To All the Mothers Before Me

Thank you for your strength. Thank you for your bravery. Thank you for the sleepless nights and exhausting days you had to overcome. 

Did you, too, wonder how your children would turn out to be?

Did you cry because you were scared in between the times you cried from happiness?

Did you, too, wonder how you were going to do it all, then come to realize no one really does it all?

You taught me kindness and patience. You taught me the world can move fast, but moments move slowly. Thank you for taking the time to pick the wild daffodils with me. They still remind me of you every year when they pop their yellow heads out of the earth, a sweet reminder that spring is on its way. I never once heard you complain about anything. How were you so selfless? How do I become more like that?

You were strong. Stronger than I think I’ll ever be. You had so many changes come your way, and you were there to adapt and start over every time.  I still hear your words of wisdom when life feels too hard. Did 5 kids drive you crazy? Will 1 kid drive me crazy? Was it all worth it? I don’t need you to answer that. I know it will be.

I now know why you would get home from work and would sit in the driveway for 20 minutes, or until someone would come out to ask you a stupid question and interrupt you from your only moment of peace that day. Did you ever feel like your voice was being forgotten; an afterthought of all of our thoughts? I hope you know how grateful I am to you for making all my soccer games, tennis matches, or school plays when I’m sure you had a top 20 list of other things you’d rather be doing. Your support allowed me to shine in ways I hadn’t yet discovered. 

It is a terrifying thing to wrap my mind around the idea of becoming a mother. 

Yes, of course, there are moments when I’m excited to meet my little one, excited to see if they’ll have his daddy’s eyes or her momma’s eagerness to laugh. Excited to hold them for the first time and feel the type of protective love I’ve never felt before. 

The truth is, I’ve lived about 95% of my 31 years on this earth thinking I don’t want to have kids.

It’s a weird change.

It’s strange to see your friend’s kids and think They’re so cute, I want one vs. my recurring thought of they’re so cute, I’m glad I get to go home and be in silence later.

What if I’m not good enough? What if they hate me? What if I never get my toned body back after carrying a child? What if I lose myself in the identity that is now mostly defined by a tiny little person I can’t control? 

What if it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me?

What if all the mothers before me were teaching me that it’s okay to simultaneously be a mom and their own individual? What if, even if they didn’t get that luxury for themselves, it’s what they wanted for me more than anything? 

What if they were still here to meet my child, and teach them, like they have taught me, to be kind and strong and wise? What if the reason I am still here, is to teach my child all the things I was taught, even if there is no written lesson plan?

The mothers before me all have something in common: They all loved their children. And so, out of every other skill they have passed to me, this one stands out the most. 

Maybe I’ll never stop being scared. Maybe I’ll always wonder if I’m doing everything wrong, and I won’t get that much-needed sleep I crave. Maybe this little tiny human will bring me more joy than I’ve ever experienced. 

I know one thing for certain: I am an accumulation of all the mothers who have come before me. I have the strength and kindness within me that they had, and I have the love they have passed to me. I will gladly continue to pass it on to the next generation. 

I will love the next generation as often and as fiercely as I can, because they might need it one day, just like I need it now. 

Forward Movement

As the snow crunched under my feet, I looked up the hill to see the sun shining through the trees, its warmth providing the slightest bit of mercy to those crazy enough to be out here. There was a steady stream of thoughts running through my head: 

“Why did you do this?”

“How much longer do I have?”

“Another hill...really?”

“I’m not having fun anymore.”

“You don’t even LIKE running.”

“What the hell were you thinking?!”

When I look back now, it probably wasn’t what most people would call a good idea or even a fun way to spend a Saturday. The week before, I ended my training, planning to run a 10-mile race. When I found out I could run an additional 11 free of charge, I thought, “Why not?” and was now in the middle of a 21-mile trail run.

I was starting to question why my impulse decisions couldn’t be in the “buy a new outfit” category. 

With an IT band that was not fully recovered from a fall a month prior to the race, anyone in their right mind would have told me this was too much. Luckily, I didn’t ask anyone in their right mind for their opinion.

Around mile 15, I started to think I was about to die. My legs were so tired that I didn’t want to move, and I was getting extremely hangry. Yet, there was somehow a clarity to being out in the cold running over hills that were so steep they seemed out of place in Indiana. The morning snow had melted to leave a sparkling glisten on the dried leaves crunching under my feet with every step.

