walking

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Moving Forward

I rarely write about good things happening in my life. It’s not that they don’t happen, but they are typically what some would call “small.” For instance, I go to the gym and I consider it successful if I’m able to not only use all the machines I want to, but to slightly increase the weight or reps I do. Or I have a productive day at work with little drama AND I reach 10,000 steps on the same day. Or I get to spend quality time with my little family and it doesn’t end in anyone arguing.

Those are my “good things.” But as of this past week, I feel like my bucket runneth over! After over a year of not working and having both mental and physical tests conducted and paperwork filled out by the truckload, my husband was granted disability by the Social Security Administration due to his declining health. It’s a weird thing to get “congratulations” from people about it, yet it was the perfect thing to say! I might not need to sell my blood plasma anymore. Wal might not need to go to the food bank each week. I say “might” because bills still need to be paid and budgets worked out, but all in all we’ll be in a better place than we’ve been. Well…financially it’ll be a better place. And honestly, mentally my husband is in a MUCH better place. He’s feeling like he’s contributing to the family and not being a burden. It’s not that he was a burden but…it’s hard. There are days I come home and I just want to burn it down because there are dishes in the sink, poop in the cat box, mail in the mailbox and nothing for dinner. I’m tired and sometimes cranky, but I try to shut it down and just putter around the house and clean up the messes. Typically I know that if that’s what I’m looking at when I come home, then Wal had a bad day—either a lot of pain due to diabetes and neuropathy, or little energy because his heart is not pumping the way it should, or he’s horribly depressed because of his health situation. So I dig deep to find that empathy inside me and tend to whatever he might need.

As I said in my last post, my son will be attending a local university, the University of Maine in Orono. We made his confirmation and housing deposit on the day we found out about Wally’s disability. It’s time to get the kid ready to fly the coop and get his parents ready to live in an empty nest.

With two of our major life-changing events finally beginning, I feel like I am able work on me again. I really, really want to run or walk a marathon. I don’t think running one is really in the cards for me, so I’m starting to research both the walk/run method, and the power walking method. I want a physical goal to train for again. I want to feel particularly strong and proud of myself again. I mean…I’d love to lose 10 pounds in there, too, but Jesus, that also doesn’t seem to be in the cards! Being physically fit and healthy is what the goal should really be, right?

Sure. Yup. Right.

Anywho! I went out today and took a 4-mile walk with one little bout of running—only because it was snowing so hard into my face that it was painful. Although it was snowing, then blowing, then raining and finally ending with sleeting, I managed to mostly enjoy my walk. No dogs came out to try and attack me (that was two weeks ago), very few cars, just me and a bunch of birds that sounded particularly pissed off about the snow. I might be projecting, but they really did sound angry.

I got home, my hair partially frozen, my coat, hat, mittens and hoodie all soaked. And I felt…fantastic. Proud. Happy.

I’m enjoying days like this since they seem to be few and far between. Who knows, maybe there’ll be more days like this in the future.

I hope you’ve enjoyed your day, friends. With everything the world is facing right now, let’s keep putting one foot in front of the other, ok? ❤

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May is Mental

Every month is mental health awareness month in our house. How about yours?

Each member of our household is on an antidepressant, two of us are in therapy (although it REALLY should be three) and lately we’ve all been doing our best to take care of ourselves. My son and I joined the gym. (I sell my blood plasma to make a little extra cash, and that cash goes to the gym and the occasional treat or incidental. I know it might sound odd, but it’s kinda cool.) My husband and I have gone on two short walks together, plus he’s actually worked on lowering his blood sugar. I’ve added a few more counseling sessions this month to try and shed the negativity I’ve been feeling about life and the world. Plus I had lunch or a walk with various friends and that always lifts my spirits.

As of two weeks ago, my weight had increased 14 pounds since coming home from Belize. That’s over a pound a week. Of course, our lives were imploding–between my husband having to stop working, trying to figure out how to pay for our lives, watching my kid’s mental health swing up and down and all around, and having the relationship between my husband and I change a bit with the extra caregiver role I need to take on. So…of course I gained a pound a week! I ate every fucking thing I felt–anger, resentment, joy, sadness, frustration. And in case you were wondering, those emotions tasted like peanut butter, chocolate, and margaritas.

