Writing is similar to how I feel about running.  At night I will lie in bed and think about my next day.  The thought that fills me with the most positive anticipation, is the idea of going for a run.  Being outside, breathing the fresh air, contemplative and deep in personal discovery, overcoming the challenge of something difficult, to finally arrive at the celebration for accomplishing something hard. 
 
When the morning arrives, as I wipe the sleep from my eyes and think about the day ahead, the idea of running is less and less inviting. The other plans for my day start to feel bigger.  The idea of running feels more like a luxury of self care I can’t afford. I vacillate back and forth if I will or I won’t, until most days I finally force myself to lace up my tennis shoes.  I start slow.  My legs feel heavy, my breathing is choppy, and I contemplate several times of turning back home as I consider maybe today just isn’t my day.  
 
I focus on my breath, meditate with the rhythm of my my feet hitting the pavement.  I breath in for three strides and out for two.  
 
Eventually my breathing is less labored, I start to flush out the heaviness in my legs and my feet touch the pavement with more of rhythmic pattern.  
 
Running rarely feels easy.  It never starts out smooth, and usually requires challenges to overcome.  Whether the run felt challenging the entire time or just in the beginning, I always finish feeling renewed and grateful for the time well spent.
 
Writing feels the same.  The idea of a well written piece and the satisfaction upon completion is a lure that feels so inviting in the abstract. But as with running, when the time approaches to begin the adventure, the act feels less attractive.   It feels like a luxury of time I cannot afford to spend.  It feels squeezed with the priorities of other ways to spend my time.  I dread the feeling of heaviness and choppiness that are inevitable in the beginning.  I feel afraid of finding myself midway through, and wanting to quit.  
 
But just as I force my fingers to lace up my tennis shoes, I force my fingers to touch key after key with an initial choppy and awkward pace.   Until eventually, the words touch the screen with a fluidity and smoothness that only comes with perseverance, discipline and the knowledge we can only finish if we dare to start.

​A few days ago a friend posted on Facebook the question “If you could go back in time and give your 18-year-old self one piece of advice what would it be?”  My fingers hovered over the keyboard and I started to write “Go away to college.  More specifically, go to WSU.”  I have always said this is my biggest regret in life.  
 
I started to type and then hit backspace, backspace until the sentences disappeared.
 
If I were to have made the decision to go away to college, I, more than likely, would not have given birth to either of my children.  I found myself wondering, in this current climate of the pandemic and the heightened awareness of my children’s safety, if by writing this I was challenging the universe. Some may call it crazy, but I was not willing to tempt fate.
 
This is the thing with regret.  Regret exists because of something we wish we had done or didn’t do, but usually means something happened at the expense of another.  

Cheryl Strayed writes in Tiny Beautiful Things, "We'll only know that whatever that sister life was, it was important and beautiful and not ours.  It was the ghost ship that didn't carry us."
​ 
When my dad was in ICU, hooked up to a ventilator and ostensibly dying, he had requested we not allow any visitors in to see him.  He was a proud man. My mom once told me that although he grew up in the projects and his family had very little money, he always did his best to look sharp and put together.  The thought of friends, family and his grandchildren seeing him in such a vulnerable state was not something he wanted.  Yet, knowing that he may not have long to live, we decided to let a few of his grandkids, and a few family members and friends into see him.  After he passed away, I carried so much personal regret over our decision.
 
When, not but a short time later, our mother was dying of terminal cancer, we asked her every day if she wanted visitors.  Given the pain and discomfort she was living with, she repeatedly declined.  We honored what she wanted and kept visitors at bay.  After she passed away, I lived with the regret of that decision, to not let people close to her say their final goodbyes.
 
If I had not stood in front of the same choice, making different decisions each time, and experienced regret with both outcomes, I would not have learned a critical lesson on regret.  
 
It will give us the opportunity to reflect and to learn.  Held onto too long, it becomes a form of self punishment.  It has the power to rob us from living in the moment. 
 
