Through a Runner’s Eyes

“So often we can get caught up in the rankings, times, personal bests and competitions that we forget about the true joy and life changing experiences that our sport provides. Running is about a journey, a journey that engages an entire community and culture, yet inwardly transforms the mind, spirit, and body.”

“The race will begin in one minute,” the megaphone’s words reverberated in my ears. The early morning summer air was thick and seemed to hang low, making it difficult to breath even at a standstill. I was surrounded by a sea of experienced runners. I had only been training for three months and felt like a fish out of water. I glanced down at my phone in an effort to conceal the fact that I was a newcomer, Could they tell? I wondered. My stomach churned as I looked around at the other runners who were chatting and smiling with one another. The anticipation of uncharted waters was both exciting and nerve racking. I turned up the music on my phone and took a deep breath … BANG!

The crowd steadily moved forward like a cattle drive. I kept my head down and shuffled along within the close confines of the other runner’s shoulders. Within a couple minutes, I was able to break out into open space and pick up my speed to a more deliberate pace. As the nervous energy freed itself through my quickening limbs, my confidence rose and I fixed my attention on the road ahead allowing my thoughts to drift back to the beginning.

To begin a journey, first you must be inspired ~

Peering out the window, I could see the dark gray clouds hanging in the overcast sky. Another dreary, frigid winter morning, I thought as I shuffled into the kitchen and pressed “brew” on the coffee pot, hoping to find a little sunshine in the bottom of my snowman mug. The house looked so bare now that the Christmas tree was gone. All the holiday parties were over and I could feel the holiday humdrums settling in. With coffee in one hand and cell phone in the other, I snuggled into the corner of the couch and pulled a blanket over my legs. I scanned thoughtlessly through facebook in an effort to distract myself from dismal thoughts… then something caught my eye. A picture of my friend Nicole standing in front of Cinderella Castle wearing a fluffy yellow tutu and a huge smile on her face. She had just finished running in one of Disney’s Princess races. The sun shone so brightly in the picture that I swear I began to feel warmer just looking at it.

An instant yearning stirred within me and if I was being honest with myself, it was mixed with a bit of jealousy too. I sat up and immediately texted her wanting to hear everything about it and already conceiving my own tutu and tiara experience.

It was that cold, dreary morning in February of 2014 when I first became smitten with the idea of lacing up a pair of running shoes and heading out the door to earn my tiara. What I didn’t know was, what I just thought would be a fun, novel event to participate in, would actually help me find love again… love for myself and a new found life. I had not only become immersed in my daughter Rebekah’s activities over the past eight years, but there had been a quiet storm brewing and dark clouds were rolling in. I was unknowingly preparing for it.  By that following March of 2015 my marriage was in obvious trouble and by the end of June he had moved out and reconciliation was no longer a consideration.

Making the commitment~

I pressed submit on my laptop, officially committing to running in the runDisney Princess 5k and 10k race, yet I hadn’t even attempted to run one mile in 20 years. What’s three miles, I thought. Six is a little intimidating, but three should be no problem. I unearthed the shoebox that held the $25.00 clearance ASICS from under my bed and slipped them on while thinking of Cinderella and her first pair of glass slippers.

Stepping onto the front porch into the morning July sun, I felt invigorated. The plan was to run one mile; I set my timekeeper app and took off in full confidence. After what felt like a good stretch of time, my legs began to feel so heavy, as if Cinder Blocks were attached to my ankles. My heart was beating against my chest like a caution signal flashing warning. I looked down at my watch to see how long I had been running, “60 seconds!” I gasped aloud. I was going to have to ease into this running thing. I mentally revised my plan to a run/walk strategy and completed the three miles with less finesse than I anticipated.

Though I felt like a car that ran out of gas, there was an excitement stirring within me. I walked the rest of the way home to cool down and plot my new plan of action. If I was going to do this, I wanted to do it right. Kristin Banse, an Access Physical Therapy & Wellness team member says, “Recognize that as you fatigue, your form is more likely to be compromised. Usually when a runner’s form is compromised mechanical stress increases and injury can soon
follow.”

The thrill of a new challenge had me completely engaged. Every morning after I sent Rebekah to school I would take off to conquer those miles. My morning runs became a part of my day that I looked forward to. Getting out in the open air and stretching my legs felt so freeing. Listening to the sound of my heartbeat and the rhythm of my breathing would almost set me into a hypnotic state that helped me to pace myself through the miles. I was now comfortably running without any walk breaks and closing in on that 10k mileage goal, I felt unstoppable.

I had to submit an official race time to runDisney, so I found a local race for my test run. This would be a great time to try out my newfound race legs. Adorning a pair of pink Minnie ears for a little Disney inspiration, I set out at 7 a.m. that morning a bundle of nerves, not knowing what to expect. With the sound of the starting pistol, the crowd inched forward. I had never run alongside anyone, so it took a moment to adjust to my surroundings.

