Coming to (the mainland of) America

I'm never going to put "attention to detail" on my resume. Or "self-starter." These adjectives do not usually apply to the anxious ADHDers. Thus, at this date, seven and a half months after arriving in Michigan, I still have Hawaii license plates on my van. I did get my Michigan driver's license though!! It came in the mail Saturday, so there!

Not to say I haven't tried. Today, for instance, I am 75 miles at from home,  sitting at the Fort Gratiot light house, listening to the waves of Lake Huron and watching traffic cross the Blue Water Bridge in and out of Canada. What does that have to do with license plates?  Well, duh, I drove out here to get out of dodge and go to a Secretary of State (Michigan's DMV) which serves a smaller population and, therefore, has shorter wait times. Spend your time driving and listening to music instead of sitting and waiting, right?  Exactly.

Oh, but I didn't have a copy of my husband's license. I have a pic on my phone! But I wrote our Michigan address on the form he had to sign since both of our names are on the title. And he has his Hawaii license still. With our first Hawaii address. Which doesn't match the title address, anyway.

"Honey! Do you have 10 minutes to see if you can fill out this form online and sign it and email it to the manager of this SOS branch?" He can't figure out how to edit it online or sign it.

Maybe I can go to a library and fill it out, figure out how to take a pic of his signature on the printed form, cut it and copy it onto the online form, then send it to him so he can email it, etc. etc.

Never mind. Girly and I will go to the beach. (She's homeschooled again.) She can see her first Great Lake and glimpse another country. We'll throw rocks into the water and freeze our feet when we take off our shoes and socks to feel the water.

I'll breathe it all into my soul: the big body of water with the wind blowing, fishing boats floating, sand beneath my feet, and waves gently rolling in.  I'll cry because it's not Hawaii; it's not my home, but it'll carry my spirit for a while.

Behold the power of Yoga

This looks like it says "mamaste". And I'd love to be doing yoga in this beautiful location.

A number of things have contributed to the changes in me over the past 7 months, and one of the things which makes me happiest is the fact that I am  *finally* doing yoga (semi) regularly. I've always dabbled here and there, even randomly thinking that I'd be a yoga instructor someday. That was about 14 years ago, and if I had, oh, kept with it, I'd be speaking to you as a yoga instructor today. Context clues can tell you that I am not, in fact, a yoga instructor. But I actually think I might have that as a 5 (or fewer) year goal.

Once we moved back to Michigan, I knew that I needed to do something to get out of the house and do something for myself. I've been getting more in touch with my body for the past year, and this seemed like a natural extension of that. Part of that getting in touch with my body has been learning to be kind to it and love it for the first time in many, many years. That kindness led me to decide that I wasn't going to run or push myself to go to the gym anymore. At least not for a while.

I decided to focus on healing my body and being nice to it, doing movement that I enjoyed and that didn't cause me pain. I love running, but it consistently hurt me. I didn't want my workouts to be about self-punishment anymore. I didn't want to force myself to go to the gym out of self-hatred and needing to lose weight to prove my worth.

Unlike the workouts I used to do, yoga inherently heals me. My muscles have been tight and twisted and knotty since...well, some since I was born. (I was born with jacked up legs. Club foot! They handed me to my mom for the first time with casts on both feet. I had braces like Forrest Gump!) Most of the other damage came starting in college. Twisting a knee, then favoring the other too much, supinating my feet when I walked, lower back getting messed up as a result of all that, rolling ankles, swollen, painful knees, etc etc. And through just half a year of focusing on yoga, I see changes in my body. I've seen my hips and IT bands loosen up, my knees hardly hurt anymore, and my arms and shoulders are noticeably stronger. The diaphragmatic breathing we do in yoga has also improved my breathing, though my puny lungs still stop their inhale long before the teacher says that it's time to exhale and move onto the next move.

The other wonderful thing about yoga is that it is meditation in motion. In the beginning, I often cried during practice because you're supposed to be in the moment. Some say that the breath is the entire point: observing your breath and clearing your mind. So while I'm stretching and moving through the poses (asanas), I'm trying to clear my thoughts and simply be. I'm still working on that, but what this meant in the beginning was lots of thinking and facing my feelings. Hence, the crying. At the same time, it brought me so much peace. And continues to do so.

