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3/18/2017

Close, But Not Quite

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We’ve all seen this meme by now.

Or this one

They are pretty snarky and terrible, but with a hint of truth. There are few outside the military that understand what it is like to say goodbye to your significant other and to truly believe it could be the last time. A business trip isn’t the same; close...but not quite the same.

The same is true of being a single parent. Before we divorced, I thought I knew what it would be like to single parent. I had been through deployments. I had fixed all the things, and kept all the peoples and pets alive. I had handled the things...all by myself, all the time.

And in some ways, I did know what to expect. I knew I would just have to do the things no matter how tired I was or how sick I was or how anything else I was. What I was completely unprepared for was how it felt to not have someone in my corner for the good and the bad. When he was deployed, he couldn’t fix the oven, but he could hear me say that the oven was dumb and I would just not eat for the next six months. When he was deployed, he could ask me if I remembered to eat during a crazy crisis. When he was deployed, he could share in the joy of first steps, and words, and laughs even though it was far away.

It is also hard to face that this is the reality. There is not relief or homecoming. It is just this. Everyday, the kids and I making it work. It is just this. There is no happy ending. There is no homecoming. There is no end. It really is just this.

So to all the single moms, you are right, the military mom doesn’t know what being a single mom is like. She has a taste. She is likely more appreciative of how hard it really is. Being mom and dad during the deployment is not being a single parent; it is close….but not quite the same.

3/8/2017

Mostly Okay

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Editor's note: This blog was written more than a year ago, almost a year and a half ago. I decided to include it as written, because it still holds emotions and thoughts and words that echo forth for not only those of us on the team who have left our marriages behind, but those of our community who are facing the same thing.

A year ago I lay in bed and decided I had to leave my marriage. There is so much. After 17 years, I just couldn’t be that person anymore. I had lost so much of myself. I was so hurt. There was just so much and I couldn’t bridge the gap. I just couldn’t anymore.
This was the hardest and most gut wrenching decision I have ever been faced with. The weight of the choice nearly crushed me. Even after leaving, I wanted to take it back. I wanted to undo it all, but you can’t go backwards. Life doesn’t work that way. I wish it did. I wish I could take back all the things we did to each other in the name of being hurt people. But you can’t go backwards.
So I took a step forward. Then another and another. The steps are shaky and terrifying on uneven and slippery ground. However, even with all the slips and falls and difficulties, my footing held. I honestly did not think I could walk this path. I kept waiting to find out that I couldn’t. I am stronger than I thought.
For the first time in a very long time, I have choices. I am choosing me more often than ever before. Slowly I am finding the pieces of me that I thought I lost long ago. I am going out with people. I am an extrovert and need that time to recharge. I don’t just enjoy it, I need it to physically recharge my battery and refill my cup. I am choosing my friends for the people they are the joy they emit into the world. I am choosing my kids. I am choosing to see them for the people they are and then give them what they need.
A wise friend once told me to set a date on the calendar and only then to evaluate how I was doing. She was right. It allowed me the time to properly grieve, make decisions, and find a way to see the journey and not just individual steps. My one year date is approaching. As I look at the journey, it was hard, but I didn’t quit. I am not the same; how could I be? I can say that I am mostly OK. After the last few years of being anything but OK, I will take mostly OK.

3/8/2017

The Net

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The Acrobats By Shel Silverstein

I'll swing

By my ankles,
She'll cling
To your knees
As you hang
By your nose
From a high-up
Trapeze.
But just one thing, please,
As we float through the breeze--
DON'T SNEEZE!!!!!

Shel Silverstein is one of my favorite poets. I love the whimsy mixed with life lessons. In all honesty, I can’t help but smile as I read the poems.

I feel that most of my life has been living on a trapeze. Swinging from one bar to another. Sometimes alone. Sometimes with a partner. No matter what though, you must keep moving and swinging. The momentum from one event flows to another. Hold on tight but not too tight. The rhythm must be perfect. It requires faith that when it all goes wrong there will be a net at the bottom.

The net.

The most important piece of equipment for a trapeze artist. And it is often the most taken for granted and neglected piece.

The hope is that you will never need it, but the moment you do, it is critical to survival. A few months ago the timing in my life failed. I sneezed and fell from my flying trapeze. The shock was staggering, but it dissipated. Then I was falling and the panic emerged. What will be at the bottom? What will stop the fall? And then it happened…I bounced on the net. There were a lot of people waiting below to make sure I landed safely from my fall. The experience of being caught by all the people who see my value is amazing.