Once I broke free from the confines of the crowd, I was able to release the tension I had been carrying that morning and settle into a comfortable pace. The humidity hung on my limbs like heavy wet rags and the climate of my mouth mimicked that of a desert. There were spectators lining the village streets and neighborhoods, calling out words of encouragement, cheering us on toward the finish line. The sound of their voices and clapping hands infused me with the fortitude I needed to climb the winding hills. The faint sound of music found its way to my ears.

As I rounded the corner the triumphant sight of FINISH, spelled out in large letters hung high in the air. It triggered my muscles to exert the last bit of stamina I had. The moment my feet crossed the finish line, a feeling of bliss came over me. It was like an official stamp of approval to confirm my achievement, an unmatched sense of accomplishment and I wanted more. My attention was instantly focused on Rebekah as she threw her little arms around my waist and squeezed tight. “You did it Mommy!” she said with as much excitement as if she had run the race herself.

A tutu, a tiara and my favorite mouse Mickey ~

The anticipated day had come, my plan was executed and I was off to the Princess Races with a larger than life red tutu and a sparkly silver tiara, direct from China for $5.99. I had been to Disney dozens of times, but never for such an occasion as this. Nicole and two of her friends greeted me at the Orlando Airport and from there we were off and running to Disney World for our coronation.

The following morning we boarded our coach bus at 4 a.m. and headed to Epcot for the 5k race. The night sky had not yet given way to the sunrise, leaving the air damp and brisk. Florida was having unseasonably cold temperatures, barley hovering over 32 degrees. With only a thin pair of running shorts under my tutu, I shivered for an hour and a half in the corrals with more than 15,000 other princesses. Suddenly, fireworks burst into the dark sky, signaling the release of the first corral. Each corral received the same send off, lighting the pathway for the thousands of runners.

As we raced down the Disney highways, every runner in sight seemed to be dressed in their Disney best, paying homage to their favorite characters. It wasn’t long before the sun began to rise and crest the calming waterways as we came upon the Boardwalk Resort. The sound of hundreds of running shoes thumped along its wooden planked walkways. The atmosphere permeated with joy; I was having the time of my life in the company of so many others that were seemingly doing the same. It was all going too fast. No matter how many times we stopped to take pictures with characters or take a longer route, the end was nearing quickly.

Alas, the end of the course was just ahead, as we flew into World Showcase for a runner’s tour around the world. Germany… Italy… Japan… Morocco… France… United Kingdom and Canada! The countries went by in a flash, all for the price of a single airfare ticket. The third mile marker was just ahead and I felt like I had just started the race. Crossing this finish line was in some way different. The thrill of completing the course was not at the forefront this time around. It was the spirit of the adventure that added another layer of enthusiasm to my newfound love, along with the camaraderie of like-minded people. I had one more race to run the next morning and I couldn’t wait!

 

 

I departed my Disney weekend and arriving back home with a deeper desire for more adventure and ready to push myself to the next level – 13.1 miles.

Finding strength and purpose~

Shortly after I arrived back in New York, those storm clouds were hovering overhead. Life at home was very tense and it was getting increasingly difficult to deny the inevitable. I found myself in my running shoes more often than not, searching for direction and a sense of peace. My struggles at home seemed to parallel the obstacles I encountered while attempting to meet my physical goals. Some days my wandering thoughts of the unknown would completely zap my strength and keep me from my morning runs, but the down times never lasted too long. As my life evolved, I had to evolve with it.

I set my focus on training for my first half marathon. I could not allow my personal circumstances to interfere with my progress and despite all the discord; I was motivated more than ever. I posted a message on my Facebook page in search of a running buddy. I felt a bit silly and wondered what others would think about my inquiry; it was like I was placing an ad for a new friend. Within hours, I had responses from people I hadn’t seen since high school; they had caught the running bug too. We scheduled times and locations to meet up.

This helped me to expand my mileage and my sights outside of my neighborhood. I was craving new scenery and suddenly wanted to explore every nook and cranny of the Hudson Valley. I sought out several rail trails, finding each one unique to its area. Some were dirt paths amongst acres of farmland and cow pastures and others paved pathways that ran alongside streams and lush woodlands. I ran beside the Hudson River, following it over bridges. I ran through state parks and town parks, gardens and winding country roads. The Hudson Valley never looked as beautiful as it did through my eyes as a runner. It was as if I was seeing my home of 43 years, with a new pair of eyes. I started photo journaling my travels and created a blog called Running to My Life. I was now, more than ever, running with a purpose.

