Chapter 1: The Race

June 10th, 2010 I completed a half ironman triathlon in Boise, Idaho. That means I swam 1.2 miles, then immediately got on my bike and rode 56 miles, then changed my shoes and ran (walked) 13.1 miles. In less than 8 hours. While I am proud of the physical and mental achievement, it was also a pivotal moment in my journey through depression.

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Our first four years of marriage weren’t a cake walk. Don’t get me wrong, we had a great time. We would not have gotten married if we weren’t “in love”, but it took awhile to figure out how to live with each other with my free spirit messy habits and his German flavored OCD.  He talked loudly and I shut down. Conversations turned to arguments easily with our combination of personalities. I’m sure my undiagnosed depression didn’t help a bit.

We had our struggles with regular marriage stuff like in-laws, money, and all the little things that constantly nag at couples. We had been in and out of therapy to help us overcome our arguments over laundry, dirty dishes and of course “tone of voice”. He folds laundry differently than me. Sleeves in, fold square. I'm more of a, fold it till it fits in the drawer, kinda girl. It seemed like the silliest things brought on, what I thought at the time, were big fights. We would work through it and move forward, get over it and be fine for a while. 

We kept ourselves very busy; every weekend was scheduled. Evenings were set for workouts or nights out with friends. We had a full life, as in our life was full of things and stuff and places and friends. But somewhere in that full life a piece of us, or maybe just a piece of me, was starting to decay.

We had been trying to get pregnant for two years. Something I was pretty hesitant about. Why? I don’t know. I wasn’t ready. I had always said, I’ll have kids when I’m thirty. I want to spend my 20’s having fun! Fun? Define fun? 

Really, I needed my twenties to figure out who I was with and without my husband. Though, maybe having a child would help me settle down emotionally. Maybe having a child will fix my anxiety. I needed something to work for. At 26, I had graduated college and started a career in fitness. Something I wasn’t passionate about, but something that passed the time and kept me in shape. After two years in that job I was getting bored. I managed a corporate fitness center in the basement of a large building. No windows. No employees. Just me. I wouldn’t say the best thing for a depressed person is to be stuck in a dungeon with a bunch of heavy weights. I wasn’t motivated and I didn’t want to be there. Sure, people came down a few times a day to workout and I would lap up their conversations if they were willing. I did have some great friends that came out of that job.  It was an easy job too so I’m not sure what I was hoping for. Something more challenging? Something less challenging? Does this exist? 

I told my husband I was going through a quarter life crisis. Post college, thinking I should be making a massive difference in the world. I guess it is perspective. Are you making a difference to one persons life today? Do you have to be changing thousands or hundreds of thousands of lives to make a difference? I believed at the time that one wasn’t enough. So every moment of every day I was contemplating my next move. My world takeover. Deciding to get pregnant was the best solution. I could be a stay at home mom and take over the world later. You know, when I had it all figured out. I had a plan. Alas, God… the universe… Yoda… had a different plan. 

There was no reason we should be infertile, but here we are exploring some very confusing territory. Infertility. We had no family history of it. My periods were regular. I was fit. My husband was fit. In those two years countless friends had made their joyous announcements while we continued scheduling sex and booking weekend trips only couples without children can really enjoy. Which really weren’t all that enjoyable because everytime we booked a trip, I would assume THIS would get me pregnant. If we plan a trip to Vegas, for sure I will get pregnant. If we get scuba certified, for sure I will get pregnant before the trip. Without a doubt booking a skydiving adventure would get me pregnant, but alas I still had to jump out of a plane because apparently I would never get pregnant. Apparently you can’t trick your body into getting pregnant. But I had some tricks up my sleeve I hadn't yet tried.  I’m sure your asking yourself, well did they try having sex? Did they try xyz? You know, my sisters cousin-in-law got pregnant by eating organic pomegranates from the Amazon (the forest not to be confused with the internet industry we have today) all day every day for 3 weeks. Have you tried that? 

Yes. I tried all of it. EVEN SEX. 

I refused to get any fertility treatments. I am too young to be infertile, I said. It's a waste of money, I said. Maybe Yoda doesn’t want me to get pregnant. What if, my spawn is darth vader? The truth was, I couldn't emotionally do it. It was too much for me to handle if it didn't work. I had too much anxiety as it was, I didn’t think I could take one more bit of failure and I knew this would fail. I would end up blaming myself. I’m blaming myself anyway, but that would be worse. To make a consious decision to become a total and utter crazy person. 

