I survived...

Hello, world...

Six months. It's been six months since my last post, and it's as if my entire world changed. Again.

I'm less than two weeks away from my 31st birthday. Pain has been part of my life for nearly eighteen years. Physically, mentally, and emotionally, much of my life has been a struggle. I've endured physical pain that most people can't even imagine. I've had heartbreak and loss repeatedly. Somehow, I've always found a way to see the light through all of it.


Two and a half years ago, my world was completely torn apart. The life that I was living, the story that I believed, the future that was talked of and dreamed about was nothing more than a series of lies. I did what I had to do to survive. I  moved to be closer to my family because I knew there was no way that I could heal when my demons would have been everywhere.

One day around the year mark of saying goodbye to a place I thought I would never leave, surviving turned to thriving. A couple of short months after that, in June of 2015, I experienced the loss of my father. For probably the first nine months or so, I was an absolute wreck. I wouldn't even say that I was surviving. I was waking up, crying, working, crying, sleeping, crying, etc... It was like Groundhog's Day, every day. What made it worse was the pain it brought up from my past. I hadn't healed entirely from what I had lost in DC. There was no way for me to separate the two. One day in April, I woke up and none of it hurt as much. I had made it through all of the firsts without my dad (except for the anniversary), and I realized I actually had survived. I started feeling like myself again. April through Mother's Day was really good. Fittingly, the day after that, the sky fell. Again.

On May 9th, 2016, I woke up with what felt like a swollen lymph node or possibly a cyst in my right groin. It hurt some but I didn't think too much about it. That night I could barely sleep because it had started hurting a lot and the swelling was growing. By the following afternoon, I was in excruciating pain, and the swelling around the area had easily grown by 100%. I went to the emergency room immediately. More than six hours later when I finally was able to see a doctor, the swelling had continued to spread and I was in so much pain that I was shaking and had a fever. My mom was there with me, thank God. The doctor said that they were going to admit me after I got a CT scan, but before they sent me back, she traced around the swollen area so they could see how rapidly it was expanding. They had to hold me down to do it because it felt like I was being sliced open with a scalpel (without medicine), and I remember just lying there, writhing in pain and screaming.

My scan showed nothing, but they figured it was just a skin infection of some sort so they hooked me up to pain medications and antibiotics. My temperature kept getting higher but they weren't concerned because it hadn't gotten above 101, despite the fact that I told them repeatedly that my normal is 96. 101 for me feels like I'm dying. The days passed by and my pain level grew, the swelling had wrapped nearly all the way around from one groin to the other and had started to radiate down my leg. By the morning of day five my fever had spiked to 103 (seven degrees above my normal) and they decided that maybe they should change the antibiotics again because the three they had me on weren't getting the job done.

My fever was roughly 7 degrees higher than my normal

Changing of the lines after blowing another one

And after blowing yet another vein, they used this scanner to try to find a new one.

Swelling on day 3

Swelling on day 5

By the morning of day five, the swelling had continued to wrap around to the back of my right hip, and all the way across the top to the other hip. By the time it was radiating down my leg, I had blisters that had been popping up for a day or so. Once they started to rupture, my pain level was out of control.

Oxygen, iv, and pain pump cords

I had to start oxygen after struggling to breathe through the pain

By the morning of the sixth day, I was truly in fear of my life. There was also an incident with my normal primary care physician and as a result I removed her from my case. I basically hadn't slept more than and hour or two at a time here and there the entire time that I was there. It already wasn't a good one when the primary did rounds on me that morning. The other doctors on my case were amazing, and had been in my room for quite some time that morning. They spent a lot more time seeing the physical anguish I had been under. They, along with two other doctors suggested a pain pump to her because all infection, swelling and pain got worse all weekend. The primary looked at me and said she would only sign off on this if I talked to someone in psych first. She felt like the only reason my pain was so bad was because I was grieving my dad. I stopped speaking or looking at her at that point. You should have seen the looks on the other two doctors faces who had actually seen the agony my body has been through--the infection, swelling, and blistering had done to my body. I missed my dad and she had known three months before I went in that I was still struggling with my grief. However, I had never once said that any of this had happened because he was gone.

Thank God the surgeon who had consulted on my case was convinced that since none of the five antibiotics or pain killers were helping, that we needed to do another scan. There were some spots that looked like they could cut into and hopefully drain. They went in that evening, essentially just exploring to finds areas they could remove the apparent infection from. They tunneled through a lot of infection, and removed as much as they could. It required two incisions, one on the inside of my right groin that was roughly about two and a half inches long, and another roughly and inch long just above my vagina. Such pleasant areas to be sliced open. The pain once I was back into a room, was ungodly. Because they tunneled so far into my body, the incisions couldn't be closed up with stitches. Instead they had to be cleaned and packed multiple times a day. When the packing would be removed, the pain was so unbearable (and that was with multiple pain killers) that all I could do was scream, shake, and cry. I had horrible experiences with nurses who were so careless we had to request they not be assigned to my case.

