After my first race with Z (then 2) and 6 months pregnant with E
Strong
If you ask me who I am, and you'll be treated with a couple of minutes of floundering as I search for a succinct, yet complete answer. There have been so many versions of "me" in my life, that sometimes I struggle to connect to which "me" I am now.
Once, I was a child - a period of time that lasted much less than it should have, broken by trauma that I kept hidden inside me.
Then, I was a child with a secret.
Later on, I was a teenager with great inner turmoil. Then, I was a teenager in pain, a young woman struggling to survive inside a broken body and an even more fractured mind.
Soon - I was sick. A patient, a problem, a responsibility - a burden. For many years, I teetered on that thin line between relapse and recovery, life and death, addiction and being able to breathe.
And then came the real work....maintaining a consistent, functional, well -enough state of being that allowed me to work, to teach, to be...a woman, a spouse, a colleague, a creator, a teacher, a community member...me.
I am strong.
Even just writing that statement now, the impostor siren is blaring inside my head. I live with mental illness - regardless of how many years I am in recovery, there will always be that voice of doubt renting space in my brain. That is the voice that will laugh insidiously when I tell my story. It is the voice that, when I am tired, and want to give up, will say - "give up". My strength comes from how hard I work to keep this voice in its corner, to keep it quiet, and to have many, many reasons to tell it that it is wrong.
So,
I am strong because every single day, I get out of bed in the morning.
I am strong because I am honest about how I feel - even when my feelings are unpopular.
I am strong because I go to work.
I am strong because I feed my body so it can function.
I am strong because I can say no now to things - and people - that drain me.
I am strong because I can come up with new lesson plans for each week.
I am strong because I keep my kids fed, clothed, and loved - every single day.
I am strong because I stand in front of my classroom every day, and hold space for my students.
I am strong because I commit to myself. To my life. To my running.
I am strong, well - because I just am.
Mama
"Mommy?"
It is bedtime, and we are laying side by side in her twin-sized big girl bed. She looks up at me with those blue-green eyes that look so much like her father's. She is searching my face for acknowledgement. I am pretending to sleep so that she will fall asleep next time, and so all I give her is a distracted,
"Mmhmm"
It isn't enough. She wraps her little fingers around my chin and insists,
"Mommy, say yes, so I know you're listening."
I smile, hearing my own words echoed back to me.
"Yes?"
"I think I really love you."
She snuggles up closer to me, and my heart melts into my ribcage.
One of the biggest blessings that motherhood has given me, aside from the two wonderful creatures that are my children, is an identity that is mine - and doesn't waver. Mom. Mommy. Ima - and at whimsical times, "Yali"
When I see myself reflected in my the eyes of my children, I can't help but feel deep love. It might not always be love for myself, but I allow myself to accept the love they radiate out to me.
And, it's also hard.
It's hard when I hear a panicked"Mommy!!" echoing down the upstairs hallway, at 3am.
It's hard when the baby all of the sudden stops sleeping for days, and it turns into weeks- and I can't figure out why.
It's hard when, after school, both kids need to be fed, bathed, and put to bed - all through different means and and schedules.
It's hard when either baby is sick.
It's hard when I just don't know how to help...
It's hard when they need me, and I am running on an empty tank.
It's hard when I can't protect them from the world.
It's hard because two pieces of my heart are literally outside of me, walking around, all the time.
It's hard when I try to make time for myself, and I have to convince myself it doesn't mean I am "taking away" time from them.
It's hard when I feel tired, sick, or just want time to recharge - and my kids come first.
It's hard giving birth, every kind of birth.
And with it all - being Mama is incredible.
The hugs are incredible.
The chocolate smeared kisses are incredible.
Making bubbles in the bathtub is incredible.
Seeing them learn, grow, talk, walk....incredible.
The first smile is incredible....
Collecting art projects is incredible.
Random, hilarious conversations with my toddler - incredible.
The hard moments, are also
Incredible.
I am Mama, above all and including all.
Runz
My first memorable thrill in running was in 12th grade - we had presidential fitness tests, one of which included running "The Mile". We had to do it every fall, and every spring. I was lucky if I could run half of it. In the spring of 12th grade, I finally ran a mile under 10 minutes.
It was a miracle.
I felt the thrill.
After my first year of college, where all parts of me faced challenges, triggers, and new despair that I hadn't imagined possible, I turned to running as a way to release energy. I ran on the treadmill in the school gym - and all that mattered were the calories. Once I had "burned off" a certain amount, I would feel satisfied with my run, and with myself. It was not a healthy start to my run-lationship.
I had several forays into running throughout my recovery - while I spent the last decade in major mental ups and downs, I also spent some time running up and down hills, gaining distance, and sweating off toxic memories.
Of course, the old adage still rings true
- mens sana in corpore sana -
- healthy mind, in a healthy body -
While my health zig zagged its way into equilibrium over ten years, so did my body - and the way it functioned, or didn't. I learned, the very hard way, that exercising while also depriving my body of fuel, would lead to injury.
Fast forwarding a few years, and several exercise modalities (I'll go back to those at a later point), I found my way back to running - and fell in love, again.
In 2017, 15 months after giving birth to my daughter, I returned to running through a healthier mind and healthier body. My goal? To run 100 miles in one summer vacation. As I progressed, and learned to love running, and appreciate the time I spent with my own mind for entertainment, I was hooked - and kept running.
The above photo is from my first timed race - a hilly 10K while 6 months pregnant with my son.
And now, the journey continues...
This year, I have signed up to run three half marathons and several other races in preparation for, perhaps, running the NYC Marathon in 2020. We shall see...
Follow me on my journey, if you dare.
