of emotion right under the surface that is about to spill out. I know this also because my counselor has recommended that I see another counselor to do some specialized therapy that deals specifically with traumatic issues. I am starting that therapy this week.
I have mixed feelings about this- I am excited to move forward in my life and my relationships and I know that I will as I dig some of these big things out with someone and sort through them and heal- but I am also terrified of recounting and dealing with the emotions that will come up and out as I do go through the process. But, I'm ready. I am trusting the process. I have come so far, and I know that things just keep getting better for me as I do things I'm afraid to do.
I am sharing this for a number of reasons, if you are wondering why I would even bring this heavy topic up.
1. I have spent far too long keeping this inside.
2. I want to encourage anyone else feeling ashamed of something they had no control over to hear the truth that it wasn't your fault!
3. I want others to understand how important it is to talk about things that aren't talked about. Because I lived in a family that you didn't talk about the problems, and every big problem was a secret, something to be ashamed of.
Well, I'm changing that today. No more shame, no more secrets. It's time to move forward.
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