I’ve learned to acknowledge that regret can be heavy and burdensome, or it can be timed and valuable.  
 
This moment, especially at this rare time in our life, as we feel regret or anger at what we cannot have, it is our opportunity to allow ourselves the gift of feeling grateful for what wasn’t, to create space for what is.  

This is Moose on our morning run this morning.  He’s two years old and still learning.  We’ve been working with Moose to not act like a complete fool when he sees other people and dogs.  This is now how he looks at me when we pass by people and he behaves well, as if to say “Did I do good mama?”  It reminds me of when Ryanne was little.  When she did something she was proud of and I complimented her, she would say in a high pitched, sweet voice “I’m so happy with myself right now.”  Even to this day when someone in our family does something good we will sometimes say in a sing song voice, “I’m so happy with myself right now.”

I’ve tried tons of tactics to get Moose to behave on walks.  I started by using my best alpha, intimidating voice by barking at him to say “LEAVE IT!”  When that didn’t work I tried what works for my other dog, who is highly food motivated, offer him treat after treat trying to get him to focus on me and behave.  Moose just chewed the treats as fast as he could to clear his vocal cords, so he could carry on.  It’s as if every time we faced a situation, he could sense me tensing up like “OH shit…here we go.”  

Whether we are motivated by treats ($), the corner office, recognition or making an impact, there is not one person who doesn’t get a little pep in their step and want to do better when they hear words of affirmation. You are doing good. You make me proud.  You inspire me to be better.  You are making an impact.  You make me happy.

Now when Moose and I go out for a walk or run, and I see someone approaching I gently and firmly hold his scruff and calmly say, “Good boy Moose.  You're okay.”  In dog language I believe this means ‘You got this.  You’re doing good.  I got you.’  When the situation passes he turns around and gives me this look.  I will gently bop him on the nose and tell him “You’re a good boy!"

Believing someone is capable.  Showing people you have confidence in them.  Empowering them to be better.  Telling them they did good.  The best investment you can make.

I remember growing up and hearing the childhood chant “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.”  I said it over and over again as if the chant would create this sheath to protect all the vulnerable and soft parts of me.
 
However, I cannot think of a bigger crock of shit than the devaluation on the power of words.  Words can hurt.  They can hurt a lot.  Words can also heal.  They can create trust and end trust.  Words can build you up and break you down.  They can create connections and laughter.  Words can teach, and they can offend.  Words can guide you and they can inspire.  
 
When I think back to the most profound times in my life, I can centralize those moments around words that were spoken.
 
I love you.
Peace be with you.
Amen. 
She’s thick.
​You’re not sorry.
You’re pregnant.
It’s a boy.
It’s a girl.
There is no heartbeat.
I love you, mama.
Namaste.
I’m sorry.
You are my best friend.
​You’ve not met my expectations.
You've made my life better.
Will you marry me?
I do.
I’m sorry, it’s cancer.
I’m proud of you.
It won’t be long now.
You are amazing.
I do love you, you know.
Yes.
 
Words carry an immeasurable amount of value.  They can create bookmarks for moments in time.  Sometimes they can place imprints on your heart so deep that when re-spoken your emotions are triggered as if they were being said for the first time.
 
Words hold power when said to someone else and they hold power when whispered to ourselves.
 
This past week I had the opportunity to attend a conference in Austin, Texas hosted by Ameriprise.  Its focus was based around the empowerment and value of women within our company.  It was a true honor to be surrounded by so many incredible women.
 
In one of the more valuable sessions I attended, they asked each participant to pick five words, words that were aligned to our specific mission and values. These words are meant to guide you so you can be sure you are spending your time and energy in alignment with your values.  In turn, where you spend your energy you inevitably move yourself closer towards achieving your goals.
 