So we continued going, going, and going on with life.

You have to understand Justin and I a little bit. When I met him…in a bar…he was dressed in a see-through Elvis costume and for some unknown reason, kept talking to me. A year later, after getting the image of his tighty whities out of my head, we started dating. When I started dating Justin I learned, he was working full time as a spacecraft engineer, in the process of getting his masters degree, playing on a club volleyball team 3 nights a week, volunteering as a ski patroller 3 hours away on the winter weekends, training for a few triathlon/cycling events so he could race on the summer weekends and apparently he had his pilot’s license on the side…you know just in case he a spare moment. I on the other hand, was working full time, playing at open mic nights one or two nights a week, and finishing my associates degree. We like to DO and GO. The whole BEING isn’t really how we work. We move forward. If one thing isn’t working, we go to the next and we keep on going. Either we get better or we move on.

Four months later we moved in together, and two months after that we were engaged. Once we knew, we knew. It was a done deal. No time for being -- only doing. I suggested we elope but we were the first of both of our families to be married so we went the traditional route. Also, my mom offered to pay for some of it. Or all of it. Regardless… marriage.. It happened. 

I had big plans for us. He had an extremely stable career and was very fit. All of the jobs I had worked at created massive anxiety in me. I would cry on my way to work and cry on my way home. Every job I held had this effect on me. So I kept looking for less stressful jobs. First I was an administrative assistant – for four different companies. Maybe it’s the people causing me stress, so I would move to another one. I don’t do well sitting in sorrow, so I would move on. Then I figured it was the career field, so I went into the fitness industry. We worked hard paying off all our debt so I could go to school full time and fulfill my “right now” dream of becoming a fitness guru. I could make my own hours and be super fit. I could be as fancy free as I wanted to be. Once I was out of school I got a job “just until I got pregnant” because really I just wanted to stay home and do as I please. Play music, do a little fitness business on the side, meet with friends, be a mom and be free. 

Well here we are at 2010 and I’m not pregnant, I’m still working, I’m super fit, and I’m pretty depressed. My life wasn’t moving forward as fast as I needed it to. When I say I was pretty depressed, what I mean is I was suicidal. I didn’t think I was suicidal, because only crazy people are suicidal. I was clearly not crazy, just depressed. Look, all I wanted to do was throw myself off a bridge and get injured long enough to get some good pain meds and lay in a hospital for a few months where I could finally rest. I didn’t want to DIE, but living in this way with constant anxiety was not my idea of living. That, my friends, is the definition of suicidal. There was no reason for this. I had an amazing husband, a good job that was pretty darn easy, a flexible schedule, a house, and an occasional vacation…and I was depressed.

Instead of throwing myself off a bridge, I decided I would just sign up for a Half Ironman. As fancy free as I wanted to be, I also wanted to control all the things. For sure if I sign up for an Ironman I will get pregnant.

It’s possible that rather than partying through my twenties I just made a series of decisions that forced me to avoid my emotions all together? How do I know this… years of therapy in my thirties. 

Part 2

I started Ironman training on top of teaching several exercise classes a week at my job. I wouldn’t hit every one of my workouts, but I probably hit seventy percent of them. That was good enough. It didn’t really matter; I was going to be pregnant before the race anyway.

 Training for a long race is probably the most boring thing I have ever done. I remember sitting on the bike trainer in the middle of winter literally going nowhere in my basement for two hours. I did this on a regular basis. It was mind numbing. How the hell did (and still does) my husband do this all the time? There were also those beautifully warm Colorado winter days where I could run or bike outside. I preferred those days. My long run route took me past a little farm that included one buffalo. I did some extra sprints past the buffalo, as if that would save me. As my cattle ranching father says, “Fencing is merely a suggestion for buffalo,” which is probably why he stuck with cattle. Don’t worry, the suburban buffalo spared me each and every time.   

Often times I’d find tears running down my face as I was running indoors or outdoors. A few memorable times I collapsed to the ground in tears hating myself...in so much emotional pain. So I would get back up and run until I had enough physical pain to cover the emotional pain. 