It feels holy being in the darkened yoga studio with a group of people all seeking a quiet, peaceful space in our busy days. It has been healing for me in ways physical, emotional, and spiritual. I am so grateful

First Winter Back

Uncool, but warm

I do not like the cold. You might say I hate it. And yet, I am here to extol the greatness of shoveling snow and ice. Rest assured, I have been evaluated by mental health professionals and confirmed as neurologically atypical, so you may take anything said here with a grain of salt. (SALT! Get it?! We have to SALT the driveway. {I'll show myself out.})

I grew up in Michigan, but started trying to leave about 22 years ago. There were a couple short-lived attempts at living in Texas for Seth's sake, but my family and friends in Michigan lured me back both times. In 2005, though, I thought I had escaped for good. Seth and I moved to Northern California, where we felt like we belonged.

For 10 years, we enjoyed a busy life full of friends where, most importantly, we only saw snow if we wanted to. We would dig out our coats, buy some stretchy gloves from the dollar store, and drive to Tahoe for a weekend of sitting by a fire with occasional outings for sledding or a brief snowball fight. Then we would go back home to put on, at most, sweats. But even NorCal (I apologize, but it's an authentic abbreviation) had a bit more cold than I wanted, so we packed up and followed my dream of living in Hawai'i.

As you may have inferred from the into paragraph and title of this fair post, I am no longer in Hawai'i, but in Michigan again. Fear not, I'm medicated, in therapy, seeing a psychiatrist, etc. These issues shall not go unaddressed in my life. BUT MY POINT-


Thirteen years away saw my transformation from someone who didn't like reading outside because of all that pesky wind into an Outdoor Girl. Our two homes in Hawai'i  were so open to the elements that even being inside didn't really count as avoiding the weather or anything. When I visited Michigan from Hawai'i, I'd sit at my mom's table in the backyard most of my waking hours- I couldn't stand feeling trapped inside with the air conditioning and the house closed up.

Sun, water, and trees fill my soul. I've always called myself "solar powered", and it's true. Basking in the sun like a lizard can even help me feel better when I'm physically ill. Living on the ocean and being able to hear, smell, and see the water anytime chased away many negative moods. But not all of them. I realized after the fact that I was depressed the whole time we lived in Hawai'i. In California, my depression also got the better of me every once in a while, despite a fun, stellar life.

We left the islands and moved back to Michigan in July '18. You can see some of the reasons in my previous post, but suffice it to say that it was but one more layer of grief in the cartoonishly tall stress sandwich life was shoving down my throat. I arrived back in the midwest a broken shell of who I used to be, with exciting adventures in trauma still to come.

My wonderful husband snagged these for me. He gets me.

Now it is well below freezing. I have to wear both wool socks and fuzzy slippers in the house to keep feeling in my feet. I stay inside, bookmarking articles and opening tabs I'll never get to. My kids are generally useless with yard work without a lot of supervision, and Seth's Renaud syndrome means that he can't be outside for long in cold temperatures, so the shoveling is my duty.

When I first bundled up to go outside and get to work, I was proud of my being a responsible adult and all that, but I was also cranky and figured I would quickly be roping someone into switching with me. But I stayed outside. I put on the coat you see up above, "The Kindergarten Coat," which my mom left for me when she moved to Louisiana and I initially pooh-poohed as "too mom-ish". Now it is my bff.

After about 45 minutes outside, I did come in for a while, but then found that I wanted to go back out. There has been salting to do, slush and snow to clear off, and ice to chip away at- and I'm ::shudder:: enjoying it. Even on the 3rd or 4th day of having to do one chore or another. It has been sunny, which is a huge part of it, but I've also found myself writing in my head, or chatting out loud, and gazing at the beauty of my big, snowy, tree-filled yard.

Winter got me back outside. I'm adding it to the handful of things which have been making me feel "normal" again. I'm giving it the official stamp of #everydaygrateful. No one is more shocked than I am.

I really don't want to write this.

 But I will.

I don't even know if this is going to have form beyond stream of consciousness,  but I know it's good to share,  blah blah,  stigma,  blah blah,  awareness,  etc.

Over the past 6 years,  we've had a lot of loss; a lot of transition and change. Not all bad,  but still stressful and it piles up.  And,  yes,  I know that there are people who have it a lot worse,  but this isn't their blog and I'm not carrying their pain.