I chose:
Connection
Health
Impact
Respect
Ownership
 
Connection:  I may not have a lot of relationships, but the ones I do have need to be meaningful.  My time and my focus is based around my connection with my kids, my husband, my family, my friends and my teammates.  Without connection, my life feels empty.
 
Health:  I place a lot of importance on a healthy mind, soul, heart and body.  My life is in better balance and I’m more effective if my health is at its best.
 
Impact:  In everything I do, professional or personal, it is important to me I am making a positive impact.  It does not need to be grandiose or massive, but it must exist.  I understand I can’t make an impact in everything I do or everyone I touch, but it is important to me that the majority of my life is aligned to where I can drive the most value.
 
Respect:  It is important to me I am respected as a person and a professional.  I want to be trusted as someone who will always put my best foot forward to deliver on what I promise. My morals and ethics guide me.  I believe in kindness first, and I always live with the best intentions. I will be firm and direct when needed and you will always know where you stand with me.  I give others the benefit of the doubt and treat people with the same kindness and respect I expect in return.
 
Ownership:  I work to understand what is mine in this life to own and what is not.  I believe I own my happiness, just as you own yours.  My life may not be perfect.  I have failed many, many times, but it is up to me to be accountable for my mistakes so I can learn and grow.  I believe it is up to me to own how successful I am at connection, personal health, the impact I make in this world and the respect I earn from those around me.
 
So yes, words mean something.  They are not without hurt, pain, joy and especially power. 
 
Take five minutes. Think of five words that align you to your values.  Let those words be your north star reminding you of what is important, and let them guide you in the decisions you make and the energy you give.
 
Sticks and stones may break our bones, but our words hold the power to create many incredible things.
 
 

One morning a few weeks ago I was driving in traffic on my way to work feeling sorry for myself.  I was listing off in my head all the things I needed to do that day, at work and at home.  I had not made it to the gym that morning as I had gone to bed too late and hit snooze one too many times.  I rolled out of bed feeling dejected and not at all excited to tackle what was ahead. The day, my responsibilities and my LONG task list had already taken ownership over me and I was reacting from a standpoint of ‘what’s next.’ I was feeling like a puppet at the whim of all the things that controlled me…. 
 
It’s funny because this is one quality that gets under my skin.  People who do not take accountability for their actions.  So here I am driving to work and listing off all the things that felt wrong at that moment in time....

• I have a long list of things I need to accomplish at work and at home, and there is no way I will get it all done.  
• Because of this there’s no way I can feel successful and I will continue to let down my team, leadership, my family and myself.
• I feel soft and out of shape.  I haven’t been working out as much as I would like and I’m not eating well.
• I haven’t practiced yoga as much as I would like.  I’m lucky if I get it in one day a week.
• I love writing, and yet I haven’t had time to write at all.   

 
Life is just demanding too much out of me.  In these moments I can feel life washing over me, angry and bitter at my surroundings, the people who are demanding things of me, the commitments I signed up for that I no longer want to do.
 
As I’m mulling over all of this and feeling a bit sullen, I started to do what I always do when something isn’t working for me.  I ask myself, what do I need to do to change the situation. What adjustments do I, Jill Perovich, need to make to modify how I’m feeling?  The answer came to me quite quickly.
 
OWN MY DAY.   I need to own my day. 
 
This starts first thing in the morning. How awesome will I feel if the first thing I do every day is for me?  Exercise. Practice Yoga.  Write.  
 
The initial thing I need to do is create a schedule, set an alarm for my day to start earlier than it would if I’m just going to work.  This must happen.  How amazing will I feel to walk into my office knowing I have a full day ahead of me, but I already accomplished something for myself?    
 
The second thing I need to do is create boundaries with my screen time.  My phone has become somewhat of an extra appendage.  To put it even more bluntly an addiction, a way to numb, a way to procrastinate, a way to escape and avoid.  
 