The morning after surgery, in which it had been confirmed that I had necrotizing cellulitis, I tested positive for staph, and MRSA, any of which can kill you on their own. My room was instantly turned into an isolation room for the rest of my time there. Nobody could come in or out without a gown, mask, and gloves on...except for my mother, because nobody tells her what to do. The hospitalist told me that had they not gone in when they did, the infections would have spread to my blood, and I would have been dead within 24 hours.

After my eighth line blew, they finally moved to a picc line, which took two separate attempts.

I had more than thirty bruises on my stomach from the blood thinner injections I received twice a day. A month after being discharged, some of them were still there.

Day 14, still miserable.

This was the smaller end of the biggest incision, eight and a half days after surgery .

Eventually, on the fifteenth day, my blood counts had improved enough for me to be discharged. I was sent home with two antibiotics, a steroid, two pain killers, sleeping pills, anti-nausea pills, and anti-anxiety medication. I had never been so happy to go home in my life. When they sent me home, the warning that if I did not allow proper healing, the infection would come back and absolutely kill me. Hello, anxiety, my old friend.

Removing the picc line the went from my right arm all the way over to my heart. I still have the scars from both lines.

I received so many phone calls, emails, texts, cards, thoughtful gifts and beautiful flowers from friends literally all over the country.

If you've followed my journey at all, you know that I stand firm on knowing that I would not be alive were it not for God. Were it not for my faith, I would have ended my life when I was in junior high because of the hell that I was going through. I will tell you this right now, from May 9 through much of August, I have never experienced such agonizing pain, and that is saying something. Without knowing that God has a purpose and a plan for everything in my life, I would not have survived. Without the prayers of hundreds of people, I would not have survived. Without my Momma taking care of me after I was discharged, I would not have survived. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't change my own dressings. I could barely walk. I couldn't lift anything. Going to the bathroom or attempting to bathe seemed like really stupid ideas because of how painful it was. The surgeon said it would take four to six weeks for the incisions to heal all the way...it took more than two months. Five months and six days after being discharged, I still have a ton of scar tissues that hurts sometimes.

I love writing. I love knowing that I'm able to use my journey to help others along the way. I couldn't write for most of the time I was recovering because I was at a loss for words, and just in so much pain. This fall has been great so far (more about that later), and I'm finally back into the swing of my Primal habits, too.

For now I will leave you with this. I survived. They say that you should do more than just survive. There are periods in our lives where sometimes it takes everything within us to merely survive. I made it through a year that for a while, I didn't know if I would. My body is literally covered in scars from nearly a dozen lines that went in and out of my body, dozens of needle marks, and huge incisions that I find myself fairly self conscious about. I survived. I'm alive. I don't had from the wars that I have been through. Somehow, God thinks I am strong enough to handle all of these things. And if for no other reason than to share my story and to give even one person enough hope to keep fighting their battles, then I'll take it.

Because I survived, and because I am alive, I did something this weekend that I never thought I would do. I had a scripture reference tattooed on my wrist-- Psalm 46:5. It is my constant reminder that God is within me and that is what gets me through all of it. I also had my Daddy's hand writing traced from a birthday card he sent to me, and tattooed onto my foot. I've struggled with the fact that he won't be there when I get married some day. His words are on the side where he would be standing next to me if he was. Every time I look down, I see his actual words and it makes me smile.

No matter the battle you are facing, no matter how scary life gets, no matter how hard you are fighting to just survive, you can do it. One day merely surviving will turn into more than that. One day you will wake up and realize that you've done more than just survive. This entire year has changed my perspective on absolutely everything, and that's not a bad thing.

xoxo

Change a life, change the world...

Hello world...

This isn't necessarily one of my normal posts but this has been on my heart all week long. Please take a few moments and read this.

That precious little baby is Brenden. Brenden is a twin who was born six weeks prematurely on April 9, 2106. His parents, Jessica and Chris knew that he was going to be smaller than his twin sister, Briella (who is perfect and at home), and that he was going to be born with a hole in his heart. At the last sonogram before he was born, it was thought that he would weigh roughly 3lbs 10oz. Instead, he came out a whole pound smaller. Even more troubling is the fact that he was born with a condition they weren't expecting; PDA- Patent Ductus Arteriosus. After birth, the vessel outside of his heart was supposed to close up but it did not.

