PSA for any type-A perfectionist who has not yet had kids: parenting will shatter all your confidence. You will rarely feel competent, organized, or like you're doing a good job. Sometimes your kid will even let you know how they feel about the job you're doing as a parent by yelling loudly, "I don't like you or my sister, I only like my family." (I opted not to tell my sweet 3-year-old I am indeed, part of his family too. Just not the right time, you know?) Other times you will find yourself having this conversation with your daycare provider on a Monday morning, "Hey, so I know you cut my daughter's nails the last 2 times. Please believe me, I remembered and yelled down the stairs to my husband we needed to do it but we forgot, can I borrow your nail clippers before I leave?" ...and then not even 20 minutes later your husband is dropping off the extra clothes you forgot on the kitchen counter for the same child. My personal and most recent favorite was asking my parents on a scale of 0-Haley Monster (the nicknamed I earned in toddlerhood) how bad my son's tantrum at the family dinner table was, thinking it was for sure at least an 8 or 9. I was told a 3, which probably means I couldn't ever handle my toddler self. (I guess my mom just can't forget about the time she carried me out of Meijer and was unable to get me in a carseat because I went stiff as a board and was tantruming so bad she ended up driving me home on the van of the floor).
If you've read my blog for awhile, I'm sure you've realized one thing. I'm a type-A perfectionist who is super hard on myself. This is no different when it comes to my role as a parent. Many nights I'm analyzing what I could have done differently, how I could have been more engaging, what I should have done instead of watch tv, which foods would have been a healthier dinner option, and the list goes on. For the record, I did put my foot down this morning and confidently stated, "Candy is not a breakfast food." Parenting is one of those things, maybe the first life-impacting thing, I've realized I can't be "good at" simply because I put my mind to it and work hard. (Oh wait, just remembered I'm married so...that too). As someone who loves to be good at things, win, and admittedly places values on myself based off of accomplishments, this is hard to accept. Most of the time when I write, I outline something I feel I've been doing wrong, what I'm learning from it, and how I'm hoping to change. Naturally, I've felt like I need to change my parenting too, because I'm so reliant on others to see me (us) through. Austin was gone for part of last weekend and I immediately started planning what I was going to do with the kids. Park, lunch, nap, parent's house. The entire scheduled included other people. Why? Because I'm a better parent when other people are around, which has always made me feel like a terrible parent. But I actually think that's exactly the way it's supposed to be. We were meant to live in community. Sharing our joys, challenges, and fears about our kids and their futures is healthy, validating, and important. Having a parent who's already been there and done it is a gift. Friends who get on the floor and play with your kids and love them like you love them are superheroes. Aunts who spoil ROTTEN are like confetti and sprinkles. I'm a better parent because of my parents, sister, daycare provider, church community, and friends. I'm better when I'm around them and we learn from each other. I have restored hope when someone lets me "tag out" for awhile and loves my kids while I get time for myself, or a week in Cancun with my husband. I have to work pretty hard to really believe I'm not doing this parenting gig wrong by relying on others and being a better mom because of it. Cliche, but it takes a village. I'm so thankful for mine. You know who you are, thank you.
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What happens on a girl's weekend stays on a girl's weekend, unless it's permanently tattooed on your body, then it stays with you forever. Which is how my first tattoo story goes. I was in Ludington on a girl's weekend and 2 of us decided to get tattoos. After a quick Pinterest search, I was inspired by this: Which led to this: (I could still bawl my eyes out looking at the second picture. My fresh postpartum body, that stretched beyond what I imagined to provide a home for my sweet boy). Which eventually led to this: Unfortunately when you get a tattoo on a whim, you don't do your research and the tattoo you love, gets really blown out and illegible. Yikes. Which led me to today: I covered the old, but replaced the words, because even though I was 23 and didn't do my research, I still love what it meant when I got it. Pre-kids, post-kids, overweight, healthy weight, acne, clear skin, no stretch marks, stretch marks...it doesn't matter. The absence or presence of those things isn't what makes me beautiful.
