Heavy...

Heavy...

Tonight’s blog post...

Another post about my weight...just to warn you! I just stepped off my treadmill for the first time since last Monday. I run Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Last week I came home from a dentist appointment with Emerson and went to bed. And didn’t get up until Friday. And then it was only because I had to. I was super sick. So, two missed runs and a missed kickboxing class made for a rough run today. Having something up with my lungs didn’t help any. But I did it. And this was the topic on my mind my whole run. I really wanted to call this blog post “What’s My Weight Again?”, a parody of one of my favorite Blink 182 songs, but couldn’t bring myself to do it. So now you know the alternate title. 

When I was in high school I weighed 240 pounds. I remember exactly because we stepped on the scale in tenth grade PE and I was horrified. So ashamed. I was athletic but I didn’t control my eating. I would hide food. Sneak food. Spend my money on food. I was ashamed but not enough to do anything about it. 

When I left for college I actually lost weight my first year. I remember weighing 220 pounds as I entered my sophomore year. Still not where I was supposed to be but I remember feeling good about myself. I was walking and riding my bike around campus. Eating better. I was feeling good about myself. I dressed a bit more skimpier. I wore short skirts showing off my legs. I found shirts that I loved. Then I went to a party. And was brutally assaulted by more than one man. Over the next seven years I ballooned from the 220 I was so proud of. By the time I walked into my first WeightWatchers meeting I weighed 341. I had already lost 20 pounds on my own. I worked hard and got my weight back down. 

I met Brian. We fell in love fast. He proposed. Moved to Bremerton. We made wedding plans and the day that I got married I stood at the altar in my wedding dress weighing 220 pounds. I felt beautiful. I felt healthy. I was so proud. Two babies later and time a period where my weight rose above 300 two more times and losing it again in between. Then Brian killed himself. 

My first thought? I shouldn’t have lost weight. I shouldn’t have gotten back to 220. Bad things happen when I get skinnier. I got raped. I met Brian. Bad things happen when I become more tolerable to men. That number - 220 pounds - weighs heavy on my mind. The PTSD feelings surrounding that number gives it a life of its own. I cannot weigh that ever again. I need to pile on the layers of fat to protect myself. If I keep myself disgusting, if I keep myself obese, I won’t be a victim again. I’ll be safe and protected. 

I am nearing that 220 mark once again. I am eleven pounds away. My last weigh in showed me to be 231 pounds. And I can already feel the anxiety and fear building. So I turn to writing. And I’ll turn to God. 

The photo below on the left is me at my heaviest, or at least close to it. I was hiding behind food. Hiding behind the pounds. The girl on the left was full of heavy things. Fear. Sadness. Hidden secrets. A soul that was cracked and bleeding. Flashbacks of trauma and assault. Anger. Confusion. Pain. So much hurt. So much doubt. So much just wanting to die. Just wanting to feel safe and protected in a world that had been shattered to pieces. And then seven years later, I took charge and took the first few steps to healing. To stopping the cycle of weight gain. To finding who I could be. 

When I met Brian I was still on my initial weight loss journey. He was loving and accepting. He knew I was working on me. My weight didn’t bother him and I was looking and feeling so good. The day I said “I do” I was back down to 220. My magic traumatic number. And then just a few years later, Brian was gone. And something that came out in therapy was the damn number. Why did I let myself get down to 220 pounds again? Brian found me attractive. I wasn’t at a point where no one would find me attractive so I opened my heart and let someone love me and then he died. 

That number has become a panic for me. A moment of anxiety. I don’t want to be fat. But I need to figure out how to not be fat and not see 220 on the scale again. When I think about it I am full of fear. I’m full of doubt. I’m full of terror thinking about what might happen. What will happen if I weigh 220 pounds again? 

