Less than twenty four hours ago I arrived home from a life changing experience in Costa Rica.  It was a yoga retreat with 21 other beautiful souls.  One of the important lessons I learned on this trip, is nothing happens by accident or coincidence.  If you put something out into the universe, consciously or not, it will deliver you something back with purpose and intention.

Since I have arrived home, I have been marinating in the memories, the lessons and the love from my new friendships. 

The day before I left, a question circulated among a group of us as to what we planned to take away from this retreat and implement into our everyday life.   At that point in time, I said I wasn’t sure.  My emotions and thoughts were in overload.  My new friend, Christina, suggested the first thing I should do was write.  So here I sit, not sure what I want to say, but I will write.  Write from what flows from my heart and without direction.

Several months ago my husband gave me a birthday present and told me I could choose one of four things.  One of the gifts was an experience, a week away just for myself.  It wasn’t but a few weeks later, this Costa Rica trip posted to my Facebook feed and it took all of a few minutes for me to decide this is what I wanted.  I was meant for this experience and it was meant for me.

Of the 21 other people on this trip, I only knew two.  One of those two people I had only seen a couple of times since we graduated high school almost 25 years ago.  Joining a group of strangers for a party, let alone a trip to another country, is way out of my comfort zone.  When you don’t feel confident or always comfortable in your own skin, you tend to keep your circles small.  I have spent much of my life feeling like I didn’t quite belong.  It is a hard thing to describe.   It’s like you are participating in events, but doing so within an invisible bubble.  You are present, but there are layers that keep you from feeling like you deserve to be there.  These layers have been manufactured from years of believing I wasn’t smart, funny, pretty, thin or ‘cool’ enough.  I know this is a load of bullshit, but the self-talk has been spoken for way too many years to be broken down easily by rationale or encouragement from other people. 

It only took a short time with my new travel companions to understand these layers may not stand the test of time over the next nine days.  I will forever remember the gestures of love and acceptance I received within even a few minutes of arriving at the airport.  

As the days passed and the experiences compounded, my heart strings began to connect to strangers one by one.    As our hearts opened and our vulnerabilities were shared, it became obvious we are a group of individuals who need to feel loved, accepted, forgiven and connected.  It is through these commonalities, a sense of belonging begins to grow and a community is forged.

Every day during this retreat we sandwiched yoga as a bookend to start and finish the day.  Our yoga practice did not just consist of asanas (yoga postures), but also included lessons and group exercises.  Some of which, were uncomfortable to say the least.  Have you ever stood face to face with someone, looked into their eyes for over a minute without saying anything?  When was the last time you just listened, without offering advice or words of comfort, but acknowledged what someone was saying with just your touch or your eyes?  Have you ever held your hand to the heart of a stranger and felt their heartbeat and breath connected to your own?  These experiences challenge ever layer you have built, and expose some of your deepest vulnerabilities. 

During one of the exercises we were asked to think of a phrase or a statement we felt we needed most at that point in time.  We were instructed to phrase it as if it was present and true.  When it was our turn, we stood in the middle of a group circle while everyone else pounded the floor with their hands.  As soon as the pounding stopped we said what we needed.  Statements such as “I am brave”.  In return the group would yell back “You are brave!!!”  When it was my turn I knew exactly what I needed to say and hear.  I was called to the middle of the circle and when the rumbling stopped, I said “I AM AMAZING!!”  I will forever remember the looks on my friend’s faces as they yelled back to me “YOU ARE AMAZING!!”  The memory of their faces will be a gift that keeps on giving for years to come.

On the very last day we concluded our trip by spending one minute each with the 21 other members of our tribe, holding hands and looking into the other person’s eyes without saying anything.  There were tears, smiles, laughter and a complete surrender of ourselves to that other person.   

As I looked into the eyes of my new friend Maya, I saw myself in the reflection of her pupils.  This was the only person in which this happened.  As I looked into her eyes, I could clearly recall her face as she had yelled back to me “YOU ARE AMAZING!”  