I looked over to my dear, sweet friend who was on her 25th mile out of the 31 she would soon accomplish (Yes, my friends are more badass than me). “Forward movement,” she said in one declarative statement. The phrase left no room for interpretation or bartering. There was only one way out of the woods, and that was to press on.

“Forward movement,” I said in agreeance with a nod that said, “This sucks, but you’re right, and we are in it together.”

That race has almost been eight months ago, but I remember very specifically a few things about my time in the woods.

First, I can do things I thought were impossible. All I have to do is really want it.

Second, Skittles taste better when you’ve earned them.

Third, Forward movement.

I don’t need to tell you this, but the past year has been a surprise shit show for all of us. Everyone is getting hit with 2020 differently, but I would venture to say that it hasn’t been great for anyone. Life as we knew it has vanished and the absence of normality has me experiencing loneliness on a deeper level than ever before. When my thoughts start to become as dark as the bottom of the ocean, I try to stop and think of myself completing a spontaneous 21-mile race. There were many times my legs were burning, and I felt stuck between the feeling of passing out and wanting a nap. That’s when I would tell myself those two powerful words: Forward movement.

We don’t have to move fast, and it doesn’t need to be pretty, we just have to put one foot in front of the other.

I’m not telling you the story of my 21 miles to brag about my accomplishment. The opposite actually. If you want to know the truth, I literally just got done watching a video of MYSELF doing push-ups last summer with perfect form and had the thought, “Why can’t I do that?”

…I’m sorry, what did you just say?! YOU ARE THE ONE DOING THAT. Just because you let quarantine hit just like everyone else doesn’t mean you can never do that again. It just means you’ve got to work for it. You’ve got to become the best version of yourself just like you have before. It doesn’t mean it’s going to be easy…it means it’s achievable.

One. Step. At. A. Time.

We can curl up in a ball and wait until the year is over, or we could focus on moving forward, whatever that looks like for you. No one can tell you what your own life should look like.

Lost your job in April and still relying on unemployment checks? Forward movement.

Kids driving you crazy? Forward movement.

Had your 10-year plan figured out and God had a different idea for you? Forward movement.

Find out your husband wasn’t who you thought he was? Forward movement.

Have to say no to vacation so you can pay off that debt that’s been eating at you for years? Forward movement.

You don’t have to figure out all the answers today. Or tomorrow. Or the next day.

Just keep moving forward.

You have permission to fall flat on your face on a daily basis. You have permission to question why your life is falling apart. You even have permission to get mad at the number of hard decisions you’ve already had to make. But we can do this. We can and will get back up, time and time again to keep pressing on.

This year has sucked. In the last three months, it seems like every big decision I’ve had to make has been one of letting go.

Letting go of free time.

Letting go of relationships.

Letting go of friendships.

Letting go of my dogs.

I so badly yearn for a time when I can get to a place where I don’t have to make the nauseating decision to let go, yet again. 

“It builds character,” they say. 

I hate that. I don’t want to build any more character this year. I want a break.

At times, I want to give up.

There were many times I wanted to give up in the 21-miles, but I didn’t. There are many times you’re going to want to give up in life, but you won’t. When I crossed that finish line, I couldn’t believe what I had just accomplished.

Me. The me who hadn’t been a runner a year prior. The me who had been told I would be nothing without him. The me who always told myself I wasn’t the athletic one of the family.

We are stronger than we think. Life is guaranteed to be an uphill run, but we have always had it within us to do great things, whether we knew it or not. 

So I’m the friend who’s here, running beside you. Running with you.

I’m telling you the phrase that leaves no room for interpretation or bartering:

Forward movement. 

Maybe one day we will look back on this time and think, “Holy crap. If I can make it through that, I can make it through anything.”

We have always had it inside us to keep going.

Until Next time,

Abbie

To My Future Self...

Times are weird. Everything seems out of place and I feel lost.

Going back isn’t an option. The only way out of the global pandemic of COVID-19 is directly through it. Everyone is either at home watching Netflix or saving people’s lives, and it seems like there is no in-between. There is no happy medium. There is no normal.