I think the girl's weekend tattoo was the beginning of me looking at my body differently. I've been working on shifting my thoughts on beauty, health, and strength for 5 years now. Of course, I still have bad days where negative self-talk takes over, but more days than not, I truly believe I'm beautiful, healthy, and strong, (Although getting another tattoo made me question my strength- OUCH!) Still beautiful. You are too. We are halfway through our flight home from our 5-year honiversary (honeymoon/anniversary) trip. I can’t sleep because I’m way too excited to see our kids and we’ve finished all the books we packed! I figure now is the best time to jot down a few thoughts from this trip before returning to real life.
If I had to sum up this week in one word it would be:rest. We arrived in Cancun on Sunday afternoon and did next to nothing until Wednesday night when we left the resort for a few hours for a jungle tour. I can’t remember the last time we had time for such intentional rest, even before we had kids. Our days basically consisted of waking up, ordering room service, heading to the pool, napping, eating dinner, playing cards, and sleeping. Although we probably won’t have rest quite like this again for years to come, (although we both decided ordering food via iPad and having it delivered and cleaned up for you every day would be 👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻) I hope we can incorporate more intentional rest into our weekly routine. I’m terrible at rest. I actually think God saw how antsy I was getting on Tuesday and threw in an afternoon of sickness to stop me from planning excursions to fill the rest of our time. Joking aside, I’ve realized my body doesn’t actually know how to rest. When I have downtime, I get anxious, have a hard time concentrating, and disengage. (I actually had myself tested for ADHD earlier this year in hopes of it being something medication could fix vs. a change I would have to make; no such luck). This results in me keeping our family busy, most of the time unnecessarily so. If I’m being honest, it’s because I feel like a better parent when we are out doing something than I do playing legos. Real question? Parents what do you think is longer: a microwave minute, treadmill minute, or LEGO minute? I’m somewhere between treadmill or LEGO. I’m positive my kids would love a LEGO minute on a weekend we don’t have plans more than most other activities I use to fill our time. They just want their mom and dad, fully engaged in the world of play and make believe. This week, I’ve started to learn to rest. We’ve slept, ate slow, took a walk because we wanted to and not because we were trying to fill activity rings, read, and talked. We’ve had silence, honest conversations, and a few laughs too-there are so many wild sunburns in Mexico. Reflecting, I can see why I’ve been so tired. You’ve seen the memes of women with crazy hair and dark circles around their eyes with the caption “me trying to maintain a career, household, social life, drink enough water, and workout.” I can 100% relate. It’s impossible and exhausting. I want our household to operate out of a place of well-rested people who are taking time to know Jesus, love each other well, and make time for things that bring real fulfillment. For me, it might mean working out 3x instead of 5x per week in order for our days to run smoother, reading at night instead of scrolling, picking fewer weekend activities, getting the grocery shopping done before a “we have no food panic”, cooking more at home, and taking time to be intentional about our marriage. I was personally tired, but I think our marriage was too. It’s an easy thing to neglect when you’re fully immersed in toddler-land and managing the chaotic schedules of 2 full-time jobs. Also, I’m an all in type of person and wanting to do “all the things” “all at once”. That’s why we got engaged and married in less than 4 months, jumped into fostering, moved a zillion times, and had back to back kids (there will be no pregnancy announcement 12 weeks from now for those wondering). I’m exhausted just looking at that list. We needed a break, time to get to re-learn each other, and come back ready for marriage 2.0. We got just that. I will be forever thankful for this trip. I really mean that; to everyone who made it possible-thank you doesn’t touch it. So this weekend, I’ll be carving out time to intentionally rest with my family, I’m sure it will take some time to figure out what that looks like with a 1.5 year old and 3 year old. It might mean pjs til noon tomorrow, seeing the butterflies, a long training run, homemade pizza, Legos, family reading fort, I don’t know. But I do know I’m coming home with a better sense of what rest is and things that can be more restful depending on how you approach them. I hope you have time to rest too-especially my mom, who cared for our kids while we were gone! To say I was stunned when I first started as a social worker would be an understatement. I was employed by a rural county community mental health with the official job title of home-based therapist. When I took the job, I obviously realized it would require me going into homes on a daily basis. However, I did not realize the magnitude of poverty in the county and social worker school never prepared me for the things I can never un-see, un-smell, un-hear, un-feel.
