baby and mother

photo: Guillaume de Germain via Unsplash

After many years of feeling drained as a partner and a mom, I decided to take my life back and stop going through the motions.

At some point, I lost a bit of myself along the way of raising my children.

I let go of my passions and only focused on what made my children happy. And the funny thing is, I didn’t even know it.

Years later, upon deep reflection, I realized and recognized the loss I was feeling.

I let go of me.

I stopped living for me and only woke up each day wondering how to make the lives of the people around me more fulfilled.

I let go of me.

I started to become a shell of a person simply going through the motions rather than living life each day. Even before the pandemic, I felt I was living day after day the same life over and over again.

I let go of me.

I didn’t wake up refreshed, ready to take on the day, rather I was tirelessly traipsing through the day with little to no emotion.

I let go of me.

I was trapped inside my own shell, knowing the walls to escape could be broken down, but no one could reach in and help me.

I had to emerge on my own.

And that, my friends, is exactly what I did.

I reached deep into my soul and pulled out the old wounds and dealt with them face to face.

I slowly started to find me.

I gently traveled to the parts that I had been missing, brushed myself off while being wrapped in a warm embrace, and invited myself back in again.

I slowly started to find me again.

I essentially stopped living life going through the motions.

I started living and I let go of the guilt.

I let go of the looming thoughts that burdened me. I stopped feeling selfish for the times I was making myself happy.

I slowly started to find me again.

I started living for my family as a whole.

Not just living for my husband. Not just going about my day for my children. But for me also. For the first time, I was living for all of us collectively.

I slowly started to find me again.

Life has not changed drastically, but how I look at my life has been altered.

Each day I am presented with decisions to make and I am living within the decisions, feeling each and every part of the day.

I am not going through the motions of filling a void in the hollow of the shell that once existed.

And oh, what a blessing it has been.

I found me!

This post originally appeared on Hang in there mama.

 

 

Ali Flynn Is excited to share with you the joys and hardships of motherhood with an open heart, laughter and some tears. Ali is a monthly guest contributor for Westchester County Mom  and has been seen on Filter Free Parents, Grown and Flown, Today Parents and Her View From Home.

This girl, right here, had no idea what was in store for her at the blossoming age of fourteen…but one thing she did know…her smile could hide a lot.

Up and downs…trials and tribulations… nine schools, always the new girl.

She had no idea that a move to New York would transform this outgoing girl.

Consuming her with feelings of self-doubt, sadness, and misery.

She never knew the longing she would feel for her friends, the sand beneath her feet, and the salty air brushing against her face as she rode her bike along.

She didn’t know barely passing classes was an option, coming from being a straight A student and always praised.

She didn’t know the weight she felt internally would manifest on the outside as well.

She didn’t know she would switch to three different high schools, as she had a vision of settling down for once but her vision was quickly stripped away.

This girl had no idea that her emotions would take over, cause countless tears, emotional eating and nervous laughter.

This girl couldn’t accept being loved…she never knew if the moving van, driving down the street once again from her house, would drag that love through the rubble, breaking it apart, never to be found again.

So this girl built up some sturdy walls…but one thing this girl knew…she knew she was strong.

She knew this stage was just a few moments in time…a small part of her life…so she persevered. 

She pulled herself up and wrapped herself in love.

She didn’t let anxiety take hold, dragging her down.
She didn’t let some of the teacher’s snide remarks change her love for learning.
She didn’t let her doubt ruin all that was to come.
She didn’t let her fear of love not allow her to love.

So this girl, as miserable as she was, woke up each day, maybe a bit shaky and not as strong as she hoped to be, and placed one foot in front of the other, saying a silent prayer for this day to move along and to find some joy.

She didn’t let her sadness take over, rather she reached into her gut, pulled out a smile, and once again introduced herself, attempting to make new friends.

She didn’t hold back her laughter, even though some days it was hard to muster up the courage to laugh.

Friends, you know what got this girl through? 

Love.

Self-love.

The love she had for herself when nothing was going according to plan.

