It’s been 6 months since I’ve written.
Probably even longer since I’ve written anything with 100% honesty in my heart and left it all out here on the page.
It’s been 8 months since I got divorced.
It’s been 1 hour since I decided to not let the fear of who might read what I’ve written stop me from being true to myself and writing what I need to, to cleanse my soul.
Running and writing do that for me.
I get a lot of flack from people for running and working out as much as I do. I run almost every day. Lift a couple of times a week and compete in triathlons.
“Why do you run? Why would you do triathlons? That’s so much work! You must like pain and suffering.”
Maybe I do.
I swim until the muscles in my shoulders and back ache. I ride my bike until my legs and butt burn so bad that I can’t crank the pedals one more turn. I run until the sweat drips from every inch of my skin. I run until the pain in my heart becomes as numb as my legs.
I run because I don’t know what else to do with my feelings.
I run so that I can drown those feelings with sweat and let the unspoken words loop endlessly around in my brain until I’m too exhausted to speak them.
There are days when I feel like I’ve come so far in the past 8 years since Oli was born. I’ve come miles and miles from where I was 3 years ago.
But sometimes I just have a moment.
Or a day.
Or a week.
Or a month.
Sometimes it feels just like yesterday when I looked at the tiny baby sleeping in the cradle beside me and wondered if I could ever love her enough. If I would ever be enough for her.
I don’t have a problem looking at her now.
I don’t have an issue feeling for her. For accepting her and pushing her and dreaming for her and advocating for her and being her legs and her eyes and her voice and the interpreter between her and the rest of the world. I don’t mind teaching people about her and answering questions and embracing the differences and cherishing the moments.
I run into to trouble when I try to do all of these things while looking at me.
I run into to trouble when my mind merges with my heart and I’m left feeling less than and inadequately equipped to deal with all that comes with being a special needs mother.
So I run.
I run for her, with her, towards her.
And sometimes I run away from her.
I run away from the pain.
I run away from the fear of the future and the unknown.
I run away from the therapists and the doctors and the never-ending appointments.
I run away from the ARD meetings and IEP’s, missed goals, reports of plateaued progress, regression and missed milestones.
I run away from myself.
When I talk about her, when I talk about us, I still feel the need to justify everything. To throw my FINE’s at the world and scream from the top of my lungs WE ARE FINE! DON’T YOU KNOW HOW FINE WE ARE! NO! THOSE ARE NOT TEARS! I HAVE SOMETHING IN MY EYE!
Why do I do that?
What’s so wrong with being not fine?
I still haven’t figured that part out yet. I don’t know what’s wrong with talking about how I feel.
I still haven’t really figured out how to feel how I feel. If that makes any sense at all.
When Oli was born and the pain and despair simply became too much for me to bare, I turned all of my feelings off. It was so much easier to be numb than it was to face another day literally drowning in my fear.
Now 8 years later I’m trying to turn them back on.
It’s harder than you’d think.
So I run.
I run and I run and I run.
The tears melt into sweat and neither can be distinguished once they drip from my nose.
I’ve pounded miles and miles of trail with my little wet feelings littered behind me.
One day, I hope to be able to talk as much as I run.
Until that day…