The universe does not create coincidences.  It delivers lessons and gifts.
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Without words adequate enough for my appreciation, I thank my new and old friends for creating a place of belonging, acceptance, forgiveness, healing and love.    It was not a coincident I was on this trip.  It was a gift I will cherish always.  

When my husband and I were driving to dinner this evening he excitedly clapped his hands together and said “Oh honey!!  I cannot WAIT for the next three years!!  Our house will be the way we want it and we will probably have our vacation home at the ocean.” 

We are in the process of a major home remodel.  Stage one will be done this year.  If all goes well, stage two will be done next year and then we can begin planning for a vacation home in Oregon.  And while I also have a lot of excitement around these same things, I instantly got a pit in my stomach.  I told him about the aching I had in my gut and what I believe to be the reasons why. 

My dad was diagnosed with cancer one year after he retired, and then my mom one year after my dad passed away.  Many years ago they purchased a lot of land in Chelan and worked tirelessly every free moment they had to build their dream home where one day they would retire.  To know how hard they worked throughout the years to only enjoy the fruits of their labor for a short time makes me sad.    The one counter thought that provides me comfort, is knowing that while they worked hard they also lived.  They didn’t wait until they retired to enjoy life.  Despite working long days Monday through Friday, every Saturday morning in the winter they packed our gear up into the school bus to ski Crystal Mountain.  When it was time to vacation they loaded suitcases in the back of the station wagon and drove across three states to take us to Disneyland.  Every summer they took us camping despite how much work and preparation it required. Eventually they began traveling the world.  And when they passed away they had hundreds of people fill the pews of the church because of the rich and meaningful friendships they built over the years.

I am thankful they didn’t WAIT out their long days and weeks at work until the day they retired to live.  I want to live life like that.
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My husband and I spent our dinner talking how their death relates to the pit in my stomach when he excitedly discussed what awaited us three years from now.  In that moment I could ascribe three things to that feeling. 

1. I feel an immense amount of pressure to feel happy and love my life in the current moment.  I am no longer able to just put my head down, work and tell myself this will all be worth it one day in the future.  Their death has made the little things carry so much more weight.  If I spend my days not doing what I love it feels like a waste.  I feel guilty napping and wasting a couple hours in the middle of the weekend.   It sounds like a good motto in theory, but it also puts the day to day moments of life under a microscope. 
2. Relationships are critical.  Friendships are important. I read that one of the top five regrets of people dying was, “I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.”  I have important people in my life that I haven’t seen in weeks/months.  So when I miss lunch with a group of friends on Friday because I have a lot of work to do, it feels like a big letdown. 
3. The last one I mentioned feels pretty dark, and I know there are many people who will see it as fatalistic.  However, I know I’m not alone because my siblings have said they have felt the same way as I do.  For my entire life, until the day my dad took his last breath, I felt immune from true pain, suffering and loss.  When my dad died and then my mom, this illusion was shattered.  Now, sadly, it feels like it’s not a matter of IF something else will happen, it’s just a matter of when. 

 
So when my husband said he can’t wait for three years from now, my parent’s life and dreams flashed before my eyes.    I want to ensure I’m living life today and not for some day in the future.  This is entirely up to me.  I know this.  Which leaves me to end this blog with the other four ways in which the dying wished they’d lived their life:

•  I wish I'd had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.
•  I wish I hadn't worked so hard.
• I wish I'd had the courage to express my feelings.
• I wish I’d let myself be happier.

 
So now I need to pause.  Take a deep breath.  Acknowledge I can feel joy within every day of the week.  Find the courage to explore what I need to make that happen.  Be unafraid to advocate for myself if it’s not.  Let myself find happiness today, so I can feel excited for the added goodness that awaits.

Aside from working through the loss of a loved one, grief delivers several other side effects. 

Before you experience tragedy or loss, you are falsely lured into the idea you are immune.  However once you have been struck, your mindset changes from ‘if I lose someone I love’ to ‘it’s only a matter of time’.