A fellow runner told me that the psychological aspect of running is indicative to running away from the things in life that you don’t want to face. This is not so for me; I am running toward my life and pushing the limits that I have consciously set for myself. When asked about the benefits of running, Dr. Jill Sussman, an Advanced Practice Nurse in Adult Psychology commented,  “Exercise, especially running, has a profound effect on our emotional and physical well-being. It is an effective tool for stress, anxiety, depression and self-esteem. Bottom line, it can just make you feel good,”

I not only added the element of scenery but also community. By entering local races, I engaged more fully within my community. I ran races for Homeless Veterans, Safe Harbors, United Way, Toys for Tots and local police departments to name a few. With each race, I met people that also shared a love for running- some of which became my good friends. They had a wealth of knowledge and shared their experiences of fueling for long runs, speed training and how KT Tape could be a runner’s best friend. In heeding their advice, I started placing within my age division and bringing home medals and trophies. Somehow, my simple plan to be a princess for a weekend set me on a path toward a more engaging life.

No Limitations~

It had been four months since I arrived home from the princess races and I was ready to carry out my 13.1-mile goal. I stepped out of the car and set my feet onto the pavement of the Marist College parking lot. This was the starting point for the Walkway of the Hudson Half Marathon 2015. I was there with two of the friends I had met through my Facebook post inquiry. We followed a walkway to the top of a grassy hill that provided a stunning view of the river that I have run alongside so many times. Looking out over the water, I thought about the past year’s events. It was just one year prior that I had attempted to run my very first mile, now I was about to run 13. I wasn’t terribly nervous; I felt prepared, determined and ready.

The crowd quieted for the national anthem and then the sound of the starter pistol shot through the air. It was an uphill run right from the start; this is what I trained for, I assured myself. I kept my eyes focused on the ground and paced myself accordingly. I noticed people veering off to the side in order to catch their breath.

By mile three, the ground finally leveled and we turned onto a narrow dirt trail, but now the course was cramped and hard to keep a steady pace without weaving and bobbing through the masses.

It was around the sixth mile and my body was starting to feel taxed from the rising heat and humidity, then…  I felt a disturbing twinge in my right knee. Immediate thoughts of not being able to finish, raced through my mind. I pulled my attention back to the trail and envisioned crossing the finish line with arms held high in victory; I was already halfway there.

About the ninth mile, all I could think about was how exhausted and hot I felt; I was miserable. It was mile 10 and I had finally made it to the bridge. I gazed out over the water and down the long winding river that was nestled between the mountains. Inhaling deeply, I fixed my eyes on the blurred distant trail, but keeping my renewed vision in focus.

Just as I heard a volunteer announce that there were, only three miles left to go, my knees started to lock up. I can do this, I assured myself.

The remaining two miles were laden with taxing inclines; just as I reached the crest of one, another was there waiting. Delirium was setting in, as I truly began to wonder if there was an end to this course.

As I approached a darkened underpass, I could see people lined along the sides cheering and shouting, “YOU’RE ALMOST THERE!” A chill ran from the bottom of my feet, straight to the top of my head. Whether it was from excitement or heat exhaustion, I don’t know, but I knew at that point I had made it.

Crossing that 13.1-mile finish line with my arms held high above my head, I felt like I had won a long, difficult battle.

When I think back to the day I attempted to run my first mile, I will never forget my feelings of uncertainty, nor will I forget the exhilarated feeling of achievement. Running undoubtedly has become the most effective tool for showing me what I am really made of. It has proved that I can push through barriers and view struggles as mere obstacles that are meant to be hurdled. Running makes me strong, empowered, accomplished and an awesome role model for my daughter. As the miles accumulate, so does my desire for more. Next stop, 26.2 miles!

Seasons Change

Reluctantly, I opened my eyes to greet the early morning sunlight flooding into the room. I lie still for a moment, assessing my surroundings; I notice that something feels different. Slowly raising myself into a seated position, I see my two cats still slumbering at the foot of the bed, but that is all that is recognizable. I gaze out the window and notice that the leaves on the trees have begun to turn yellow. I refocus my gaze back inside the room and back to my new reality; 47-years-old and back home with mom and dad, except this time I have the company of my 12-year-old daughter and our two cats. This may have been my house many years ago, but this is not the home I created these past 16 years.

The room is still and silent, as it is very early. Both Rebekah and my parents are asleep, so I quietly open the door and tiptoe down the small, narrow hallway to the kitchen. Giggling to myself, I think about all the times I had done this while sneaking out in the wee hours of the morning to meet my friends. The rising sun gives off just enough sunlight so I do not have to turn the kitchen light on. Reaching for the boldest K-Cup I can find, I pop it into the Keurig and lean against the counter with my arms folded, listening to the sounds of a fresh, hot cup of coffee being brewed. “So many memories in this house,” I think to myself. I look over toward the china cabinet and envision my high school friend and I standing in our Madonna-esk, synthetic lace dresses for homecoming. Then, my thoughts trail off to the kitchen of what was my home and I wonder if the new owners are awake making their coffee too. I turn back around to claim my cup from the machine and retreat to my room, leaving my thoughts and memories lingering behind. I slip back through the door that I left ajar, this time more concerned I do not stir the cats so I can revel in my morning cup of sunshine while it’s still hot. I situate myself in a seated position under the cozy covers with my Mickey Mouse coffee mug snuggled between my two hands and stare out the window at the yellowing leaves. “Seasons.” I whisper aloud, “For everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven:”.