My husband I just watched a 60 Minute feature on screen time and the impact it has on kid’s brains. Jean Twenge a psychology professor from San Diego University conducted a study and found in four years from 2013-2017 “the percentage of teens who reported drinking and having sex fell.  But the percentage who said they were lonely or depressed spiked.”
 
“It's not just the loneliness and depression from these surveys. It's also that ER visits for self harm like cutting have tripled among girls age 10 to 14.”

Shit.  I know I feel more depressed the more time I am on my phone. But what can be done about this?  It’s like my relationship with food. It must be a part of my life and I want the best of it, but how do I eliminate this feeling of ownership it has over me?   

I decided to utilize the iPhone app that tracks how much time you spend on various applications and also allows you to create time restrictions.  I have been using this for the past couple weeks and so far it’s worked beautifully.

The third thing I needed to do was define what helps me to feel good.  What do I need in my life so the best version of me shows up every day?

• Exercise
• Yoga
• Writing
• Meditation/Prayer/Reading

 
So there you have it, my goal for 2019 is to own 30 minutes every day for 365 days this year.  Own my 30.   
Maybe it will be more than 30 minutes or a multiple of these options some days, but it will never be less than one of these or less than 30 minutes.  Each day I get to choose.  

I live a very blessed life with many, many wonderful opportunities surrounded by an incredible community of loved ones.  I can and will prioritize 2% of my day to ensure I can approach each day with a grateful, warrior mindset.  This is my life to own and it starts with….

30 minutes 365 Days a Year.
 
 
How will you own 2019?

Over the past week I have read many Facebook posts where someone has made claim to their ‘word’ for 2018.  It’s something to focus their intention on for the year to come, such as ‘courage’ or ‘strength’ or ‘balance’.  I’ve pondered over the last several days if I were to pick a word for this coming year what would it be. 

For 2017 my word would have been something along the lines of ‘up’ or ‘growth’ or ‘increase’.   To clarify, despite the frequent positive interpretation of those terms, just like with anything, too much of something isn’t always good.  Like, in my case, if it’s referring to the scale, my pant size or stress level they've all grown to levels beyond my satisfaction.  In the same breath, I can testify to some of the more positive aspects of how these words have applied to me over the past year.  My stress level is greater, because I'm earning more income working more hours.  Our vet bill has increased, because we've added a four legged member to our family.  Our home has grown by one with my daughter moving back in, thus my heart has expanded tenfold and my happiness has increased. 

Just as the pendulum swings, I’ve considered the word ‘down’ for 2018, but that has all kinds of negative connotation.  I’ve also tested ‘balance’.  As much as I let the words dance in my head, none of them stuck and I didn’t give it any more thought.  I decided maybe 2018 doesn’t need a word.

Today as I drifted off into a nap, the word ‘forgive’ appeared seemingly out of nowhere.  It floated around in my thoughts until I fell deep asleep.  My body has been tired.  I’ve been fighting the cold/flu going around.  I could have slept for hours, but awoke after 45 minutes as if shaken awake. I looked over at the clock and it said 2:19.  Earlier in the day I’d played with the idea of attending a yoga class that started at 3:00.  Half asleep I rolled out of bed, still not sure if this is what I wanted to do.  Got into my car and drove 25 minutes to the studio.   

The class was just what I needed, and it didn’t take me long to feel grateful I made it to practice.  As the class was nearing its end and I was laying on my mat, the song ‘Forgive’ by Trevor Hall played over the speakers.  I had forgotten about the word appearing in my semi- consciousness just hours before, until it once again made its presence.  Forgive. 

I don't believe I have any one transgression or person that needs to be forgiven.  But when I think about who I am, where I’ve come from and what I want, forgiveness speaks loudly.  The significance of this studio and this class was important,  and the intersection of that word at this point in time was incredible. 