The doctors wanted to wait to perform any surgeries until Brenden is about five pounds, but they can't wait any longer. They tried a medication that typically helps to close it up but it didn't work. His tiny heart is pumping fluids into his lungs, making his body work overtime and as a result, he is on a breathing machine, too. The hole they were expecting is on the inside of his heart, is a condition called VSD- Ventrical Septal Defect. This is something entirely different that can't be addressed yet. They are doing surgery on him Monday (4/25/16) to try to repair the vessel. Hopefully after this, his tiny body can get some rest and start growing before they tend to the hole in his heart.

Besides having his twin sister, Briella, at home, they also have a big brother named Ben.

Although Brenden is three weeks old now, Jessica has only held him twice. I can't fathom having a sick and helpless child that I couldn't hold and comfort. It breaks my heart.

Jessica and Chris, both teachers, live roughly 45 minutes away from the hospital in Dallas where Brenden is staying. He will likely be in the hospital for several months. It's more than $3000 per day that he is there and a good portion of the costs aren't covered by insurance. That doesn't include the costs of his surgeries either.

I wanted to do anything I could to help this sweet family in their time of need, to somehow lift any ounce of burden from them. As you all know from reading my blog, I believe in the power of prayer. Please pray for him today, tomorrow when he has his first surgery, and in the coming months. Please share his story on your various social media outlets. This blog has been read in almost 80 countries now. If each of you share it, and if just one other person shares it...imagine the impact your prayers can have on this precious little baby and his family. Beyond your prayers, there is also a GoFundMe account setup in Brenden's name to help with the financial strains this is placing on his family. Anything you can give is appreciated more than words could ever say.

https://www.gofundme.com/helpbabybrenden

There is a song by Kutlas that says "I've seen dreams that move the mountains, hope that doesn't ever end, even when the sky is falling. I've seen miracles just happen, silent prayers get answered, broken hearts become brand new. That's what faith can do."

For my entire life, I have seen and felt the power of prayer. I have seen the amazing things that happen when we call on Jesus. My faith is bigger than anything that life has thrown at me these last 17 years during my struggles. I hope that you will join us in praying for Brenden and that if you can give anything financially, you will. Please share this sweet baby's story and help change his world.


xoxo

Stories...

Hello, world...

Lately I've been thinking a lot about life and the stories that come out of it. I think we all have this inherent notion that life is supposed to be how we first envisioned it would be. The thing is, life is a series of twists and turns, love and loss, joy and pain, and we are supposed to adapt along the way. For most of us, it takes something huge and often heartbreaking to realize this.

For most of my life, I definitely dreamed of a life significantly different than the one I have. The first time I realized life was not all that I imagined it would be, I was thirteen. My entire teenage existence was a nightmare; mentally, emotionally and physically a nightmare. Every year I would tell tell myself "Don't worry, this year things will change and it will be how it should be." In college, with the realization that I would never be happy going down the career path that I had wanted for most of my life, I walked away from it. That was the first time that I realized I needed to adjust the dream. Shortly after that, there was a man who damn near broke me. I left Chicagoland and moved to Florida to find myself again.

Even though I had dealt with my dad's heart issues since I was eight, in terms of my parents at least, it never occurred to me that emotionally, I could be more terrified than I had been at seventeen years old. I had to drive my dad to the emergency room while he was having a heart attack and sit with him for hours by myself. It shaped me in so many ways. However, weeks after moving to Florida, my mom; my rock, my best friend and the person who has always understood the physical anguish I endured for so long, was diagnosed with cancer. It scared me like nothing else in life ever had before. During that summer, I lost my last grandparent and watched one of my uncles go through cancer as well. I realized then that life really is fleeting and again that life doesn't usually go how you imagine that it will.

Flash forward a couple of years to when I was living in DC and had a new life dream take shape. I thought that I was so happy and had everything that I had ever wanted, and for a while that was in fact the case. The one day I learned how much of it had been a lie, perhaps a mere figment of my imagination. From past experiences, I knew that if I stayed, it would break me like nothing else ever had before. I removed myself from that situation and at the time, I didn't know just how much that would change my life.

My story felt like chapter after chapter of pain, loss and uncertainty. After dealing with sickness (my own and that of many family members) for such a long time, love and loss, and dreams fading away, I decided that enough was enough. My dream was no longer that life would be a certain way, but that I would live life a certain way from there on out. For so long I placed my happiness and my dreams into the hands of others, and not surprisingly, I was always let down. I realized one day that while God holds my future, and he knows how my story ends, I am the one who tells the story. I am the one who gets to close out a chapter to better myself. I am the one who determines my own happiness.