It was just yesterday that I was sitting at my lawyer’s office, signing away the ownership of my home. Though it remains one of my most proud accomplishments, it was time to allow someone else to care for it. I had felt an emptiness in the pit of my stomach, an unsettling feeling that kept my mind slightly distracted; maybe it was because I was signing away what I believed to be a fixture of my independence and security. Like a blanket that makes you feel safe and secure, I wrapped myself within its walls as protection from my life and used it as a crutch to control my environment.  I had purchased the charming 1920’s cottage nearly sixteen years ago before I had gotten married. After the divorce, it became too difficult to maintain; it just needed more TLC than I was able to provide. Despite all the cracks that covered its plaster walls like an intricately woven spider web and all its quirks that I had learned to live with, I loved the warmth of its hug each time I walked through its front door.

I procrastinated packing for weeks because I knew it wouldn’t be easy placing all the memories into boxes; it felt like I was stripping the house of its life… or was it mine? Each night, after dinner, I had packed the contents of a different room. The house, Rebekah and I would reminisce about all the events we shared together. She loved listening to the stories as the house and I recaptured the memories and retold them to her. This old house has watched over us since before you were born.” I reminded her, trying to sound more upbeat than sentimental. “It welcomed you home from the hospital in your big frilly bonnet on a snowy March day and sent you off to kindergarten with your adorable pigtails and Minnie Mouse lunch box.” “It has watched every Christmas tree light up with hope and happiness and it has listened to us sing happy birthday to you each and every year.” As I had begun to talk about all our pets, my thoughts trailed off to a more solemn time. Like a reliable and dependable friend, the house had helped me glue the pieces of my life back together when my marriage ended. I had wished I could take the house with me, but I knew it was time to say farewell so we could both move forward into the future to experience new growth.

When the final box had been packed and shipped off to the storage unit and Rebekah off to her grandparents, it was just me, the cats, and the house. I stood in the center of the living room while the cats entwined their bodies around my ankles as if they knew I had needed their support at that moment. “Well kitties, this is it; time to make new memories somewhere else,” I said as I closed my eyes standing in the empty living room remembering Rebekah’s many birthday parties. The laughter and singing that once filled the room echoed in my ears, “Happy birthday to you, Happy Birthday dear Rebekah…” Slowly, I opened my eyes, took a deep breath, and walked toward the front door. Hesitantly, I placed my hand on the doorknob, then slowly turned back around to face the barren house, “Thank you.” I said softly, then turned and walked out its door, down the porch steps, and got into my car. I chose not to turn my eyes toward the house again. How many times could we say goodbye?

Driving back to my parents’ house with a car full of miscellaneous items and two distraught cats, I had begun to feel the effects of the two-high paced days. The lack of sleep had started to seep into every limb of my body, making everything seem as it was going in slow motion. For a moment, I had thoughts of pulling into my favorite Stewart’s Shop one last time for a cup of coffee, but the sentiment was too bittersweet and the cats were vocalizing their displeasure. I turned the radio on to tune them out and keep myself alert. The 30-minute drive was a blur, I must have allowed autopilot to take control of my body. All I remember is pulling into my parents’ driveway and unloading the menagerie of contents from my car. With every armload, I had imagined a clown car from a circus with the never-ending items pulled from every compartment. Bending down to extract the last piece of my past, I had pulled out what would inevitably become a part of my future. I stood in the driveway holding a rock from the foundation that my home had been built on; it felt durable and strong. Holding the rock in my arms, I carried it toward my parents’ house. The yellowing trees drew my attention upward. “Seasons.” I whispered with a smile, “To everything, there is a season.”

Live Well~

Success in the Eyes of a Twelve-Year Old Girl

When I was 12, my thoughts about success were simplistic. If I brushed my teeth and did my homework, I was on the right track. For my parents, this was clear-cut logic, my dad went to work and my mom took care of the house; that was enough in my eyes to deem them successful. My daughter, however, seems to have other thoughts about the topic.

Driving home from a dental appointment my daughter Rebekah and I somehow got talking about this subject of success. I casually asked her what being successful meant to her.

Without hesitation she replied, “Being famous.”

“What?” I blurted out then focused my eyes more intently on the road so I didn’t  veer into the oncoming traffic. Famous, I thought. What kind of answer is that? I know she follows lots of, insta-famous people on Instagram; is this where her answer was coming from? I sat quietly for a moment trying to think of something intelligent and witty to say that would support my complete disapproval of her response, without sounding too harsh.

“Do you think I am successful?”

“Nope,” she bluntly replied.

I immediately began examining my life as quickly as the scenery that flew by my window as we drove down the road.

“Why?” I asked trying not to allow her assessment to feel like it was truly my reality, but more importantly deciphering why fame was her answer to my question .