I will be teaching in this studio this coming Tuesday.  I taught yoga for a couple years at a place I worked, but this will be the first time I am teaching at studio. A few weeks ago, in a moment of spontaneity and inspiration, I asked a dear friend if she could put me on the schedule to teach.  She graciously agreed and for weeks I have questioned if I have made the right decision.  The anxiety wakes me up in the morning.  The ache in my belly sits like a heavy weight as a reminder.  I am scared.  Fear leads to self-doubt.  Am I  good enough?  Am I worthy?

Early today I told myself I need to be forgiven for being imperfect   I must allow myself to make mistakes and it doesn't make me any less deserving.  I must forgive myself for not meeting other’s expectations of me.  

Having said all that, my word could also be permission.  I need to give myself permission to be me.  I am not perfect.  I do not have the quintessential yoga figure that inspires.  I am flawed. I am learning. I am me. 

I like the word forgive because it also implies letting go.  I need to let go of the transgressions I have held against myself.  I need to let go of the idea I need to be perfect at something before I should be allowed to explore my potential.  I need to let go of the idea I need to have a body type or years of experience to lead and inspire. 

Forgiveness.  Letting go.  Permission.   These words all vibrate within me. 
​
I will move forward with these words paving my path and softening my falls when they happen.  I will lead with the knowledge that perfection is not inspiring.  It is vulnerability and love that connects us to one another.  
​
So today, I will be vulnerable and say.  I am not perfect.  I will make mistakes.  I might disappoint.  But in the end, I will forgive.  

​
I don’t remember exactly when or why I joined Facebook.  Frankly, I don’t even remember how I heard about it.  I do remember, however, my very first connection was with a dear friend from my childhood.  She and I had spent many days in elementary school hanging out and having slumber parties over at her house.  Her mom often times rented movies for us to watch and I think we must have watched our favorite movie, Breakfast Club, a dozen times together.

Over the years we lost touch and had not seen or spoken to each other since high school. ​Facebook gave me the gift of reconnecting not only with my dear friend, but with other people I had not seen in years.  My network on Facebook grew and grew, and it became a place for old friends to find each other once again. 

It was so wonderful to connect, see what’s happening in one another’s lives and share pictures of our adventures and families.  It became a hub of personal connection and shared experiences.

When my dad was sick and in the hospital I used Facebook as a source of comfort.  When he passed away I needed Facebook as a source of sympathy.  When my mom became sick, I used Facebook for the same reasons. I used Facebook to share the incredible story Evening Magazine featured on my mom.  Eventually, I used Facebook to announce she had passed away.  I sought empathy from my friends and family to help give me strength. 

Over the years Facebook evolved from one that served me well and gave me joy, to a place that left me feeling unhappy and unhealthy.

I am a self-professed people pleaser.  I continuously fight against this urge to determine my own self-worth based on how happy I have made someone else.  The feature of people being able to ‘like’ your post can be somewhat of a drug for someone like me. 

When both of my parents passed away and I was deep in grief, I used Facebook as a way to escape where I really was physically and emotionally.  I’ve used escapism in some form or another my entire life and Facebook had become the latest enabler for me to escape. 

I’m bored, I will escape.  I’m sad, I will escape.  I’m anxious, I will escape.  It became such an issue that sometimes I hit refresh every couple minutes. 

Frankly, after talking to several people, I know I am not alone.  But I didn’t even need to talk to others to see there so many people out there like me.  Just look at the people sitting in the waiting room or the customers standing in line at Chipotle.  Ninety percent will have their eleven pound head tipped forward.  In fact, there are studies that show our spines are slowly changing because of how we are holding our heads. 

I started to notice a correlation between my happiness and the time I spent on my phone, but just like any addict I could not stop.  Eventually I realized Facebook was no longer serving me in the way I had found joy in the beginning.  I accept that Facebook is valuable to many people and small businesses.  In no way am I trying to criticize how others like to utilize Facebook.  For months I’ve hidden and unfollowed people or posts I did not want to see. 