Perhaps this is why I suffer from one of my side effects from grief...nightmares.  They don’t happen every night or even every week, but they have happened often enough.  The specifics of my nightmares are never the same, but the theme always is.  I dream of losing someone I love.  The pain and anguish causes me to cry out in my sleep until my husband softly rubs my arm or my back to wake me up. 

Saturday night I had one of these nightmares.  I had dreamt something happened to my son.  When I awoke I could not shake the feeling, and I could not fall back asleep until well after 2am.  For a long while, even though I was awake I could not stop crying.  The pain felt so real. 

The next morning I woke to my alarm feeling unrested and exhausted.  Although it was Sunday and I normally could have slept in, I wanted to wake early to see my son off before he drove back to school at Pullman.  He’d spent the last three weeks at home for his winter break.  On Sunday morning I watched him pile his bags into the already packed SUV of his best friend.  Austin and three of his buddies were driving back to their lives at Washington State University.

Today, I read in the news that my nightmare was the heartbreaking and unfortunate truth for two WSU families.  Two separate accidents, one on i90 and one on SR 26 took the lives of two young students. Between the hours of Saturday at midnight and Sunday at 5 pm there were over 150 accidents in the North Central Washington area.  The snow made the driving conditions treacherous.

All you need to do is google ‘Highway 26 WSU fatalities’ and you will see post after post of the dangers of that specific roadway.  State Route 26 runs 133.61 miles from I-90 east of Vantage, east to US 195 in Colfax.  This two lane highway is dangerous in clear and dry conditions as there are no passing lanes and drivers like to aggressively pass one another.  In snowy and icy conditions it is far more dangerous and deadly.  The common consensus online is something needs to be done to improve the dangers of that highway, but there seems to be little answers how to go about doing that.    

What normally would have taken my son five to six hours to travel from Redmond to Pullman, yesterday took him and his friends eight and a half hours.   

I sat at home last night in my sweats watching the Golden Globes with remnants of exhaustion from little sleep the night before.  Thankfully, I had been receiving texts throughout the day from my son’s best friend giving me updates on their travels.  I was finally blessed with a text at 5:30pm they had reached Pullman.

My heart is so grateful they arrived safely, but it is broken for the parents whose children did not.  I cannot stop thinking of the families who spent the last three weeks celebrating the holidays with their children only to say goodbye not realizing it was the last time.

My nightmare is the reality for those two families and the loved ones who lost more than anyone ever should. 

My heart is heavy.  Very heavy. 
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I ask you to pray for the healing of those who are suffering in the depth of their grief.  I also ask you to pray for answers.  How can we prevent more deadly tragedies from happening on a road that carries the beautiful hearts and hopeful futures of our children?

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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.

It was about 29 years ago when my brother picked me up at Chinook Middle School, and as we drove away we saw you walking.  I said “Hey!  That’s my friend Angela” so Jeff pulled over and offered you a ride home.  As we traveled along you gave Jeff directions to your house and I kept saying things like “Wow!  You walk this whole way home???  This is long ways!!!”  You responded with something like “It’s okay.  It’s not that far.”
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After we dropped you off and drove away Jeff scolded me for pointing out something that might have made you feel bad.  What Jeff nor I understood at that point in time, you have never been someone who has felt sorry for yourself.  You have always been someone who embraces life with curiosity, acceptance, grace and courage.  
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Last night as I was thinking about your birthday I tried to mentally prepare what I wanted to write in a Facebook post, but as the memories grew I knew a Facebook post would not adequately support the words that spilled from my heart.  Yes, we have memories.  Many of them.   I could fill pages and pages with all of my favorite memories.  But as I think about you, it’s not just about the memories.  It’s about all the ways in which I admire and love my dear friend, Angela.

​Our middle school days were full of sunny afternoons swimming in your pool. In high school we laced up our white leather Keds and stood hip to hip in the high kick drill team line.  Remember our freshman year drill performance at the state competition?  The one with the ladders.   Oh…I know.  How could anyone possibly forget?  What I remember the most, was how you held the corner of a second tier ladder in the palm of your hand.  A ladder had been misplaced and without your support, the pyramid of ladders would have collapsed.  Our drill team mate who stood on the top of the pyramid would have been seriously hurt.  This was you Ang.  This has always been you.  The girl who will cares so deeply for her friends, she will do almost anything to support them in their time of need. 