I want to be humble about the net saying ‘I can’t believe the people who are there for me,’ but that is untrue. I have worked hard on my net. It is valuable to me and always has been. I think maintaining friendships and relationships is the cornerstone of life. In the end it will not matter what car I drive, what my house looks like, or even what my children accomplish. What will matter is the love I have spread. What will matter is my strong net.

Now as I climb back up my ladder to begin swinging on the trapeze again, I am careful to note the condition of my net. I used it heavily, and I am sure it is worn thin in parts. For me, my net has 3 distinct components: the pillars holding the net, the inner portion of the net, and the outer portion of the net.

The pillars are my main support. The keep the net taunt and prevent it from hitting the ground. No matter how nice the net is, if it is unsupported it will do me no good. For me, my pillars are my parents, my faith, and a few longtime friends. I know what you are thinking…what about your spouse? In truth, he is not part of my net because I see him as swinging by his knees from the trapeze right alongside me. I cannot anchor myself to a swinging trapeze.

The inner net is where you aim to land as you fall. It needs to be the strongest part because it will bear the initial impact. These are my good friends. The ones who show up when I call. They are the ones who are quick to reassure me of my worth and value. They are strong and refuse to let me fall even when I don’t want to remain on the net.

Finally is the outer part of the net. This is the large encompassing circle that keeps the inner net together and lashes to the posts. In many ways it is the sets of mutual friends with my inner network. It is also the commonality that binds me to my inner net.

All of these parts require tending. Not one single person in my net would ever complain about being there for me. But now as I begin to climb back on the trapeze, I have more to give to those in my net. I have the ability to start holding strong again as someone else’s net.

Who is your net? When you have used the net, how do you repair it?

3/8/2017

The Perfect Trap

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My kids love to play spy. Our latest kick is watching Spy Kids then setting up obstacles and traps like a ‘real’ spy. They are obsessed with building the perfect trap. There are drawings and construction and tests. The results have not been great so far, but they believe the perfect trap is surely within their reach. I struggle to find a way to tell them that the perfect trap does not exist and pursuing it will suck the joy from this adventure.

I know this because I am a recovering perfectionist.

As I stand looking at my living room, I am smacked with the reality of my imperfection. It is a disaster. Seven loads of laundry need folding; kids toys are shoved under the couch; dusting is a distant memory. The rest of my house provides no solace from my imperfections. I am not perfect.

I have read hundreds of articles and tips that promise me perfection in only a few minutes. All I need are a few more baskets and 30 minutes. Perfection is around the corner if only I tried a little harder. I am not perfect.

I look at Pinterest and think, ‘Oh, I could do that with a little more effort.’ I see the meals, the workouts, the projects, the gardens, the kid’s activities, and they are all more than what I do. Perfection eludes me in each of the categories. It taunts me with beautiful snapshots from far away homes. Again, I am not perfect.

Everyone strives to be better. Self-improvement is a powerful tool. However, the journey of self-improvement often detours to the road of self-destruction. There is always room for improvement. I can always do more and do better. I am not perfect.

Perfection and its pursuit trap me. I will never develop a system that is good enough or own enough baskets to make my house magazine worthy. I will never make, do, achieve, or even read everything I pin. I am not perfect.

If I am not careful I will forget the excellence in our family and in the job I do. My kids know how to clean their own bathroom because I am not perfect. My kids understand that there is usually time for just a little more play or joy because I am not perfect. They know that helping is important and can see with empathy when others need help because I am not perfect. They know how to apologize and accept an apology with grace because I am not perfect.

For now their joy is in the pursuit of a perfect trap, not in the actual perfection of the trap. I am happy to leave my pile of laundry, my empty baskets, my pinterest woes, to find the joy in pursuit. I am not perfect, but I am happy.

3/8/2017

The Purpose of Running

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"Life (and running) is not all about time but about our experiences along the way."

-Jen Rhines, U.S. Olympic marathoner

"The real purpose of running isn't to win a race; it's to test the limits of the human heart."
- Bill Bowerman

Let's be clear, I am not a runner. In college I ran because the AF made me. When we switched to the bike test, I was elated. Now, I only run to the store or the bank or after a small one. I own a hat that says, "I thought they said RUM."

The logical question then is "Why in the name of all things holy would you chose to run a 1/2 marathon less than a year from back surgery when you haven't run in nearly a year and a half?" Because my friend asked me to. Yes, it is that simple of an answer. My friend lost her husband in Afghanistan. So, when she asked me if I was running the ½ with her, my mind drew blank of all the reasons I can list for why I would never do this and the only thing I could think to say was "Sure." You see, she doesn't ask people to do things for her, she asks how she can do for others. She is a doer. She is amazing. And with that, we started to run.