But then, finally, warm weather came to Maine. It was staying lighter later. My walks increased, I was still only running once or twice a week, but I was moving more and feeling…hopeful. So I started physical therapy for my hip and leg hoping to stop feeling like I’m 70. I continue to walk or run 5-6 times a week, while listening to a playlist that either reflects what I’m feeling or inspires me to be something or someone I wish I could be.

“Happy” by Pharrell Williams has been a long time favorite of mine. The tune, the lyrics AND the music video, all make me smile and make me move my body. Essentially, it makes me happy for those four minutes. Although it’s not really possible for me, it’s still what I aspire to be much of the day.

“Love Myself” by Hailee Steinfeld and “Rebel Girl” by Bikini Kill represent the women I want to be.

“I’m Still Standing” by Elton John reminds me that through all the challenges in life, I’m still here and doing my best to keep placing one foot in front of the other.

And then there are the songs like “Not OK” by Robert Grace that reflect how I sometimes feel.

But peppered throughout the playlist are songs like “Don’t You Worry” by Black Eyed Peas, Shakira & David Guetta and “It’s Alright” by Mother, Mother. They remind me that more often than not, I’m gonna be ok. I will make mistakes, I will grieve new and old losses, I will be angry at my circumstances, but I will make it through. Because that’s what we do.

Your support and generosity have been the motivation to get my shit together. When so many people love me and have faith that my family can get through this wacky time, then how can I not believe it myself?

So thank you, friends, for cheering me on. You are the absolute best.

GROUP HUG!

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A Room of One’s Own

“So long as you write what you wish to write, that is all that matters; and whether it matters for ages or only for hours, nobody can say.”
― Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Own

I love to write. I love to write what I want to write. This might be poetry, letters, even the occasional library report can bring me joy. And I most certainly love to blog, to share my life, my running, and my adventures or lack of, with you. It helps me align my feelings, my thoughts, and my mental health in a way that allows me to keep functioning. I’ve always called it my therapy, but it’s really more than that. I tell my therapist many more intimate details of my life than I could ever share here, but I hope that in some ways I can help with this little blog–help myself, assist you with whatever is troubling you (often my brutal honesty allows you to tell me things you wouldn’t tell others), and for you to help me.

In my last post, I discussed trying to find ways to feel contentment and to explore new ways to enjoy this life of mine. I applied for my passport like I said I would, and I’ve started to create a space of my own in my basement. I want room to not only do my volunteer work, but I really, really want a place to write. In all honesty, I want a space where I won’t be asked questions or see the dirty dishes waiting for me or hear the hum of the refrigerator calling me and convincing me I need a snack. I just want to be present, with my laptop and my words and my thoughts.

Sometimes, though, I just want to be by myself and maybe a podcast or an audiobook. I don’t always need to write down my own thoughts but listening to others can be just as therapeutic. I also want and need to move my body and sweat and feel the sun on my face. (I’ve been told that I’m a bit cranky when I don’t exercise.) Running still isn’t in the cards for me, but walking is still a relief. Being outside also can feel like “a room of one’s own.”

Apple trees my grandfather planted decades ago.
Beautiful scenery I captured on my walk.

I walked over 5 miles this morning, and as I looked around me, I couldn’t help but smile and take deep breaths and just be in awe of the beauty of where I live. Although this isn’t truly my own space, it can feel like it and it allows me to be in the presence of greatness.

Then there are times like tonight, when all I want is to be with my thoughts and my laptop. That’s when I escape to the basement. The space I’ve created is…odd. I’m using a borrowed table (which I really need to return), a borrowed office chair (which hurts my back after a bit), a small bookcase, a lamp, and a heater for later in the year. My son says it’s homey, with my rocking chair and grandmother’s knitted afghan off to the side. I have two candles in large stands and a few throw rugs under the table and in front of the rocking chair. On the wall is a bunch of Trevor Project info and this:

A friend made this poster for me for my birthday. It was first said in a text, but then I asked for it to be in a larger form because it was something I didn’t want to forget. It’s poetic and beautiful and not something I’ve ever thought about myself. For someone to see this bravery in me that I never recognized, gave me hope. It made me think that I could in fact be the person I’ve always wanted to be: a good human, one with many flaws, but a person that listens and empathizes and cares about others.