​After graduation we packed up our bags and walked through the cobblestone streets of Europe.  It was an adventure, a trip of a lifetime I will remember forever.  Shortly after our trip to Europe you laced up your combat boots and left for army boot camp.  I remember you telling me about the requirements and how it would help pay for school.  You approached it with logic and pragmatism, but mainly you faced it with a bravery I could only admire.  In my wildest dreams, I have NEVER had the level of the courage you do.

When you were finished with the army you traded your combat boots for high heels.  I began a family and we drifted in and out of contact over the years.  Every so often we’d pick up the phone and reconnect. It always felt like I was coming home when you and I talked, no matter how much time had passed.   

​On one particular phone call I vividly remember cleaning my daughter’s bedroom as we talked.  You told me about your dream to become a yoga teacher and own a studio.  I don’t think I even knew what downward facing dog was at that point in time, but I could hear it in your voice.  Your passion.  Your love.  You wanted to trade in your stilettos for bare feet and a yoga mat. 

And now, here you are.  Not only did you build your yoga studio, but you built you built a community, a place of love, acceptance, healing.   You used your strength, tenacity, creativity and courage to create a special place for so many.  You are a gift who keeps on giving.

How perfect is it that your birthday falls on the most contentious election day in our history?  I think it’s beautiful and the perfect juxtaposition. Our country feels divided by ugly rhetoric and negativity.  Yet, all I can think about is how we get to celebrate the birthday of someone who exemplifies acceptance, patience, understanding, curiosity, courage and love.  These are all the characteristics our fellow citizens will need in the coming years.

Thank you for being the friend who inspires me to be a better person.  You are my sister by choice.  You have and always will be my guiding light.  My home.
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Happy Birthday my beautiful friend.  

I’m sorry this post is so late.  I had to work most of the day to pay for my son’s college booze, I mean books.   When I awoke this morning my first thought was of Austin.  This is nothing new.  Most mornings I wake up my first thoughts are of my children. 

It’s hard to put into words how I feel on this incredibly special day.  Nineteen years sounds like a lifetime ago, but holding my son in my arms for the very first time feels like it was only yesterday.  He came into this world with a fierce temper and lungs the size of Texas.  Over the years the lungs quieted and the temper subdued.   But his heart….his heart continued to grow and it has been his guiding light ever since.   

When I look at my son I humbly ask myself “What have I done to deserve this amazing child?”  As a parent I cannot claim all the ownership over why he is so special.  It was part parenting, mainly God with some luck sprinkled in.  We’ve been blessed beyond measure by His gracious gift.

From the moment we become parents we begin our job of raising our children into being responsible adults who will positively make their mark in this world.  Right around their first birthday we start to ween them off the bottle and the pacifier.  Over the next couple birthdays we teach them how to feed and dress themselves.  Around five and six years old we begin by helping them do their homework, and then over the years we teach them ways in which they can manage it on their own.
  
They slept in our arms, moved to their cribs and eventually a bed of their own.  By sixteen we have taught them to drive a car until one day they drive away to begin the life you imagined the moment you heard their first heartbeat.

We instill life lessons regarding the value of money knowing one day they will need these skills to take care of their own families.  We try to remove most obstacles from their path, and only leave the ones that will teach them important lessons about struggle and consequences.  Within a very short span we have groomed our children to be independent beings who can survive and thrive on their own.

Self admittedly, sometimes as parents we forget to prepare ourselves how to let go. 

This was the first year my son was not with me on his birthday.  We face-timed and I learned all the ways in which he was celebrating his special day.  As much as I wish I could give him a birthday hug and cook him a birthday meal, I felt joy listening to him tell me about all the wonderful people in his life who made him feel loved today.  With a heart as big as his, I’m not surprised. 

