Don’t Tell Me I’m Not Good Enough…

When you’ve lived for lots of years, you have lots of stories. I believe our stories are meant to be shared for the benefit of others, so I’m sharing a part of mine with you today. 

This memory many years ago while living in Ohio is still vivid. I’m sitting in my pickup truck, parked in the driveway of the apartment I shared with my abusive husband. We rented the upstairs portion of an older home. Wooden steps lead to the 2^nd floor from the outside. I stared at the door with tears in my eyes. I dreaded going in because he was there. What personality waited on the other side? Would he be high and happy or a raging lunatic? My prayer was something like this as tears wet my cheeks. “God, I want you, but I know I’m not good enough. I still smoke cigarettes and I can’t stop.” That was as far as my prayer could go before it hit the wall, that barrier that made me “not good enough.” 

At that time my barrier was cigarettes, but I had other barriers. Unwed pregnancy, divorces, alcohol, drugs, sex; there were many broken rules… I was taught it was all sin, against the rules and would send me to hell. I was raised to believe that breaking the strict rules we were given by churches we attended would cause me to be eternally dammed. If I died while wearing pants or a bathing suit while swimming in a pool with boys, or in a movie theatre or dancing; without having asked God for forgiveness, it would mean burning in hell’s fire. I sang the songs, Jesus loves me, The Old Rugged Cross, and Amazing Grace, but they all lacked meaning. Their words couldn’t penetrate the barriers built by man and held up by me. 

There’s another experience still vivid in my mind. At 14 years old, I was raped behind some apartment garages on my paper route. I had gone behind the garages to smoke a cigarette a friend had given me. I wanted approval and acceptance so badly that I was willing to risk the threats of hell for smoking. I can still see the knife poking in my side… And as I understood it, now I would have the sin of a sex act condemning me to hell, even though it wasn’t my fault. When I came home crying and muddy, my mom asked what was wrong. I was afraid to tell her because I had broken the rules with that cigarette. When her attempts to get me to talk failed, she slapped me in frustration, so I made up a lie which further condemned me. That slap silenced me for years. My secret would stay buried as higher barriers surrounded my heart.

Today, I thank God that the dividing walls have been torn down and I’ve forgiven the hurts of abusers past. But that stinking thinking, “I had to make myself good before God would love or accept me,” was one of the most damaging lies that could be planted in the mind of a little girl. It became so ingrained I couldn’t receive true love from anyone. I didn’t deserve it and I wasn’t worth the effort. 

There were two abusive marriages in my story. I remember how hard it was to break through the negative thinking with the third marriage. We’ve been married for 34 years now. My husband has always been good about constantly telling me he loves me. We could stand face to face, and he’d tell me I was beautiful, or he loved me, and I couldn’t even look him in the eye. I’d turn away, laugh it off or degrade myself somehow. They were just words, like the songs I sang as a kid. It took years before I could hear those words and even begin to receive them with a quiet thank you. 

The biggest way the churches hurt me as a child was by misrepresenting the God I’ve come to know. Frequent church scandals exposed over the years compounded the damage. It’s no secret, so I think it’s time we’re honest to confess. God sees, knows, and still loves… Wow!

God is so much bigger in my eyes now. I can’t point to a specific event that caused a shift in my thinking. Sadly, it wasn’t the church that even played a large role. It was very personal between God and I. Hours alone journaling, spilling my heart out on paper, reading books and scriptures, even still trying to do everything right. I put on my Sunday best and the “church smile,” regardless of what was happening around me. I was careful to check all the boxes for time spent in prayer and reading the Bible. Doing those things did make me feel more accepted, but the truth was, my check boxes just made me proud, arrogant, and critical of others who didn’t act the part or fit the look.  

Yet, God’s work in my heart continued. I was gaining insight, understanding, and becoming more open to seeing the inner workings and the effects of my story. I felt encouraged to dig deeper, but not until I was ready. I wasn’t being forced to believe anything about God and it never felt like religion being shoved down my throat. 

You don’t wake up and your brand new just because you check the boxes or look the part. Transformation is a process. It takes time, and it’s not always pretty. Do you know that when a caterpillar is in the cocoon, it’s not that its body slims down, it grows wings and gets pretty colors. It’s body literally becomes nothing. It’s just goo inside the cocoon. We don’t see how it happens in the lonely darkness, but we know transformation took place when we see the butterfly break free.

I had to work up to being ready to allow the process. I had buried things so deeply; my hard heart needed to be bulldozed. I can pinpoint the day God began the deep healing. I had just come home from a Sunday night church service. I was a mess of emotion. Something had been triggered which caused me to act out in a way that my husband sent me to my room. That enraged me further, but I went. As I lay in the dark bedroom sobbing, God began his surgery. I described it as being filleted alive and left wide open – for years. Looking back, I know why. This process took years. It was a spiritual work between me and God. Others played small roles and I am grateful for those people. Most of this work has been done with material from an organization called Mending the Soul, which I’ve gone on to facilitate support groups through. We walk with others who have suffered from the cruel hands of abuse, working through a 250-page workbook in small groups, for as long as four months. As a facilitator, I revisit my exercises right along with the group. I’m amazed as God continues to show himself to be my faithful healer, increasing the understanding into my own story.

I feel closer to Him. It’s not that he was ever far away. It was those barriers. He truly loved me, so there was nothing forced. There was no abuse involved and he waited, right there with me the whole time.  He never took his eyes off me as he waited for me to see, for me to trust enough that I could see my own worth to him. He waited until I could receive his love and love him in return. 

You may be wondering why God didn’t stop the bad things from happening in the first place. I wondered, too. God gave us freedom to choose. He didn’t want an army of lifeless robots. We get to call the shots. But not everyone chooses well, and we know bad things happen, even to good people. I don’t believe that God causes the bad, but I know he can bring good from the bad. He’s done it in my life.

You may also be questioning as I have. Couldn’t God just instantly heal memories and emotions? Yes, I believe he could, but what good would that have been? I would have been grateful, but I never would have gotten to know myself or know him in the same way. I wouldn’t have the same understanding to be helpful to anyone else. The process is a treasured gift that can keep on giving. 

So, you can’t tell me I’m not good enough anymore. Don’t tell me when I don’t have it all together, God doesn’t accept me. Don’t judge me because I still have a habit or hang up you don’t think is appropriate. Don’t dismiss me because I don’t believe exactly like you. Don’t tell me that I must act and look a certain way and must follow your rules. And don’t you dare tell me that I’m not loved by God!

I know I’m not the only one who lost faith because of the actions of people who bore the name of God. I pulled away from belonging to a congregation for a time, but I’m back. I want to belong. I need to belong to something bigger than myself. I still believe there’s hope for churches to become communities where I can thrive. I believe I’ll find people who are willing to be vulnerable enough to be honest, authentic, and human, imperfections and all. I want to find those willing to express their love of other humans through more than words on a website, but love expressed through action. That’s the place that will accept me as I am, the real “imperfect” me. 