Last year in my little corner of the world here, I talked a lot about changing your story if you don't like it. I've allowed so many things in life to hold me back from embracing who and what I am called to be. I don't anymore. After I left DC, I realized that I hadn't loved or liked myself even in such a long time. I allowed myself to be jaded by others. What power do you give to others that you shouldn't? What's holding you back from thriving and truly loving yourself?

Before my dad died last year, I had been truly living and loving myself. After he was gone, it became so difficult to believe that I could ever be happy again. I have openly talked about my struggle with grief, and it's likely that my past issues with depression made it even harder. I've said that I cried daily for months. The pain would let up for a while and then something would set me off. I read earlier today that grief is not a normal wound. Truer words have never been spoken. We all grieve differently and there is no wrong way to do grieve. Eventually though, we adjust to a new normalcy that we didn't sign up for and it's okay again. I'm happy in this new normalcy and there is peace inside of me again.

We don't always get to choose the things that happen to us. The choice we get to make is whether or not we want to stay where we are at in life. If you're unhappy, do something about it. If you don't like your story, you have a few choices. You can stay in that chapter and hope that it gets better and maybe it will. You can close the chapter all together and start the next one and maybe that will be enough for some of you. However, if you're anything like me, there have been so many chapters filled with physical pain, emotional struggles and loss that simply starting another chapter just won't cut it anymore. Write a new story.

Decide that you deserve more and go after it. Don't allow yourself to stay stuck in situations that do nothing but shatter your hopes and dreams. Place your happiness into your own hands. And when you come to a place of happiness and peace, share your story and make a difference in another persons life. I know that for being thirty years old, I've gone through more than most can fathom. I could have decided a long time ago to be angry and to question God for why he would allow all of these things. Instead, I chose to believe that there was a purpose to all of it. For the longest time, I didn't understand the purpose. My journey and my story has been read by people in almost 80...EIGHTY countries now. I've had people tell me that because of my story, they had hope again, that they had courage and found strength. My soul lights up when someone thanks me for being able to share my stories. Knowing that I help even just one person makes all of it worth it.

Share your stories; not only will you help others in the process, but it will bless you, too.

xoxo

The after life...

Hello, world...

It's been a few months since my last post. As you all know, life after my dad's death has been really difficult for me. Every time I thought I was in a better place, some memory or dream would knock me down flat again. Mentally, emotionally and physically I was a mess...and not even a glorious one at that!

A week after my last post, I was in a car accident. I was hit from behind and the driver fled the scene. I had a lot of damage to my neck and have gone through a lot of pain to get back to a place of full function again. The mental and emotion pain from it the first six weeks are so were comparable to the physical anguish. You've all read my story so you know everything I've overcome before, especially the horrible migraines and joint pain. Shortly after the accident, I was terrified that the pain I had worked so hard to to overcome in the past, was not only back with a vengeance, but could possibly be here to stay. It crushed my spirit and threw me back into my grief in a pretty powerful way.

In February, I had an appointment with my primary doctor and we were talking about where I was at with my grief eight months post losing my dad. She told me that every time we've talked about it, I kept putting so much focus on who I was before he died. She said it was as if I had been denying that I really could have an after life; a life after my dad, one in which I was happy again. Wow. In the months leading up to that day, nobody had said such to me. Later that night, I finally slept well and woke up feeling hope, something I really hadn't up until that point. It was a feeling of hope for my future instead of sorrow for yesterday.

In the nearly two months since that appointment I've found myself in a place I haven't been in for quite some time. I started fighting for myself again...fighting for what I need. I've talked about my dad without feeling pain inside of me while doing so. I've rejoiced for great things going on in my family, without feeling bad for doing so. I've made really hard decisions that were best for me and my future, rather than simply staying comfortable. I've learned that my darkest days have amounted to the biggest season of internal and spiritual growth I've ever experienced. I've gotten to know myself in a way that I never imagined I would have to and it's been an amazing thing.

My parents anniversary would have been last month, as well as my dad's birthday. I thought those days would wreck me, and although I missed him terribly, and felt sad, the feeling passed and I just kept living. In the last few weeks, I've realized that while my dad is having his own afterlife (and it's more than he ever dreamed of), so am I and I'm happy.

It's been a little over ten months now since he left us and life has changed so much. There have been other endings and new beginnings, job changes, moves and a new baby joining our family later this year. While I do wish he was here, I know he's watching over us and finds ways to show me that often. I started working on a book and the process got sidelined during recovery and some big changes. I've started writing again and it feels so good. It heals me and I hope that when it's finished, it helps other do the same.