This picture was taken on Austin’s first birthday.  I had attended class at Seattle University earlier in the day, but cut class early to bake a cake in our tiny Beacon Hill home for the party that night.  I worked part time and I was finishing up my senior year of classes.  Life felt busy and challenging. 

Regardless of the day to day struggle, I felt more joy in my heart than words can convey.  Our home was small, our budget was tight but my purpose was clear.  Raise this boy with all the love I have in my heart and it will take him to the places only a parent can dream of.
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This second picture was taken the day we dropped him off at college.  Holding close and letting go all at the same time. 

This is the story of a mother and her son. A mother who couldn’t be more proud of the 19 year old boy who has given her life so much purpose.  

Happy Birthday Texas. 

I’ve thought a lot about this topic. The ideas of what I want to write present themselves, and then I get lost in all the intricacies and complications of trying to generalize depression.

I decided if I am to write a blog it needs to be based upon my own personal experience. If you read the rest of this piece, then read it with that caveat in mind.

I’ve learned a lot about depression over the past couple years. For one, I’ve learned it has many faces. It does not always look like the person in the commercials who sits in a dark room with shades drawn and tears running down their cheeks. It is true, it can present itself in the form of melancholy, lethargy and glumness. It can also leave you feeling uninspired, unmotivated and drowning in a feeling of hopelessness.

Sometimes, however, it can be masked in a facade of smiles. It may allow for enough energy to fake your way through the necessary parts of your day, but leave you with nothing left in the tank to do much else. If you are a high functioning depressive you might keep yourself busy at all times to keep the dark feelings at bay.

When you think of depression be aware. It may not always look like what you think it should.

Depression can be situational, but it doesn’t always have to be. You may feel sad because something traumatic has happened in your life. An important relationship ended, your health changed, you lost your job, you lost someone you loved; these are all emotional and life altering events that can contribute to feelings of despair. But many times, depression might find its way in without any sort of invitation.

There are people in the world who have suffered greatly, but have found a way to live happily. In contrast, there are others who live a privileged life with an abundance of blessings, but feel dejected. Several years ago my nephew, who comes from a blessed upper class upbringing, traveled to a third world country to volunteer at a children’s camp. I remember he wrote home and could not believe how this part of the world lived. What made the biggest impression were the children who had no shoes and sometimes no pants, but were the happiest children he had ever met. There are individuals in this world whose situation seems like justifiable reasons to be sad and yet they are not. And then sometimes we have no obvious reasons to feel disheartened, but we do.

This brings me to my next point about depression. It is not a mind over matter situation. My husband once told me “You cannot think your way out of depression.” It is not about emotional strength or intelligence. Many uninformed people believe if you are depressed it is simply because you refuse to look at the bright side.

Anyone who knows me and my personal situation knows I’ve had several legitimate reasons over the past couple years to feel unhappy. They also know I’ve done my best to find the positive in any given situation.

I’ve let myself grieve and feel sad when the feelings arise, but I’ve also tried to look at the ‘bright side.’
I don’t succumb easily and allow myself to wallow for too long in my sadness. I fight it every step of the way. I acknowledge my blessings. I run to gain endorphins. I practice yoga to find peace and strength. I eat healthy. I take care of myself. Yet, it might not always be enough. If mind over matter were a solution I would have saved myself many days of pure and utter sadness.

I know what joy feels like, and when I cannot find it despite how hard I try, I acknowledge I cannot solve this alone.

Therapy. I’ve went for years. I go to therapy when everything in life is in harmony and I feel fantastic. I go to therapy when I need to work out specific issues. I go to therapy when I need empathy. I go to therapy because it has helped me work through issues of divorce, mixed families, job changes, illness, grief and more. We see dentists for our teeth and doctors for our bodies. Why is it so difficult to admit we want to see someone for our emotional health?

Therapy can be an invaluable tool and a saving grace. Even then, it cannot always independently solve the problem of ‘why do I feel depressed.’

So if it isn’t always situational, a mind over matter problem or in issue to be solved by talking it through, what else could it be?