The love she had for herself when the path she traveled was beyond unstable.

The love she had for herself knowing one day she would make a difference.

Her story would matter.

So when I look at this girl, my young fourteen-year-old self, all I can say to her is, “We made it.”

And we did…we made it.

Never leaving each other’s side, holding tight, knowing the future held so much in store for us.

This post originally appeared on Https://www.Facebook.com/hangintheremama.

 

 

Ali Flynn Is excited to share with you the joys and hardships of motherhood with an open heart, laughter and some tears. Ali is a monthly guest contributor for Westchester County Mom  and has been seen on Filter Free Parents, Grown and Flown, Today Parents and Her View From Home.

A few months ago, I woke up with a feeling of dread and deep sadness in my chest. My alarm had gone off at its usual time, 4:30 am, so I could have some alone time before my husband and the kids woke up. Even my alone time felt sad, and it’s usually the part of my day that energizes me the most. I cried on the couch as I drank my coffee and did my morning scroll, planning the day and answering emails. I couldn’t kick the feeling of dread in my body.

I did my morning workout, but the endorphins just didn’t help. I listened to my favorite song in the shower, but it didn’t make me want to sing. I simply made it through the motions of the morning. I made my way to work, got my temperature taken at the front desk and headed into my office. Later that morning, something happened that was a slight inconvenience to me and I felt white hot rage running through my veins. It was almost like my brain was on fire. I couldn’t see straight. And this was happening a lot. Almost daily. I was angry.

Was it the global pandemic? The civil unrest? The dumpster fire of an election year? The innocent people being killed in the streets?

It was all of that. Every. Single. Thing.

But it was also something else that the world seemed to be missing out on. I was a full-time working mom. With a full-time working husband. And soon we would need to figure out how to school our six-year-old kindergartener virtually while we both worked our 8-5 jobs. And, yes, we are very grateful to still have jobs right now. But thinking about it made me sweat and my heart beat faster. I became overwhelmed and panicked. But this panic looked different.

I sat at my desk in a catatonic state, with tunnel vision and a ringing in my ears. My chest felt like there was an elephant on it and I was trying not to sob.

“Crying at work is unprofessional.”

“You can’t leave right now, you have work to do.”

“I can’t believe you haven’t done any real work yet, you slacker.”

“You have to be at the office from 8-5. It’s too early to take a lunch break.”

I ended up bolting from my desk at 11 a.m., when I felt it was appropriate to leave, and had a panic attack on my living room floor. I have spent the last three months seeing a new primary care doctor, a therapist and a psychiatrist. My medicine has been changed three times. And it has been the most stressful three months of my life. I have blisters in my mouth and cysts in my armpits.

I’m not asking for a break. I’m not asking for sympathy. I am trying to use my voice to tell our business leaders and our government and those in power that are making the decisions, that we are struggling. And that struggle has created a historic rise in mental health problems and a rise in suicides. We are stressed, tired, struggling, anxious, lost, and some are suicidal. If that doesn’t make you realize we need your help, I don’t know what will.

So what do we need?

We need flexibility. We need to be allowed to be late. We need to be allowed to leave early. We need to be able to work the hours we need from home so we can help our children with their school work. We should be allowed to take a day off to try and figure it all out. We need help financially. We need you to treat us like you would expect to be treated. I know we are working for you and your bottom line, but you have to think about us. We are your employees, your constituents, your friends, your neighbors, the people passing you on the street. And we are tired. We are struggling. We are barely making it day to day. And some of us aren’t making it at all.

Until Next Time,

Jamie

This post originally appeared on Hashtag MomFail.

I am a full time working mom with two little boys, Henry and Simon. I write about real life and real life gets messy. Contributor for Motherly, HuffPost Parents, Scary Mommy, Today Parents, Love What Matters and Her View From Home. 

Earlier this week, Nixon woke up around 5:00 a.m. crying. As I picked him up out of his bed, his long legs were freezing. The temperature in Phoenix had dropped, and he loves to sleep with just an overnight pull-up. He has four blankets on his bed but usually ends up sleeping on top of them.