She listed her reasons with confidence as if she had been studying them for a test. “Divorce, having to sell our house, your boyfriends and your boring job.”

Hearing this out loud, my heart sank into my stomach. How could I dispute that? I am supposed to be her role model. Clearly, I have done a good job showing her how to make a mess of one’s life. Just being mommy wasn’t enough like it was when she was five. My simple accomplishments were no longer viewed as heroic; she was now scrutinizing every step I took and seemed to be labeling it too.

We continued down the road in silence. I pulled into McDonalds; this situation called for the hard stuff, vanilla milkshakes and French fries. I needed to lighten the air up a bit before I contested her perception of my failures and shed some light on the reality of falling short, whether we are famous or not.

I swirled the whipped cream on top of my milkshake with my straw in an attempt to clear the negative thoughts out of my head. Oddly, I thought I had been rather successful to some degree. Sure, I took a detour here and there- a little more than I would have liked, but so have the Kardashians. No one makes all the right decisions and creates a perfect life right out of the gate. This was a chance to have one of those mommy moments, to explain what success was really about.

But after my heart to heart, her response was,“But you’re almost 47!” Yikes, this was starting to sound a bit like a Dr. Phil episode. Maybe it was best I stopped trying so hard to make her see it my way.

She stared out the window as if to inform me that the conversation was now over. I think she understood, but I don’t think I made a believer out of  her at that very moment. I guess I will just have to hope that the seeds I planted will lend itself to a bountiful harvest.

Oh, the joys of motherhood.

Live Well~

 

 

The Truth about Change

It’s been almost a full year since I last posted on my blog. I have written several pieces but easily was distracted and never went back to finish them.

It’s been a busy year with many changes. Jamie moved in this past spring, I put the house on the market in the summer, I got engaged on my birthday in July, and I am now moving into a rented farmhouse that needs a lot of elbow grease and TLC. These are big changes and they have set off a lot of emotional responses. Turns out I’m not so great at excepting change and allowing life to usher me into the next phase. It is all overwhelming and when I am overwhelmed my brain doesn’t think too clearly. Maybe it’s the amount of change that has occurred in such a short period of time….? 

I looked back at a piece I wrote last January and I was a bit disappointed to find that I am still mending from past events. I  have been trekking through this jungle, which I referred to as a “crazy beautiful world” in that January post, for about 3 years. How long will it take for me to stop feeling the aftershocks of my past? 

I have found myself in states that were both frightening and liberating. One moment I feel as if I have achieved the gold medal for running the race of life followed by another moment of me laying in a heap in the corner of the room crying, weary and dazed. I want to believe I am on the tail end of those days, but what if I’m not? It’s as if I have an inner compass that spins out of control at times. 

Trust, love, and team are words that I struggle with. It has become easy for me to quickly dismiss any connection upon a negative reaction from another. Feeling a strong sense of safety and control in disconnection, I have a growing desire to continue on in life alone. Is this a step in the direction of healing? Does this mean that my co-dependant tendencies are working themselves out, or am I simply trading one emotional issue for another? This sounds horrible, doesn’t it? The battle between fight or flight is not an easy one and challenges me often.

Being the mom I wish to be has become daunting. It is difficult to not only co-parent with your ex that is influenced by a separate household but also with another man living under the same roof with a different view of parenting. It is a stressful challenge to be strong in my own convictions and have two other people’s thoughts coming at me. 

I know I haven’t painted a very pretty picture with all that I mentioned above, but these are my struggles and challenges. So many changes have caused me to feel displaced with questions if I am moving in the right direction. I feel like my life has been placed in a blender. 

Some days are easier than others, some days seem brighter than others, some days I’m scared out of my mind and other days I am as tough as nails. I pray that God gives me the strength to fight through it all and one day I can look back and say I am a stronger and better person than I ever was.

My prayers and thoughts go out to anyone reading this that has their own personal struggles and battles they fight. Keep on moving forward, there are brighter days ahead, right?

Maureen~

 

The Next and Biggest Step in my Journey ~ Meeting my Inner Child

“It’s a journey”, I repeatedly tell myself, “A journey I need to take if I am ever going to rid myself of this debilitating pain of shame and loneliness.”

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It’s been a while since I last posted and I wanted to share some of the substantial milestones I have been hurdling. I have been on a journey of self-discovery for most of my adult life and my most recent significant change has sparked an immediate deluge of familiar and unsettling feelings. For those that have been following the portion of my blog, ‘My Personal Journey in Life ’, know my marital status has changed. Not to sound cynical, but it has been one of the best and most significant changes for me. It has allowed me to break free from a life that was not meant for me and in return is helping me to transform into the individual I want to be and meant to be. Without change there is no progress and as I grow older in years I have come to welcome change with open arms, no matter what form it appears in. Change means renewing and a renewing of one’s spirit is a beautiful thing.