Have a list:
Became foster parents
Loved and lost kids we thought we'd have forever
Moved
Adopted
Started homeschooling
Only man I've ever called Grandpa died
Father-in-law died
Moved to Hawaii
Left California friends
Left California church
Dad diagnosed with cancer
Spent 3.5 months away from Hawaii
Brother- in-law died suddenly
Spent a month in Michigan without my family
My dad died
Went back to Michigan for a week

Also included: finished grad school (what the fuck do I do now?)
Haven't found a church in Hawaii
Pretty sure I've lost part of my mind
Ruined friendships
Midlife unraveling
Generally fucked up a lot

The clinical depression I've carried for decades now has all these layers of stress, grief,  and loss on top,  plus ADHD & anxiety (no, YOU'RE the basket case!), and I'm here to tell you I'm the most suicidal I've ever been.  Even more than when I attempted suicide 24 years ago.  That was more impulse on top of depression and hormones and starting college.

The kicker is that it's not like it makes sense.  I'm not thinking,  "Oh,  my dad is dead! I can't go on living!" No,  the shittiest part, the part that makes me hate myself the most,  is that my sadness is rarely about my dad.  It can turn into sadness about him,  but it rarely starts there.

I barely recognize myself sometimes. But it's me and sometimes I like it.  I like my new scars.  I like the few things that make me feel alive right now,  even if they're not awesome.

I've reached out on my scariest days.  Seth takes the meds with him to work now.

I don't know.  If you've never known this about me,  I'm sorry.  Don't be afraid.

Please don't comment about how much I have to live for,  try to encourage me,  or tell me you'll pray for me.  But,  yes,  do pray for me.  Just...I don't know.

I know I have to get out more.  See my friends. So my Hawaii peeps need to bug the shit out of me so I'll get out of bed,  okay? Know that I will be super annoyed with you.

So there! Transparency,  awareness,  you're not alone!!

Battle Cry of the Formerly Lazy

I've been pondering this post for quite a while now; possibly a year or more. It's in response to the thoughts some people express online and I know that more harbor in their dark, inky hearts. Those thoughts are along the lines of, "We get it! You went for a run. We're all proud of you but apparently not as proud as you are of yourself. Shut up!" 

The problem is this: we are proud of ourselves. Very. I would guess that 95% of the people who post about their workouts on FB have historically not been regular exercisers. Their lazy days may have been a long time in the past, and maybe now they love working out regularly, but that doesn't mean that it's easy to do every day. That doesn't mean that there isn't still a lazy, wheezing, overweight kid in the back of their minds, trying to get them to just sit down and watch TV instead of going to the gym. (For a great perspective on this, read Matthew Inman's Oatmeal entry about why he runs.)

When I started writing this post a long time ago, I had pictures of charts ready to go showing how much I'd exercised that week and how that was such a miraculous change from my past. I had to remove them because now my charts would look like janky hammocks strung between the days when I had the time and inclination to lift or run. When my kids were in school, they'd ask me what I did during the day while they were gone. I'd tell them that I ran or went to the gym, and they'd say, "Well, duh! You do that every day!" It filled present me with joy and high school me with shock to hear that. I couldn't believe how much I'd changed my life. I had changed my body so much that, even though I wasn't skinny, I didn't gain back any weight that I had lost after 6 weeks in Michigan last summer, barely working out and eating all the food of my youth. My body makeup had altered.

Just eating thimbleberries wouldn't have been bad, but thimbleberry jam on nisu, on ice cream sundaes, etc!!!

Now I'm back to the sluggo days. With the stress of preparing to move and then getting here and finding a place to live, my workouts have been very sporadic. I'm back out of shape and have to basically start over with strength and endurance, especially in the Hawaii humidity. My right leg really doesn't enjoy running, even though my heart and mind do, so I have to find other cardio. Last week, I decided that it was going to be jumping on the trampoline. Which sucks. I didn't make have time to do it over the weekend after that first time, but I did do it yesterday. IT SUCKED. I'd rather go on a walk for twice, heck, thrice! as long. But I did it. I know it will get easier eventually. I set that stupid timer on my phone and I freaking jumped until it was done. I was very proud of myself. So, yeah. I posted about it this time, too, but on twitter.