I carried him into our room, and he snuggled under the covers. This has happened a handful of times since he was a baby. Once he is awake, he does not go back to sleep. But this morning, he snuggled in, put his head in my arms, and went back to sleep.

I felt lucky for this moment. I had hoped many times in the past that Nixon would fall back asleep, and I could get 45 extra minutes of rest. This morning I listened to him sleep, our dog Marty snuggled up next to him, and his wild brown hair hung in his face.

I did not go back to sleep. I took in the moment, soaked it in.

I have learned to appreciate, in our unique parenting journey, to soak in the rare and swift moments when things feel the way I imagined parenting would.

Nixon has never woken me up by running and jumping on our bed, yelling, “Mom”. He has never called me over and over from the other room. After a day of school, he hasn’t run to my arms to tell me about a new friend he made or a completed project.

At least not yet. I had imagined these moments when I thought about mothering.

In the night, Nixon has called for me, requesting me to hold him for a couple of minutes longer. He has given me a half-grin when I asked him how his school day was. He has requested a daily trip for a simple ice cream cone on his ride home from his therapy program over and over.

He has surprised me with his soul filled with adventure. Not afraid to swim in cold creek water, run up a hiking trail with the rocks falling below him, and walk into the woods like a lead character in a children’s book.

He loves his brown hair falling in his face as he submerges his face underwater. I worry that it blocks his vision and tuck it behind his ears, which he protests by swiftly removing it.

He often calls for his sister when we leave the house, knowing she is left behind. Something that shocked me the first time he did it. Recognizing that she wouldn’t be by his side as he went off to his program.

He loves pizza, dinosaurs, sand flowing through his hands, baths, and water.

I have learned that it can feel how I imagined parenting to be, even if the circumstances of what it looks like are different.

I realize that no parent knows who their children are going to be before they are born. And no parent knows what kind of parenting they are going to need to do before they have children.

My heart sings when he asks for something over and over again because it took him four years to learn how to request something verbally. My heart runs to him when he calls me in the night because I know he needs his Mom to comfort him. My heart is filled with pride when I see a tiny half grin when I ask him about his day. Even if he does not yet know how to answer my question, he knows I will continue to ask until he is ready.

I will soak up each moment because it does feel the way I imagined it would.

Our book is not written. I am surprised at how we are writing our story each day. I am happy to have these moments, and that autism has made me open my eyes to feel each one carefully. Because they are our moments, maybe he won’t remember that morning, but I know I will.

Tabitha Cabrera, lives in Arizona with her husband, and two beautiful children. She works as an Attorney and enjoys spending her time in a public service role. The family loves nature and ventures outdoors as much possible. Come check out her little nature babies

This year will be remembered as many things, but one of them will be the year that the word “lockdown” became a pervasive part of our lexicon. The world’s first glimpse into what life almost permanently inside might be like was when chilling photos emerged from China of apartment doors being welded shut. It could never happen to us, though, thought many of us, here in the West at the time. Boy, were we wrong. 

I’m from Melbourne, Australia, the city that has to date endured the world’s longest and strictest lockdowns. Right now, we have technically eliminated the coronavirus, an enviable achievement indeed. But what we had to endure to get here was crushing, oppressive and, quite frankly, one of the biggest challenges I think most parents have ever faced. Despite that, my main takeaway has been that it has made me a better parent. Here’s why. 

When our premier first announced that we would enter our second lockdown in July (after already having endured a 50-day lockdown earlier in the year), parents everywhere in my state let out a collective moan. The lockdown we entered, which became increasingly stricter over the weeks that would follow, involved all children learning from home, all parents working from home, the closure of all restaurants, and the closure of most outdoor public spaces (including all playgrounds, which were taped shut with barricade tape). Initially, the lockdown was meant to last 42 days. 42 days at home with the kids and not much to do, I bemoaned. Netflix will get a workout, I thought to myself.