There is a song by Danny Gokey (though it was written by Matthew West, who I also love) called "Tell Your Heart to Beat Again" and the message has been on my heart daily since right before New Years. This is my favorite part... "Let every heartbreak and every scar be a picture to remind you, who has carried you this far. 'Cause love sees farther than you ever could. In this moment Heaven's working everything for your good. Tell your heart to beat again, close your eyes and breathe it in. Let the shadows fall away, step into the light of grace. Yesterday's a closing door, you don't live there anymore. Say goodbye to where you've been and tell your heart to beat again."

It beats loudly now. More than that, I have peace and it makes all the difference in the world.

xoxo

Beauty in the breaking...

Hello, world...

This post was supposed to have been uploaded last week after I finished it but life happened...as usual!

I don't know if anyone was happier to say farewell to 2015 than I was. Strangely enough, ending it was difficult.

Let's back up to the week of Christmas. I was very thankful and happy to have my nephews for a few days at the beginning of the week for many reasons. That Wednesday when we were driving to our hometown, it was TORRENTIAL rain the entire way. Last year for Christmas, my dad gave my sister and I angels for our cars that say "Never drive faster than your guardian angel can fly." I have actually kept mine in purse every single day since so that it is always with me. So, we had just crossed the Missouri/Illinois line and I told my oldest nephew that we needed to pray and ask God to get us home safely. About a minute later a semi merged into the lane next to me and all it said on the truck was BJT Express...my dad's initials. It took everything in me to not cry and lose it in front of the boys. I hadn't seen any real sign from my dad in more than six months and I needed it.

I somehow got through Christmas but it was New Years Eve that broke me. That morning something unexpectedly crappy happened and the first thought I had was "Dad would fix this." Soon after the first breakdown, the perfect song for that day came on. "Staring at a stop sign watching people drive by, T Mac on the radio. Got so much on your mind, nothing's really going right, looking for a ray of hope. Whatever it is you may be going through, I know He's not gonna let it get the best of you. You're an overcomer. Stay in the fight ‘til the final round. You're not going under, 'cause God is holding you right now. You might be down for a moment, feeling like it's hopeless, that's when He reminds You that you're an overcomer." 

I spent that entire week listening to nothing but Praise and Worship music because I was just feeling like even though I know that I always come out on the other side, I had nothing left in my fight tank. The culmination of the entire last year and a half has been enough to nearly break me. The one song I kept hearing over and over is a song called The Unmaking by Nichole Nordeman. I've loved it since she released it but it's finally struck a chord with me. "The longer and the tighter that we hold, only makes it harder to let go. But love will not stay locked inside a steeple or a tower high. Only when we're broken are we whole. What happens now, when all I've made is torn down? This is the unmaking. The beauty in the breaking. Had to lose myself to find out who You are. Before each beginning there must be an ending. Sitting in the rubble, I can see the stars. This is the unmaking."

Someone recently told me that I'm not an optimistic person. They were right, I'm not. What about my life would ever make or allow me to be an optimistic person? I've had more pain inflicted on my body in seventeen years than most will ever experience in a lifetime. I've had more loss and heartache than most people who I know. It's generally been one thing after another for as long as I can remember. I am still standing though in spite of every trial I have ever faced. I am a fighter. I am a survivor. That is what I know. I fight because I have always known that there is a plan for all of it. I survive because I hold onto my faith and know that this life would have killed me a long time ago had it not been for grace that I don't deserve. I believe that there is purpose in pain, whether it is physical or emotional and I've had ample supply of both.

xoxo

Six months

Hello, world. It's been a while... a long while. It's December 9th and somehow I haven't had a post since September 30th. I've struggled for words. I've struggled to process. I've struggled to think clearly. I hate to beat a dead horse but it's been a really hard couple of months.

I feel as though I no longer have any concept of time. Somehow it has been six months or 183 days since since my dad left us, and 199 since I last hugged him goodbye. How is it possible that so much time has passed when most days it feels like I just got the worst phone call of my life? It's supposed to get easier to deal with, not harder, yet because of my birthday and the holidays it's become so much harder.

I feel like for an entire month now I've cried at least once a day, but most days it's been more often than that. I read once that the tears dry up long before the pain stops... well, mine don't appear to be drying up any time soon.

My story, the journey to health story, was published on a HUGE Primal website on October 2nd. I was beyond excited for about two minutes...and then I wanted to pick up the phone to call my mom and dad and then it hit me again... "Nope, you can't call him now or ever again because he's dead." The outpouring from people all over the world who replied to the story on the site, sent emails, facebook message or reached out through this blog was amazing. But not being able to share it with my dad took away from the excitement and I think I officially hit the depression stage of grief.