I have always carried a feeling of loneliness and shame deep within me for as long as I can remember. I came to understand these feelings as I got older as the absence of a relationship, the scarcity of acceptance and lack of love from my biological father. Little did I know how long and how bitterly it would affect my life.

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Thinking back I believe I started showing outward signs of his physical and emotional absence in my early 20’s. My dating relationships were affected by my clinginess. Not all of them, just particular ones that possessed a quality that brought about insecurities I didn’t quite understand at that time. These chosen few would touch a cord within me that would bring to the forefront my deep wounds. I would inwardly and outwardly feel scared, alone, abandoned and shameful. The relationship would end because I would self-destruct unknowingly and unaware of what I was truly doing.

My mid 20’s brought about the introduction of panic attacks and an eating disorder as I was wildly grasping for control in my life; at this point I had no clue how to heal myself or really what was fueling me to feel that I  might be mildly insane. Always having such a deep need to understand myself and a desire for peace within my soul, I finally sought out counseling. After several visits with several counselors I found a wonderful woman that helped me begin my journey of self-discovery and healing.

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It was about a couple years later when I met my husband at my place of employment. He was 9 years younger than I. At this time in my life I was feeling pretty darn good. I had purchased my own home and was feeling quite independent and happy. We began dating and it wasn’t too long after that we were engaged and getting married. When he proposed I was neither ready nor sure that I wanted to take this monumental step with him, but I did. I didn’t want to crush him, he was very fragile and in retrospect that made me feel strong. He needed someone to take care of him and I unknowingly fell into the role of needing to take care of someone. This was proof that my journey of healing my wounds was long from over. For thirteen years I covered up my wounds and hid them where they were not visible and I created a strong facade. This is what my husband needed and this was a way for me to avoid dealing with the pain within me that I was not yet ready to face. To further my denial, I crafted a shield so thick and strong it could not be penetrated by him or even me. I learned early on before I said, “I do”, that I needed to guard myself from my husband. My inner conscience knew that if I left myself vulnerable and exposed to him, he would rip me to shreds (to his credit – he too had open exposed wounds and never meant me any harm), so I protected myself never allowing him to see my most vulnerable side. I had already endured enough pain and that was the best and only way I knew to protect and heal myself at that time.

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Here I am fourteen years later, picking up where I left off. I am still learning how to heal these open and exposed wounds that were formed from the very beginning of my existence. I have just recently been introduced to my inner child; she has decided it is safe to come out from hiding. She is one scared, lonely, shameful little girl. It saddens me that the bright spirit of this beautiful little girl would be so weighted down by things she never had control over, things that were never her fault. How horrible for anyone to experience such anxious, distressed feelings. She has reached out to me so many times, but I have repeatedly ignored her and this made her retreat. She didn’t trust me enough to show me her pain or trust I would accept her and believe her and protect her. I am so relieved to have finally gained her trust and we are working together to heal these open wounds.

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I have learned these wounds cannot be healed by any friend or romantic relationship, meaning there is not one person that can fill the gaping hole that was left within me. This took me 24 years to understand and accept. Trying to find someone or something to fill this emptiness was just another way of avoiding the pain and acceptance I needed to face. I now accept that my soul is wounded, that I unnecessarily feel ashamed and guilty for things I never did, that I am angry, truly angry for such an injustice, and for the deep sense of loneliness I have endured. The only way for me to heal these wounds is to become a parent of this little girl that was left to feel abandoned by someone that was supposed to love her unconditionally. I will now insure she knows that she is no longer alone, she no longer needs to feel ashamed for being left alone, and that she did nothing wrong.

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I am not sure how much longer my journey will take, but I’m not giving up, I have gotten this far and that little girl is depending on me and I refuse to let her down. I feel like I have climbed a mountain and have reached the top, “I made it! I pushed through! What a sense of accomplishment! I know I can continue and I will.”

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Life is beautiful but there are some not so beautiful things that happen in life. It is up to us to push through the things that are not so beautiful and to create beauty where there once was not. The feeling of freedom of a life lived without armor, without fear or shame is attainable if you continue to push through the uncomfortable, painful barriers until you reach the finish.

I share these overwhelmingly very personal trials, experiences, and moments with the world in hopes it will benefit and support others that may be going through similar journeys. I am not embarrassed by my journey because it was meant for me to take ……..and I truly believe, to share as well.

“Share what you know, be generative and pass it on” Joan Erikson

Before I end, I want to thank some very giving, loving, and selfless people that have supported and ministered me to continue to push forward and through – for encouraging me and ensuring me that I deserved understanding, and never lost faith that I would never give up.

Thank you Mommy, Aunt Patty, Vivian, my belated Nanny for loving me like every Grandmother should love their grandchild- as if they are flawless, and to my new friend that has been an amazing support, a breath of fresh air and who came into my life just at the right moment– your friendship is one I will cherish always ~ xo

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Aunt Patty- Nanny- and my Mommy

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Me and my Nanny

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Maureen ~ xo

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It Takes Courage to Grow Up and Become Who You Really Are~

Wow! 2017!? It really is true what they say about time, it does move faster the older you get.