Unlike the first lockdown, which had a sense of novelty to it, this second lockdown, which it seemed only Melbourne was experiencing, was deeply depressing. As days melted into weeks and weeks melted into months, it became obvious that we weren’t beating the coronavirus. As such, our government made the lockdown even stricter. After about five weeks, we were only allowed out of our house for one hour a day, and we were not to go more than five kilometers from our homes (and we weren’t allowed to drive to the local park, either. Driving to exercise wasn’t allowed). We were only allowed to go to the grocery store once a day and we had to go alone. Councils even taped off local park benches so we couldn’t sit on them. 

In the beginning, I have to say, I was a terrible parent. Every morning I would be glued to my phone, checking the latest coronavirus numbers and getting stressed about our lack of progress, all the while totally ignoring my children. After I’d checked the news, I’d inevitably get trapped in a cycle of feeling sorry for myself. Everyone in Australia (and seemingly, the world) was out enjoying their summers and living their lives, while I couldn’t even go back to the grocery store if I forgot something. My children, aged two and four, would inevitably get sick of their toys, books, and YouTube by lunchtime, and we’d all spend the afternoon frustrated and over it. It seemed like we’d tried every craft activity, we’d baked every cake, and we had built every blanket fort there was to build. They were over it. I was over it. I started to get a tiny bit resentful of all the non-parents in my network. They could get fit, learn a new skill, or even write a book! I remember thinking, while I’m stuck at home arranging toy cars in a line for the twenty billionth time. 

About six weeks after the lockdown started, I woke up with a bit of scratchy throat. Throughout the day, it got quite a bit worse. I was absolutely terrified that I had caught the virus, and even more terrified that I’d somehow passed it to my unwell father, who I had been caring for and would be considered high risk if he caught it. I also knew that if I had it, I’d have to quarantine myself in a bedroom for two weeks so I wouldn’t pass it on to my family. That thought terrified me too. My husband’s job didn’t enable him to look after the kids and at that time, babysitters weren’t allowed, so I had no idea what we would do. 

I lined up for three hours that afternoon and got the test. They said it would only take 24 hours to get the results. I went straight home to bed and didn’t sleep at all that night. What if? 

The next morning, my test results arrived. Negative. I was so relieved. And suddenly, what stretched out in front of me didn’t seem like such an ordinary day. It seemed like a day where I could be profoundly grateful for what I did have. 

After my coronavirus scare, my attitude toward being stuck at home did change for the better. There were many days where we did the same things and I can’t say I found them any more interesting. But there were also some quiet moments when my children were playing together where instead of feeling frustrated, I just felt lucky. Lucky to have two healthy children. Lucky that my family was safe. And lucky, I think, that when the lockdown did eventually end after a punishing 112 days, the outside world waiting for me would seem even more vivid and exciting than ever before. 

In our most frustrating moments, when every day is the same and it feels like there is no hope in sight, it is difficult to be a great parent. But what lockdown taught me was that my children were better—and I felt better—when we tried to be grateful.

Teigan is a passionate nature lover, traveller, ballet dancer, writer, mom, wife and the proud co-founder of Ethicool Books. After losing her mom when her son was five weeks old, she's determined to make the world a better place by encouraging children to take action on the world's big issues.

It’s okay, to not be okay.

I want you to close your eyes after reading this sentence and sit and ponder on it for a moment.

What if your child you dreamed of in your belly came out, learned everything that they should, and then one day stopped and went back to a baby cognitively?

Now really close your eyes and think about it. It could be your infant, 5-year-old, 16-year-old, or even your grandchild. Just imagine it.

This is called regression.

Now, stay with me.

One day I woke up and my beautiful son changed, like a switch of a light, to a person I didn’t know. He went from being an 18-month-old toddler back to a 6-month-old baby.

I know you’re thinking how can a child just change overnight? How do they go from saying da-da and looking into your eyes and answering to their name to being a statue of a person they once were?

Every day since then, I can see the light from the goodness of God through my son’s eyes. I can’t see him in his eyes and he can’t see me in mine. But I can see God. I can see and hear angels playing beautiful music through his eyes into mine.