The church I’m attending now has a sign on the wall at the entrance, “No perfect people allowed.” I pray that they let that be true for me and let it be true for you, all of you who have been hurt in a church. Let us come as we are. Love us as we are. Let God be the one who does the cleaning, because there’s no better surgeon. Being filleted alive at his hand, brought me more life than I could have ever imagined. It brought me true life. 

Remember that old hymn I mentioned, Amazing Grace? It’s grace! It’s all grace, not our efforts. You can’t make yourself good enough. You don’t have to earn God’s acceptance, approval, or love, so stop trying so hard. And you don’t have to fear rejection because God’s grace really is amazing!

If you are the victim of any kind of abuse and looking for support, visit https://mendingthesoul.org

To find out if this kind of support group is for you, visit https://avisibledifference.org

Telling My Ra Ra Sisters…

I posted a blog last week called, “It’s in the Telling…” I’ve had lots of “telling” practice the past nine years of facilitating support groups. I’ve witnessed the power of being honest and vulnerable enough to share stories and confess secrets. Vulnerability is foundational for breaking the chains of addiction and healing soul wounds. Barriers are broken and unity is created between individuals from diverse backgrounds that may not have otherwise connected. Honesty begets honesty and it’s contagious in a safe group of accepting, compassionate people brought together because of struggle and pain.

In my previous post I used a beach metaphor, how the little grain of sand I am can join with the grain of sand you are, and we can build a whole beach. We can turn something that by itself would just be an irritant in our bathing suit into something beautiful and useful for all to enjoy. 

I’ve been pondering some questions lately. I’m not asking just for the sake of myself and my friend group, but for the world’s sake. Maybe we can all ponder these questions, and all contribute to beach building. 

Honesty begets honesty

What if we could be courageous enough to take the risk and start going beyond our safe, familiar groups in order to expand our beach? What if we could be like a magnet that joins people together for the sake of love, peace and unity? What if I took a step to try and you joined me? 

Call me a dreamer, but I’m not the only one. I can hear the song words playing in my mind now. There was once a man named Jesus who was a dreamer. He prayed for earth’s people before his death, that we would be one as he and his Father were one. He had a dream of unity for you and me. He prayed that we would know a love so strong, the dream would be reality. 

Dream Your Biggest Dream!

Throughout our history, there have been many who dreamed of unity. They tried to raise our awareness and show us our need. While we’ve made a little headway, our progress is far less than what it needs to be. The evidence is seen in the rage, hate and fighting shown in the news each day. I don’t have answers as to how we can do an about face to change direction, but this I do know. It’s going to take the combined effort of individuals coming together around some commonality in order to build this beach. 

The point of my last post was that honesty, authenticity and vulnerability were a step toward unity. Today, I’m taking a risky first step to do some honest telling and confessing beyond the safe support groups I facilitate. Riskier still, I’m doing it publicly. 

I have a group of friends from high school. We affectionately call ourselves, “Ra-Ra Sisters.” I love these ladies, as well as the wild memories we share. They’ve been a network of support through decades and distance. Our contact has varied over the years, sometimes more, sometimes less, but we’ve tried to hold each other in transitions of joy, sorrow, victory and sadly, death. Our face-to-face gatherings have been few, however our connections have grown stronger. While we have things in common, we are all unique. We come from different backgrounds and have differing beliefs on many things, including politics. I recognize emotions run high and beliefs run deep when you even hint at this topic. Neither side understands how the other can believe the way they do. But somehow, I think we can all still be respectful and sensitive.

Honestly, the political thing has been difficult for me. I hate that I’ve seen disagreements over politics, religion and covid vaccines do so much harm. Is it possible for our group to remain united? Something so valuable as decades of long friendship… Can relationships stand with each of us being real and authentic, vulnerable enough to love and accept and still encourage and support one another despite our differences? It sounds simple, but can it be simple in practice? 

My confession, I think I’ve been the quiet minority in our group. I’ve felt I had to stay silent and not cause a stir, which is my familiar pattern of being a peacekeeper rather than a peacemaker. Sometimes what is said stings. I don’t feel a need to even discuss differences of opinions, but neither do I want to hide. Being authentic has a voice.

I would hope true friends will remain true friends.

My hope is that relationships be secure enough that I can “come out” as one who believes differently.

I still want to share our victories, pain, joy and sorrow. My hope goes beyond the Ra Ra Sisters. My hope is that we be an example as we apply this in ever expanding circles. And of course, I intend to stand with, support and encourage all of you through life’s challenges. 

Can we all try for the sake of friendships, families? For the sake of love? For the sake of the dreamers? For all of humanity? For the sake of Jesus’ prayer for us to know that powerful kind of love that can make us one? I hope so! I want that. We’re better together on that beach!

You Weren’t It…

My journal is like a treasure chest. It contains gold nuggets, as well as jagged rocks that just need to be cut and polished to reveal their value. My journals hold the stories of my life. I open them randomly at times just to see where my eyes land. It’s amazing how a line or two can become like a runway. I can take off in my mind on a paper time machine to another place in history. Some of the places I land are dark and for that moment have the power to make me tremble or take my breath away. Some places I land are glorious! I close my eyes and live in those moments, breathing in and savoring the beauty and sparkle of the many facets that each memory. reflects.

I’m able to look at all of them as treasure these days. They are part of me. They’re experiences that have cut, polished and shaped me. They’ve made me what I am today. I’m far from being a perfect gem, but none the less, I’m valuable and precious. It’s taken me years to be able to even say that, much less put it out here for the world to see. That I can now do that, in itself is pretty amazing.

You see, I’ve learned that while someone else may look at my journal entries and see a mess, I can see purpose in my pain. The mess becomes a message. I’ve come to know that no area of my life has to be seen as wasted time, wasted energy. I’ve come to experience that the God I believe in can take what was meant to harm me and turn it into something good.

With that said, here is another look inside what once was, but is no more. It’s been made new. I’ve been made new. I found what I was looking for and it couldn’t be found in people. What I needed could only be found in one. That’s the audience I play for now. And I’m loved and valued whether I look like the ugly rock or the precious gem.

This one was written two years ago.

I needed to talk. You had an agenda.

I needed someone to listen. You gave me your pitch.

I needed a friend. You wanted a sale.

I needed acceptance. You gave me terms.

I needed approval. You gave me comparison.

I needed to be valued. You named your price.

I needed honesty. You presented a mask.

I needed truth. You were cloaked in deception.

I needed courage. You made me fear.

I needed comfort. You wanted a body.

I needed to be held. You wrapped me in bondage.

I needed love. You wanted sex.

I needed safety. You made threats.

I needed protection. You chained me down.

I needed peace. You put me in prison.

I needed a Savior. You weren’t it.

Restoration in Progress…

I decided to take a risky step in vulnerability today. I’ve been pretty quiet on social media these days. Lots of life has been lived over the past few years since our move to California. I’d be overwhelmed to try to catch you up, so I’ll start right here. 