I am, most definitely, not always that person. Often, I don’t want to listen to anyone else, I don’t care about anyone else, I just want to go back to my home and crawl into bed. I have many days when it takes all my energy to put a smile on my face, place one foot in front of the other, and get through the day. But I think we all have those days, don’t we?

Although my friend sees bravery in me that’s difficult for me to see, I do want to be brave. I want to stop always doing things I’m expected to do or being who I’m expected to be. I want to take risks, but I’m frightened to do so. I suppose that’s where the bravery should come in. 😉

Is there something or someone you want to be, but don’t think you are? Is there a place you want to be in your life, but not sure how to get there?

Let’s try and figure these things out together. I’m willing to try and figure out who I am or want to be if you are. As my friend Johnny just said to me recently, “Take the leap! You won’t regret it.” Will you join me?

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Trying to Care

Since just before Thanksgiving Day, I have walked a mile a day. It’s not a lot, but when my friend and colleague, Sonya, put the challenge out to a private Facebook group, I decided that if I didn’t have it in me to run, that I could at least walk. Some days it’s just marching for 20 minutes in front of my tv, and other days it’s on the treadmill watching Netflix. As long as my mind is occupied and not in tune to what my body is trying to do, then I’m ok.

Today, though, it was 50 degrees at 7:30 in the morning…in Maine…in December. It wasn’t raining, just gloomy. I even had extra time before work. So I had absolutely no excuse to at least walk outside. So I plugged in my headphones and listened to an audiobook for a bit while I trudged a half mile. At that point I thought I could jog past a few telephone poles. I did but tuned into the radio then to give me a little pep. I did this for 2 1/2 miles and thought, “Ok. This is why I used to run. This feeling that I can accomplish something and that I’ll be alright. Now maybe I don’t have to go on antidepressants.” This little jog/walk left me feeling more positive then I’ve felt for a very, very long time.

I got back home, stretched, cleaned up and went to work. Yet minutes after I got to work, I could feel myself deflating. Not just energy-wise but attitude, too. I was starting to feel overwhelmingly sad and emotional and honestly?

I just wanted my Mom.

And my dad.

And my brother.

I can’t always separate my longing for one member of my family. Sometimes I desperately miss one person, but other times I just miss everyone and want to see each of them and talk with them. And not just one more time. Fuck that.

I want many more times.

But I don’t get that right? Right. So…what now?

Thankfully, I got busy at work and then received a really nice email from a friend that was sent just to make me feel good. The combination of the two brought me out of my darkness enough to get me through the day. Once I had a cappuccino in the late afternoon, I felt mostly ok again. I could more than function and went on with my day.

I’m guessing that’s how much of my life will be now. My stepmom told me this week that we have to keep going. We have to keep living somehow and some days will be easier than others. And although I know all of this, I also know I might need some help. I’ve had a bottle of antidepressants in my cupboard for several weeks, but I’m holding off taking them for now. I no longer feel “bad” if I have to take them. I know it’s ok for anyone to ask for help, although I never thought it was ok for me. But after the past two years? If I didn’t ask for help then I’d be even more lost than I feel right now. And that scares me.

For now my helper will sit in my cupboard. I’m done with turning to food or wine for help. The food (and pounds) have just made me feel worse, although sometimes it was exactly what I needed at that moment. I needed some kind of comfort and that quick little hight of “happiness” was what got me through these many months. But now if a walk or run doesn’t help me or if writing this blog doesn’t bring me some sense of comfort or control, then I’ll give the pills a shot.

And if I can find a counselor that I like, then I might give that a try, too. But since I’m a little gun-shy after the last one, I’ll wait. Let’s attempt just one thing at a time.