You see, my boy isn’t like your boy and he never will. He’s trapped in a body with zero communication, no understanding of the world around him. He has low functioning Autism. My son cannot feed himself or change his clothes, point to anything. He doesn’t even know what the word momma is.

He’s never said momma. Will he ever say it to me? I pray every day I don’t have to wait until heaven to hear it. I try to understand this and how this happened but I can’t and I know there is a reason why Jameson was made this way. I will be asking God as soon as I meet him, you can bet on that.

Most days I can find the happiness and the joy and watch him be happy and stim to his favorite shows. When I see his nose crinkle from belly laughter as his daddy is tickling him.

That is most days.

Today isn’t that day. And a person in my life told me something recently that I will never forget. This life is hard. It brings you to your knees and knocks the wind out of you hard most days. But it’s okay, to not be okay.

We don’t have to pretend it’s a joy to have a child who bangs their head on the wall or screams non stop just because they like the way it feels on their vocal cords. ITS OKAY TO NOT BE OKAY! I refuse to pretend and paint a picture that every day I find the joy. I can’t and I won’t.

I have accepted that this is my forever. I will always fight for my son and his quality of life and I will be happy when we have our victories, but man, some nights when he goes to bed, I can cry and ask why and cry some more.

But I get up the next day and carry on.

But please special needs parents remember this, it’s okay to not be okay.

I'm a stay at home mom to 3 young children. Blakely, our daughter, is 4. We have twin 3 year old boys named Lucas and Jameson. I've been married to my husband Logan for 6 years. Both of our boys have special needs. 

Our new series, Tiny Birth Stories, is aimed at sharing real-life stories from our readers to our readers. In just 100 words or less, we’re bringing you the raw, the funny and the heartwarming stories you’ve lived while bringing babies into the world. Here are five stories that will have you laughing, crying and nodding your head in solidarity. 

Interested in telling your birth story? Click here.

Giving birth on a Japanese Highway by Aiko F. 

When me and my husband were just bf/gf I had my 2nd daughter (his first) outside my husbands barracks in Japan. I was working the day before that coz I wasn’t due for two more weeks. My husband delivered his very first child. We got stationed in Japan again and I had our 3rd inside a fire ambulance on a Japanese highway. I was by myself with a Japanese fire rescue and he kept saying please hold it. I wasn’t able to as it hurt like a mofo and pushed. I was crying apologizing after because I felt so bad. They were luckily both born healthy.

 

No time to go the speed limit! by Beth H. 

My fourth was my fast and furious birth. We lived about 45 minutes from the hospital and I wanted to kill my husband for going the speed limit. I told him to hurry up because I wanted the drugs and he kept reminding me that I wanted to go natural and to not give them to me. I told him shut up and get me the drugs as soon as we got there. So we are standing at l&d waiting for the nurse to finish admitting me so I can go back and there I stand peeing my pants, or so I thought. Once they took me back to triage I was fighting with the nurse and midwife that I didn’t want to lay down since it hurt too bad so with them and my mom pushing me onto the bed is when the midwife took one look and said yep your complete we need to move now. My husband says to this day he wishes he had his camera ready because the look on my face when I realized I wasn’t getting anything for the pain. So they wheeled me into a labor room where I pushed 3 times and there was my son.

 

What happens when you have a high tolerance to medications by Audrea F. 

With 3 weeks until due date, I found myself in L&D with high blood pressure being told I was about to be induced. Over the next three days after failed induction medications, multiple failed epidurals, and 72 hours of contractions, I found out that red heads have an oddly high tolerance to many medicines, including those used in childbirth. I was knocked out for my c-section because local anesthesia wouldn’t work. I wouldn’t get to hold my little man for many hours, and not with a clear head until next morning. I would do it all again in a second.

 

I thought my cramps were poop pains by Shannon W. 