As I rang in the 2017 New Year with my family, I stood silently in the background recording the celebration as they banged pots and pans together, blew horns, and yelled, “HAPPY NEW YEAR!” into the crisp cold winter air. My silent thoughts reflected on how different this New Year celebration was compared to the last few before it. I suspected the following one would be different yet as I continue to redefine my new life. As the New Year was ushered in by the sounds of celebration I was deep in my thoughts trusting that I had learned much, grown wiser, and had accomplished something commendable.

2016 was a great year for growth, enlightenment, and acceptance. It provided many circumstances that created significant changes, changes that were important to take place in order to move forward in life, love, and the choices I will make in the future.

It seemed like my life was set on cruise control, I didn’t worry about the speed I was traveling nor the destination I was set to arrive at, then….. BAM! A collision caused me to spin out of control that had me praying, “Jesus take the wheel!”, but out of my wreckage came something more refined, more defined, and more beautiful- Me. Life is funny that way; we can always count on it to provide us with the experiences we need to bring us to the places we must go in order to become who and what we were meant to be, in this alone is much beauty.

Even though I was in agreeance with the divorce- it was way more difficult to move forward than I anticipated. I was forced into places of discomfort from doors that swung open, ones that I thought were locked for good. It was an intense training course about reality and how to graciously handle it, though I didn’t graciously do any of it in the beginning. I am happy to report that I closed this past year out with a passing grade and have moved onto my next course, ‘Creating your New Life’. The slate is blank which leaves endless possibilities.

A viewpoint makes all the difference in how we proceed to our next destination; the choice to view the past year’s events as a gift or a hindrance. To view them as stepping stones that lead to higher grounds or as pits that entrap and hold us captive.

I am counting on 2017 to be another great year, one that will provide all I need to continue to become all I was meant to be as I Run 2 My Life in this crazy beautiful world.

“It takes courage to grow up and become who you really are.” E.E. Cummings

How was 2016 for you? Are you able to take its events and see them as positive reinforcement in your life? I would love to hear your thoughts!

Learning to love myself just as I am ~ without a label

Recently my status has changed from married, to …. soon not to be married. I have labeled myself with the title of wife for 13 years.

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I am just beginning to realize I have used these labels throughout life to create an identity for myself; it’s almost as if I need these labels to feel like a complete person. “Hi, my name is Maureen; I am a Mom, a wife, a runner and blogger – this is who I am.” But is it really?

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I believe I’ve struggled with needing to label myself since my early 20’s. I felt completely lost most of those years searching for who I really was. I looked for my identity through boyfriends I dated, jobs I worked, religious organizations, and friends that would come and go throughout my life. Then at age thirty two I was married and my identity was of wife, at thirty five it became wife and mother and I struggled immensely feeling lost once again.  I didn’t understand who I was outside of wife and mother and it took me years to feel comfortable within my own skin. Now I am getting divorced and losing a label and those unsure feelings are back, again.  I do think this is somewhat normal, it’s a part of growing and learning who I am and who I want to be in this world.

Good enough labels ~

When labeling myself, I must be the utmost perfection of that label; otherwise it must not be true.

  • If I am not the best mother, the kind that attends all the sporting events, plans the best parties, joins the PTA- volunteering for everything – am I good enough?
  • If I am not the best wife, the kind that always has her house clean and in order, dinner made, bills paid, and keeps her husband and child satisfied and happy- am I good enough?
  • If I am not a great runner, the kind that can run a half marathon fully without walking one step, cross trains five days a week and enters all the local races – am I good enough?
  • If I am not a consistent blogger/writer, the kind that can write and post on a daily/weekly basis, always has the mindset to create and turn out the best pieces in a snap – am I good enough?

Without these labels and without being the best at each one – am I Maureen and am I good enough? This is what I am working on, figuring out why I need to label myself to feel relevant and good enough.

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Am I trying to prove something to someone or myself?  What happens if I am not a wife or even someone’s girlfriend anymore? Does this mean I am not good enough to be loved? Did I do something wrong that no one would want to love me? This is obviously a ridiculous question/statement.  But somehow along the way I have adopted this line of thinking and it filters down into all the other labels I seek to place on myself.

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I will tell you, it is exhausting trying to sustain these labels and to perfection, or what I perceive to be perfection. It is an internal struggle and battle that I wage war with quite often.  How freeing it would be to feel I didn’t have to “be” anything. To know who I was without a label. To feel good enough without a label and at its perfection. How do I do this?

I have been on a journey of self-discovery for as long as I can remember and each time I seem to have a grasp on who it is I think I am – **** BAM **** life begins to change and it throws me off.  I understand we are always learning and discovering about ourselves and I believe this makes life fun and challenging. It would be a dull and unfulfilled life to remain the same person from a child through adulthood.  That being said I don’t want to feel the necessity to label or title myself as something to have an identity.