 As the training progressed over the weeks and months I would get more and more tired, to the point where I remember coming home from work, opening a can of coca cola and jumping on my trainer. Like I had to have caffeine and sugar just to physically get on my bike at home.  I recall laying on a table while teaching spin class once. Yes, laying on the table shouting out commands. My class was less than pleased, but I was too exhausted to care. I locked the spin room after everyone left and napped on a yoga mat. I did this every day for weeks. 

 Shortly after, I went to the doc, obviously hoping for a positive pregnancy test and instead getting a positive mono test. It was clear to me that my body was fighting back pretty hard. How about I give you all the symptoms of pregnancy without the baby? Does that sound good? So I fought back harder. I booked a half marathon a month before the ironman. The night before the half marathon I was puking my guts out. Do I even bother with a pregnancy test? Of course I do, because I’m sick and twisted like that. Congratulations, you are carrying…the flu. The mother fucking flu. Seriously. I skipped that half marathon and schedule another one two weeks out. This time, I started and I finished in a raging sprint. I’m ready for the Half Ironman.

 The goal in the half ironman is to not die. Finish the race and don’t die. Or do die, by this time I’m so done with my body I don’t really care. Again, maybe I can get some sort of triathlon injury that will keep me at home and on pain meds for a few months. My body has screwed me over so many times the past year. 

 During this entire training period I am angry. I am pissed off and angry. I deserve better than this body, so to prove my point I will complete this Half Ironman. I will finish this race and push my body to the brink of failure. My body has already failed in so many ways without my choice, so on this day I will physically break myself. I now have control over this. Or so I thought.

 I started the race that day with fire in my belly. I was nervous, but I was also pissed off. I got in the 60 degree water and swam faster than I had ever swam. I think I put most training into swimming out of fear of drowning or being chased down by fresh water sharks. Look -- open water is scary. I swam for my life and I lived. This may need to be said. I don’t actually believe in freshwater sharks, but when you are in open water and you can’t see what is beneath you, it’s scary and your mind plays funny games and makes up terrible monsters. I literally had a panic attack every time my hand hit something squishy or solid. Why? Why are there squishy or solid or stringy things in this lake? Just finish this part, live so you can kill yourself later. Either way, I finished the swim even with the mythical beings in the lake.

 I felt I was winning. My mind was beating my body into submission! I got on the bike and started down this long two mile 20% grade hill. I my plan was to coast those first two miles down that magical hill, but alas the heavens erupted and wind came down as if to tell me… Game on sister. Game. On. It came so hard that I had to pedal down that hill, just to hit the bottom of it and pedal up the next hill. Every direction I turned on the bike the wind was in my face. Twenty-five mile per hour wind in my face for 56 miles. It was happening again. The winds are on the side of my uterus. My uterus was on the side of whoever decided to make me a short five foot two. And the universe wanted me to suffer. They want me to fail. I became angry, I cried, but I pressed on. This isn’t over. 

I got a flat tire and praised God for his mercy on me. Now I don’t have to finish the race. I can be done of no fault of my own. I parked my bike and sat down on the side of the road with a sigh of relief. I didn’t quit, I’m just too tired to change my tire. Ok, I probably could change my tire I just didn’t want to. I was arguing these things with myself when a volunteer for the race came over and fixed my tire. I thanked him, begrudgingly. The winds weren’t done with me, they wanted more. So I got back on the bike and continued on. I took my beating. I deserved it. Yet, I had hours on that bike ride to think about all the reasons I didn’t deserve the life I wanted.

 I decided I would be done when I hit transition. I could not continue on. It was over. I pull into town coasting, tears streaming down my face. 

Then, triathlon magic happened. Every couple of miles there were crowds of spectators cheering and since I was the only bike coming through at the time, they were cheering for me. I gained energy through the cheering crowds and would coast through the quiet neighborhoods. Pretty soon people were on every corner on the street and I couldn't coast anymore. This odd feeling of excitement came upon me.