What didn't help matters is that I didn't get to see any of my family for various reasons from Labor Day until Halloween weekend. Guess what isn't good on a single person who is grieving the loss of a parent 3-5 months after the fact... It made the struggle so much harder. When I finally was able to go to my hometown, we celebrated my 30th birthday a couple of weeks early. It was so great getting to spend time with my family but it was so sad without him there. Some things happened the weekend of my actual birthday that  made it a truly awful weekend, not mention being horribly sick with my second respiratory infection over the course of six weeks.

The week of Thanksgiving, the number of breakdowns I had were too many to count. I know I have so much in my life to be thankful and grateful for, and of course I am, but I didn't feel thankful for anything that week. I had people who have also been grieving various losses tell me that it's okay to not be okay, to not feel like celebrating anything, to not feel thankful. It's hard for me to not act cheery when I know I'm supposed to be that way but I simply didn't have it in me that week.

You have to be gentle with yourself. Nobody else knows how your loss personally affects you. For me and my past with depression, I'm sure that it's making it more difficult. If I hadn't worked so hard in the past few years to improve my health naturally, I would have started taking antidepressants and sleeping pills months ago. I refuse to do that for several reasons. I have been sleeping much better the past couple of months, but the dreams and nightmares I have often wake me up in tears. It would be easier but it would undo so much that I've done and my dad absolutely would not want that.

Christmas. Once upon a time there was nothing that could put more joy in my heart than the entire Christmas season. The celebrations with friends and family, the joy on the faces of my nieces and nephews, the songs that filled the air, the laughter, the giving, the hope, the peace....Through other family deaths and personal losses, it's been something to just get through as of late. Six months and one day ago I was looking forward to Christmas because I was finally in a great place again and so looking forward to being happy once again during the season. I've tried. I've helped other loved ones decorate, I play Christmas songs for my little man at work all the time, I even put my tree up. I have since taken it down. It made me too sad to look at it. A friend told me all that matters is that I did try to do something I would normally do. I feel guilty for not having the joy and thanks that I know I should have because of everything and everyone that I do have in my life but those moments have been few and far between the last few weeks...and apparently that is normal and okay, too.

A few days ago I was looking through some photo albums on facebook and found a comment made dad had written on the album. "I'm there guys, you just can't see me. I love you all." I needed to see that so much. I get asked all the time if I've found any peace about his death yet or if I've had any good dreams about him yet. The answer is no, I haven't. And the closer it gets to Christmas, the more I seem to cry and just feel sad. I needed to see that comment from him. I know in ways he is here. He is here through old stories and jokes. He is here in the eyes and personality of my youngest nephew. He is here through things my sister says all the time and it sounds just like him. But I can't see him, I can't hug him, and there are things I prayed to share with him one day since I was eight years old that will never happen and I just don't know how to be okay with that yet.

I know that one day there with be joy again and that I will feel peace. To those of you dealing with loss during this season, know that anything you feel is in fact normal and you should win a prize daily just for waking up and going about your day...a big one! To those of you who are lucky enough to not have profound losses in your life that make you feel like less than your normal self, don't judge us...we're trying. If you see me or talk to me during the rest of this month, please don't ask me if I'm okay or if I'm feeling better. Know that I'm not but I'm trying. Pray for me, pray for my family. Love your family. Be thankful for them. Tell them how much you love them.

xoxo

Keep on climbing...

Hello, world...

Somehow it's been nearly a month since my last post. This summer was without a doubt the hardest, most bizarre of my life. I wake up every day and for a while it seems as though life hasn't changed...and then it will sneak up on me at some point every day that it's all so very different.

Allow me to get corny for a moment and actually quote a teenage girl group. "Searching for a sign in the night, even like a lonely string of lights that'll burn just long enough for you to see it. The road's been long and lonely and you feel like giving up. There's more to this than just the breath you're breathing. So keep on climbing, though the ground might shake. Just keep on reaching though the limb might break. We've come this far, don't you be scared now cause you can learn to fly on the way down...You won't forget the heavy steps it took to let it go. Close your eyes, count to ten, hold your breath and fly." 

About a month ago, I thought that I was ready to jump fully back into my life as it was before losing my dad. Not so much apparently. As I have every transition into fall for the past several years, I had a huge fibro flare up. Thankfully, it hasn't been as bad as the other years (Thanks, Zeal), but enough to stop me in my tracks off and on. Given the physical, emotional and mental exhaustion I've been under the last three and a half months, I'm honestly surprised it wasn't worse. 

Sunday evening I decided to do my full workout routine.. biking, weights, yoga, chiro stretches, core training. I have no idea what possessed me to do so but it was the first time since right before losing my dad back in June that I did all of it. The crazy thing is that I was scared to do it. I was scared of how my body would handle it. I was scared I would hurt a lot afterwards. I was scared of locking in and doing too much. Each day since I have pushed myself like I was before sixteen weeks (how has it been that long?!) ago and it's taken so much more now to do it. Why? Because the first two months I barely slept, hardly ate and if I did I got sick more often than not. Though I didn't gain anything back this summer, I definitely lost a lot of physical strength.