Prior to being employed at CMH I had never been into a home where I wasn't sure where to sit because it was infested with bugs (always crossing my fingers for a hard chair), where I had to figure out if a parent was under the influence, where babies ran around in diapers so full they hit the floor, or where I had to text someone my whereabouts just in case they didn't hear from me in an hour. I think the only way I coped with leaving these types of homes every week was by telling myself they would be okay because "kids are resilient". I had heard it a million times throughout my schooling and I believed it to my core. In fact, I believed it the entire time I was employed at CMH. (I still believe it but I'm getting there) I believed it until one of my current coworkers said, "The only way for adults to cope with the type of work we do is to tell ourselves kids are resilient. I think the only reason we say it is to make ourselves feel better about terrible situations and to be able to sleep at night but it's a lie." I had to think about his statement for a long time. It challenged everything I believed and had been taught about kids and trauma. I think there is a lot of truth to the statement for kids who are surrounded by very, very strong support systems. My sister and are actually pretty good real life examples of how resilient kids can be but probably not to very much credit of our own. After our brother died, I can't even name all the things our support system did for us. Meals were brought forever, school lunches were packed for the rest of the year, our house was cleaned, funeral clothes were bought, Build-A-Bears were made, money was donated, support groups were formed, counseling was offered throughout adolescent years; I could go on forever. Our brother was and is celebrated and remembered. We thrive in adulthood because of people who were "boots on the ground" with us. What I've learned doing home-based therapy and now juvenile probation-too many kids only have one adult who is "boots on the ground" with them. And let's face it, it's a paid professional who eventually leaves their life because services terminate. Sometimes they don't have parents who will wake up with them to make sure they get to school on time. Even typing parent in the plural form is a stretch, many of the homes are single parent. Basic needs aren't being met. There is food scarcity, bill roulette (what bill should I risk not paying this month and hope services won't be shut off), no washer and dryer in the home and no money or vehicle to go to the laundry mat. Transportation barriers. Unemployment. Substance abuse issues and other mental health problems. Perhaps the biggest root issue being poverty. Actually today, I saw a Human's of New York post with a man essentially saying "Poverty creates a lot of sociopaths. I never became one but I can understand it. Because when nobody cares about your pain, it's easy to ignore the pain of others." This could not relate more directly to my career. "Delinquent youth" are largely a result of trauma and poverty ***in my opinion, not speaking on behalf of my employer should this ever be read. Hi mom you may be the only person who consistently reads this lol*** What if my parent's couldn't have afforded a funeral for my brother or mental health services following his death? I wonder how much money we have invested in psychotropic medication at this point. What if they were experiencing grief and at the exact same time couldn't feed our family or keep our electricity on? What if no one showed up to bring us meals because we lived in a bad part of town or they didn't have transportation to get there? If any of those things were true I promise you I wouldn't be the adult I am today. I would be the type of adult a lot of people in our society judge. In thinking about my coworkers statement, I've had to ask myself: If kids aren't resilient what are they? I've come to the conclusion they are survivors, which requires a whole lot of resiliency, but does not equal long term hopeful outcomes. I think the overused yet truthful phrase, "it takes a village" makes kids resilient and helps them transition from survival to thriving. This means taking pro-life issues beyond bringing babies safely into the world. This means mentoring-for the long haul not just a school year. I've had kids on my caseload waiting for mentors the entire time they are on probation. It means fostering, adopting, and providing respite. Or walking alongside a mom navigating a confusing system as she tries to reunify with her kids. It means loving people living in poverty and sharing what you've been blessed with, not for personal "feel goods" but because they are people, and in getting to know them, you learn you love them. I'm thankful for the people who have taught me to be resilient. I'm hopeful for the kids I work with and believe they are so resilient. By the time they come to the court's attention, they've likely survived a whole lot. But I want so much more for them, and praying the right, boots on the ground, caring adult or peer comes alongside them and teaches them to thrive. (Check in on your friends doing home-based work, I promise they have all experienced similar things and it's exhausting, important work. Same for teacher friends) I knew something was changing when I joined the #sportsbrasquad May 2 of last year. I posted a picture of myself in a sports bra on social media and wrote:
I'm turning 27 tomorrow and no one can be mean to you on your birthday so...here's something real quick. I wore a white shirt on my run tonight and 1 mile in, it started raining. What better time to join the #sportsbrasquad ? Women, we often see one thing associated with strength, and that's size (a pretty darn small one). We aren't used to seeing real women in real life. So here's me for reference. In lots of ways, I'm probably just like you. Strength is so much more than being small. Because of running (therapy too), and a few of the most genuine people I know, I'm learning how strong I really am, and not just physically. PS This is truly terrifying to post because other women will thing one of two things 1. Wow, she's overconfident and/or fishing for compliments or 2. Wow, she's awesome. Option 2ers, you're my people. Prior to training for a marathon, I would have never posted something like that because prior to training for a marathon, I would have never believed those things about myself. Social media can be a real pain, but it's the first place I started to see real women in real life. Women who aren't small, but proclaim (and are full of) strength. The first place I got the idea I too, could be strong. It's also been a place where I've seen hundreds of posts a day making me believe I had to buy a product, have a before and after, or look a certain way in order to be strong, healthy, and ultimately happy. Hey, even my story can be dangerous if it's only viewed on social media. It might send the message saying you're strong if you run a marathon, birth a baby, or come out decent after some childhood trauma. That's not what strength looks like for everyone. You don't have to run a marathon to be strong. You don't have to birth a baby to be strong. You don't have to have lost a brother and still have hope and joy to be strong. Right now, strength for me looks like working on restoring some friendships, being consistent in taking care of my mental health, being patient with a 1.5 year old I don't understand whatsoever, and ironically checking my pride on how strong I think I am because I ran a marathon :) LOL. I'm strong, healthy, and most days, confident in who I am and how I look. I wish so badly it wouldn't have taken me 27 years to figure all that out. It would have saved me a lot of self-negative talk, obsession over numbers, crash diets, and hatred towards my body. Lots of hours of flat ironing my hair piece by piece to be as absolutely pin straight as possible. I once used a literal clothing iron to get it even flatter. How dumb. I'm thankful for the ways running, motherhood, and grief have been used to teach me about how strong I really am but here's what I want you to know. I'm not currently training for a marathon. There is a good chance I never, ever will train for another one. but I still believe all of those words, maybe even more than I did when I wrote them the first time. So that's strength. Now confidence. I've learned a little bit about confidence in the past year. I'm thankful to have a husband who patiently listens as I verbally process (every aspect of my whole life). We were talking about confidence on our way home from church Sunday. When I joined the sports bra squad and posted about it, I added a one liner about people who might think I was fishing for compliments, because that's what I was afraid people might think. I just wanted to be proud of myself with out the disclaimer. My husband who is 5'4" aka very short for the average male, talked about times in his life where he was perceived as having "little man syndrome" because he was being assertive and confident. Confidence can be such a tricky thing. Too little and you're meak and unsure. Too much and you're cocky. In this society, an ounce of confidence is often mistaken as pride. As a result, we miss out on so many opportunities to model self-acceptance, boundaries, and courage for others. If you're ready to join the sports bra squad, post that picture of yourself tomorrow. If you've got some great non-screen related activities you're repping with your toddler at home, I won't think you're better than me, I need all the help I can get. If you worked really hard and lost some weight and are feeling more energized and joyful, tell someone. Not everyone will be happy for you or proud of you, but that's life and it's too short not to share the ways you're growing. Maybe it will even inspire others to better, that's where it all started for me. From some complete strangers on social media, thanks Kelly Roberts, Fellow Flowers, and January Harshe. Be strong and love yourself as you work on yourself and make yourself better. It's a process. Be confident in the things you are capable of and created to do. The world is waiting for it and I want to hear about it. Recently, my grandma was diagnosed with dementia and will be moving to assisted living in the near future. The diagnosis was no surprise to my family, we've been concerned about her memory for quite some time now. Still, the formal diagnosis and next steps have been emotional and difficult for us. My mom has a lot of responsibility in this process and I know it's been especially difficult for her. It got me thinking about mothers, and how strong we are. More times than not, it's because we have to be.