 Then there was my mom. I get into transition and I see my mom waving two rainbow colored dusters she had picked up at the dollar store. (Her favorite store) My parents had driven 13 hours to watch me destroy my body and there she was jumping up and down with her dusters like a crazy woman. She isn’t one to show a lot of emotion and she was making a spectacle of herself just for me. My father was keeping his distance from her for obvious reasons, but smiling at me which is code for YOU CAN DO IT and also PLEASE don’t tell anyone I’m with your mother!  Justin’s parents had flown out to watch us race as well. There was also the twenty members of our local triathlon team I was traveling with waiting to see me on the run. So I told my angry mind and my tired body to shut up. You don’t get a say anymore. I got my shoes on and hit the streets of Boise on foot. I could not disappoint my people. 13.1 miles and I will have done it. I will have conquered this feat. I am in control of creating physical pain to my body today and I am achieving it.

 Every person I recognized gave me the energy to make it just one more mile. It was a two loop race, which means you run right past the finish line halfway through just to get back out on the course for another six and a half miles. That is something I like to refer to as ‘super shitty’. Although, I did get to run past the finishers crowd and got some necessary encouragement to push through the next six miles. 

I remember seeing families along the race course cheering their spouses on. Little kids screaming, “GO DADDY GO!” Will Justin ever get to hear the screams of his kids cheering him on? Will I ever get to hear the screams of my kids cheering me on? My sadness returned. Why am I doing this race? Why am I doing this to myself? I am only here because I cannot have children. I just knew I would get pregnant if I signed up for this race and here I am, not pregnant and in the middle of my own suffer-fest. I need someone to blame for this.

We didn’t even know why we couldn’t have children. For the past two years I had been calculating ovulation and scheduling sex. We had a few tests done, but ultimately there was no specific reason for our infertility. Was it because we worked out too much? Clearly I was so anxious about getting pregnant, that was probably the reason I couldn’t get pregnant. At least that is what “everyone” said. Once you forget about it and relax you will get pregnant. I didn’t understand how I could just forget about it. How do you forget that your life isn’t moving forward in the way you had expected it to since you were a child? How do you just let that go? Just give it to God, they would say. Every time anyone made mention of God during our infertility struggle I drew further away from the church and from my spirituality. If God required me to relax to have children then God should not have put the desire in my heart for children. God is a jerk, I would think.

My chest was getting tighter and I realized I needed to get my head back in the race or I would collapse of emotional exhaustion. The goal was physical exhaustion, not emotional exhaustion. I walked a ways and took a few deep breaths. Pick up the pace and told myself, “It will help you forget.” My emotions were giving me chest pain, let’s see if I can replicate it through physical pain. Oh good, I can. I maintained that pace for a while then would fall back into walking which would bring back up the thoughts and push me back to running. Then I would see someone I knew and would notice myself completely adjusting my demeanor. I was running eyes to the ground, hunched over, frown on my face, crying…or almost crying. Oh right, people are cheering me on, pull it together. 

My team thinks I’m here because I want to be here. They didn’t know why I was racing. I suppose everyone has their reasons. The physical challenge! The mental challenge! To prove I can do it! To push myself!

Those were not my reasons. I was punishing my body. I wanted to suffer. I wanted to prove that I had some control of my body and that I could push myself to do something I wanted it to do. 

I was getting close to the finish line now. The crowds were getting closer and closer. I had to push through and finish the race strong. They must see that I am strong enough. They must see that I have the courage to run the race strong. They must not see me as I am. A failure.

The finish line was just ahead, but my physical and emotional struggle were far from over. I crossed the finish line relieved that the race was over, but nothing was over. I had finished, but I felt like I never started.

I proved to myself that I can make my body finish 70.3 miles in one day, but I cannot make my body give me children. 

I am tired. I can’t live like this. 

Sheila’s Take on Celebrations

It’s my birthday week! Last year my husband threw me an epic 40th birthday - totally blew me away. He flew in friends and family from all over the country, hired an amazing bluegrass band, rented out an art studio… and threw a damn party! I was very much surprised and grateful. I’m not one for big parties, but who am I to admonish someone for celebrating me? He put a lot of effort into one person. ME! It’s hard not to feel special. 

One friend of mine said, “I would never let my husband do this for me.” I’m not totally sure what she meant. Was it a waste of money? An embarrassment? Old Sheila would have been offended by this statement. Ok, new sheila was also a little offended by this statement. The fact of the matter is, this party was for me, not her. So it doesn’t matter what her opinion was of a party thrown specifically for me. Sometimes it can be hard to let others celebrate you - especially if it is expensive or showy. Oftentimes it can be hard to celebrate ourselves. Why is that? Why are we so hesitant to celebrate our accomplishments - whether it be birthdays, careers, or otherwise? I recall as a child being taught to be humble. Does humble mean to ignore our strengths and gifts? Does it mean to not celebrate?