I got upset at myself last night at the gym. It's a well known fact that I loathe Tuesdays now and yesterday was no different. Monday night I did 13 miles on the bike (I was at 19 miles two days before my dad died) and was proud of myself. Last night I was on the bike for 6 minutes longer and did 4 miles less than the night before. And of course upon telling my mother this, she said "but you went and you did it." My heart definitely wasn't in it but right now I have to make myself do it because I felt incredible 16.5 weeks ago...truly the best I had ever felt as an adult. To make up for not doing as many miles, I did extra yoga and lifting after I got home. I slept horribly last night, again, nothing new for Tuesday but got right back at it this morning. I did several miles this morning walking through Forest Park (and pushing a stroller no less), up and down Art Hill multiple times and I felt really good afterwards.

It doesn't matter how many times you pause while fighting for something, the point is that you fight. You do it because no matter how hard it might be some days, the end result is worth it. My dad was so proud of me for how far I've come the last couple of years. I have to not only get back to where I was strength wise, but to push beyond that and continue on this journey of health and wellness without traditional medicine. From pushing myself this week again I've lost 3.5lbs already...and I didn't lose much more than that all summer, even with not eating much most of the time and the couple of months of being sick. How is that possible? Because as I've learned over the past two years now, it is not in my body's nature to just lose weight like a lot of people would. Most people would lose a lot if their bodies physically went through what mine did this summer. I was in survival mode, which meant just getting through the day more often than not so I wasn't super gung ho about eating strictly Paleo/Primal, or juicing very much. My Zeal Wellness was no doubt my saving grace in terms of nutrition. But this week I've given my body all of the foods (and juices) that heal me and make everything work like it should and that plus pushing myself physically is paying off.

I've grieved loss many times before, but unlike all of the other times, there was truly so much loss with losing my dad. So many hopes and dreams that will never come true. And unlike the other times, I've been completely by myself through all of it and it's been the hardest thing I have ever had to endure. No matter what anyone says the will to fight through the bad days ultimately comes from within. Everything I've ever known about loss and grief before now pretty much went out the window.

People have commented lately that they can't believe everything I've been through at not even 30 yet. Some days I can't either. But through all of it I've come to know myself better than most my age for sure. I know when to physically push myself and when not to. It's time now so that's what I'm doing. It might be really freaking hard some days but in the end it will be worth it.

After a season of suffering...

Hello, world...

Lord knows I am no stranger to suffering, but I am also no stranger to an infinite amount of grace from God, from others and from myself. I am no stranger to restoration of mind, body or soul. The last nearly twelve weeks of my life has been the hardest season of suffering I've ever known...and that's saying something. In the last week, however, I feel as though my soul has been renewed and I can finally turn the page again.

I had a little chat with my chiropractor this morning about finally being ready to put my focus back on myself. He told me he was hoping I would tell him everything I did. I admire him both as a doctor and as a friend who has helped me physically, mentally and emotionally. I told him (and I quote) "And even though this is twice now in the last 2 1/2 years that I've been on this life changing journey that I've paused for an extended period of time, I knew both times I would find my way back because of the changes inside of me that had taken place." 

If you tuned into the blog last week, you saw the picture of that awesome dress I found! Somehow, seeing myself in that dress is what gave me the spark I had needed all summer. I turn 30 in 74 days...on a Friday the 13th no less and I've been dreading it. Ever since I lost my dad, I've dreaded my birthday because it's hard to fathom not sharing it with him. I've realized that I have to change my way of thinking and find a way to make it something positive. Said dress from last week fits now, but in 74 days I want it to look amazing. I haven't stepped foot into the gym since the day before my dad died and today is D-Day, so to speak. Right before we lost him I was in the gym nearly every day plus doing my yoga and chiro stretches at home every day. I was sleeping very well. I was eating exceptionally well and taking my Zeal every day. The only thing that has stuck since losing him is my Zeal and I know that is physically what has kept me going. I've continued to lose over the summer but nothing like I was before, not that I expected to. I set a goal to reach by my birthday when I surpass that goal, I will have something to focus on a celebrate rather than merely being sad that my dad isn't there with me. 