I used to pride myself on being self-motivated. The saying is true: Pride comes before the fall. I have gotten excellent at creating a life around being physically active, and the past three weeks have me getting mad at anyone running past my house claiming to myself that they are just doing it to show off. I’m jealous of the motivation I used to have. It seems like the only thing I’m motivated to do these days is to lay on my floor and cry.

I live by myself. Sounds like a dream, right? Most of the time it is. I answer to no one and do the dishes when I feel like it. I can sit on the couch and read all day without the fear of someone walking in and judging my laziness. If I want to rearrange the living room for no reason at 9 p.m., I do it. There aren’t any screaming kids or a husband to get on my nerves. This is usually a dream for my introverted mind. I can come home and listen to the sound of my own thoughts drown out the business of the day.

Then the quarantine started. My home is still somewhere I feel safe. My home is somewhere I want to be. But it is now a place that I feel disconnected from the outside world. 

Before the pandemic, there was always a part of me that didn’t understand why solitary confinement was said to be the worst punishment for prisoners. (Yes, you read that right. I am the kind of person who likes being alone SO much that I was bold enough to question what some countries consider a form of psychological torture.) 

I get it now. 

We need each other. We need connection. We need to be part of something greater than ourselves. We need to be heard, and we need someone to laugh at our jokes. We need someone to hold us when we cry and understand that we are strong even when we let down our walls.

FaceTime is great, but it’s not meant to be a replacement for face-to-face interaction. My friends and family have been wonderful at checking up on me during this time. It’s not about no one caring. It’s about not being able to sit in the same room as another human and have a cup of coffee together. It’s about not being able to sit on the couch and watch your friend’s reaction to a funny movie. It’s about not being able to be together right now.

I miss seeing people outside of a phone screen. 

So, I’ve had a hard time. We all have in our own ways. But that’s okay. Right now we don’t have to be perfect and we don’t have to hold ourselves to the standards we had pre-quarantine. We just have to survive. We don’t have to worry about getting the perfect beach body this summer and we don’t have to fit in the same pants we used to wear before we knew anything about Tiger King. Things will change, and we will adapt.

This is a reminder to take care of yourself, and give yourself grace in that. Maybe taking care of yourself means going on a walk instead of a run, and that’s okay. Maybe taking care of yourself means surviving right now instead of thriving, and that’s okay too.

One way I take care of myself is to write. A while back, I started to notice on completing some journal entries, I felt like there was one more thought lingering to find a home on the page. Since this kept happening, I started writing at the end of my journal entries to my future self. I knew one day I’d need encouragement, and that day has come. The girl who started writing to her future self was strong even in the midst of all the shit hitting the fan simultaneously. If she can make it, so can we.

NOTES TO MY FUTURE SELF:

8/12/18: This, too, shall pass.

8/16/18: You should always be cherished. You are not the words he chose, and you will no longer be defined by them.

12/12/18: Keep going.

12/20/18: I will never regret being my own hero.

1/20/19: Remember that you are never, ever alone in this life. In all of this, when you thought your life was crumbling before your eyes, remember who and what came into your life to lift you up again. God sees you and has always held you in the palm of his hand.

3/15/19: Baby steps. We didn’t get to the moon out of luck.

3/30/19: You are strong. You are capable.

4/17/19: Don’t worry about when you’ll finish. Just start.

4/16/17: You’ve got that obstacle that’s staring you down like it’s about to eat you for lunch? You stare right back and tell it “Not today.” You remember what you’ve been through and what you thought you’d never survive, but you did it anyway. Cuz you’re a mofo badass and strong AF.

(Yes, sometimes I get a little sassy in my writing.)

4/27/19: It’s okay to hurt. Love yourself through it.

6/8/19: Once a day, take a mental snapshot of what you’re doing. These tiny moments are what you will miss one day.

7/28/19: Keep taking yourself out on dates.

9/8/19: Yes, you’re lost. But have you ever been lost before and not found your way? Trust the process.

10/11/19: You are good enough. Remember to be kind to yourself even when you don’t feel like it.

1/24/20: It’s okay not to know. Find peace in the wilderness.

2/4/20: This won’t last forever.

2/15/20: Keep going. The fear is there to be your friend through it all. It’s got your back.

2/29/20: You can do this.

3/5/20: You deserve love. Don’t deny yourself of that.