What is the real meaning of humble?

: not proud or haughty : not arrogant or assertive. : reflecting, expressing, or offered in a spirit of deference or submission. a humble apology. 3. : ranking low in a hierarchy or scale : insignificant, unpretentious.

Can there be times in our lives where we can be humble and times in our lives where we can be proud? I think so. Antonyms for humble are brave, bold, extraordinary, outgoing, social. Sometimes we think of someone that is not humble as impolite, pretentious, conceited or egotistical. But is it possible that I can be Humble and Brave? Humble and Bold? Humble and Extraordinary? Yes, yes and yes. 

Celebrating ourselves is not egotistical or pretentious. Just like celebrating someone you love is neither of those things. Celebrating is just that. Celebrating. Enjoying the moment. Enjoying the love of those around you. Enjoying the work you have done to get this far in life, in your career, in your passions. 

That being said, I did not get a huge party this year. What I got was sick kids and the most comfortable socks known to man kind. While my kids were home, my son made me a birthday cake with a bottle of sprinkles on top. We sang happy birthday several times and lit a candle every day - was the candle for me or for my sons fire obsession… hard to say. But I accept. So far, I have not gotten their illness, even though I had been breathed on, sneezed on, and coughed on more times than I can count. This is what motherhood looks like. Love them through the illness. Love them through anything.

What are some ways we can celebrate our loved ones? Maybe they don’t need a big party. In fact, they probably don’t need a big party. What if celebrating your friend means sending them a text saying you love them. Or bring them a treat (sweet or otherwise). Invite a friend to go out for coffee and pay for it. Its the little things that keep us going in life. The little appreciations in life where people say I love you in different ways. 

If you are reading this right now, I want you to know that I love you and I appreciate you. You are giving me a reason to do what I love - create. I love creating and knowing that you enjoy looking at my creations makes me love what I do even more. 

Thank You! 

Sheila’s Take on Celebrating!

Sheila’s Take on Forgiveness

This past week my son got his bike stolen. It was my fault. 

We love how close we are to the school. It’s a little over a mile and we can get to the school on mostly bike trail and back roads, so pretty safe too. In fact, my 6yr old got off her training wheels this summer JUST so she would be able to ride in like big brother does. My son is 9 and has proved his ability to ride into school alone a few days a week. We rode the route together several times and he proved to me that he could be safe. My husband is a biking fanatic, and an extreme safety fanatic as well so the safety rules on bikes in this house are no joke. I shout rules out as we are biking constantly. The kids have the rules memorized. Always stop at stop signs, Always call it out when you are coming up on someone else, Always make yourself known to other vehicles, Always maintain eye contact with cars upon crossing the road. No eye contact, no cross. So my son, after reciting these rules to us, got a pass to start going into school a little earlier He usually leaves about 5 minutes before me and the girls come. This particular day it was a little chilly out and me and the girls decided not to bike in… but he had some work he wanted to get done so he biked in even in the 35 degree weather. Here is my mistake. I had forgotten he had an appointment that afternoon. 

I took him out of school to get his hair cut. I have 3 children and I choose not to take 3 children into a hair salon. We had some really great one on one time - which when you have 3 children is hard to find one on one time with each of them. I’m constantly feeling like someone is getting less love and affection from me. So yes, I pull my son from school to get a much needed hair cut. In the process of getting his hair cut he had asked the stylist if she could throw some color in there…. To which i surprisingly agreed. The whole ordeal took much longer than expected and we barely made it back in time to pick up my daughter from school. When we got to the school he was showing his new locks off to everyone. He chose bright red highlights. I figured, what the hell. It’s just color. It washes out. It makes him happy. Lets do this. In the excitement of the hair and the rush to get the 6yr old… we forgot about the bike. SO the bike stayed at the school overnight. Not locked up. Sure enough, the next morning it was gone. 

My son was devastated. We immediately failed a police report and did our due diligence with online searches and community help. It’s been a week now. No bike. Most nights have ended in tears. He doesn’t want a new bike. He wants his bike. 