Sometimes depression is chemical. Sometimes it is hormonal. Sometimes the neurons aren’t firing and we cannot fix it with therapy, exercise and positive thinking. Maybe we need vitamins or supplements. Maybe we need to change birth control. Perhaps we are deficient of a necessary mineral in our body, like Vitamin D. Our thyroid might not be operating effectively. Our hormones might be out of whack.

Sometimes our depression is a symptom of something happening within our cells, not our thoughts.
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So if you are still reading this and you have struggled with feeling dejected, disheartened and sad please know there is hope. If I have not addressed your specific feelings, it is only because I am writing from my place of understanding.

And my journey has taught me if you are feeling depressed, see a therapist, get a THOROUGH blood panel done, ask for help and know you are not alone.

The sun rises and sets, and with each new day brings hope. You bring beauty to this world. You were put on this earth for a specific reason. You have changed someone’s life in some special way. You are needed. You are loved.

I do want you to know, personally I am in a good place. Otherwise, the apathy that plagued me in the last couple months would have prevented me from writing a piece like this. Like most people, I go through times I feel depressed, but I have all the appropriate resources in place when I do. I know when I feel sad and I know there are things I can do to improve my mood. I take the appropriate measures to feel better. I talk to my husband. I see my therapist. I have blood drawn by my doctor.

As I had predicted, a few weeks ago my labs told a story and explained why I felt the way I did. My hormone and thyroid levels were off and no matter how much I tried to think ‘positively’ and no matter how hard I tried to work through my depression with sheer will and grit, it was a battle I could not win alone.

I wrote this piece because my struggles have always taught me my best lessons. But mainly I wrote this piece to let those who’ve ever suffered from depression, you are never alone.


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National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 800-273-8255

Over the past few years there have been many occasions I have thought about how I can somewhat understand the feelings of parents who aren't involved in their children's lives.

This is not to say I am a sympathizer of dead beat parents or that I excuse and condone their behavior in any way, shape or form.

But I can certainly relate.

My life changed the moment I gave birth to my two beautiful children. Everything I wanted for myself, evolved into what I wanted for them. There wasn’t anything I wouldn’t sacrifice to offer them the best opportunities I could possibly provide.

When my kids were little their dad and I lived paycheck to paycheck. There were many occasions the money didn’t last the two weeks in between. When my son was 18 months old, I took him shopping with me to Ross, because I needed to buy some bras and I couldn’t afford Victoria Secret. I couldn’t even afford Ross items at full price.

I found two somewhat suitable options off of the clearance rack and as I carried them to the check stand, Austin and I wandered by the toy aisle. “Mama Mama!” he exclaimed as he pulled a large box off of the shelf. The box was thin, but wide and long. It contained approximately 20 matchbox cars, and Austin had never seen anything like it. He couldn’t talk, but he pointed to each of the cars with excitement. He and I sat in the aisle for several minutes looking at the cars, until I put the box back onto the shelf. I knew full well it was not within my budget.

We walked away from the toys and continued making our way up to the counter. I had taken my eyes off of Austin for a few moments, and when I turned around he was wobbling up to me dragging that large container of matchbox cars behind him.

I put my bras back on the rack and bought him the cars. To this day, my boobs and I have no regrets. He played with those cars for hours on end, many days until falling asleep on the floor. Those cars were a favorite toy for years to come.

When I divorced their dad, the kids and I lived in Redmond and their dad lived in Renton. Logistically this meant I did most the shuttling to and from the bus stop, school activities and doctors’ appointments. Some days I was so tired when stopped at a red light, I would ask Austin and Ryanne to tell me when the light turned green. I needed to rest my eyes even for the briefest of moments.

Today, the kids and I laugh about this, because it is still a habit for them to tell me “Mom, the light’s green!”

From the moment they were born I was there for every dirty diaper, sleepless night, stomach flu clean up, parent teacher conference, baseball game, piano recital, temper tantrum, school pick up, home run, swim lesson, talent show solo and first day of school. I worked full time and did my best as a single mother to balance it all. None of this was a sacrifice. It was where I wanted to be…every single part of it.

