The fact is, I'm not mad at you for changing. I know it seems like I am. But I know it isn't your fault. It isn't your fault that we're sick and that we can't do life the way we used to. Neither one of us asked for this. And the truth is, you've handled this thing amazingly. I hate to think of where I would be had you not shown so much strength over the last seven years.

I cried every day my baby was away. Time is such a thief; as mothers, we watch our babies grow and change and move away from us the moment they leave our bodies. I was missing precious time.

I used to think I didn’t believe in marriage, but what I didn’t believe in was other people's idea of marriage. Hearing married people refer to their spouse as the ‘ball and chain,’ and getting the ever so helpful marriage advice of, “Don’t,” didn’t have me feeling incredibly confident about the whole thing.

Oh, body.
You’ve been healthy and sick
Disabled and strong.
Everything in between.

What I'm realizing as the weeks slip by and I step more fully into this new version of me, is that the indulgent bubble bath at the end of the night is only enjoyable if I stop calling myself 'lazy' while I take it. The home cooked meal only counts as self care if I don't stand in the mirror obsessing about my stomach afterwards. Self care for me is looking a lot like the way I give myself permission to do and enjoy the things we want.

I’m an “old” mom. My son arrived just ahead of my 35th birthday and before that year my husband and I weren’t sure we wanted to be parents. However, after my father-in-law died unexpectedly, the conversations about having a family of our own became more frequent. We faced the grim reality that if we didn’t stop riding the proverbial fence we may have a child whose grandparents never knew him. So when my mom was diagnosed with stage three anal cancer in April 2015, her positive biopsy swiftly led to my positive pregnancy test four short months later. I was not at all prepared for what was to come.

Life had ups and downs and she had concerns about various family matters, finances, and other things. But for an hour each morning, these were put aside as she allowed herself to feel the emotional freedom that comes from the movement and breathing that accompany running.

I come from a tight-knit family. We love each other deeply and keep in touch, whether via text or in person, often. So, when one member is hurting or celebrating, the rest of us feel it right there with them. Last fall, three huge events happened in our family’s life that were met with a strange mix of joy, grief, and fear: I gave birth to my first child, my oldest nephew passed away two weeks later, and my mom – our rock – was diagnosed with a serious case of bladder cancer two months after that. To say my emotions were in overdrive is an understatement.

Every Sunday my family gathers together for family dinner. We pile all the food onto the table and check in with each other. On a warm summer night, the windows will be open and our neighbors will be wondering what we're laughing about. In the winter, the woodburning stove is lit and crackling. The ambiance changes with the seasons but a constant is that, whether in joy or stress, my family week after week comes to the table to spend time together.

On a mid-January evening, my (now ex) boyfriend of two years, whom I loved unconditionally and lived with in Colorado, blindsided me after he came home from a solo trip to the mountains and informed me that he “wasn’t happy”. While I initially suspected another woman, he blatantly denied it and lied to my face on multiple occasions. I later found out that I was ultimately deceived. This deception rocked me to my core; my emotions and actions that immediately followed were desperate, pathetic even. This was by far the hardest thing I had been through in my 29 years. The one person I needed to be there for me the most was the one person who put me in this horrific situation. This wasn’t JUST a breakup, this was much more than that.

The moment I found out I had cancer, I was sitting in my cubicle at the first job I had gotten after graduating from college. My biggest worry that day was finishing my Christmas shopping, as the holidays were just a few weeks from then. That was going to be my first Christmas together with my family since moving back from college in Minnesota, and I was so excited to spend time with those I loved. With one phone call from my doctor that afternoon, after a set of yearly routine tests, my entire life was flipped upside down.

There is something about sitting among the trees and just watching and listening that is so beautiful and cleansing. It causes you to pause and think about what it took for the forest to grow. The trees that have managed to survive the longest have undoubtedly been through so much. But the trees that had short lives and ended up on the forest floor, only to become kindling later, still served a purpose.

It is the same with us as humans. We often stop to compare ourselves to others, wondering what we are lacking, wondering why someone else is growing stronger or faster or living longer. We don’t stop to look at the beauty that we hold within and recognize our purpose.

Many of us have friends who are friends of circumstance – the person who sits next to you at work, the mother who always arrives at child pick-up the same time as you, the girl in yoga class who hangs out near the back where you are. And due to the necessity of social convention, we keep those friends at arm’s length. As my daughter once said, "Imagine if you really tried to become true, deep friends with your neighbor and it turns out you don't like them - and then you live next to them for 25 years. It's so much easier to just smile and wave and invite them over for a birthday party." How right she is.

On October 8, 2016, my life abruptly changed. The man I’d loved for more than 15 years took his own life. I was shocked, devastated, and lost in a sea of emotions while simultaneously trying to collect myself enough to face my two small boys, who were nine months and three years old. It was a moment that induced a fog that I had never experienced before. I have heard it described as “widow brain” but it was much more than that. It was the detachment and numbness that happened while trying to process my new reality, but it was also all the sadness, confusion, anger, and hurt that came with it.

I think all of us have felt unsettled lately, like a general un-anchoring is taking place in each of our lives. The past year or so has been full of change, decisions, and uncertain direction for all of us. Deciding on a college major. Moving. Job searching. Changing a college major. New jobs. New babies. Dissatisfaction with jobs. A major medical diagnosis.

I started small. I focused on what I was eating. I’ve never had a problem with adjusting my diet, so I figured the easiest step was to focus there first. I re-downloaded the My Fitness Pal app and started paying attention to my portion sizes. I started watching how many calories were in the foods I had been eating. I didn’t starve myself, I still enjoyed food, I just did it in a healthier way. This was my sole focus for a month. And I began to see very slight changes in my body and how I was feeling.

The acknowledgement of pain and its chronic existence in my life resulted in an understanding that my body, mind, and soul were undeniably connected in such a way that, if I was in need to heal of one affliction, I must be in need to heal the other.  

On the outside, I looked normal. But inside, something was obviously very wrong. Physically, I was a mess. Emotionally, I was broken.

The cycles started, the doctors’ appointments, counted days, medication trials, all of it! Our hope slowly began to fade as each month went by. Until October of 2016 – we did it! And then we lost it. Is he going to love me through this? I’m failing at the only thing I have ever given 100% to. As a wife, a mother - I am failing my husband.

I’ve never received an explanation for why my body is seemingly unable to do what it’s supposed to be able to do – produce life.