I posted the two pictures side by side for a reason. I don’t ever want to be 361 pounds again. And I’ve done a great job of not getting that heavy since then. But I also don’t want to be 220. 220 is just a stopping point between here and my goal. I cannot put so much into just a number. Nothing bad happens at 220. Nothing bad is going to happen. Those two events were just a coincidence and I can make it past that number on the scale. 

I have invested so much time and energy into finding out who I am, there’s no turning back with this. I will overcome the trauma of that number. I will get closer and closer and then blow right past it on my way to reinventing myself physically. I am excited about who God wants me to be in my health and exercise. I will not be a victim. I am a survivor. I am a fighter. And I am not going to be chained to a number on the scale, no matter what that number says. 

God has a message just for me, just for this situation: Isaiah 43:19 says “Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.”

See? He is doing a NEW thing! In me! This 220 hangup that I’ve had for a while? This is not part of His plan for me! He has more! So much more! And He needs me to blow through 220, and give all of my fear and worry and anxiety to Him. To have faith and trust in His plan. To cast all my cares upon Him. To know He will walk with me side by side through the rough parts. He’ll cradle my head in His arms as I cry tears of heartbreak. He’ll place His hands on my shoulders as I walk through flashbacks and night terrors. He’ll hold my head in His hands and glue all of the pieces back together as I work through the healing work that needs to be done surrounding this. 

I don’t want to be heavy. And I don’t want to be carrying the heavy burden and heavy chains of brokenness. I will walk through, one step at a time, one day at a time, one pound at a time. I will work towards forgiveness of my attackers, forgiveness of Brian, forgiveness of myself. I will eat right and run and kickbox and pray! Mostly pray! I will get past 220. I will love myself no matter what the scale says. I will trust that He has me, and my path, in His hands.

I Won’t Back Down...

Three times. Tom Petty’s “I Won’t Back Down” has played three times today at completely different times. The first time was in a preview for a movie that comes out in January. The second time was in the truck with my family on the way to the pumpkin patch. And the third time was in an episode of Gray’s Anatomy that I was watching randomly. I smiled as I started singing the third time, and realized that God had a blog post for me to write. So I left the TV on in the background and decided to get to work, knowing that He would lead me through the writing. 

I thought about what we could possible cover with this title. I thought about my weight loss journey. I tend to get in a groove where I do well, and then something happens. Last year, almost a year ago, I broke my foot. This year, I’m back on a good streak of losing weight, and Wednesday I was hit with what I’m guessing was the real flu. I have been so sick. Achy joints, headache, back pain, cough, stuffy face. I had been doing great with my eating and exercising routines. Suddenly I found myself wanting nothing but candy and fries, and missing a day of kickboxing and two days of running. My energy is still sapped and a couple hours out of bed st the pumpkin patch has kinda done me in. But I have goals to reach and I’ll pick back up with eating and exercise as soon as I am able to sit upright for more than an hour. I won’t back down...

As Gray’s Anatomy played in the background, I listened to the case that was on TV and smiled again. Another message from Heavenly Father. A man on the episode was having surgery on a kidney tumor. He was afraid. He didn’t want to have the surgery because he was worried about the risks and the complications. I have been told to search for a second opinion. To not just listen to the first advice that told me it was “no big deal.” So, for the kidney tumor part of my life, I won’t back down...

The next item on my agenda was to go through mail.  I had lots of mail to go through since it had been a while. In the pile of mail, I found a bill. A bill for Brian from over seven years ago for money he owed. I shook my head and closed my eyes and prayed for forgiveness and patience. And I offered a prayer of thanksgiving that Father God protected me from so much. I still owe on Brian’s debt. I’m still paying on things that he owes. But there has been so much more that I am not responsible for. So much more that I haven’t had to pay. And I am so grateful. I will continue paying down his debts and moving forward from my experiences with him. And I won’t back down...