3/8/20: You’ll get there. Keep going and let the words flow through you.

3/29/20: Remember that this is going to be shit, but you’ll look back one day and be glad it led you here...wherever “here” may be.

I hope it helps.

You aren’t alone.

Abbie

Having Peace

I’m terrified.

Terrified you won’t like this.

Terrified anything I write will be unintelligent and underwhelming.

Terrified anything I say on here will be too vulnerable and make you cringe.

Terrified you won’t like me.

And I don’t think I’m the only one.

It was only after I escaped a toxic relationship that I started to notice my own thought process for the first time in my life. That’s when I discovered the most terrifying thing about it all: The reason I had allowed myself to be abused by others was because I had been abusing myself for years. 

The reason I didn’t recognize this as abuse was because it felt like home.

I had not given myself any bruises, cuts, or wounds that you could see from the outside. All of my scars are on the inside, shoved so deep they had become part of my DNA. My normal inner dialogue consisted of telling myself I wasn’t good enough, pointing out imperfections on my body, or reminding myself how much I hated how I didn’t learn as fast as my peers or how I wasn’t as athletic as my siblings.

I had SO MUCH negative self-talk on a daily basis that it became my norm. Constantly comparing yourself to those around you will get you nowhere. I’ve spent a lot of time trying to re-route my thoughts. Training my mind to be kinder to myself is a relentless battle. It took a little bit every day, and eventually, I had the biggest breakthrough I’ve ever had.

I was scrolling through the Gram and saw an Under Armour ad with a beyond-super-fit model. My first subconscious reaction was to think, "Why don't I look like that?" And just as quickly as the thought came, another thought said, "You can look like that one day. And if you don't, I'll still love you." The idea seemed so foreign, but also one that had been outside on the doorstep waiting to be invited in.

Why has it taken 27 years for me to start speaking to myself with compassion? That has been, in all my days, the kindest thing I've ever told myself, and I love that something so small can make such a huge difference for my future.

Words are important. More important than you could ever imagine. There’s a world of a difference between saying, “I can’t do that.” versus, “I can’t do that...yet.” Instead of “I hate the fact I can’t run fast,” How about saying, “I am thankful for my two legs that get me where I want to go.” 

You can even steal my trick if you’d like: When I look in the mirror and can only pick apart things I don’t like, I wink at myself. It’s one of the weirdest things I do, but it works. It feels like I’m hitting on myself, and it makes me smile because of how ridiculous I look. Right then I’m reminded of how I like my quirky sense of humor, and how I love my smile.

Keep working every day on loving yourself, because you aren't there...YET.

It wasn’t until I recognized my inner demons that I was able to stand up to them, finally taking control of my own life. It wasn’t until I exposed my inner thoughts and ideas to myself, that I could start to heal these scars.

I’ve come a long way, but I’ve still got a lot of learning to do. I hope you can start to realize the words you tell yourself matter. I hope you won’t take almost 30 years to start to truly love yourself. I wish you could see how much of a hero you could be in your own story.

I’m terrified, but I’m also strong as hell. If you don’t like me or the words I use to speak my truth, that’s okay. Because I finally have peace with not knowing the outcome of a story about a girl who deserves the best.

Until next time,

Abbie

What if...

What if, one day, you woke up and decided to say exactly what you meant in every conversation you had? How different would your life be?

I’ve come to realize there have been countless times in my life where the giant elephant is in the room and no one is willing to bring up its existence. But why? Why can’t I say exactly what needs to be said? Why can’t I bring up something that everyone’s thinking anyway?

Fear. Fear is what drives that aching feeling inside that tells you to stay silent. Fear of not being liked. Fear of not being accepted. Fear of being shamed. Fear of being judged.

This type of hushed demeanor robs you of all power. The avoidance to talk about deep, meaningful subjects, no matter how uncomfortable they might be, leads to a road filled with self-doubt and confusion, not to mention the feeling of being paralyzed by fear. Trust me, I’ve been there.

I was in a 4-year marriage that was filled with manipulation and gaslighting that left me to feel like I was constantly walking on eggshells around the many elephants in the room. I was in a chronic state of anxiety and depression that was masked as confusion that filled me with deep shame. More to come on that later, but what I realized after I left was how many other areas in my life were controlled by the things I “couldn’t” say.