First, the back story. Many years ago, I started a journey of emotional healing from the trauma of rape as a teen. The poor judgement, bad relationships and abusive marriages that followed gave me a lot of junk to work through. I got pretty serious with my own need for help in 2013. I found a program that was more intense, but also more beneficial than any I had submitted myself to before. I now facilitate abuse support groups through that same organization.

What I would like to start sharing are entries from my original workbook. Each time I walk with a new group through the workbook, I revisit the exercises and find greater levels of insight as repressed memories surface and more layers of deadness are peeled away. I now have two workbooks I’ve used, plus entries written on notebook paper scotchtaped over old entries. I’m not saying I’ve reached the end of the road here, but I know that what’s been done on the inside of me is incredible! I can say with confidence now, I know who I am. My faith is stronger than ever. For the first time in my life I know I have a voice. I feel alive and free! 

I’m sure you’re aware that we live in a very broken world. COVID has created even more hardship for so many who find themselves where I was. Calls to shelters and domestic violence hotlines have sky rocketed. So many feel nothing but despair and hopelessness. I’m exposing parts of my story so that those who feel that way will know, there is help. There is hope. And no, you don’t have to live in a prison of fear, afraid to live your life all the way to the edges. 

So here goes. I’ve chosen this entry first, as it kind of summarizes the whole journey. These are not elegant writing projects. These are raw, unedited and never intended to be made public.

My Ist time through the workbook. Chapter 10, page 231:

My journey in dealing with the brokenness from rape and abuse started in a dark, damp and stinky basement. That first set of stairs leading to the first floor of the house were the most risky. They were rotted and shaky, but they had to be taken to make my way out of that dark hole. There were rooms on each level of the house that needed to be explored. It took courage to open the doors to each room and allow the light to come in and illuminate the objects. Some rooms needed to be totally stripped bare, all contents discarded and swept clean. Other rooms contained valuable treasures that were revealed as cobwebs and dust were removed. Over the many years that this house has been standing, rooms have been explored, cleaned or renovated, the steps leading to the next level have been cautiously and carefully climbed, with each new step – making gains. I feel like we’re in the attic now, where treasures have been best hidden. What was most valuable has been here in safe keeping all along and I’m finding it. There is a window in my attic and I’m opening it. The fresh air is blowing in and I hear the birds singing. I can’t wait to find out what’s beyond the attic. Maybe I’ll find some wings up here. I think I can fly!

(I finished writing that and turned the page and saw a picture of a little bird being held in the palm of a hand. The author penned these words on that page. “Trust Him. Follow Him. And fly…” That was a “God hug” for me.)

January 2015

Still feel as if I’m in the attic and the window is still open, however, dealing with some fresh pain makes me realize — I will always reside in this house. While the future is still in view and I know good things await, signs of spring are in view. I can’t neglect the rooms I’ve moved past. This house isn’t dust proof. Rooms swept clean will become dusty. The cleaning part isn’t just once and done. It’s a continual process. I can’t neglect my house. Restoration is ongoing and there is always room for new and fresh. God built this house for a purpose. I need to let him do what he wants to with it.

Fall 2016

I feel like in MTS, I’ve opened the doors to my house, which really is God’s house, and I’ve let others in to see whatever state it’s been in. I’ve exposed the dirt and the dust, as well as allowed others in on the restoration process, in hopes that they will be encouraged in their own houses, to explore, clean, find hidden treasures and eventually we will all fly! Together. Together is better. That’s God’s purpose.

For more information, visit http://www.mendingthesoul.org

Hagg Lake Tri – I’m Coming For You…

When my husband told me to look at several race choices and pick one, as a way to celebrate my birthday weekend, there was one important piece of criteria the race had to have. It had to be an easy, relatively flat, bike course. I also didn’t feel ready for an ocean swim, so, no ocean, therefore, no sharks to worry about, was number two on my list. Weather was a lesser determining factor. Being from Arizona, cooler temperatures sounded a lot more inviting, than heat and humidity. Races in mosquito infested areas didn’t make the cut, either. Other than that, a beautiful course, nice downtown, shopping areas, good food and wine, hiking or other outdoor activities, all of those would be pluses. After looking at several races in many states and checking all of the bike courses, I settled on the Hagg Lake Triathlon. It appeared to have a few rolling hills with minimal elevation, a lake swim, cool temperatures, a beautiful race venue and it was in Oregon, one of our favorite states to visit. Portland has so many fantastic restaurants, and with wine country close by, it would be a perfect way to celebrate a birthday weekend!

We had our bikes shipped ahead of time so they would be ready for us. Race week, the weather was looking pretty rough from an Arizonan’s perspective, low 50’s and a steady rain. That’s winter in AZ. To the locals in Oregon, our gear bag contents probably looked ridiculous. We had enough layers, we might have been warm enough for snow. Race day, actually ended up being pretty near perfect though. It was in the low 60’s with cloudy skies. It looked like it would rain, but never did, and the sun actually peeked out a few times.

All of our pre-race activity went smoothly. We arrived early. Our bikes were there waiting and ready for us. Athlete’s Lounge was the sponsoring bike shop. They did a wonderful job taking care of our bikes.

Next was body marking. For my non-triathlete friends, body marking is when they write your race numbers on your arms and also your age on your leg. Race day was the actual day of my birthday, so for the first time this year, they wrote my true age on my leg. I remember how appalled I was when I did my first triathlon and they wrote my age on my leg! I soon realized it wasn’t so bad though, when during the race you pass people who are younger than you. It’s no big deal anymore. As they say, “Age is just a number, THEY WRITE ON YOUR LEG.”

My husband and I got our gear all set up in transition. We both noticed a lot of really nice bikes and that the field of athletes looked to be pretty experienced. Not that it was intimidating at all…  🙂

The only thing I didn’t get to do, which may have made a big difference in my race, was a warm up run. I have asthma and being able to run first really helps me with the breathing when I swim. Since we had to be out of the transition area early, that wasn’t going to work. Everyone was already putting on their wetsuits for the swim. We got our wetsuits on and headed down to the lake for the start of the race. We were unaware that we were allowed to do a warm up swim, but we weren’t by the lake early enough for that. At least we got a couple minutes to get in the water, which gave me a chance to be sure my goggles weren’t leaking.