I've been watching my country count on Blogger steadily go up since creating this blog (after saying goodbye to my old one). Today I hit 60...SIXTY countries. That continues to blow my mind. My blog has been read in nearly 1/4 of the countries in our little world. 111,683 views. I had multiple people reach out to me last week and thank me for talking about grief and not sugar coating what it's really like. Knowing that my story reaches others who are hurting helps me. I started changing my life two and a half years ago after refusing to be defined by pain and medication, by doctors who seemingly knew nothing or by past hurts that had damn near broken me. Today I've lost 150lbs, 7 dress sizes and a dozen medications. I've gained a sense of self that nobody can ever take away from me again. I've gained the ability to pick myself up, no matter how hurt I am. I've gained the strength to share my entire story in hopes of giving others the strength they need to make a change. I've lost a lot but I've gained so much more.

xoxo

Crawl if you have to...

Hello, world...

Yesterday marked eleven weeks without my dad. It was the first Tuesday since that awful day that I haven't cried. I still cry, Lord knows I do, but it doesn't break me repeatedly every day any more. I miss him more than I ever knew it was possible to miss another person but I'm getting through it.

One thing I miss is the unwavering support and encouragement my dad gave me every day. It's a well known fact that we often collided and got upset with each other, which happens with two very stubborn people. The last few years though we truly grew in our relationship with each other and saw one another in a different light. The last two years especially, he had vocally been my biggest cheerleader. Oh, how I've missed that. I've needed that encouragement so much. Insert the tears...they're never really all that far away.

Last night something awesome happened and I know he would have been the first to say something about it. I sent a text to my DC bff/sister from another mother and she told me "He's smiling so big right now!" It made me sad and she said not to be sad because of how happy he would be for me. And it's true.

For the last couple of weeks I've been working on building up my fall wardrobe as everything from last fall is just too big. I've been buying regular XL sweaters which truly blows my mind. I saw a dress hanging on a clearance rack (hello, 80% off, plus an additional 20% off AND I had a 15% off coupon...$9.28.) that all but screamed my name. I tried it on and couldn't believe the reflection in the mirror. I felt beautiful and happy for myself. My birthday is in two and a half months (30...eek!) and the goal is for this dress to make an appearance during the festivities and to look amazing on.

I've fought REALLY hard to go from a size 26/28 dress down to that XL. The last eleven weeks my body has been through absolute hell and torment. The first two weeks without my dad I was lucky if I got 2 hours of very broken sleep every night. If I felt like eating at all, easily 90% of anything I ate did not stay down. I had a continual migraine and hurt from head to toe. In the weeks since, my sleep, thank God, for the most part has improved quite a bit. Most nights I manage 5-6 hours, still broken though and often have pretty awful dreams, but I still get rest. Most days, however, I'm nauseous all throughout the day and it doesn't seem to matter what I eat or don't eat. It's not uncommon for roughly half of what I manage to eat to still not stay down. It's grief and it's awful...but it's normal, unfortunately. The headaches and migraines have been atrocious, though not surprising given the lack of sleep and nutrition. My saving grace in terms of nutrients every day is my Zeal...I have no doubt that is part of physically what keeps me going.

I've been in survival mode for the past eleven weeks and I hate "living" in survival mode. It's not living and as should know as that is what life was for me for roughly fifteen years. I don't want to merely survive and get through the days anymore. I know that grief doesn't magically just go away. With my birthday and the holiday season coming up, I know it's going to hit me harder than it has thus far probably but it isn't supposed to be easy.

I know how proud my dad was of me for all of the changes that have been taking place in my life. He told me on a nearly daily basis. I've been really gentle with myself. It's now been eleven weeks and three days since I last stepped foot into the gym and I had been going almost daily before that. I told myself that it physically wasn't safe for me to go and push myself because I wasn't sleep, wasn't eating and if I did eat I got sick. I've been doing yoga at home still a few times a week but it's not the same. I need to get back to where I was physically before June 9th and run with it. I know he would want me to.

One thing we tend to forget when we're in the depths of a storm is that life does in fact go on...it has to. There are always going to be waves that will crash into us, knock us down, beat us up and attempt to drag us out to sea. When you get swept out, you have to find a way to get back on land and stand on your feet again. Some days in the last eleven weeks it's felt like all I could do is crawl out of and into bed. I've made eight trips to Marion in the last eleven weeks, been out of town for work, had overnights and spent a total of 6 nights in my own bed over the course of four and a half weeks. I've been completely and utterly exhausted this summer...mentally...emotionally...physically. Schedule wise, life is finally starting to get back to normal so I need to as well. Even if I have to crawl into and out of the gym to get back into it and be where I was, it's what I have to do. I refuse to give up on the plans I've had for myself.

I also sent in my application yesterday to be one of the 2016 faces for a plus size company...wish me luck! It's something I've thought about doing for a VERY long time and have been told time and time again that I should do. I picked up my mail and had something from them that informed me the deadline was today. Even if I don't get picked, I'm glad I finally tried.

xoxo