The sad thing is, I’m not the only one with this type of story.

“When there is an invisible elephant in the room, one is from time to time bound to trip over a trunk.” 

― Karen Joy Fowler, We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves

Tripping over the trunks of the elephant in the room has taken away the power of countless individuals to leave them wondering where their identities lie. It has led them to believe there’s no other way, and this is how life has to be. It all comes down to what we feel we cannot discuss. It’s a dance around the same subjects, except no one knows the moves, no one is leading the dance, and all the lights are on to make everything super awkward.

This is not how we were meant to live.

I no longer live in fear. I do not let fear control what I say, do, or don’t do. I control my life now, and it’s more attainable than you think. 

Is it uncomfortable and sometimes a little frightening? You betcha! Is it worth it? ABSOLUTELY.

True freedom comes from being honest and authentic in everything you do. I also know I classify the best times in my life as the times where I’ve been extremely vulnerable with those around me. These are situations when I was hesitant to share because of what others may think of me, but did it anyway. It was terrifying, and daunting, but it was worth it. 

Every. Single. Time.

Vulnerability is scary, to say the least. So much so, I’m pondering what to say and what I should leave out of this blog. Then I think about myself a year ago. That scared, confused girl who needed someone to understand her in the moment. She needed someone who had gone through it before to show her the way and tell her there is still hope. That’s where I find my answer: Do it for her.

If my incredibly messy story can help just one person, it’s worth it.

When I got a divorce, I realized how much I had been holding inside for years. I realized I had no idea how to be myself because the self I once knew was completely gone. When I looked in the mirror, I saw someone I didn’t recognize. Therefore, I started over. I rebuilt my old self, brick by brick, into a version of myself I had never seen before: Someone who was strong and wise and wasn’t afraid to tell people no. It wasn’t easy, and it wasn’t pretty (We’re talking a LOT of ugly tears shed), but it was worth it. Every single time I questioned if I was doing the right thing, I would remind myself all I had to do was show up and put one foot in front of the other.

This all has led me to where I am today. It has lead me to point out the elephants that sneak into a room on any given day, no matter how uncomfortable it may seem. Do you ever wish we could just come out and talk about your shit instead of hold everything inside? I refuse to believe I’m the only one who wishes the norm was different. The type of freedom I have found by bringing up the elephant in the room cannot be confined by any circumstance or human opinion. This freedom is now a part of me that creates fulfillment and joy, even on the days when things don’t go my way.

I am creating this blog as a safe haven for thoughts and ideas I thought I couldn't share.

Want to get down to the nitty gritty? You’ve come to the right place. Want to point out things in life that no one talks about but everyone sees? Me, too! Follow me as I open doors to what has been locked inside for years.

Along the way, I will be discussing every type of elephant in the room. Some posts will be as deep as the inner workings of mental health and some entries will be as light as always choosing dessert first. No matter what topic, I hope you’ll find the posts to bring you comfort, or to open your eyes to a new perspective on life itself.

I will promise you this: every blog post will be authentic and real. 

I am a believer that if I want to make some sort of change in this world, I can’t act like this world. You’re going to see me with no filter. You might wonder why I didn’t put makeup on for these photos or spend at least 10 minutes on my hair, and for those questions, I’ll give you three reasons:

Reason 1: This is me: My true self. I’ve spent years not being my true self and it’s gotten me to a place full of anxiety and self-doubt. I’m working hard to be myself every day, and create a better, stronger self from that.

Reasons 2 and 3: 

These are my sweet, precious nieces: Lucy and Ruby. They are about to grow up in a world full of peer pressure and social media that tells them they are not good enough. They are about to grow up in a world that tells them they should look like airbrushed models, or that they need to fit into a size 0 to be considered beautiful. They’ll be told that their identities lie in the amount of Instagram likes and not by how kind they were to the stranger they just helped. I want to be there for them to tell them their beauty is not defined by their outward appearance and they are strong and lovable just how they are.

That being said, I’m not about to apologize for that too-real post about depression and I’m not going to apologize for blemishes on my face.

What you see is what you get: unapologetically me. 

So here we are: The end of the beginning. I cannot thank you enough for taking the time to read my first blog post.

Shit’s about to get real.

Until next time,

Abbie