Here’s where the story starts. That swim. I’ll never forget that swim. That swim made me think about not doing triathlon ever again. That swim made me think about never wanting to swim again, period! I had a triangle of three buoys to swim around. I was to do two loops. It started out ok. I choked a little, which I do from time to time. I ran into a couple people. That happens. I swallowed water. That happens, too. But by the time I was around the second buoy, the wind had kicked up the water and there were waves like none I’ve ever had to swim in before. The water was choppy. I’m used to swimming in a lake with high canyon walls, protected from wind, really. There are no boat waves, just kayaks and a few paddleboards. I’m a wuss, is what I’m saying! No matter how I turned my head to breathe, I got a mouthful of water instead of air. I choked several times. I couldn’t breathe. I tried to swim with my head up. I still couldn’t breathe. I stopped to catch my breath. I sat in the water watching  swim capped heads pass by, all seemingly unaffected by the turbulence that was causing me to lose hope that I could finish one loop, let alone, two. I rested a few times, and then tried to propel myself forward. Every time I put my face in the water, within not so many strokes, I was choking and out of breath again. I finally reached the second buoy. A boat was there and the man was yelling for me to turn, which is what I was going to do as soon as I got around the buoy. I wasn’t understanding that the wind had blown the buoy off course and I had swam farther than I needed to and he was trying to tell me I didn’t have to swim around the buoy, but could turn in toward shore sooner. Blame the slowness of understanding on lack of oxygen, maybe… There was another boat guy after the buoy. Winded to the point I felt my wetsuit choking me, I asked if I could hold on for a few minutes. I’m not sure how long I did hold on, but I did a lot of talking. I apologized for having to burp, because burping is what one has to do much of when they drink half a lake. He said he had seen worse. Poor guy. He was a good listener. I talked about quitting, about how I thought I was going to be last and how I had never quit and I didn’t want to quit, but I couldn’t breathe, and I still had another loop to swim. My stomach hurt from swallowing so much water. My wetsuit felt like it was choking me. I wanted that medal! I didn’t want to be last… Finally, he acted like it was time for me to get going. He didn’t try to influence me. He just listened and said he would be there if I needed him. So off I went toward that last buoy. It was so close to shore. I could go in and this whole horrible mess would be over with or I could go back out into the waves one more time…

It’s amazing how much thinking you can do under duress. I have a mug that says, “The Mind is the Athlete.” It’s so true. I had so many reasons not to finish the race. They sounded good to me at the time. Hey, breathing is a big deal! I really wanted that medal, though. When you train hard, you should get something to show for it, right!  How many people wish they had what someone else has, but they aren’t willing to do what it takes to get it? I thought about that in the water. I did NOT want to finish that swim! The only way I was going to get that medal was to stay the course, finish the race and cross that line at the end.

There was another very powerful thought that went through my mind. As I said, it was my birthday. Thanks to Facebook, my friends and family knew we we’re doing the race, so I was getting a lot of support from that. I had briefly scanned some of the posts as we were driving to the event. My mom had posted. In her post she said I was an example of courage and perseverance. Wow, the power of the words we speak! My mom’s words were power that day. No I didn’t feel courage at that moment and finishing that swim was the last thing I wanted to do, but I was going to be what my mom said I was. I rounded the third buoy and I kept swimming. If you think you’re hearing Dory singing, “Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming…” It’s me! I sing it all the time now.

The rest of the race, I just had to make the best I could of it. By the time I got back to transition, my bike was the last one, meaning I was the last one to get out on the bike course. The thing I feared the most, being last… I thought it would be like it has been in other races, I’d be able to make up time and pass people, but not so. The bike course that I initially chose for it’s easy rolling hills, well, I must have gotten mixed up with all the courses I had looked at. This one did not have easy rolling hills. I train on mostly flat routes because of issues with my knees, so not only was I not prepared for the hills, my knees were very unhappy with me. I also hadn’t had to use the gearing on my tri bike much, since I ride flat routes. That further complicated my race. We had to do two loops around the lake. The first loop, riders that were finishing their second loop passed me, but once I started my second loop, I was on my own on the course. It felt really lonely after a while out there in the woods. Then there was the stupid fall. It was just stupid! Of course, the support motorcycles show up out of nowhere and catch me on the ground. I did one of those things where you jump up, bush off, say I’m ok, and take off, too embarrassed to acknowledge the blood running down your leg. I was so glad when I finished that bike ride and got back to transition again. SO glad!

Many people had finished the whole race and were walking around with their medals on and packing up their gear to go home. Here I was just getting ready to start my run. I couldn’t believe it. I was really going to be LAST! I had never even come close to doing this badly in a race. Even in my first couple triathlons, at my age, I still came out around the middle of the pack for all ages on my time. Now I knew how it felt for those who do come in last, those who still have to push themselves to keep going to get across that finish line, even when they know they’ll be last. It was a horrible feeling! But I wanted that medal. I still had worked hard. I still had done the best I could with the circumstances at the time. I still had to fight to get to the finish. It was very humbling. The whole thing was, but I think I needed humbling, so that’s ok.

As it turned out, I did catch up to one other lady on the run. I wouldn’t have had to be last, if I didn’t want to be, but it sure didn’t seem worth it to pass one person and make her feel the way I knew I would have felt, so I stuck with her. We enjoyed the rest of the race and crossed the finish line together. We’re all better together, right! I do have to say, even though it was my worst race ever, the race director, the volunteers and the spectators that were left, made the finish line awesome. My husband had mentioned to one of the volunteers that it was my birthday. He told the announcer, who had called everyone back to the finish line as I was coming in. Everyone sang happy birthday to me at the finish line. Yes, I was a little embarrassed, but at the same time, it took some of the sting out of being last. And I got my medal! 

I learned a lot from this race. I hope it’s the bad race experience that’s behind me and I’ll never live through again, but no guarantees on that. I’m glad it’s over, but at the same time. I’m glad I did it. It didn’t kill me. It did make me stronger. And Hagg Lake, I hope you can hear me. I’m coming back for you!

Thank you to Sherri McMillan and staff of Why Racing Events and all of the wonderful volunteers of the Hagg Lake Tri and Du. This is a beautiful race venue, a challenging course, and a very well run race! Everyone was awesome!

Thank you, to Don and Russell from VeloZoom, who took care of the AZ end of the bike shipping process and then Christine and Gary from Athlete’s Lounge who took care of our bike’s in Oregon!

#whyracing #whyracingevents #hagglaketri

When Fear Runs Deep…

I opened my eyes as I had already done many times throughout the night, waiting for the sound of the alarm to signal that it was finally the right time to be awake. It had been one of those nights. You know the kind I’m talking about, when your mind won’t get quiet and sleep evades you. It felt as if I had been semi-conscious for the last several hours. Nervous apprehension had replaced every last bit of excitement I felt the previous evening, as I had prepared for this morning. It was to be a big day for me! Another milestone was to be reached. Another step crossed off the list of steps I needed to take on this road to become a half Ironman finisher. My first 70.3 triathlon at the (young) age of 58 was a big deal, one I really was unsure that this body with all of its aches and pains could actually endure. Today was the day to put on that new wetsuit I had packed and go to the lake for my first open water swim. You should be hearing the theme from the movie, “Jaws”, playing in your mind right now.

Maybe it seems silly to you that swimming in a lake would be a big deal. I had splashed around in the lake as a kid. I even thought my little doggie paddle for a few yards every so often as I played, was actually considered swimming. As a matter of fact, I really thought I could swim, that is until I took my first real swim lesson two years ago. My coach at the time informed me that my doggie paddle was not “real” swimming. I learned that I actually had to put my face in the water! I found myself embarrassed as I was made to practice bobbing up and down in the water at a public pool, to blow bubbles out of my mouth and nose. I had to do it in front of “real” swimmers even! That was six weeks before my first sprint triathlon. Six weeks was not enough time for me to get this swimming thing. That first race was so hard! I was out of breath after the first 50 yards. I had to stop and rest each time I reached the end of a lane. I won’t say how long it took me to finish that little 400 yard swim, but let me tell you, I was slow!