There is something about getting something stolen. Whether it be a bike, or a car, or any item that is yours that is not theirs. It is so personal. While the person who stole your thing may not know who you are or what the impact this stolen item may leave - it is still personal. 

For my son, this bike was a milestone - it was his first 24” bike. He helped pick it out. He helped negotiate the price. He helped upgrade a couple components. He really took ownership. This bike also gave him freedom. Freedom to ride to school alone and be independence. So he probably feels like some of his freedoms were taken. He probably feels like if his things aren’t safe, he isn’t safe. 

I don’t really know how to handle this situation. What is the lesson in this that I’m trying to teach him? Besides lock up your bike and don’t leave it at school. I don’t want this to teach him that all people are bad. I want him to have faith in humanity, even when it’s so hard to do so. I want him to not worship material items and to know that items are replaceable. But I’m also mad for him. I’m mad that some high school kids thought it would be fun to grab a bike from an elementary school for fun. I’m mad that I left the damn bike at the school. I’m mad that this bike getting stolen ruined the amazing day my son and I had. The memory of us ditching school a few hours will forever be tainted by the time mom forgot to pick up my bike and it got stolen and now my life is ruined. I suppose by now I’m used to being the bad guy and getting blamed for all the things. I’m blaming myself afterall. 

Maybe my opportunity here is to teach him forgiveness. 

Explaining forgiveness to a child is going to be difficult. Adults have a hard enough time with this concept. “We can get you a new bike son, we can get you a solid bike lock even… but we can’t force you to forgive. Only you can do that. That has to be a choice you make.” 

I look back over my childhood and I see years of grudges. I can still think of those moments my friends or family failed me and I held onto those moments. I held onto them so long that I honestly am struggling letting them go. Those moments of anger and high emotion have become a part of me. 

Yes, forgiveness is the lesson. So I decided to google “how to teach forgiveness” - because that seems like the best route at this point. I found several great suggestions. All those links will be listed in the show notes. Here is my clif notes for you. 

Forgiveness isn’t saying what happened is fair or good. Rather, it’s saying, “I am deciding to let go of my hurt and angry feelings toward that person even though they hurt me.” - This Website

As parents, its our job to be model forgivers. Well this sounds hard. I’ve been in therapy for years just trying to figure this out. And that’s me with a great child hood and very little trauma throughout my life. It makes sense though, if I can’t SHOW them how to forgive the little things that happen in my life, how can they be expected to forgive those big things. That means forgiving our partners, forgiving our children, and forgiving ourselves REGULARLY. No more reminding my spouse how he has done it wrong a million times before, but forgive past offenses (even the one from last tuesday when I lost a game of dishes chicken… I’ll probably explain this in a later episode). 

Here is my favorite suggestion: Write a note. Take up pen and paper and write a letter to the person who hurt them. We don’t have the opportunity to give our offender this letter, but the point is, he is going to get his feelings down on paper. Now I love this suggestion, but my son hates writing. Maybe if I let him write curse words he will be more willing to do this one. As long as the letter is constructive - including how he felt hurt, how he feels now, and how he could suggest what the people could have done instead of stealing the bike. Most importantly, end the letter with some sort of expression of forgiveness and understanding - again, this would be hard for me and it will be hard for my son. 

And finally, the Mayo clinic website says that Forgiveness can even lead to feelings of understanding, empathy and compassion for the one who hurt you. 

Benefits of forgiveness: 

• Healthier relationships

• Improved mental health

• Less anxiety, stress and hostility

• Lower blood pressure

• Fewer symptoms of depression

• A stronger immune system

• Improved heart health

• Improved self-esteem

Listen, I get that parenting is hard and even thinking about forgiveness in some instances is real hard… we are all here just doing the best we can. 

Hey friend, Find your forgiveness this week. Especially if “they” don’t deserve it. 

In Grace,

Sheila

Sheila’s Take on Friends

Last night I enjoyed a late night walk in the snow. The clouds were low and the street lights were bright enough for me to see all the way down the street. It was the perfect temperature for a sweater jacket and a hat. That first snow of the year is one of my favorite moments. Plus up on my side of town we got big wet flakes that stuck to the ground. The trees were coated evenly with what looked like pillows of cotton balls. Each of those season changes are my favorite moments - reminding me that our world and our lives will rarely remain the same. Ever changing, ever growing. 