When my 14 year old daughter told me she wanted to move out of my home and move in with her dad, my heart broke into a million pieces. Every rational part of me knew this was not a rejection of me. A fourteen year old child is not rejecting their parent, they are choosing something for themselves. Many days I applauded and respected her ability to advocate for her own needs. I recognized with admiration it was a statement of her strength.

But every emotional and vulnerable part of me felt like this was biggest rejection I had ever suffered. Maybe if I had been a better mother she never would have wanted to leave? After everything I have done…why??

For over a year, I cried every time I dropped her back off at her dads. Every time I said goodbye the wound would rip back open and invite an immense amount of hurt, pain and rejection.

I feel the sting every time a stranger or a new acquaintance asks me where my daughter goes to school. There’s an awkward exchange as I explain she doesn’t live with me. I can see the questions and judgement pass through their eyes, asking the same kind of question I asked myself for months. What kind of mother are you?

The hardest part of not being the primary parent for my daughter, is feeling like I am parenting from the back seat. I feel like I'm not a part of the big decisions in her life. I’m only an observer.

I do my best to involve myself and spend as much time with her as I can. Many miles and hours are spent in my car driving back and forth between Renton, Redmond and Seattle. My weekends and days with her are sacred. But it never feels like enough.

The pain of inadequacy. The pain of dropping off and picking up. The pain of parenting from the sidelines. I imagine there are dead beat parents everywhere who feel this pain, and for many of them they succumb. In order to not feel, they ignore what is a reminder of their hurt.

I would be lying if I said it has never been a temptation to hide under the covers and not face what makes me feel.

I’m not a great mom because I suffer through the pain for the sake of my daughter. I’m not a great mom because I traded a bra and saggy boobs for a set of matchbox cars. I’m no different than many moms and dads out there who make the choices, big and little, every darn day to put their kiddos first.

It’s not always easy. It’s not without suffering. It’s not without sacrifice.

But I believe one day it will be worth it.

I’m certain….it will always be without regret.

Happy Birthday to the man I met over 12 years ago, the man who once had dreams of retiring at the age of 40 while living in a Belltown loft and driving an Aston Martin. A man who on our first visit to the dog park wore Hugo Boss clothing and leather dress shoes.

At first you only showed me what most people still see today, a man with vision and drive to match. A man with a serious exterior and controlled demeanor. A man who creates goals and doesn’t stop until he achieves them. A man who faces life with very deliberate intentions.

The moment you made Ryanne’s stuffed animal dance and talk just to make me laugh, I knew there were more layers than the casual eye could see. You are a man who doesn’t always let the world see who he really is, but has chosen the kids and I to share the best part of yourself.
Today, twelve years later, not only do you drive a station wagon, you have a dog and spend your money on yard renovations and college tuition. You devote your time sitting in baseball stands and at choir concerts. You spend all day Saturday driving 10 hours to move your son into his dorm.
You once were a man who was indifferent to the slobbery beasts who run amok at the dog park, but now you are a man whom I see with tears in his eyes as he reads about dogs living their last days. You are a man whose budget was reallocated from fancy dinners to funding your favorite charity, Old Dog Haven.

One could look at all this and commend you for what you sacrificed. However, I don’t think you would ever use the word ‘sacrifice.’ You have chosen from a place of pure love to put the kids and me first. It is a profound gift when a parent chooses to love a child they didn’t create. I believe a parent isn’t defined by who they put on this earth. They are defined by the choices they make every day, choices to put their children’s needs ahead of their own. You, my love, are the best damn daddy I could have asked for.

You might say the kids and I have changed you. I believe it is in equal trade. You have also changed us. Our lives are richer because of you. You have always been our biggest fan, believing in us when we don’t believe in ourselves. You have created opportunities to foster our talents and our dreams. You have devoted your time and your efforts to create a life for our family we would not have without you.
You have loved us.

And we love you.

Happy Birthday, my love.
-yj
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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.
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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.
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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.