I love my mom, and consider her one of my best friends. There have also been times throughout my life I have been very critical of her and wouldn't always classify her as strong (I cringe typing that, I really do). This is partly due to being a typical teenager who thinks they always know what's best, partly because strong-willed women are no stranger to us, and partly because when you loose a sibling, you loose your parents (as you know them) too. Before becoming a mom, this didn't make much sense to me, there were times I was angry with my parents for the ways they changed and was sick of feeling like my sister and I were never enough. Since becoming a mom, I can't imagine the type of person I would become if I lost a child. I look at my mom now (really both of my parents) as a hero, because not only did she survive after loosing a part of herself, she rebuilt and supported my sister and I through all of life's transitions. She still does. My dad and her our are "go tos," and a lot of other people's too, including my grandma. My mom cares for the sick, provides for the poor, and makes strangers, refugees, family. Connie is strong as a mother and I'm thankful to be like her in so many ways. Although my grandma has always been quiet (mostly because no one could get a word in over my grandpa) she has also modeled strength, perseverance, and faith. When I was talking on the phone with her earlier today about her transition to assisted living her voice cracked, and she said, "I know God will sustain me through this like he always has." My grandma is no stranger to loss or trial. She lost a sibling, my grandpa was an alcoholic when my grandma was a young mother, she lost a grandchild, attended 11 funerals for her and my grandpa's siblings, and cared for my grandpa when he was diagnosed with cancer which led to other demanding health problems. Oh, and she stuck with my grandpa when he quit smoking cold turkey which may be one of the bigger accomplishments on that list. He was so crabby. Now she's losing her memory, but she still has her faith. Wilma, is strong as a mother, and I hope to model her steadfast faith, quick wit, and humbleness throughout my life. I know I will constantly have to check myself throughout this process with my grandma. I think life has taught me to start "distancing" myself, and my mind almost acts as if she were already gone. She's not, and we still have time, maybe lots of it. But for me right now, being strong as a mother means continuing to love my grandma well, even when she forgets, and supporting my mom as best as I can as she grieves. She too, has lost her mom as she has known her. It also means welcoming her dog, little Casey, into our home. If you know me, you know me and dogs. Thankfully, I'm outnumbered 3-1 on this and Casey will be well loved, especially by sweet Jade. Friends, life and loss can dramatically change the people we love most. Sometimes you're stuck with those people because you're a kid and they are your parents (and you know almost nothing about empathy or grace at age 11, but do at 27 and are so thankful for you parents because although changed, are the best). Other times they may be your grandparents, or a friend. Probably 9x out of 10, it's easier to visit less frequently, stop calling/checking-in, or walk away all together and fill the loss with something else. In my experience, it's worthwhile to dig deep and stick around. Death, cancer, dementia, divorce, addiction/recovery, tell stories of hope, triumph, and courage, and teach lessons about grit, faith, and determination an easy life just won't. *** The social worker in me wants to add this disclaimer: I understand it's not always healthy to stick with those people, when change makes them angry, violent, unsafe*** I come from a line of strong women. I'm so proud of my grandma and my mom. I want to be like them. My grandma, Wilma. My mom, Connie. Me, Haley. Strong as mothers. My sister and daughter are really awesome too. A few weeks ago, I wrote about my 2019 word/resolution: soft. My biggest observation 27 days into 2019? Apologies and "do-overs" are important. There have been several conversations (you get my drift?) between Austin and I where I find myself in attack mode and have to step back, apologize, and ask for an opportunity to reset. This is a miserable process for someone as strong-willed as me, but definitely worth it. The end result is a lot of thankfulness and extended grace. I think I feel most proud when Austin tells me he sees a difference in me, it's my highest valued relationship but also the relationship I'm hardest on. Maybe a year ago during a "conversation" Austin told me it felt like I was always finding something for us to work on and that nothing was ever good enough. At the time, I was really defensive, and responded by basically saying "well one of us has to have goals for our relationship," and so on. Now I'm learning to rest in what we have, not nitpick as much, and realize 99% of the time we are arguing about something we actually agree if we step back and look at the big picture.