As the evening wore on, I started to feel terrible. I am tired from the day and from being ill. I was feeling sick to my stomach being dragged into some of Brian’s mess once again. Just when I get to a point where we are content and maybe not thinking about him, something comes up. And as much as I’ve moved on, as much as I have grown and changed, there are things that happen that suck me back into thinking about him and his mess he left behind. This is exactly what Satan wants. He wants me distracted by this petty little stuff so that I don’t notice the hate and discontent that is growing in my heart. I don’t notice the feelings of yuck and sadness. It slowly starts taking over. And luckily, God has walked me through this before and I am more aware of how I feel and what they try and get me to do. So I pray. And I sing praises. And I wrote blog posts. I message my prayer partner. I lean of Jesus to get me through these moments. And I know that I am loved and taken care of and protected from my Heavenly Father. And I won’t back down...

In everything I have been through, in all the trauma and all the pain, in the heartache and anger God has protected me. He has helped me to stand my ground, to ground myself in Him and His word in the Holy Bible. He has helped shelter me from Satan and his attempts to lure me off of the path God has for me. And God will continue to help me through this life. He will carry me through the moments when I have flashbacks and memories of Brian. He’ll cradle me in His loving arms as I navigate the medical pieces of a kidney tumor and my other health concerns. He will guard and guide me as I walk this health journey and keep exercising and losing weight. 

In all of the things I meet in life, I know He is with me. Matthew 28:20 says, “And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age." His promise to us that He is always with us and will never leave us. He is with me every second of every day. Walking me through the healing I need for my past, and also preparing me for the moments of my future. I know that He won’t back down, and He won’t let me back down either. 

I Hate Everything About You...

Aristotle said, “Anybody can become angry — that is easy, but to be angry with the right person and to the right degree and at the right time and for the right purpose, and in the right way — that is not within everybody's power and is not easy.”

Seven years. Tomorrow will be seven years since my husband chose to end his life. Rather than face the punishment and the consequences of his bad choices, he drove up a quiet mountain road and chose to escape this world and the wake of problems he had caused, only to start the waves once again as he peacefully exited this life.

Emotions get all screwed up when you go through something like that. I remember coming home later from work. I had just strapped Emerson into her car seat for dinner and began the routine of feeding my little girls. Then the phone rang. Wondering if I had heard from Brian. He didn’t make an appointment he had in Seattle. I hadn’t heard from him. But I could try and call him. I hung up with her and dialed his number. It went to voicemail. I went back to the task of feeding Emerson. The phone rang again. It was Brian’s mother, hysterical on the other end of the phone. They had found his belongings in boxes labeled with names and envelopes also labeled with names. And my first reaction? Anger. I just wanted to feed my kids. I just wanted to rewind a couple weeks before and have my life not in shambles. And now he dared to kill himself and leave us and his responsibilities? I called my parents to come home. I called my best friend to tell her that they thought he had gone off to kill himself. I was pissed.

His mother called back to ask if I knew where he would go to kill himself. In the realm of conversations you have with your mother-in-law, I don’t feel like that should ever be one. Of course I knew where he’d go. How awful is that?! I knew exactly where they would find his body. That thought haunts me often. It wasn’t like that was on the list of conversations we had discussed. But I knew. And that was where they found him. And again, I was pissed. 

I made the drive to my in-laws house. I wanted my suicide note. I needed to see what he wrote about. When we got there his mother was hysterical. I entered their home and was angry again. They were angry at me. I was angry at the whole thing. The sheriff’s office arrived at the house shortly after I got there. When Brian’s dad opened the door, the deputy asked who I was. I told him I was Brian’s wife. He blew past me to Brian’s mom. I heard my husband was dead from the back of the deputy. He never told me my husband was dead. And I was angry. I stormed into Brian’s bedroom and began packing the things that were labeled as mine into a box. I grabbed the laptop on the floor and I needed to get home to my girls. I was so angry. Not until I got into my truck for the drive home did sadness creep in. 

