In Perpetual Pursuit

Crossfit was supposed to be by safe space where I go to build myself back up from life's challenges.  Crossfit was supposed to be the place I go to unleash my competitive nature...to give that drive somewhere to live.  Crossfit was supposed to be that thing that gave me the mental challenge I needed to push myself in a safe space. Crossfit was supposed to be the place where I went to try and catch the guys.  Crossfit was supposed to be my HAPPY place...the place that I couldn't wait to get to. Crossfit was supposed to be the place I feel at home. But inconsistency in attending due to outside life crazzzyness (and I mean crazyness) turned that safe, happy spot into a spot of dread. How far under my own PR would I be today? I would try to scale and then I'd still walk out of there with self-defeating talk.  My binge eating yo-yoed like crazy.  I'd go and be so exhausted from adrenal fatigue I couldn't get my brain to work.  I thought about dropping my mem...

This past weekend I spent immersed in another birthmom retreat. The day after is always just so utterly exhausting. Those of you that really know me know I am not a fan of feelings (Except when they remind me I'm not a sociopath) and I don't like feelings because they DRAIN ME. Hardcore. It can take me days to recover from emotionally draining experiences. Today is one of them. So today, I give myself permission to feel all the feels. To be vulnerable and open and honest. To get it out, because, damnit, this deserves to be spoken into the world. When I write it helps me process the things I'm feeling. To give the swirling emotions a place to land. What you see when you read this is hours of writing, deleting, moving things around... over the course of two days. Writing a sentence or two at the bottom and bringing it back up later and adding more. Giving those feelings a place to live..even more importantly…. .giving them a home. And having the courage to let the res...

I proposed this question today to my therapist.   First, and this is just my speculation.... I think women have this guilt complex and not men.  I'm guessing some men have it, but not like women.  And here's why: because women care. We care how we are perceived, received, and we want each and every person we interact with to know we care... whether or not that person is worthy of our caring.   We want to be liked, loved, respected. We feel obligated to be perfect/pretty/allthethings /. ..all the different hats we wear we are expected to excel at them My therapist explained it like this:  We feel guilt because we are the minority and have had to strive and maintain our position each and every day, every day, all the time. [Yep-women are a minority, especially in the business world.] So this is probably true for all minorities, too. But especially for us women. And this guilt comes from a place where we have had to strive to ge...

When you look at this picture, what do you see? Let me start out with how awesome this picture is. I'm standing on a roof, with this amazing sky, in my wedding dress, with the love of my life on the day I felt most beautiful.  Ever.  My hair was done professionally, my makeup was done professionally. I spent 4 years losing weight to be a healthy and active body.  My hometown is below us, where I am building a dream career.  My husband thinks my part of the picture looks kind of like a beach, with the surf receding off to the right...especially when the photo is in black in white. I'm holding handmade paper flowers, where some pages are pages from a book. Guys.  I CLIMBED ON A ROOF IN MY WEDDING DRESS.  WILLINGLY. I'm standing in the snow, and I can still feel the cold of the snow on my shoes. I remember the moment thinking of how sure I was in choosing a partner, that I was excited to be married and to build our partnership...and li...

It's a constant struggle for me to maintain a "trim" figure and healthy weight. Not only genetics, but I have an autoimmune disorder that makes gaining weight as easy as blinking, and losing weight is a constant ride on the struggle bus. Well, that and I love tacos and I REALLY love ice cream. Somehow I picked up some really bad eating habits as a kid. Some of it came from being really involved in swimming and at the time "Carb loading" was a huge thing. I lived on and FOR pasta. I was ALWAYS hungry as a swimmer, and no one ever taught me to eat for my body type. We did a LOT of heavy eating at buffets. One time in HS I remember going out with my boyfriend to a buffet after swim practice and eating 6 plates of food...which was mostly starches, and thinking I could still eat more. I don't remember a time in my youth when I didn't hide some kind of sweet food in my bedroom to binge on...I specifically remember the time I emptied dry cake mix into Tupp...

My Story When I was ten, I cried during my first swim practice. And my second. And probably my third. Quite possibly for weeks. But I loved the water, and eventually, that water became the ONLY place I have ever felt truly at home. I almost quit swimming when I was in 7th grade. I got a new coach who pushed me a little more than I preferred and I didn't like it. My parents made me stick it out. And that year, that coach lit a fire under me that has never been put out. (Coach Jen, I can't thank you enough for the push, and coach Drew for two more years of great coaching, but not for cracking a raw egg on my head or entering me with short course yard times at a long course meet).  I will never forget the moment when coach Jen told me "Keep swimming" during a distance set, and I looked at her and said "but I'm done!" and she looked at me with a look I will never forget, and moved me up a lane. That was the day it all "clicked" Growing up, I...

Here I am at my most vulnerable.  This is my truth, and it was my reality.  And sharing certainly is scary.  With much courage, here is what I refused to talk to most people about for the past year.  Thank you to those who know my story and have supported me, and thank you to those who have encouraged me to share it. My Story On September 1, 2015 I  waited 10 minutes after the garage door closed and called my dad.  "Today is the day, Dad." And then I pulled out my gun, loaded it, and had it with me until I had men in the house with me that I knew could keep me safe. I called, texted and facebook messaged everyone I knew and could trust. The message went something like this: Hi! I am so sorry to bother you. I am really embarrassed, but I need help.  I have found myself in an abusive relationship and I have to move out.  Today. While he is at work.  He can't know I'm leaving. I was wondering if you could help me. If you can, the ad...