My other observation is simple yet transformative, my life is so much more enjoyable. A few examples: 1. I'm training for a half marathon in April. I do my long runs on the weekend and for the first time, I'm looking less at my watch and more at my surroundings. Last week, I enjoyed an early morning, fresh air, and a new route. Yesterday, my kids were at my feet and I was on and off the treadmill grabbing snacks, changing songs, fetching toys. Both runs I was well over a 10:30 pace and I didn't care. An added bonus? I had enough energy to enjoy my family the rest of the day vs. being exhausted from pushing myself as hard as possible. 2. I started a few simple sewing projects. Previously, I've only used my sewing machine once, the day I got it. I didn't do it again because my stitches weren't perfect and I couldn't finish projects in a day. My stitches still aren't perfect and my projects aren't completed, but when you do life "soft" it doesn't matter. You run for the enjoyment of running and you sew for the enjoyment of sewing. 3. I don't exhaust myself with overthinking or over planning. We celebrated Nick's birthday yesterday. We kept it small, no crazy decorations, and no full meal. I love hosting but am terrible at cooking. This helped me actually enjoy my son's party without worrying about pictures or perfection. I also love themes and anything you can dress up for (if you couldn't tell by Jade's first birthday). But Nick wanted a dirt bike cake, a PJ Masks piñata, and only wanted to wear "stretchy pants" to his party. So that's what we did, and it was great. Admittedly, this more laid back attitude did result in a frantic phone call to a friend who dropped off a bag of Gordon's meatballs to me a few hours before the party. 4. Medication helps me with my word. When you have 2 babies in 2 years it's hard to be properly/safely medicated. This is one of the hardest things to follow through with in order to help me life a soft life. I don't sleep great or am SO tired, the dry mouth is really terrible, and losing weight it more difficult (something I sadly place a very high value on). But when you are working on being gentler with yourself/others/life you realize the benefits of medication outweigh a few annoying side effects. 5. I said yes to Casey, the newest addition to our family. We've had a dog before, and it wasn't the greatest experience. I hadn't had kids yet and thought I knew selflessness but didn't. This time, I'm focusing more on the love my family has for animals (I'm way outnumbered on this) and how much joy a dog is bringing. It feels right. 6. Last, my approach with my kids is just different. They deserve gentleness and empathy. We recently started a parenting series with our small group. Last week's session was on how kids can be experience rich and relationally poor. For us, that has been really true, and to be honest, a lot of experiences haven't been as memorable as we would have liked because our kids rather be at home playing with their mom and dad than waiting in line to see Santa. I want to care more about my kids loving Jesus, being kind, patient, confident, and good friends to others more than I care about them hitting developmental milestones ahead of schedule, being involved in the best sports teams, achieving academic success, and being stand out. I need to model that because the reality is at 27, my past sports career/grades/college attended matters 0 and intentional relationships, people I can sit and be myself with are 100. I have a l o n g ways to go. It is a daily, hourly conscious effort to be soft. I'm hoping some day it will be more natural. But 27 days in and no tooth brushes have been broken! Praise! There are two types of people this time of year: resolution haters and resolution makers. I fall in the second category because I love to cast vision and set goals. In terms of leadership strengths, I'm an activator. I get things started and after that, I honestly like to delegate and watch someone else carry it out. My mom can testify to this as I recall several DIY projects I started (dining room table redo, first and last sewing project, birthday cakes) and she *helped* aka finished for me. I'm sure you can imagine this makes resolution making easy, and resolution carry out very difficult.