I hate everything about Brian. Anger is the one emotion that I tend to reset to. I get so angry. Still. Seven years later I’m angry. I’m angry that he chose me. I’m angry that I fell in love with him. I’m angry that our best date was our last date. I’m angry he hurt so many people, even before he killled himself. I’m angry he was arrested. I’m angry he died. I’m angry for a lot of it. 

And then he was dead. And I was angry to be treated the way I was treated by his family and relatives. I was angry that he didn’t leave us better prepared for his death. I was angry he left me with debt that I’m still working to pay off. I’m angry every time I transfer money to that account. 

I hate everything about him. Which is really hard to stick to when that person was the person you fell in love with. The person you created two beautiful and talented and smart and amazing girls. It’s hard to stay angry at that person. But that’s what I want to do, more than anything. I want to be angry. Because when you are angry, you can’t be sad. You can love and remember the good times. You can’t focus on anything but the searing anger that rises in your chest and keeps you tough and strong. Anger is easy. Sadness and grief are not easy. So I try hard to stay angry. 

As I walk through the grocery store and see his favorite beer, I get angry. As I answer the 500th question about his suicide from my 7-year-old, I get angry. As I walk through the motions of doctor appointments for seizures and gall bladder troubles and tumors without my husband, I get angry. When I relive those horrific nights seven years ago when I close my eyes, I get angry. 

And yet, I am far enough above my journey that I also see hope and peace and love and faith. Those pieces are the pieces that I can finally see in the gloom. I can pause the anger for a moment, and see the blessings of this journey. I can be ok with what has happened and see how much growth I have made and move foreward. 

I am so thankful for a kind and loving Father in heaven that has been so patient and has waited for me to walk out of the anger and into His loving and waiting arms. He wipes away my tears. He calms the storms of anger with His righteous hand. He cradles me and the girls in His arms and soothes the aches and pains in our hearts. 

The grief process include a lot of layers. Anger is one of them for sure. I have had a lot of practice in the anger. But tonight, as we are close to entering the seventh year without my husband, I am choosing to give Him my anger and to help my healing process continue. I can see the blessings! I can see why each and every step had to happen. And as badly as I want to hate Brian and everything he represented at the end of his time here on earth, I am praying for a heart of healing. Forgiveness, love, peace, hope for our future. God has a plan! He had a plan seven years ago when everything seems to be taken away from me. And he has a plan today where I am starting to see everything being given back to me. God has blessed us immensely on this journey. And although the anger may still be there, I am being healed each and every day, each and every step. 

We are thriving in peace and hope and love. The anger and the hate will melt away! We are so blessed! And I can’t wait to see where my little family will grow in the next seven years! No more anger! Only love and peace and hope!

This Girl is on Fire...

Emerson is obsessed with watching YouTube videos lately. There is one in particular that had been on repeat for a few weeks now. It is an America's Got Talent clip of nine-year-old Angelica Hale singing Alicia Keys' song "This Girl is on Fire." If you haven't seen it, google it right now and take a peek. She's good. Very good. And she gets the golden buzzer. Sorry if that's a spoiler for you. Emerson's favorite pastime as of late is to put it on repeat and sit in the tub and, I'm assuming, imagine what it's like to be on that stage. Emerson belts the song at the top of her lungs. No shame. It's a beautiful thing and makes me smile. 

Needless to say this song has been stuck in my head for about as long as Emerson has been watching this video. I assumed that this was because this is really the only thing I have heard for weeks. But apparently, it was a not-so-subtle nudge on the topic of my next blog post.

The words of this song are important to me at this very moment of my life. The lyrics show a struggle of a girl, flowing between negative and positive, gaining strength as the song progresses.  This is a lot like real life for me. 

There's always this fine line I walk, I feel like. This line between being solid in my faith and solid in the plan He has for me and my family, and wanting to crumple into a pile on the floor and be done. It's not a struggle unique to me. I'm sure this is a line that many of us walk through life. The line between feeling our best, and feeling our worst. The line between rocking our job, and begging to be fired. The line between putting a smile on our faces, and hiding the tears. 