This was my first live birth but second pregnancy. I was 18 and a single mom. I went to my OBGYN at 39 weeks and 4 days to get my membrane stripped. I decided to go back to work after that and started to cramp really bad. I thought I just had to poop so I took a dulcolax and then fell asleep. Woke up with worse cramping so I took another one. The pain wasnt strong enough to make me think I was in labor. So I went back to sleep and woke up in the worst pain imaginable. Made it to the hospital in time to give birth within 20 minutes of being there and it was a s**t show to say the least. At 8:35 a.m my handsome baby was born at 8lbs 1oz. I named him Braxton💙

 

I drove myself and children to the hospital by Amanda Z. 

With my third child, my contractions started around 1:30pm. They were on and off all day. Around 7:30pm, at 4 minutes apart, I packed my hospital bag and rounded up my other children. I drove us and met my husband at the hospital where I was at 3cm. My contractions eventually stopped so I was given Pitocin and told to sit in the waiting room. Once a room opened, I got my epidural. At around 2:30am, I did my practice push. Once the doctor was there, I pushed 2 more times and, to our surprise, out came our baby girl!

It was June 2011, one of many mornings over the course of our six-week road trip when I woke up smiling in a tent. Two moms, four kids, one rented minivan, and no electronics allowed. Months had been spent researching favorite camping spots, haunted hotels, and the best hikes for kids across the western states. Amazon was my go-to for car games, and the folks at REI were my friendly counterparts, filled with ideas to make it fun for the kids. Every child had their own CamelBak water bottle, whistles, national park passport books, and hiking poles (somewhere in Vegas lies one lost pole—I’ll never understand how that happened). The kids kept track of days on the road by marking our back window with paint.

This was a dream trip for me. My oldest was on his own, but I wanted my two younger sons, Carson and Christian, to learn from adventuring in nature and being on the open road. I agree with Richard Louv, author of the bestsellers Last Child in the Woods and The Nature Principle: “Kids can grow up fine without nature, but with it, there are marked improvements in attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, learning ability, creativity, and mental, psychological, and spiritual health.” 

My husband at the time was supportive and would meet us for the last two weeks, while my sister-in-law and her two kids, Grace and Jared, joined us for the start.

Our family road trip taught us the fundamentals of survival and provided tools to push through life’s hard times. We faced long, difficult trails, fear of animals, cold nights, unpredictable weather, yet we woke up to watch sunrises with awe and wonder. I remember being on a ten-mile trail in Glacier National Park—Christian’s little feet never quit walking, even when we were so tired. Beautiful flowers graced the mountainside, while snow covered the highest peaks. We finally arrived at our destination and found the clearest blue lake I’d ever seen. The kids were fascinated and spent hours throwing rocks in the water, watching the surface ripple. This discovery made the hard trail worth the effort.

It’s now nine years later, and though I knew the trip would be a life-changing experience, not even I could have foreseen the positive impact it would have on the kids’ lives. Grace, age twelve at the time, had her first summit experience on Angels Landing in Zion National Park, a profound moment. Since then, she has logged hundreds of miles and climbed many mountains beside me, including a hike in the Grand Canyon at the age of seventeen that proved to her that whatever obstacles life threw at her, she could overcome them. Carson and Jared, then age ten, learned to try new things as cousins and best friends. Christian turned five years old—and found his voice—on Angels Crest in Zion National Park. Together, all four kids learned what it is to trust yourself, to trust one another, and to respect the world around you. And all four of them have become independent, kind, free-spirited, empathetic humans leading adventurous lives in their own way.

Two years after this trip, in 2013, my boys had to face their biggest challenge when my marriage fell apart, due to their dad’s infidelities and double life. We went through a season of completely redefining our family unit while facing life’s uncertainties. How do you overcome such tragedy and know you will survive? What do you do when you feel lost and don’t know which way to turn? And how, when life is full of sadness and loss, do you find gratitude in what you have?

Thanks to the road trip, we had learned that life will have frustrating and disappointing moments, but we need to lean into the experience and rely on one another every step of the way. Because of what we went through over the course of those weeks together, I knew we could get through our hardest time as a family. And we did.