But it seemed there were more and more posts I did not want to see than posts I did.   I don’t want to see pictures of children or animals being mistreated.  I know it happens.  My husband and I donate to organizations that help the mistreated.    I don’t want to use Facebook for my news.  Every morning I read through credible news sources (if there is such a thing) to understand the current events.   There are now reports of false news circulating through Facebook.  I don’t want to be inundated with political propaganda and witness how it is dividing friendships and connections on Facebook. I am sick and tired of being inundated with all the advertising and marketing.  Lastly, I don’t want everyone to see what I ‘like’ and frankly, I don’t want to see what you ‘like’ either.  It’s nothing personal.  :)

All that crap was drowning out all the great stuff that drew me to Facebook in the first place, so I decided we needed a break. 

I want to work on being present and appreciating my current situation whatever that may be.   I need to work on being mindful with my emotions instead of escaping from them. 

I miss seeing the updates and pictures of my friends and family, I really do!!  But since I am a people pleasing escape addict, my happiness depended on me taking a break. 

If you want to connect you can give me a call or send me an email.  Many days you can find me on my mat, out for a run or at the dog park where I can’t help but feel happy.

Let's together pick our heads up.  Let’s talk.  Mostly, let's feel and share the love.

I rarely talk about my faith. Speaking about my religious beliefs feels about as uncomfortable as if I were standing naked in front of someone I barely know. Both would leave me feeling vulnerable and exposed.
​
Perhaps it is because I consider my faith to be incredibly personal, or perhaps it is because I don’t have the right words to adequately express what it means to me. More likely, it is because I feel weak and unsure what it means to be a strong Christian.

I don’t share my prayers or say them aloud. They are silent conversations I have with my God.

Last night I lay in bed and I said my prayers, not for me, but for a handful of people who are occupying my heart. This is how my prayers have been for the past several years, not about me, but about others. As I silently prayed in the dark, for the first time in a long time I said a silent prayer for myself. “Lord, please wrap me up into your arms. Help me to not feel alone and to trust your plan for me. I am lost. Let the Holy Spirit fill me up and help me find my purpose.”

As I silently said these words the tears flowed down my cheeks, and my relationship with my God over the last few years was revealed. Flashes of my faith, my prayers and my pain appeared like movie scenes. The words came to my head and inspired me in a way I have not felt for months. I knew in that moment the Holy Spirit had given me my assignment.

Sit down tomorrow and write.

When I was younger I prayed for things such as, “Please don’t let my mom be mad at me” or “Please let there be a Cabbage Patch Kid under the Christmas tree.” When I was in sixth grade I remember praying that the mean, popular girl wouldn’t choose to ostracize me the following day. In high school I prayed my crush would return my feelings of adoration.

This was how my prayers were for many, many years, praying for what it is I wanted and felt I needed.
At some point in time, my relationship with my Lord changed. I realized it was not my plans for this life that mattered. It was His. I was a vehicle on this earth to serve His purpose, and I trusted Him for whatever that may be. There were scary, painful times when I wanted to dictate my plan, but I fought myself, learned to let go and trust more. A few months after my husband and I started dating, he was withdrawing from our relationship. I didn’t realize why at the time, but he needed to take a step back. I loved him deeply and I was afraid of losing him, but I remember sitting in the church pews on my knees and giving myself up. I told God I would trust He would show me if it was His plan for us to be together.

I felt strong in my relationship with my God.  I surrendered.  This was the basic premise of my prayers, trusting and letting go.  This changed the night before my father passed away.

The doctors had told us for days our dad didn’t have much time left, but that specific night my dad’s numbers had improved. The doctor said there was a small chance he could maybe pull through. It would be a miracle, but even so, we stood in my dad’s hospital room and celebrated.

I went home that night and for the first time in a long time I didn’t tell Him I trusted His plan. I prayed for something I desperately needed. 

The next morning I woke up to a text from my brother stating I needed to hurry to the hospital. My dad passed away a few short minutes before I arrived.