But this is not the only story, although it would be enough. The rest of the story is that I found out that I am a runner. For the fact is that simply stepping onto the track makes me one. I don't need to be fast, or strong, or the best, or anything. I simply must move forward to be a runner. In college, I thought if you walked at all, you failed. But that is untrue. There is a whole strategy that involves running/walking in intervals. And no, you don't look weak doing it. In fact, we gave it a cool name, ‘juffling’ (that’s where you jog and shuffle) so now it is a thing, and we are awesome because of it.

I learned that the company you keep makes all the difference. The women I run with are fabulous. They are crazy, and funny, and overwhelmed, and inspiring, and uplifting, and crazy (that bears repeating). I love it. I look forward to it. They make me believe the impossible...that I am capable of doing this. Moreover, they are worth the trip to do it again.

And finally, I learned that even though I am not the runner in this family, I can teach my kids to run. We had a blast running the kids race. My oldest is hooked on getting medals (I am assured this is normal in the running community). They learned that a mile is a long way, and more importantly, that running 13.1 is a ridiculously long way. They were allowed a glimpse of the woman I am and not just the mom that I am.

"I am a runner because I run. Not because I run fast. Not because I run far. I am a runner because I say I am. And no one can tell me I'm not." -John Bingham In the end, running is the answer to so much. It is how we all find time for each other without kids. It is how we solve our problems…one mile at a time. It is how we reach out when it has been too long. It is more than a step, it is a journey.

My running story is unique…and completely average. I have never met a runner without a story. A story of how this run is overcoming an obstacle, or helping someone, or helping him/herself, or finding him/herself.
Do you have a running story? Please tell me.

3/8/2017

Wisteria

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‘A friend once called Wisteria a Beautiful Death. The more beautiful the wisteria, the more devastated her host becomes. Eventually she takes everything for he cannot stand the weight.’

She twists and turns and climbs
Completely intertwined.
Flowers decorating
Green vine suffocating
She holds her love close.
Too close
Too much
Too hard
And so with her beautiful need for light and sun and love,
She leaves him trapped
Unable to breathe.
They cannot both live like this.
She must give.
But oh how hard it is to stop reaching and needing.
Her beautiful bloom wilts,
She is no longer beautiful
Just suffocating
Just too much.
He cannot survive like this,
And neither can she.
A beautiful death is a death just the same

3/8/2017

A New Kind of Help

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Merriam-Webster defines help as ‘to do something that makes it easier for someone to do a job, to deal with a problem, etc. : to aid or assist someone.’ A good friend told me once that when I turn down her help, I am denying her the chance to show love. I think that is beautiful. However, even when I think about this, I still have trouble with the word help. I have difficulty asking for or receiving anything using the word help.

Asking for help makes me feel weak and powerless. It is as if I am admitting to being defeated; that I am inferior and unable to do what needs to be done. I would almost rather drown than ask for someone to throw me a life ring. On the other hand, I love helping people. I enjoy offering kindness in big and small ways. I do not care if it is recognized or anonymous. I just like knowing that I could lift another’s burden even if just for a moment. I like when I am in a place with a little extra that I can offer it to someone who can benefit from the extra. I am pretty sure that I am not alone in feeling this way. I love to help but hate asking for help.

The definition of help now seems confining. Perhaps it isn’t the right word for what I really need. When I look at the list of synonyms, words like benefit, encourage, bolster, cooperate, serve and support seem to fit better. With those in mind, I can start to look at receiving help differently. I appreciate when others offer encouragement, cooperation, and support. I notice when they do things specifically to offer benefit or service to me. I feel bolstered by a person’s kindness.

Now I realize why offering help to someone can feel so weakening. Often my help looks like running to a fire with the intent of saving the person. I have my tools ready to fix it all. Perhaps offering to fix it just makes my friends feel weak. The words I use matter.

How many times have I said, ‘call if you need help’ or offered, ‘do you want help?’ The response from others is often the same a lackluster, ‘sure.’ I realize I do the same. I simply say, ‘thanks but no thanks.’ Inside I am screaming, ‘I don’t need your help. I am FINE!!!!’ But I’m not. I want to let others help. I just need to keep some of my autonomy; I still need to know that I am capable. And again, I am pretty sure I am not the only one who feels this way.

All of this made me think. What if I offer help differently? What if help stops looking like assistance or fixing and starts looking like kindness, encouragement, support and cooperation? What if it is no longer vague but instead quite specific?