Another thing you need to know is that, for the most part, the running/biking/racing/lifting/gym rat/whatever community is VERY supportive. When runners pass each other on the trail, they give each other a thumbs-up or even say "Good job. You got this," especially if they see someone struggling. If you've ever participated in Team in Training, you will forever shout, "Go Team!" when you see anyone in a TNT shirt working out. So, even if someone does tons of races or has been naturally skinny their whole lives, they're usually trying to encourage others rather than shame them.

We all know that we need encouragement and accountability, so that's another reason people post about their work. You're likely to see someone post on FB that they're going to work out later so that they can't punk out and certain buddies will ask them if they did it. A friend posting, "Just did an easy 10 miles," might make me want to vomit because I have never called 10 miles easy, but it will also get me off the couch just like someone posting, "Just did a crappy, slow mile, but I did it," will get me off the couch.

So take it easy on our fitness posts, okay? Unless you're friends with the cast of the Jersey Shore, people aren't trying to simply show off. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to jump on the crap-o-line AND do a bodyweight workout tonight. I don't want to, but I will. And I'll be real proud of myself if
when I do.

Things that don't work

I posted this on my facebook this morning. I was determined that I'm not going to be counting down Sundays and crying all the time. But then I walked in, and I saw all my friends, and I knew that I was leaving them soon. I cried and cried because I'm finally mourning all that we are leaving.

For so long, I've just been really excited about moving to Hawaii. I was wishing that I didn't even need to come back here from Texas but we could just magically be in Hawaii. There is so much left to do that I'm just overwhelmed. I wish we could just be there in our new life already.

I read this quote from Walden last month, and it really grabbed me: 

I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary. I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life, to live so sturdily and Spartan-like as to put to rout all that was not life, to cut a broad swath and shave close, to drive life into a corner, and reduce it to its lowest terms.

That's how I feel about Hawaii. About the ocean. I'm excited to get rid of almost all of our belongings and to start over. I want less stuff so we can have more life. I don't want things that don't matter. I don't want to be busy all the time. So I've been excited to leave.

But today I finally started facing all that we're leaving behind. Almost 10 years at church, making friends, teaching, being part of lives as kids grow. We're going to walk into a church (likely quite a few churches) in Hawaii and not know anyone. Students will walk by and I won't recognize any of them. We won't know the pastors or have gone through years of drama and change and growth with the church. We'll have to start all over.

We have so many friends here that are like family. People who know us so well and are always there when we need them. People we've laughed and cried with and kissed their babies and chatted with their parents. 

A church that values its people so much and constantly creates opportunities for adults and kids to feel God's presence in different ways: we're leaving it.

I know that we're going to be happy in Hawaii. We're going to find a church home and we'll have new opportunities and friends. But it will take time. Sometimes I think I'll relish the change, but I know it's going to hurt sometimes, too. 

So I lied this morning when I said I wouldn't cry every week. I probably will. I sobbed today and I'll sob on July 19th, our last Sunday here.

#weareredwood

W

Shop So You Don't Drop

"Retail therapy" is sometimes used in a joking way by (mainly) women to describe the times they feel like they need to shop. It's sometimes used by others, both men and women, in a sneering way to shame those people and make them feel frivolous and selfish. The implication is that no one needs to go shopping or buy new stuff.

To be fair, there are likely few instances in which something brand new truly needs to be purchased instead of something used or simply making due with what you have at home, but that doesn't mean that shopping for an emotional reason is without merit.

What we often forget is that clothes matter. What we put on our bodies can carry real emotional weight. You don't believe me? Go watch almost any episode of What Not to Wear, How to Look Good Naked, or even go all the way back to Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. What you'll find is men and women truly transformed by being shown that they can look great. And it's sad but true to say that human beings (and lots of animals, for that matter) equate looking good with having worth. So when people who used to hide their bodies or hang their heads are shown that they, too, can preen and shine along with everyone else, it changes them.

We're status-driven. It's a simple fact of human nature. So even if someone goes out and doesn't buy clothes but, instead, something cute for the house, that still can build them up for a while. "Look what I have! Don't I have good taste?" Or maybe you saw something that reminded you of your grandma's house or that just made you happy when you looked at it, that feeling is real.

Obviously, this feeling can become a black hole of addiction; masking other issues that make someone unhappy, but as with most everything else, it's benign in moderation. So if those new shoes put a spring in your step or that funky bird statue makes you smile every time you see it, don't feel shallow. And don't make anyone else feel shallow, either.