In those moments I didn’t acknowledge how I felt about my faith and how it changed. It wasn’t until last night I saw the truth of how our relationship had evolved.

My God betrayed me. I had trusted Him. I had stood before Him and asked for Him to answer my prayers. He rejected me.

Just like other Christians I tried to celebrate my daddy was in the Kingdom of Heaven and he was finally home. I said the words and I believed them in my heart. But I also stopped trusting my God. I no longer prayed for anything I needed. I no longer prayed for His guidance. I no longer said I trusted His plan. I choked on the silent words as I prayed for my loved ones. He had let me down and I was afraid He would continue to do so.

When God took my mom, I believed He was punishing me. My God was not all knowing. Otherwise, He would have known how much I needed my parents. My God was not all powerful or He would have stopped the cancer. My God was not all good or He would not have inflicted so much pain.

I have felt hurt. Just like any other relationship in my life that has caused me pain, I needed time.
​
I have spent the last several years trying to control my path, and not lean on anyone or anything that could let me down. I have tried to dictate my journey with no sense of direction. I have wanted to write and live with purpose, but I have felt uninspired and empty.

I stand before you naked and vulnerable to tell you, it has felt very hopeless and lonely to carry the weight of my worries all by myself. Last night as I prayed for my loved ones, I felt a sense of peace knowing I was not alone. It is an indescribable feeling to realize there is something bigger than you, who walks beside you, never leaves you and carries you when are too weak and weary.

Why do we lose ourselves in our phones and in our work, ruthlessly create busy lives, turn to drugs, drink alcohol, medicate with food, become addicted to pain meds?  Why?

Because we don’t want to feel.

SHAME.  I am not good enough.  I am not lovable. 
REGRET.  I never should have done that.  I wish I would have….
GUILT.  I am better than this.  If only I had…
BETRAYAL.  I am hurt they would do this to me.
LOSS.  I cannot believe they are gone.

These feelings impose themselves in our lives, sit in our chest, fester in our belly, dominate our thoughts, occupy our memories.  They ravage us from the inside out.  It is no wonder we turn to something…. anything that will help us not to feel. 

PAIN.  What we feel in our heart when we face any of the above mentioned emotions.

Yes, I’ve experienced many of these feelings of despair.  When I try to stuff the emotion or numb the feelings, I fail. By lack of acknowledgement, I feed it.  It grows and grows within me.  I work harder and harder to push it away until the day of reckoning arrives.  There is always a day of reckoning.

When the day arrives I have two choices: let go or work through.  I tell my yoga students “Inhale what you need.  Exhale what does not serve you.”  We practice this week after week.   But can we truly let go? 

I believe there are times when we can.  We know we’ve released what we were holding onto IF we say ‘goodbye’ and the visceral feeling does not accompany the memory.   Letting go is nowhere near as easy as it sounds.   Letting go is tough. 

If we can’t let go, then the options we are left with are to keep stuffing these feelings or work through them.  Avoidance will continue to work as long as we have the energy, the means and the realization there will be a cost to this methodology.   

Working through the feelings, just like letting go, will be hard.  

Whether we let go or we work through, the first step has to be awareness.  Over the past few years I’ve had to learn to say to myself  “This is pain.”  “This is grief.”  “This is shame.”

I am learning to not dismiss my feelings, but acknowledge them.   I identify the arrival, and I prepare myself to ride the wave of emotion.   I’m learning to let it wash over me and not rush its departure.   Then and only then, without a formal announcement, the healing begins. 

There are no easy roads.  This is life.  We have minds to think, emotions to feel, words to share, hearts to love.   When we experience pain it is the cost we pay to have all the other beautiful things in life.  It is through our acceptance and acknowledgement of our own pain, we gain compassion.  Compassion for others and compassion for ourselves.