After surgery a friend said, ‘I would like to bring you dinner. What time is good?’ I didn’t feel obligated or weak or inferior. I felt accepting and grateful. This last year when I was really emotionally struggling, a friend said, ‘I will be over in an hour to chat. I miss your face and would like to see you.’ I didn’t feel needy, I felt loved. Her offer gave me a way to say yes without feeling weak. I can do more to allow others to feel love, cooperation, and encouragement.

My goal is to make others feel loved and accepted not weak or incapable. Instead of vague offers to help, I will focus on providing a specific way to meet the other person’s needs. I can find a way to serve my fellow humans on this earth. Instead of, ‘let me know if I can bring you a meal,’ I will say, ‘I would love the chance to cook for you...would you like me to bring the meal on ____ or ____?’ I can offer support that is kindness. I can do more to encourage and bolster my friends.

Helping others should not only fill my soul but the receiver’s soul as well.

What makes you willing to accept help? How do you offer help that is well received?

3/8/2017

Sliding Down the Hill

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Have you ever watched a rock slide or avalanche? The thing that amazes me is that it happens so very fast, but not all at once. It isn’t as if every rock or bit of snow starts falling at the same time. It starts with just one. One cleave in the snow, one boulder falling. But even more, it can be a tiny pebble that literally devastates the mountain. For years, pebbles have been sliding down the face of the mountain, and the mountain could stop them and hold them. The mountain prevented them from falling into the abyss. The mountain prevented one pebble from taking the others. And then, one day it is just too much. There are too many one more pebbles. There are too many to hold safe any longer. It begins so small, with the one pebble falling off the cliff. Now the path has been laid for sliding off the mountain and the others follow. First a few small ones, then bigger and more, and bigger and more until the whole face of the mountain is slipping and sliding, crashing and rushing.

At the bottom is a pile. The mountain is forever altered. The pile begins its own life. There is no returning to the mountain to how it was before the rock slide.

One of my favorite meditations I did with Cassie Premo-Steele talks about comparing yourself to a mountain. Allowing the weather to move around the mountain. The emotions to sweep over you. However, these emotions to do not move the mountain. The idea is lovely.

What happens when the mountain can no longer hold up to the weather? What happens when part of the mountain is swept away. What happens when the weather and the emotions are more than I can take.

I know what happens. The side slides down. The emotions overwhelm and all of the tiny pebbles I had been holding fell away. I was left exposed, raw, hurt, disfigured. But the mountain stayed. The change was on the surface. The core remains. I am still a mountain. I am not the same mountain, but I am still a mountain.

3/8/2017

I See Your Crazy

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We all have that friend. You know the one I mean. That friend where weeks, months and even years pass without talking, but then when you do it is as if no time has passed. That friend who knows difference between when you want someone to help you climb out of the tree or when you want someone to just sit in the tree with you. I need those friends to keep me grounded.

My first real Army wife friend is awesome. I still talk to her and keep up and work to see her even nearly 15 years later. One day she said to me, “I see your crazy” and it was the most liberating thing I had ever heard. I knew exactly what she meant. She saw me for all that I was (good and bad) and still she was willing to be my friend. Whew.

We have done the adventurous and the mundane together. We have laughed and cried. We have supported each other. We scream at the wind together. But most of all, we are just there for the other person even when we are not there.

She was also my first deployment friend. Now this was pre-Afghanistan when deployments were not all bad. Our husbands were not getting shot at. In fact, they were sunning on the beach and SCUBA diving. But still, we were left alone without husbands, without FRGs, without a way of knowing how to do this. We muddled through. We did it pretty well too. But our coping mechanism was just that…it’s not like they are deployed, they are at the beach.

With 9-11, that all changed. My coping mechanism didn’t work. We struggled through deployments thinking we were the only ones that ever said this is scary and hard and I hate it.

Then one day my friend emails me a link to a blog. She says, "You gotta read this. They are saying out loud all those things we used to whisper about." I read everything there and thought at the end, wow...this is me; I am home. I have stalked them ever since. I would read and reread whenever I was troubled. I would cry and scream with them. I would shake my head and think yes…exactly…that. I am sure you have guessed by now that this is the blog that Melissa and Chris started.

What is important is that HWHV became one of those friends for me. We don’t talk every day. Sometimes I go months without hearing the words. Then one day, I will need it or it will call me back, and as if no time has passed, we cling to each other. Sometimes the words tell me it is ok to stay in my tree. Other times I am shoved off the branch to get on with things. Here, my crazy is ok and even welcomed…and so is yours.