Nothing in life is certain. And this spring, when confronted with another challenge, the COVID-19 pandemic, I was dumbfounded by what my kids, niece, and nephew were having to face and miss out on. Graduations, basketball tournaments, Junior Olympics in water polo, and so much more. Our schedules and living conditions were turned upside down. Grace lived with us for seven weeks after her study abroad program in Spain abruptly ended.

Again, we redefined what a nuclear family looks like and realized that what’s important are the people who love and support you. With anxiety and pressure during these unpredictable days, I found it more vital than ever to infuse nature and old-school simplicity back into these young people’s lives. While following social distancing guidelines, we’ve found awe on hiking trails that remain open, including summiting the tallest peak in Southern California. We dug out the same games we used in 2011 and road tripped to poppy fields not far from home. And though my son had to give up water polo spring training with USC, we swam and stand-up paddle boarded with bioluminescents in the Pacific Ocean.

Society is pulling away from the very place, nature, where we “feel ultimately alive,” according to Louv. Many things in life we cannot control, but thankfully, we can always choose how we respond to what is handed to us. During stress-filled times, let’s remember to get our kids into nature so they, too, can find peace, clarity, and simplicity—and are reminded what it is to live.

 

Sara Schulting Kranz is a professional life and leadership coach, motivational speaker and certified wilderness guide. She specializes in helping those who have suffered hardship or trauma to find forgiveness and strength in their lives through guided wilderness retreats in locations such as the Grand Canyon and the Pacific Rim. Her upcoming book, Walk Through This: Harness the Healing Power of Nature and Travel the Road to Forgiveness, releases November 10, 2020 and is available for preorders now. Learn more at WalkThroughThisBook.com 

Sara Schulting-Kranz
Tinybeans Voices Contributor

Sara Schulting-Kranz is a Professional Coach, Wilderness Guide, author of Walk Through This: Harness the Healing Power of Nature and Travel the Road to Forgiveness, TEDx Speaker, Executive Producer of "Walk Through This", a documentary in production of her healing journey in nature, and a single mom of three sons.

Dear Diary (early September edition),

It is approximately day 184 of quarantine. I think we are holding it together. In fact, I was so full of thinking I “had it all together” that I completed two Zoom calls and recorded a birthday message for a good friend’s upcoming birthday last week. As I tucked my kids into bed, I gave myself a pat on the back, and I thought to myself, “look at you…. you have it all together.” I worked my day job, exercised, made three square meals a day for my family of four, scheduled my daughter’s math tutor, and facilitated “virtual learning” for my two school-aged kids.

Then I got ready for bed. I realized that, during my two Zoom calls and recorded birthday message, my shirt was on backward. Great! After deciding I should stick to my normal uniform of yoga pants or pajamas, I drifted off to sleep. We woke up two hours later to smelling smoke in our house, but we couldn’t determine where it was coming from. The fire department came and apparently our beloved, often ignored, turtle’s water filter was overheating and smoking. Even Donatello (ie beloved turtle) is looking for a way out of this house! Don’t worry, the turtle will end up in our will because he will live forever (footnote: we assume the turtle is a he. This has not been confirmed). Luckily, we caught the problem before it became an issue… kids didn’t even wake up with all the chaos. And turns out, I went to high school with one of the firefighters, who I haven’t seen in 20 plus years.

So, that was Wednesday. Highlights from Thursday include talking to a reality TV show producer and patiently waiting on hold for almost two hours with our refrigerator manufacturer. It’s been 6 weeks, and apparently, they are really pleased with my patience, and they will get back to me as soon as they can. Don’t hold your breath. It’s a breezy 114 here, so any chance we had to keep food cold was averted because said refrigerator isn’t working.