There have been pivotal moments in my life when I have considered quitting.  I've wanted to throw in the towel and surrender because the challenge seems far too great to overcome.  In those moments there’s a little voice in my head that tells me, you aren’t cut out for this.  This voice makes me question everything.  It attempts to pull me down; causes me to doubt my strength, my intelligence and my worth.

In my early twenties I left college two classes shy of receiving my bachelor's degree.  Life was incredibly busy at that time.  My son was one years old.  I was working a lot.  Money was tight.  I told myself I would only take one to two quarters off and then start back up to complete my degree.  Two quarters turned into two years, and before I knew it I was 35 years old.  I continuously felt regretful I never went back and finished.  On a November day in 2010 I called Seattle University, ordered my transcript and made an appointment with the dean.  I wanted to know what it would take to finish what I had started.  During the 13 years I was away some of the requirements changed.  Instead of only needing two more classes to graduate, I now needed four.  Two of which were upper level political science classes. 

My first day returning as a 35 year old mom, I sat in the 400 level political science class with a bunch of college age students.  I read the syllabus and listened to the professor lecture about the importance of participating.  She said no one could sit quietly in the back.  She would call on each of us daily.  The content and amount of required reading was UNBELIEVABLE.  I had to read and re-read every paragraph over and over again, continuously pulling out my phone to look up the terminology.    Even after all that reading, I arrived in the classroom petrified the professor would call on me.  I had very little comprehension of what I had read for three hours the night before.

I cried every day for about two weeks.  Those voices taunted me, tempted me into quitting it all.  One night as I sat in the bath reading through one of my books, re-reading the same page for the second time, I could hear the dog barking and the kids fighting out in the family room.  Out of frustration and desperation, I pounded and splashed the bath water as if I was a two year old throwing a tantrum.  Water drenched by books and tears drenched my cheeks.  I thought, ‘How…how can I make it through this?” 

For the remainder of the semester I was hardly home, and my loving husband (boyfriend at the time) took over all the household duties.   I started my day at 6:30 am, worked a full day, and drove straight to school where I attended class until 7:00 pm.  After class I stayed at school studying in the library until 11:00 at night.  It was what I needed to do if I was going to make it through this period in my life.  Because it was hard, because it was a tough battle and because I am fiercely proud of what I accomplished, I will tell you I not only passed….I aced that class. 

My last semester at school was spent with my dad as an inpatient right across the street.  He was at Swedish Hospital where he was receiving his chemotherapy treatments.   I was taking a test one afternoon when I received a call from my mom that changed my life.  I spent the last two weeks of my college career studying for my finals in the ICU unit of the hospital.  I took my last final a week after he passed away.

I finished all four classes and received my college degree, but it wasn’t without struggle.  And it certainly wasn’t without the consideration of quitting.

When my mom was diagnosed with terminal cancer a year after we lost our father, I sat in my therapist office unsure how to move forward.  I told my therapist how I wished it was I who had cancer.  In many ways, this was my way of succumbing to defeat.  I could not face watching one more person I love suffer from this God awful disease.   I did not know where I would find the strength to survive the loss of both of my parents in such a short time.  In this circumstance, it was my mom who led by example.  She showed me what it meant to never give up. 

I’ve quit various things in my life, but what I’ve fought through and completed has delivered riches beyond what I intended.  Not only did I reach the finish line of my desired goal, I built a resource bank to draw upon when the voices come back.   Those nagging little voices that tell me I’m not good enough and I should give up.

I thought about all this as I finished my first day of yoga training this weekend.  It’s not that I thought about quitting.  I love yoga and I love this dream too much to even consider that as an option.  But self-doubt invited itself into my thoughts as I faced what is ahead. 

I recalled upon all those times I doubted myself.  I drew upon my resource bank and remembered. 
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The best treasures are received after the toughest battles we fight.

With every step up the mountain, we labor and struggle.  Often times, we cannot see our destination through the density of the trees.  When we reach the summit we breathe in the beauty and find glory in all the steps it took to arrive.