I was walking so late because it was my bi-weekly “girls night” with a mom friend that lives a couple of blocks up from me. Over the pandemic a couple of mom friends that I had just met a few months prior, got together twice a month to keep ourselves sane. We have continued this tradition even though we now get to see each other at school drop off each day. It’s really been so wonderful to have these women in my life. The thing is, our kids aren’t friends and our husbands aren’t friends - we’ve never pushed the issue. Probably because we weren’t willing to share our time with a rowdy bunch. We have become accustomed to spending these quiet moments late at night when everyone else is in bed to be ourselves. No looking over our shoulder to scold a child that isn’t sharing or isn’t saying kind words. No making sure the husband is having a good time. This is just a time for three women with children of the same age to get together and talk about how we are surviving. The answer usually is - we don’t actually know. We get up and do the things and come home and do more things and pick up the kids and cook the dinner and clean the house that was clean last night but managed to get unclean in the last 24 hours…. And we do that every day. We talk about our ups and downs in life. How each of our kids are progressing and if we are making the right choices. Should I have given my child more consequences or less? Should I help my child make more friends? Is my child reading too much? Yes, that was a conversation point last night. We ask ourselves all the crazy questions that many parents are thinking but afraid to ask out loud. We don’t judge one another, we just listen. 

In this moment I have friends that I can really connect with. I’m sure as my children grow I will find more connections or different connections. 

When my husband and I got married in 2006 we had several friends who had just gotten engaged or married that same year. We joined a newlywed bible study group and talked only about being married. We connected deeply and shared our struggles and joys of that first year of marriage…. How many times can a couple fight over chores and finances? Turns out, the rest of their lives. It was nice to know that the couples in that small group struggled that first year of marriage as much as we did. Newly weds doesn’t mean all of a sudden your relationship becomes uncomplicated and easy. It just means you are now committed to each other in sickness and health. We still speak with many of those couples, but we all went our separate ways and live our different lives. It was a season that we needed each other. 

I remember in the beginning stages of the adoption process I found a group of families going through the exact same things. We were all childless and waiting for our first match. Those moments of waiting caused a huge amount of anxiety for all of us - no matter why we were adoption. We met in a conference room once a month to talk about how we were coping. Tears were shed every month. Soon, babies started coming to those meetings… until we could no longer have the meetings due to our busy parenting schedules. In the time we needed each other, we were there. Our relationships have changed, but we are still in contact with each other. That was 10 years ago, and to this day we try to get together from all corners of the city for the kids to play. In fact, I started working for one of those families - which is why I get to be here with you. 

Where are you going to find your community today? We can’t always rely on our connections from 10 years ago when we were in a completely different stage of life as we are now. We can continue to love those people, but you need to find the community for the life you are living today. Is that community a group of new moms or a group of newly weds. Is that community a group of divorcees or widows? What is going on in your life right now and how can you find a group of people that are dealing with the same things? What I have found is that when we are struggling, we have to be the ones to reach out. We are too good at hiding our distress - and even if we are not, are we going to accept the help of someone who senses your distress or are we going to keep pretending we are fine? Part of being a human is having humility to know when to reach out. Admit you are drowning and reach for the life raft. Drowning is a fairly silent process you know…. Are we expecting a mind reading life guard to scoop us off the bottom of the ocean? We have to be our own advocates. We have to be willing to save our selves. We have to WANT to live and ask to be saved. 

We don’t have to go through life alone. While it is so easy to check out of personal relationships these days by just logging on to the computer, we have got to be strong enough to take a look outside our screens and see the human beings right in front of our faces. We get a choice to have people walk beside us. Sometimes its the people we expect to walk beside us and some times we are surprised by those that end up unexpectedly becoming the most important part of our lives. 

You may say that you are alone because everyone has left you - but re think this - has everyone left you behind or have you left them behind? Are you chasing a person who cannot be available for you right now? Find new people. This world is filled with billions of kind souls just waiting to be your community. 

We do not have to be alone in this world. 

Be curious. Ask questions. I promise you will find your right people in the moment that you need them if you open your mouth and ask how THEY are doing. 

In Grace,

Sheila

Sheila’s Take on Grace

What is Grace? 