A hamstring injury the week following that first race, kept me out of the pool for several months. That was followed by several months of swimming using the pull buoy, as I wasn’t able to kick. In spite of the injury and lack of proper training, I felt I needed to do a 2^nd sprint the following year in order to keep my standing as a triathlete. I signed up for the same event I had done before. That swim was even worse than my first had been!

I really wanted to do this triathlon thing, so here’s where my current triathlon coach enters the picture. Swimming is her strong area. She’s been working with me just over a year now. Believe me when I tell you, this swimming stuff hasn’t come easily for me. I’ve worked hard and I’ve come a long way, but even recently at a master swim session, my coach was laughing over some weird movement I was doing in the pool. Somehow, she always manages to find something to correct, as a good coach should, I might add.

I remember many of my early swim sessions with her. Every time I had to do a workout, I fought anxiety and apprehension. I remember times when I dreaded getting to the end of the lane and I knew she was going to have me do another lap, and then another and another. I was so out of breath at times, I felt lightheaded and even in a state of panic. There were a few times I even wanted to cry. Ok, maybe I did cry, but I sure couldn’t let her see that. I imagine I’ve made her wonder if I would ever make it as a swimmer. Even if that’s not true for her, it definitely is for me.

Confidence about my swimming had evaded me as much as sleep had the night before this big day. I had volunteered to drive out to the lake that morning. A couple of my team mates were riding along. One was a seasoned open water swimmer. I didn’t know at the time, but our coach had given him strict orders to stay with us and keep us safe. Poor guy! Who would want that responsibility! The other team mate was a near neighbor, a.k.a., my “tri in the hood friend”. We had begun to do some of our training together. She was new to this open water swimming experience, as well. Even though she had been a swimmer longer, she was as nervous as I was. It’s funny to think back to one of our early swim sessions with our coach. I remember her commenting on how she would never be doing any open water swimming. Never say never, right!

 

It had been years since I had been to this particular lake. While the desert landscape was beautiful, the road is narrow as it winds up and down the sides of the mountains. The anxiety was building in my chest and my shoulders grew tighter with each hairpin turn. Of course, our conversation over how nervous we each felt only amplified the tension. I rounded a bend and had my first view of the water. The lake looked huge and the boats so small from our elevated vantage point. It’s good that I had passengers in the car that day, for had I not, I’m sure I would have turned around and high tailed it home!

When we arrived at the lake, several other tri club members were already putting on wetsuits. Trying to get a wetsuit over aged, loose skin that just moves up with the compression of the suit, well, that’s just an ugly story. Having to do that in front of others is down right, humiliating. I’m glad it took what seemed like forever to get the suits on. Anything to delay us from having to get in that water was okay by me. But alas, the moment arrived and it was time.

My “tri in the hood friend” and I had only planned on splashing around a bit to get used to the wetsuit, maybe swim along the shore a little, but certainly not go in over our heads. We were told we wouldn’t drown in a wetsuit, as it makes you more buoyant, but still, the idea of going deep was frightening.

I’ll never forget the first time I put my face in the water. It was so cold, it took my breath away. It took several times of bobbing up and down before I could blow bubbles under the water and take a breath when I came up. We swam along the shore a little and stopped to stand up every 25 yards or so. There was security in knowing we could still touch the bottom. I think I was ready to call it a day after about fifteen minutes, but our seasoned team mate seemed determined to be sure we actually got in a little more of a workout. He was able to get my friend to swim out to a buoy. It wasn’t too far off shore, but it was definitely beyond my comfort zone. She was very pleased with herself over having done it and apparently she wasn’t satisfied with me not having the same experience, so now there was double the pressure for me to swim out to the buoy. Not wanting to jeopardize my “tough, old lady athlete,” status, I resigned myself to oblige their request. It was horrible! I forgot to breathe. I choked. I swam crooked and ran into my friend. Each of those things caused my heightened anxiety level to become a complete state of panic. My chest felt like it was being crushed and I couldn’t breathe. I stopped and begged for someone to unzip my wetsuit. Our seasoned team mate told me to keep it zipped. I had to get used to feeling that, as it happens to even experienced swimmers on occasion. I tread water for a minute and tried to calm myself until I could breathe. So much for the tough, old lady athlete! I did make it to the buoy once that day and as you can see, I lived to tell about it.

We had many lake visits over the summer, but there were very few that I

The mass start under Mill Ave in Tempe, AZ.

didn’t experience the whole gamut of emotions associated with my fear of the swim. It was particularly unnerving when I found myself panicking in the water just two weeks prior to my half Ironman event. That was an ordinary workout day, which didn’t include the hectic frenzy of bodies thrashing about, which is what takes place in a race scenario. I couldn’t imagine how incredibly terrifying it would be to experience that during the race.

One thing I have learned about fear, not that I would deny that I felt it, but the more you talk about it, the more you give it a voice, the more it grows, the more powerful it becomes. I couldn’t afford to talk about it, so I didn’t. That would only feed it.

Another thing that I had learned about fear, I had heard from a speaker one time. They shared an acronym for fear. FEAR is False Evidence Appearing Real. My fear was ungrounded. Sure, there was evidence. I had panicked in the water, MANY times! And it was terrifying! But it wasn’t real. The facts were, I could swim. I had listened to my coach. I had done my training. I had put in the hours, the distance, the time. And I hadn’t drown, not even “almost”, not even once!

Packet pick up day! Some of our tri team mates with our awesome coach on the left. Less than 24 hrs. until the big event!

The week before the 70.3 Ironman event, I was amazed that I felt excited, rather than anxious, as I usually felt before a race. I mean I was really excited! Training for this had involved a lot of sweat and tears. I had gone from seriously doubting my ability to even do this, to knowing I would finish. My emotions were running high all week, so it didn’t take much to cause whatever I felt at any given moment to spill out. My coach said that was normal.  In spite of my carefully laid out plan for the morning of the event, it seemed as if everything was going wrong. I hadn’t been able to sleep the night before. I left the house later than was planned. It was raining. Two freeway ramps that I had planned to take to get to the venue were closed, forcing me to exit in an area I was unfamiliar with. I lost my wrist bracelet which I had to have to get into the transition area. Four different people working the race venue, had me running all over the park area to get help with the bracelet issue. When I finally got to the transition area and saw my coach standing there, I felt as if I would explode. She knew just what I needed. After she hugged me, she got in my face and with a gentle firmness, instructed me on what to do next. She was perfect! That minute or two made all the difference in the world to me. I had just enough time to get my transition area set up, stand in the bathroom line, get my wetsuit on and get in line for the swim start. My coach and team mates were there, along with my husband and one of my sons. My son read me an incredibly, awesome text which he had sent me that morning as encouragement, but I didn’t have my phone, so I hadn’t seen it. That made me teary eyed! Ok, everything made me teary eyed at that point, but his text was really special! I could feel slight undercurrents of frayed nerves, but I chose to block out any negativity and stay focused. My strategy was simple. I had borrowed it from the movie, “Finding Nemo”. And yes, I’m admitting that I even watched the movie that week before the race for inspiration. I was going to take Dory’s advice and “just keep swimming.”