In the meantime, we got a new fridge because we couldn’t handle or afford to constantly eat out. Still waiting to see if the other fridge will get fixed (they tried five times) or finally just give us a refund. Also, we found out that August was the hottest month ever recorded in Phoenix, and the second hottest month ever recorded was July.  My kids will be online learning for the foreseeable future, and we are adding to my list of things I am unqualified for:

  • #1 not a 6th-grade teacher
  • #2 not a third-grade teacher

We are grateful for our health and safety, and I hope when I look back at this post a year from now, I can laugh as hard as my neighbor did when I told her this story.

Allyson is a mom of two and has more than a decade of experience working in both television news and public relations. From national television shows to top newspapers, Allyson has worked around the world including a travel magazine in London, England, Phoenix TV and local hospital and healthcare association.

You sneaky devil, you.

I am finally on to you.

You wore a disguise throughout my childhood. Dressed up as a friend…. joining me for tea parties in the woods, and summers in the sand, and nights under stars.

A bottomless cup from which I could drink at any time and would never go dry.

“Sit and enjoy yourself.” You whispered. “I’ll be right here, next to you. No need to worry.”

You stood by me through my teenage years….sprinkling a few things here and there to see if I would notice that our friendship had ‘conditions’…..

“Nothing that an ill-fitting bra and box of tampons can’t fix…..” I say with a wave of my hand. Still thinking it’s fun to race you and see just how fast you can go….. Not noticing when I stopped to catch my breath, you were still going.

My 20’s…. oh those were our glory days! We twirled and galloped and spread our wings together. We stayed up late and woke up early and worked hard and played harder…. you didn’t mind. You sweetened even the sourest of pills. When you took things from me, even the important things….

A young friend’s life.

Innocence.

My Grandmother.

You quickly said, “But look! Look at all of these beautiful gifts I have for you!” You wrapped up independence and good skin in a pretty package and tied it with a perky boob bow. Friends forever.

I fell in love with a man and of course, you were there for it all. Holding hands in the front seat while singing along to Neil Young…. driving along some backcountry road. Sleeping in and eating out…. dancing until they shove us out the door. When that man lifted my veil and promised forever….you didn’t interrupt.

It would be 30 years before you and I had our first fight. I wanted a baby and you wouldn’t give it to me. I wanted you to go faster and faster and you just sat there doing nothing. I was so mad at you. Every moment I wanted to be sped up until I saw those 2 pink lines.

It is Thanksgiving day and they hand me my babies for the first time. I snuggle them down into my hospital gown against my skin and breathe in their little heads. You were there too….. sitting in the corner waiting for me to notice.

I didn’t.

I forgot about you for a while.

And then I needed you again.

This time with a different plea.

“You don’t have to go so fast now,” I say.

You have turned my Mom’s hair grey and my skin has crinkles where it used to be smooth. My babies don’t have dimples in their knuckles any more and they can strap themselves into their car seats.

But you don’t slow down. You move faster

“Are you listening to me?” I shout, trying to keep up. “I said, slow down!!! I thought you were my friend!”

But you keep going, faster and faster, barely looking back.

You don’t sugar coat things anymore.

You are tired of me asking things from you. To speed up in waiting rooms, to dawdle on sunny days. To give me more of you in moments of joy and less of you when it hurts. To ignore you for years and then come to you pleading on my knees.

I’m up here in my studio tapping away on my laptop, offering you an apology—telling you I understand.

You are going to keep moving and I can’t keep up. We were never friends. You just wanted me to notice you.

And I do now. I notice you every day. I can’t forget you now, even if I wanted to.

A little voice calls from downstairs… someone needs a snack. A book read to them. It’s raining and they are still in their pj’s.

I slice up the apples and snuggle down into a chair, a little body curled up in my lap. He puts his hand in mine and we rock back and forth…..

I whisper out to you…..

“I know we can’t be friends, but….would it be too much to ask……please, pretty please …….

……..could you just stay with me?”

I smell his hair and close my eyes and keep on rocking back and forth.

I hear you whisper back….

“For now.”

A Whidbey Island mom that left a life that was "normal" and ran away with her husband and three little boys to live on an island in saltwater air and open spaces. A mom who is remembering who she was, loving who she is and dreaming of what she could be.