This girl is on fire. A phrase with dual meaning. My world, at times, feels like it's literally on fire. My soul sears in pain. I'm getting burned left and right. There is confusion and chaos and sadness. The remains of the world around me are charred and burned, disfigured and unrecognizable. I know that I'm inches away from crumbling. This is especially true now, as we approach the anniversary of my husband's suicide. Yup, it's been seven years. Maybe many of you are saying "Jeez, get over that already." I'm not sure it's ever something I'll just get over. My world burned to the ground that night seven years ago. And I got burned. This girl was on fire for a really long time. I didn't know how I was going to survive or make it through or carry on. And sometimes today, the sadness and the heartache is overwhelming. Knowing that I won't grow old with Brian. Knowing that I won't ever surpass my grandparents being married for almost seventy years together. Knowing that I don't get or have moments where I fondly remember my husband, or have a moment where I am filled with his presence or messages from him. Sometimes, this girl is on fire, and is unsure how I'm going to survive. 

But then I remember Isaiah 40:31: "Those who wait on the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint." I am made strong in the Lord. And although everything around me is burning, He is walking me through, and out of, the fire. He has healed and is healing me in all realms, in all aspects of my life. He has healed me spiritually and has brought me closer to Him in my faith each and every day. He has healed me emotionally where those moments I feel like crumpling happen less and less often. He has healed me physically to where signs of seizures are infrequent to never, my broken foot is completely healed, my joints are stronger. I have confidence that he will also heal my gallbladder and the tumor on my kidney because He is powerful. He has healed me in every area of my life. And I continue to grow stronger everyday. 

So, today? This girl is on fire. I am on fire for Him. I am on fire with my goals and dreams. I am not consumed by the flames, but rather I am using the flames to show just how brightly I can shine. I am on fire spiritually and ready and willing to share the beauty that has arisen from my ashes. I am on fire physically, changing and shaping my body to be the temple it is supposed to be. I am on fire for life! And I will continue to be on fire and to teach my kids how to shine our light for Him each and every day. 

Isaiah 61:3 says "...to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the LORD for the display of his splendor." He takes the ashes from our fires and turns them into beauty. He takes them and makes good out of all things. The horrors that my children and I have witnessed in our years would seem to have wrecked our world and caught it on fire, when in reality, the spark in our hearts were set ablaze with love and peace and hope and faith. We are on fire! And you can be also! Be kind and do better! And live life not in fear of the flames, but thankful for the renewal that comes from the fire. This girl in on fire. My girls are on fire. And we can't wait for our flames to spread to those around us!

Last Resort...

The definition of "last resort" says "a final course of action, used only when all else failed." 

I walked in to the kickboxing studio last night, ready for my Tuesday night workout. I checked in and stood around talking to one of the trainers. Overhead the music was blaring, inviting us to get psyched up for the upcoming workout. I walked back to the locker room when it hit me like an ocean wave slamming me to the sand. The song that was coming over the speakers was the Papa Roach song "Last Resort." The tears immediately welled up in my eyes as my brain made the connection. 

Music is my heart and soul. It defines many of the moments of my past. I am immersed in music much like I require air to breathe. There's a song that pops into my head for almost every occasion. There's a song that reminds me of past events. There's always a song...

For a few years, for Christmas, my sister and I decided to gift each other a trip. Rather than choosing a favorite destination, we would choose a favorite artist, pick a date for travel, and see what city we ended up in to see our favorite bands. One year it was Dropkick Murphys on St. Patrick's Day weekend in Boston. The particular memory that washed over me in the gym was the year we chose spring break to see Papa Roach. The destination? Las Vegas...

The news this past week has been hard enough for my brain to comprehend. But add this memory to the mix and I was overwhelmed by tears and heartache as I hid in the bathroom at the studio to sob into my hands before class. Those people. Those poor people. My sister and I are no different than those people. Music is something that we love. We were in Vegas doing something we loved. They were in Vegas doing something they loved. And many of them were killed or injured because of it. 