If you read my last post, you know 2018 was the first time I carried out a New Year's resolution by reading a book a month. This year, I've set a couple of resolutions (more on that later) but I also chose a word. Soft. As I type it, it sounds silly, but I'm serious, soft is my word for 2019. Why? Because I recently realized how freaking hard I do everything. A couple of physical examples: I wash my face as if I'm trying to wash my flesh off, I use pencils and silverware so hard I break and bend them, I can't screw sippy cup lids on because I push down so hard, ask my husband what it feels like when I shave his neck with a razor, I walk loud, death grip the steering wheel, clench my teeth, and once I even broke the handle off Austin's tailgate when I was trying to open it. I like to think this is attributed to me being super strong, but I think it's a little deeper than that. I think it's called trauma. It's taught me to protect myself as best as I possibly can. I know I've talked about the book, The Body Keeps the Score, before, but I'm recognizing more and more how much childhood trauma has shaped my life and even the way I wash my face. I wish this was limited to my hygiene routine and other simple daily activities but sadly it's pretty engrained in my personality as well. I have no chill. I pick something and I do it, hard, without stopping, and as perfectly as I can possibly do it. I start running, and run a marathon. Begin a book, finish it within a few days. We buy a new house and I want it painted, decorated, and settled immediately. I approach arguments with guns blazing, making sure I'm heard, and right, which sometimes burns people I love the most. Approaching things, both physical and not, like this has made my life unnecessarily hard. I also think I've missed out on a lot of good emotions. Soft. Gentle. Vulnerable (it' getting warm). Real (okay I'm sweating). So I started washing my face and brushing my teeth without trying to scrub my flesh off and without breaking toothbrushes. I think that alone might change my life this year. I'm still running but I'm not running a marathon this year. I'm training for a half marathon and am pacing for the Gazelle Girl Race. Which pace? The NO PACE group. I committed to finishing with the last person who finishes the race and I can't wait. I also don't have to train my life away trying to prepare for spring races. I can learn to run again for the joy of running and not to crush a PR. I think this is one of the times I'm writing for me but sharing with you? I don't know, but at least you can now hold me accountable if I tell you I'm going to do something crazy and unnecessarily hard. Cheers to 2019. I can do hard things, softly. Can you believe 2018 is almost over already? I really can’t. It feels like it was just a few months ago I was talking about my 2018 resolution and then falling asleep before the ball dropped…for the second consecutive year…on our anniversary. Whoops.
Last year, my NY’s resolution was to read a book a month, taking a yearlong break from my usual resolution to lose weight, and I’m happy to say I did it! I forgot how much I love to read and how much bigger it makes my world feel. I have some great recommendations if you’re interested. I could end this easily by saying exactly how I feel, when your resolve to love yourself, and make goals that are not defined by lower numbers on the scale, life is so much happier. Lighter. Free. After experiencing my first big weight loss my senior year of college, I became addicted to the scale. I don’t say that lightly. I was reinforced by so many people telling me how good I looked, asking how much I had lost, what I was doing etc. I ate it up. As someone who had never been small in their whole life, it finally felt like I achieved life’s end goal as a female: thinness. Then I started putting weight back on and panicked. In trying to shed the weight again, I actually put more back on due to all sorts of skewed thinking (another Monday diet, I ate bad once today, I’ll eat terrible the rest of the day, emotional eating, you get it…). I would weigh myself every single day and expect substantial results if I stuck to a meal plan and worked out for a day. It’s idiotic and we all know it but many of us still do it because we live in a culture that correlates thinness with beauty. I think that narrative is starting to change though and I’m thrilled. Although I can’t honestly say I’ve taken a huge break from weighing myself on a regular basis, I recently experienced a huge shift in my thinking. Partly due to running a marathon and realizing I can literally do anything I put my mind to regardless of my weight, and partly due to joining a local bootcamp. I couldn’t hate my body anymore after running a marathon. If I can do it, you can too. It will change your life. 26.2 is so, so far. As far as the bootcamp, I mocked my sister when she started (after I had started at the same gym but quit) and told her she drank the kool-aid. Then I rejoined and my perception of myself started to change. I was known by name, encouraged, and celebrated. At a gym? Yes. The bonus was 30 minutes a day with my