It was time and our group was called to enter the water. We swam out to the start line and waited for the horn to sound, and we were off! The hectic frenzy of thrashing arms, legs and bodies was just as crazy as it had appeared in the triathlon videos. All of the things I had feared, happened. I choked. I couldn’t breathe. I got kicked, swam into and slapped in the face – HARD. Someone grabbed my leg at one point and it felt like they were trying to pull me under, but I just kept swimming. I stayed calm. I was amazed at how calm I felt. I kept focused on the next buoy, then the next and the next. By the time I rounded that last buoy, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, I wasn’t swimming by my own strength that day. Yes, I had trained for it, but I knew I had supernatural help. As it turned out, I wasn’t even the slowest one in our group, which amazed me even more, because I’m always the slowest one. My son and my husband said they were shocked when they saw me run past them, as they didn’t expect to see me for, at least, another ten minutes.

That’s the biggest part of my race story. The rest was just fun. Because of ongoing knee issues, I had to ride easy on the bike, just fast enough to make the cut off time. On the run, I kept stopping to try to get what felt like rocks out of my shoe, but there were no rocks. It turned out to be a bigger issue with my foot. I had a killer headache, I think from lack of salt. I had dropped all of my salt, right up front on the bike course. I ended up walking a lot of the run portion, as a result of all of it, but I knew I would make the cut off time so I wasn’t concerned. It was hard and it was hot, but I had a blast! Crossing that finish line was a high that I’ll never forget! It stuck with me for a long time after the race, too!

I can’t tell you my story without sharing the most important thing that I’ve learned about fear. That is the fact that I don’t have to have it. I can choose to not fear. Real life experience has a way of teaching us things that become rooted deep into the fiber of our beings. That truth for me is that I have a big, powerful and completely, faithful God who always comes through for me. Even when life throws unfavorable things my way, as it has often, God has always, one way or another, worked things out for my good. Helping me with a little swim was easy! When fear runs deep, my faith is deeper still.

What’s next? I’m not sure. I’m grounded from biking and running right now until my knees and foot recover. Yes, there is the thought that it would be really cool to do a full Ironman one day, but right now, it’s hard to imagine it being a possibility with this body. Of course, I’ll never say never, because we all know what happens when we do that, right!

Following My Dreams

Wow!  Could it just be so easy?  To wake up each day and have the freedom to let the day carry you, to follow your whims based on how you feel each day.  To wake up and be “there” already, that place you imagine will keep you happy for the rest of your life, no difficulties, hardships, no struggles to push through.  It’s just there, given to you right up front, waiting for your toes to break the surface of that refreshing water.  Oh, to be able to lounge on that raft, floating through the white puffy clouds into time and space in perfect peace for the rest of your time on earth.  Wouldn’t that be amazing?  Wouldn’t the world be a happier place if we could all just do that?  Follow your dreams…

Honestly, I’ve been trying to follow my dreams for more than 50 years now, but it just hasn’t been that easy for me.  How unfair is that?  Why is it that some people just seem to fall into their dream and others have to work so hard to get there?

Statistically speaking, the number of people who get to fall into their dreams early in life can be counted on fingers compared to the vast billions that have to work long and hard toward them.

There is something to be said about the struggle to get there.  The struggle isn’t a separate entity from the dream.  It’s a divine part of the dream.   Remember the caterpillar, the cocoon and the butterfly?

There’s something to be said about the rocky road, the crooked path, the twists, the hairpin turns, the unplanned detours, the flat tires.  They aren’t just part of the road you travel to reach your destination.  The journey and the destination are one.  You can’t have one without the other.

There’s something to be said for the difficult people placed along the path in your dream.  Human nature would dictate that you circle around and avoid such people.  Don’t waste your time on them, you don’t need the drama.  Who do you think makes you a better person?  They do!  Iron sharpens iron, so go ahead and rub shoulders with the cold hard ones.

An ancient history book says that trouble and suffering are good for us.  They lead us to have the strength to endure and persevere.  Endurance develops our character.  Character gives us hope.  Good character helps us reach and keep that which we hope for.  It’s a progression.  It’s the way life works.  You can’t have one without the other.   (Ancient history book, aka The Bible, Romans 5:3-5, James 1:3-4)

That said, in actuality I’m already “there”.  I’ve been “there” all along, even when it didn’t appear so, feel so and I didn’t think so.   Whether it be good times or bad on this journey, all the circumstances and events have been working together to make me new and better day by day.   I’m living the dream and choosing to enjoy the ride.

Naming Names…

Before my family and friends panic thinking I’m writing about them, let me just say most of you can calm down.  While I may be writing about you, there is only one person that I’m going to name today.  The person I’m naming is a long time friend, warm, caring, soft spoken, just beautiful inside and out.  If that description doesn’t fit, you can relax, but if it does and your name is Denise; buckle up, put on your listening ears and hear me loud and clear.

I hope all of you have had the privilege of having a “Denise” in your life at some point.  I was a single mom, not many months out of an abusive marriage when I met my Denise.  I had just given birth to my second child and found myself living in yet another new place.  This, not so quaint new community was called Silver Meadows.  I soon learned that it was better known as Silver Ghettos.  It was certainly misnamed.  There were a lot more copper pennies than silver to be found here.  I was surrounded by loud neighbors, criminal activity, police sirens and more abuse happening within the walls of those who lived around me than what I had ever known.

I did discover that my new ghetto had a silver lining though.  Her name was Denise.  I lived in a third floor apartment and she lived on the bottom floor.  We both had little boys the same age.  They quickly became buddies and played together while we had our morning, afternoon and evening coffee or shared a meal.  Thankfully, she loved babies and she would rock my baby girl, giving me a little break from the stress of an often crying, colicky baby.  I didn’t have a car back then, well not one that you could drive.  It did take up a parking space, but that’s about the only thing it could do.  Denise would take me grocery shopping or to doctor appointments for the kids when I needed.  Needless to say, Denise and I spent a lot of time together.

Over time both of our situations changed.  Denise and I both found ourselves moving to new places and into new relationships.   I moved out of state and remarried but that didn’t last long.  After a short blip in the screen of life, I was back in my home state and on my own once again with my two kids.  Denise had married, as well, but she was still there for me.  I worked a lot of hours, but always found myself at her house on my day off.  She had a daughter by now, so both of my kids had a friend at her house.  Denise was my rock.  We would talk about everything.  She kept me sane and grounded with her wise words of advice.  She was the friend who had my back.  I don’t know what I would have done without her.  Her husband was also gracious about me hanging around for a whole day at a time.   He was a stylist, so he cut my hair when I needed and he did my car repairs or showed me how to do my own, which saved me a lot of money.  He taught me how to do tune ups and even how to work on my brakes.  It was empowering for me as a single mom to know that there were things I could do myself.  I needed that.