This life is tough. So very tough. It is filled with trials and tribulations. It is filled with dark times and difficult roads. Just right now in this moment, I am working through the grief of the anniversary of my other dad's cancer diagnosis and the anniversary of my husband's suicide. Life is hard. And in order to unwind, to escape from it all, I go to concerts. And football games. And events with friends and strangers. The concerts I have attended number in the hundreds. Easily. Those people at the music festival in Las Vegas? No different. Their lives are difficult. Their stories are unspoken. They were at the concert to have fun. Blow off steam. Forget the world. And yet in an instant, their fun and their happy place were shattered into a billion pieces as shots rang out and their lives were in danger. Or worse, taken.

And now, we grapple with the aftermath. Conversations have turned back into arguments. We will hear blame being placed everywhere. Gun control will be brought up. Hotel security was listed as the blame on several news channels. Mental health is touched on a bit. Everyone sends their thoughts and prayers. Many comment angrily that thoughts and prayer don't do anything to help! I agree to an extent. Thoughts and prayers shouldn't be an afterthought. They shouldn't be something that we throw out there in the wake of a massacre. Thoughts and prayer should be the first thing we do, always, constantly, and before tragedy strikes.  

This country is falling to pieces! We are coming apart at the seams. Over the course of the last few weeks, we have torn each other to pieces over a flag and a song. We have been furious with football players. We have been angry enough at each other that we are showing sides of racism and bigotry. People are openly typing out amazingly hurtful comments on social media. We have treated thought and prayer like it is a last resort. Something that we throw out there when everything else is going so wrong. We have thrown God completely out of the picture. He is a last resort for many, a last ditch effort to save or bargain or plead with. 

Thought and prayer and God should be first! Not a last resort. He should be the one that we turn to in good times and in bad. We should be coming together in conversation and dialogue. We should be putting aside our differences to heal our country, to heal our people, to heal our differences. We need to talk openly about guns. And mental health. And racism. And recovery for this great nation.  And all of the hard things.  Because as we are fighting over topics, fifty-nine people were killed for doing nothing more than participating in something they loved. They were gunned down trying to forget the awfulness of the world. They were shot and targeted for taking a timeout from the rat race and doing something they loved.

Be kind! Why can't we all just be kind to each other? Why can't we take care of each other? Why do we have to be so stubborn and opinionated and work hard to make others' time on earth unhappy or miserable. Just love! And have faith! And find peace!  Find the gift of hope! Be kind! Please!

I've been doing a project with my students this week where I have been reading the book "I Like Myself" and then talking about what they like about themselves. Out of around fifty students, want to know how many could come up with something they liked about themselves, even with an example? Three...and two of those three kids answered they liked that they were good at video games. The other student like his hands. That is so sad to me! These kids don't know that they are special! They don't know that they have so many likeable qualities! They aren't taught to be proud of themselves! That's sad! How many shootings may have been stopped by a parent telling their child how special they are? How many angry adults would he healed had they heard the words "thank you" or "you're beautiful" or "I appreciate you"? 

We can do better, friends!! People shouldn't be murdered doing something they love! People need to hear that they are loved. By other people and by Father God. People need to be kind to one another. One small act of kindness could make a huge difference. Don't let kindness and faith and hope and love and peace be a last resort. We need to make it a priority!! We need to push it to the forefront of this life. This hard, difficult life needs the light of people. It needs God and kindness and a revival of basic human decency. We need to step out from behind our keyboards and be the start of change. We need to do better! I need concerts and football and time with friends. And I'm not going to live in fear, but I know there's hope for a future where you don't get shot doing something you love. So talk! Pray! Heal! And have faith that God will carry us through this tragedy and help us all to move forward in love and hope and peace and faith. Don't let God be a last resort. Move Him to the forefront of our lives and watch the world change for the better! Don't make these things a last resort...