sister a couple of times per week. My marathon training mantra was, “I am strong, smart, and capable.” In the thick of my training, when I was running 5 miles, then going to bootcamp, then going home to run another 3, I would repeat those words to myself every single session of bootcamp. After my marathon, I would (sometimes audibly under my breath) repeat, “I’m a marathoner, I can do anything,” during workout. I spoke positively to myself and eventually I think I just started to believe it. Then last weekend I attended the end of the year celebration for bootcamp. My sister and I went all out for the Gatsby-themed party at the JW. Hair, makeup, fun gowns. Looking through the pictures, I felt so proud of both my sister and I. That’s it. The shift. Typically when I’m looking through pictures, it’s “My arms look too big, I still look 4 months pregnant, my face isn’t as thin.” The shaming would go on and on until I feel like a piece of garbage and hated every picture I was in. I’m so happy I don’t feel that way about myself anymore. My life feels so much more purposeful when I’m not defined by 3 numbers. I’m currently the highest weight I’ve ever been except for pregnancy weights. And I don’t really care. I’m also the strongest, healthiest version of myself. I love myself and get so excited knowing and dreaming about what I’m capable of. Resolve to love yourself this year. Read books, enrich your mind. Run a marathon, strengthen your body. Eat right, fuel yourself well. Gossip less, heal your heart. Forgive more, experience freedom. I promise you can love yourself regardless of your bathroom scale trying to tell you otherwise. Sometimes I start writing something and don't finish it or post it simply because I don't know how to tie it up. Today I was looking through my blog drafts when the title Packing and Unpacking showed up. It was written in January 2017, and I assumed it was about a literal move (because the Stones do a lot of moving). I thought it was fitting, because tonight we finished moving out of our Grandville house and into my parent's house until we get possession of our new house. I thought this draft would be easy to tie up and share with you, but was surprised when I read it.
January 2017: About a month ago I was sitting in therapy talking about how I just couldn't juggle everything anymore. Work, motherhood, wifehood, maintaining a household...I felt like I was on complete E. The plan moving forward was to start letting things go and to start sleeping as frequently as possible. Ask my husband, I slept, and slept, and slept. Laundry waited, dinners were simple, work phone was left at work, and eventually I actually got tired of sleeping all the time and was feeling somewhat refreshed. This week, I was sitting back in therapy telling my therapist how doing nothing for about two weeks straight left me with lots of time and space to start "dealing with everything" (I was referring to lots of unresolved grief). About ten minutes later she stopped me and said, "So you've been circling around and around how you've been dealing with grief, but you haven't actually talked about it. Do you want to?" Instant tears. Ugly crying, trying to stay composed because it's 1 and I have a court hearing at 3, but absolutely can't get it together, until I'm able to mutter, "I actually don't know what to say about any of this." I thought I had done a really good job of processing throughout the past 2 weeks and quickly realized whatever I was doing wasn't actually what I thought it was. Like I've said before, I can talk about the facts of how my brother died, how Mr. T left, how Courtney died etc. all day long, but to starting verbalizing all of the ways I miss these people and how hard it actually has made motherhood for me, hurts. Well, that was definitely not what I was expecting. I'm not sure where I was going with the Packing and Unpacking title January 2017 but I definitely remember this period in my life and mark it as the beginning of true healing, largely because of a truly remarkable therapist, and some hard work on my end. Still, I can't say I'm in an entirely different state almost 2 years later. After some reflection, I understand why I have 14 blogs sitting in my draft bin: Grief isn't tidy. It isn't easy to wrap up. Not sure there is ever a feel good ending even if there is good that comes out of the situation. It's messy, and really vulnerable to say to other people, "I miss so many people in so many ways I can't find words and it makes motherhood really hard for me," the end. I'm afraid people won't like that, but it's the truest thing I can say. I'm so thankful I've found people who know my truth and love and support me the same. As I moved boxes tonight and packed up another home full of good and hard memories, I'm thankful for my faith. The only hope and resolve I have in this life. In the next few weeks, we will continue to pack and unpack, literally, and I think I will be packing and unpacking grief for a lifetime. And that's okay. |
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Hi! I'm Haley. Archives
May 2019
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