Denise and I lost contact for many years, but thanks to facebook we’ve been able to reconnect.  A lot of life passed under our feet during that time and many of those years weren’t kind to my friend, yet I’ve seen her be strong and rise above the hard stuff.  She’s still a rock, and I want her to know that.  She is still that light that was shining for me on the dark paths I walked back then and I never want her to forget that.  She still supports me, encourages me and I know she still has my back.

This morning as I was journaling, I was remembering Denise, as well as several other friends like her who have been there for me during tough times.  I’m so grateful for relationships like the one we share.  You know what I mean.  Who is your “Denise”?  It’s fitting during this Thanksgiving season to celebrate those who have stood by us, supported and encouraged us through thick and thin, therefore I proclaim this day to be “Thank your Denise Day”, so get out there and just do it!  Thank you to Denise and all of my other friends who support and encourage me.  You make my world a happier place to be!  ❤

“The Hip Bones Connected to the…”

I never wanted to be one to grow older and complain about all my aches and pains, so I swear, I’m not complaining here!  There is a moral to this story, I promise!

You probably have someone in your life that seems to thrive on relating their latest illness to the world.  I remember a neighbor years ago who lived on the other side of a chain link fence from me.  I loved spending time outside, either soaking up the sun or working in my garden.  Because of this one neighbor, I felt I had to operate in stealth mode to enjoy my backyard.  Venturing out the back door involved preplanning.   I avoided times that my neighbor was sure to be outside.  I’d peer out the windows for any sign of movement around her house and if the coast was clear, I would venture out.  I cautiously remained on the alert for any sound from across the fence, watching from the corner of my eye with one foot pointed in the direction of my door.  I was ready to make a mad dash for the house if needed.  If my neighbor managed to catch me off guard, I’d be stuck listening to all her health issues until I could think of an excuse to break away.  It was the same dreary conversation, over and over again.  You know what I’m talking about, right!

I’m not going to be that neighbor!  This blog is about being real, right where I’m at today.  So for those who care and have read any of my previous posts on this aging body, here goes.

First, I’ll give a little update on the abdominal issues.  If you need to know the back story on this one, you can catch up here with: “I’m Not Average”.  Apparently, I’m not average at all.  I’m an overachiever!  In this case, it’s not a good thing.

I got to spend a day in the ER last week because of my midsection.   The issue is that I build up large amounts of scar tissue from to many surgeries and being septic twice now.  The scar tissue causes obstructions.   The doctor said that the average person with my scar tissue issues, has to have surgery every two years.  I’m two months away from the one year mark of the last surgery and I’ve experienced symptoms of a partial obstruction twice now since the beginning of this year.  In previous events related to this, that’s been the pattern prior to the hospitalizations.  I’m updating you on this one, not because I’m looking for sympathy.  But, if you’re the praying type, maybe you could swing some prayers this way.  Another surgery would not be a good thing for me!  As a matter of fact, one doctor said it would be a mess.  OK, enough on that!

Here is what I want to focus on today.  It’s my “pain in the neck”!  It was in December when I found out what the problem was.  I have three bulging disks in my neck and two more disks with bone protruding into the nerve.   Thankfully, there is not so much pain in the neck anymore.  Most of the pain runs down my arm and my hand feels like it’s been asleep much of the time.

I’ve been in physical therapy now for a couple months and I put myself in traction at home every day.  Things are improving!  Initially, I had to give up running, but I’m happy to say that I’ve slowly been able to work my way into “minutes” of running on my schedule.  I finally have a couple days this week where my coach was able to assign “miles”, instead of “minutes”!  If you’re a runner, you can understand how this makes me want to do a happy dance!

Being in physical therapy for different parts of my body since I took up this running hobby has increased my awareness of how amazing our bodies were created to be.  You might remember the song we sang as kids, “The hip bones, connected to the leg bone.  The leg bones connected to the knee bone.  The knee bones connected to the …” and on it goes.  It’s all part of the Kinetic Chain.  Each joint is connected by bone, muscle and tissue to the next joint and the next and the next.  When the movement of one part of our body is hindered or a part is injured it affects the other parts in the chain.  You might not even have symptoms of a problem right away.  Injuries can build up over time and all of a sudden, your body is screaming at you.  The pain you feel might not even be where the root of your problem is.  The problem can originate somewhere up or down the chain.

I love the analogy of the different parts of the body being like us, who we were created to be with the gifts and talents we each possess.  One person may be like the mouth.  They are just naturally a very vocal person with a gift of eloquent speech.  They are able to be a voice on behalf of those who have no voice.

One person may be like a shoulder.  They are built to be strong.  They’re the burden bearer or a shoulder to cry on.  They’re not only able to carry their own heavy loads, but also the loads of others.

Even the unseen, seemingly insignificant parts of our bodies; all have a specific function that is necessary to our existence.   Each part is connected in the Kinetic Chain.   If one part is hurt and neglected, the other parts of the body will be affected.  What good is a mouth if it’s wired shut?  A mouth without the tongue to taste, teeth to chew and a throat to swallow is useless.   A mouth without a head and a face to hold it in place would just look weird.  It needs the other parts to fulfill the purpose it was created for.

This is really what’s on my mind today.  Sorry it took me so long to get here.  It boils down to the simple fact that we need each other!  Why do we isolate ourselves from others?  How can we be so proud and arrogant to judge another person to be of lesser value than ourselves?  Why is it that so many try to operate on their own, without the help of others?  Remember Herby, the dentist from “Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer”, as he declared, “I’m independent”?  Even Herby found out he needed others, but almost at the cost of his life.

I’m guilty of all of the above at one point or another, so I’m not just talking to you.  That neighbor across the fence needed me.  I listened and tried to be kind, but I really didn’t care that much.  I avoided her in every way I could.  I really couldn’t help her with her medical needs, but I could have offered encouraging words or maybe a smile to brighten her day.  Maybe even I could have enjoyed the outside I loved, by helping in her yard.

It’s true, when one part hurts, the others will hurt.  Turning a blind eye to the needs of others will eventually affect you.  Devaluing those who work under you in the workplace will eventually affect you.  Neglecting the people that are a pain in the neck, butt or whatever, will eventually affect you.

No, we can’t be all things to all people.  We weren’t meant to be.  But we can be the best at being who we were created to be and using the gifts and talents we were given for the betterment of humanity.  When we refuse to function and fulfill our purpose, when we become intolerant, unfairly judge, criticize or belittle another human, we hurt a part of ourselves that is valuable and necessary to our existence.

So here’s the moral of our little story today.  We, as a member of the human race need to start focusing on our overall health and well being.  We need to start thinking long term, for the sake of our existence.  Let’s begin to take better care of ourselves, which means taking care of each other.  I need you and whether you like it or not, you need me. You’ve heard it said, “It takes a village…”  All of humanity is a part of our village, our Kinetic Chain.   So let’s, “Be the change you want to see in the world”.   Just do it!