  • I want to be a great mom because I love my daughter and she is my world – period
  • I want my future romantic relationship(s) to enhance my happiness, not be the source of it and using them as my identity.
  • I want to be a runner free of demands I put on myself for perfection.
  • I want to be a blogger/writer simply because I love to share my experiences with the world and inspire others.

I want to live my life knowing who I am without a label and feel perfectly ok with it.

“Hi, my name is Maureen.”  Period end of sentence

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Getting through Difficult Changes ~ Not Settling for Less

No one marries thinking it will end in divorce … but I think a lot of us marry not fully understanding what true love really is. Maybe we were not taught this, maybe we get impatient waiting for it, maybe we don’t fully, truly love ourselves … and so we settle and say, “I do”, not realizing the full extent and effect and future ramifications.

I said, “I do”, when I should of said, “not yet”.  I chose a marriage partner for reasons other than being truly in love. I chose them because they needed me and I needed to feel needed. And so our story started and was a rough and rocky one from the very start; both of carrying heavy baggage that we had not fully unpacked and put away in the proper place. Of course there were rays of hope and sunshine along the way and the most wonderful event of my life, the birth of my daughter. But in the end where true love didn’t exist, there was not a happy ending.

The process of realizing the marriage was ending took some time but looking back we both allowed it to happen. Sure we went through the motions of trying to repair what, not so much was lost, but what never was. We would sit with our joint counselor and talk through things, go home with “homework” that never got done. When you don’t do your homework usually you fail the class. Why didn’t we do our homework? I guess that is where the true love aspect comes into play; we truly did not love one another.

Years passed ……. and we inevitably began living separate lives. We not only lacked true love we lacked a true connection. The only two things I believe that connected us in the very beginning were, (as I mentioned above) him needing to be taken care of paired with my need to feel needed and our initial desire to start a family and just feel needed and loved – not sure if you are picking this up, but there is a definite pattern here.

As we began to live separate lives we grew further apart, neither putting any effort into the marriage and its success. We had nothing in common, besides our daughter, in which the marriage was barely thriving through. If you removed the factor of the child in which we both adored – there was absolutely nothing left.

As we progressively grew further apart there were definite outward signs the marriage was over, though I was not ready to let it go.  I believe he was inadvertently trying to tell me he was ready to move on, but for fear of hurting me he didn’t have the guts to say it. He continued on in such a manner hoping I would get so fed up and make the decision for us.  You would think the sudden missing wedding ring off his finger and months of lack of intimacy would have been indication enough, but I guess I was dead set on saving something that had been lost almost from the very beginning.  I was so confused, again I didn’t get married for it to end in divorce and my true belief was God did not want us to be divorced either. I began spending my early mornings in meditation and prayer asking God for guidance.

Then about 9 months ago we separated; issues arose that I could not look past and ignore any longer.  I filed for divorce but was still so very confused. It was not a very amicable situation and I continued to pray. Instead of praying for reconciliation I started praying for us individually. I was still unsure of where God wanted me to be or what he wanted for our marriage. The holidays came around and he and I decided to give it another try. He came home and we put “some” effort in, though I will say it never felt right or natural, we were going through the motions, living out the term, “Fake it till you make it.” Yeah…. not so much – lack of true love, lack of true connection.  It wasn’t going to work, though I believe we both really wanted it to, mostly for our most treasured possession..  our daughter.  Interestingly enough, I never called the lawyer to stop the divorce proceedings; I kind of just put things on hold.  Time moved on, his wedding ring was again missing and there was never a rekindling of our intimate life. We both were very short tempered with one another and honestly angry and bitter, each one feeling the other was keeping them from happiness.

The day came when I knew it had to end and I was going to have to be the one to say it, so I did.  It took about two months after our announcement for him to move out; it was sad and liberating.

So here I am, going through the process of a divorce, yes a process. Though I fully know this is the right path and I know in time things will be so much better, right now it is much harder than I ever anticipated.  I do things to distract myself from the reality of what is happening and when I am not busying myself I feel a debilitating pain that is very difficult to move through.  This is just another part of the journey in my life that I know I will take and use for the greater good. Even though at times I feel it is getting the best of me and robbing me of my once very bright spirit, I know in time it will just make my spirit even brighter.

I write and share these feelings and experiences because it helps me to release the pain and I hope in doing so I can also touch those that read this and they too can feel a sense of solace knowing that life may go down paths we never intended. But we have choices how to walk down those paths. Sometimes it may be a crawl, other times a skip, maybe there are days where we drop down and just refuse to move at all. But the important thing is we continue on learning and growing and sharing with one another –  Press on for happiness, don’t settle because you are afraid of change or the pain you might have to endure.  Do your homework and get that well deserved “A” ………

~ Maureen xo

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