I’m sure for a lot of people grace seems like a religious term. 

The internet dictionary has several definitions of Grace - between simple elegance to politeness to a prayer. 

To me, grace means forgiveness. When I chose the name Raising Grace what I meant was, raising our children the best way we can while forgiving ourselves in the frequent mistakes we make as parents. A childs number one job is to push barriers and find where the boundaries lie. A parents number one job is to keep that child safe, loved, and cared for. When a child pushes those boundaries we have set for them - we often lose our loving graces. I know I can only ask my children a few times to do something before I blow a gasket. I don’t actually know what a gasket is in the real world sense, but to me it’s the image of bugs bunny with smoke coming out of his ears. My voice loses its “elegance” and i become louder and more demanding. 

This morning I asked my 9 year old son to help with his younger sisters. They have a hard time staying focused. He straight up told me, “that’s not my job and I don’t have to do it.” 

My grace filled parenting experience told me to take some deep breaths, but my sass kicked in real hard and I responded with, “well I don’t have to give you a ride to school every morning, but I do.” 

Which clearly isn’t the same as asking him to help his sisters, but I was irritated with the back talk. 

At the same time, my 3yr old was being extra defiant. I had asked her to help clean up a few things before we headed off to school. She looked me straight in the eye and said, “mama, I not gonna do that. You do that mama. I gonna play.” 

At the same time, my 6yr old managed to spill her filled cup of super organic $8 per gallon milk all over her pancake. 

Praise sweet baby Jesus… send me mother mary because I am about to lose my shit. 

Dear reader, let me tell you that being a grace filled parent is the hardest thing have had to attempt to do in the 40 years I have lived on this earth. 

So, parents out there who think you are alone in the beautiful mess that is raising children - you are incorrect. You are joined by a community of mothers and fathers who are just trying to hold it together. 

This morning, I gave my children grace for being defiant back talking little…. Angels. And I gave myself grace for holding it together as much as I possibly could. That my friends, is what raising grace is. As parents we have to do the hardest things every single day - most of which is apologizing and forgiving.

My husband and I have an on-going joke about a recent meme we have seen. What is harder to say - I’m sorry or warchestersire? Sometimes, I just say warchestershire or is it whareserenter …. Whatever, it’s easier than saying I’m sorry. 

Why is it so hard to say we are sorry? Is it because we are NOT sorry? No son, I’m not sorry for screaming at you for not picking up the socks that you launched across the room for the 900th day in a row. What the ACUTAL HELL! THEY ARE NOT WEAPONS! WHY ARE THEY ON MY CEILING FAN! What I am sorry for is losing my mind over socks. Child, help me not be a crazy person and pick up your damn socks. What is it like to forget something someone asked you to do every day since conception? I’d like to know? How do I gain this super power of selective hearing regarding dirty ass socks? WARCHESTIRES!!! 

But I do apologize for many things. I’m sorry for over-reacting to something so small. I’m sorry for raising my voice when it clearly isn’t effective. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you when you said… xyz. Then I reset the expectation calmly - i’ts really important that we work together as a team. This house has 5 humans and one dog and if one person is cleaning up after everyone else, it becomes hard and that person becomes a psychopath. As a collective team we want the same things. WE want to be able to find our clean clothes. We want to be able to find a place to sit on the couch. We want to keep the dog from eating our shoes. We want to be able to sit at the table and eat a meal without having to hold our plates in our laps because there is no place on the table. We all want the same things, but it takes a team to make those things happen. 

Do I give this elegant speech every day? No. Does it sometimes sound like I’ve been possessed by the devil - yes. Yes it does. On those devil days I have to give myself a little grace - throw down some warchestires and try again tomorrow. I’m not sure if you’ve been following but warchestershire means apology in my book. Stick with me here. 

So Raising grace is to raise your kids every single day with the deep love you have for them within the obnoxious daily tasks that feel in the moment, may actually kill you. We give ourselves grace and we give our children grace. 

That my friends, is what I am all about. I spent 11 years building my family to what it is… a beautiful ball of chaotic joy. I am here to tell you - no matter how you came to be a parent you are not above the chaos. You are not alone on this journey of raising kids. I am told over and over and over again that I will miss this stage of parenting. I believe it, but it sure is hard to feel it in the moment. 

In Grace,

Sheila