My Open Letter to a Friend…

Dear Jane,    (Name has been changed.)

I really don’t know where to begin.   You’ve been on my mind a lot lately, as I do indeed understand that your circumstances are overwhelming.   In just a short span of years, you’ve lost your parents, your husband and pets that were like your children to you.  If dealing with these losses weren’t enough, you have a daily struggle with the disease that has been the cause of way too many paramedic visits to your address.  Add to that, the loss of balance that has resulted in several falls, causing multiple breaks and surgeries to repair your broken bones.  I know what follows surgeries; long recoveries, physical therapy, many follow up appointments and bills.  If all those things aren’t overwhelming enough, add the fact that you do all of this alone now.

You’ve felt abandoned by the little bit of family that remain.  Your days and nights are spent alone in your recliner.  Your wheel chair stays at your side for the short trips to the kitchen and bathroom because you’re still recovering from a broken bone.  Yes, you have your one remaining pet, but for the most part, your little house is quiet.  Voices that once filled your walls are now gone.  One voice remains though, that won’t stay silent.  It’s a taunting voice that brings torment.  It plays like a tape on constant rewind.  It tells you over and over again, “I can’t do this anymore” or “I don’t want to do this anymore” or “I have no reason to keep on living”.  What’s scary to me is that you’ve listened and started to believe that voice.

I remember the days when you were very different.  Your life was full of activity, full of family and friends.  You had many people surrounding you with love and you loved them back with your kindness, encouraging words and generous gifts.  You loved giving gifts to people around you, but your greatest gift was your compassion and your laugh.  I loved hearing you laugh.  Yes, you still had to deal with that childhood disease, but that didn’t stop you from opportunities to enjoy time with family and friends, opportunities to live.

But yes, you are different now.  Circumstances have caused rooms that were once filled with light to become dim and even dark.  I still hear the laugh at times, but it’s not the same.  The laugh begins to emerge for a moment, but it ends abruptly as if it’s stopped by an invisible wall.  Each time the laughter ends, the invisible wall is quickly revealed.  It’s a memory, memories of what’s been lost.  So much has been lost…

In place of joy, there is sadness, anger and bitterness.  You’ve built yourself a little refuge, surrounded yourself with this invisible wall, each brick being a memory of someone or something that has hurt you.  Somehow you feel safe in there, alone.  So you keep building, but the reality is that you’re cutting yourself off more and more from family and friends.  The wall isn’t invisible anymore, either.  You’re isolating yourself, one brick at a time.  Your wall may keep others from seeing you, Jane, but I can see.  I still see you in there.

You used to like pretty colors, but these bricks don’t make for a pretty room.  Unfairness, injustice, sadness, anger, death, disease, backstabbing, lies, betrayal; yes these are the bricks that life and circumstances have given you.  These are the bricks you were given, so you used them to build your refuge.   I’m no interior decorator, but this is not the room that I would picture you happy in.

No one would dispute the fact that life has been unfair to you.  Anyone would readily affirm that you have good reason to be depressed and angry with your circumstances.  You have indeed been repeatedly dealt some knockdown, drag out blows.  Not just once or twice have you been hit, but over and over again.  Of course, you would seek refuge from the onslaught.  Who wouldn’t?  Anyone would seek a safe place.   So bruised, bleeding and eyes swollen shut, you did what you could and stacked your bricks, one on top of another.

Your refuge is not as it appears to you, though.  The reality is you’ve built yourself a prison with these bricks.  You’ve let me and a few others peek over those walls, but I’m afraid for you, Jane.  I’m afraid that if you keep using these bricks and build your wall any higher, I won’t be able to reach you anymore.  No one else will be able to either.  Your prison will grow totally dark, completely quiet, and you will be intolerably alone.

Yes, life handed you these bricks.  They were the closest ones to you, the easy ones to grasp.  The thing is, just beyond those bricks were some other bricks, bricks that were much prettier colors.  I know they seemed too hard to reach, but they were there for you to choose.  Yes, they took more effort to get to; I mean a lot more effort.  You would have to use what little strength you had left to crawl over the ugly ones to reach them.  They do have rough edges and sharp corners that could and probably would hurt you more.  It’s hard to see with eyes that are almost swollen shut, but just over those bricks are the pretty ones…

Life is full of choices, opportunities.  We may not get to choose our circumstances, but we get to choose how we respond to them.  I’m not just saying this lightly.  I know it’s really difficult to choose sometimes.  The constant battle of the voices in our ears is truly like we’re in the middle of the argument between the images of good and evil on our shoulders.  And then there is the battle of the will and emotions, fierce warriors they are!

I’ve seen you in your warrior mode before, though.  Living with disease all of these years has given you a strength that many lack.  That in itself has made you a strong warrior.  But I’ve seen you made stronger by other things, too.  You’ve used your determination and strong will to win, many times over.  You may not think you have what you need to make it through all of this, but I know you do.

I miss my old friend.  I miss the warmth and joy that was once there.  I miss her smile, her humor, her laugh, her love of people.  I’m asking for her to break free from her prison.  Jane, come out from behind that wall, please…

I know it’s not going to be easy, but I know even more that you can do it, Jane.  The first steps are going to be the hardest of all and only you can take them, because right now, we can’t reach you.

First of all, stop building with those ugly bricks.  Stop rehearsing all the negative memories over and over in your mind.  You may not choose what thoughts come to your mind, but you do choose the thoughts that get to stay.  When the memories of betrayal, lies, and all those ugly bricks come, kick them away.  They have no place around you.  Lift up your head and look at the light.  Instead of using your inner strength to build a false fortress, use it to crawl over that prison wall.

That’s what we have to do when we’re down.  We have to get up, even if we can barely crawl, we have to choose and make ourselves do it.  The farther you crawl, the closer you get to the beauty that once surrounded you.  Keep your eyes focused on all the colors just ahead.  As you crawl forward, the bruising will fade, the bleeding will stop, the swelling will go down and your eyes will see clearly again.  You will come to a place where you will be able to reach out your hand for help and allow others to touch you once again.  Yes, there is risk involved with that.  You could and probably will experience some hurt along the way.  But it’s better to hurt with friends who can help you heal, then to slowly bleed to death inside a lonely prison.  With each effort, no matter how strained, weakness will be replaced by strength.  Darkness will become light.  Hope will take the place of despair.  Bitterness will be replaced by forgiveness, anger replaced by peace and sadness replaced by joy.  Love will once again rule your heart and fill your life.

Your life isn’t over, Jane.  There is a chance for a new beginning, starting today.   There is hope for your future!   Say yes, Jane.  I miss you.  Many of us miss you.  Choose life.  Please, choose life.

You know I love you!  Your friend, Bobbi

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If  you find yourself in a place of despair, hopelessness and helplessness or have thoughts of suicide, please use the courage you have to seek help and wise counsel.  Here are some numbers to call:

Crisislink – 1 703-527-4077 / 1-800-237-8255

National Suicide Prevention Line – 1-800-784-2433 / 1-800-SUICIDE

http://www.crisislink.org