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12 Wednesday Feb 2020

Posted by stepmommyrun in Uncategorized

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fuck, life, separation, stepmom, time

In 1 second you could understand gratitude in an accident.

In 10 seconds you can determine if the person you just met is a good person.

In 30 seconds you can reheat chicken fat to a liquid for your dogs breakfast.

In 1 minute…you might find out you’re a parent.

In a 2-minute conversation you could find out you lost your baby.

In 5 minutes you can make ramen.

In 10 minutes you should be able to unsubscribe from all of your junk mail.

In 15 minutes you learn that boys are mean, boys do what they want.

In 20 minutes you can make rice.

In 25 minutes, if you care about anything, you could cut all ties with your secret affairs and focus only on your wife.

In 30 minutes you could run a 5K.

In 35 minutes you could face your fear of sharks out in the ocean.

In 40 minutes you could count down to your husband’s 40th birthday and surprise him with a trip to Hawaii.

In 50 minutes you could have a massage, but its not worth taking your clothes off for less than 90 minutes.

In 55 minutes you could lose your fucking mind and grip entirely on reality.

In 60 minutes it’s possible to finish an online lecture about six sigma green belt methodology.

In 1 day you might find out that your life was built on a lie.

In 1 week you might find that lie was bullshit.

In 1 conversation you can find humiliation.

In one moment you might open your eyes.

In one instant you can have a Polaroid photo.

In one instant you should be grateful.

In one instant you could lose it all.

In one breath………fuck.

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Unknown Mommy

17 Wednesday Apr 2019

Posted by stepmommyrun in Uncategorized

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babies, baby, birth, loss, miscarriage, mom, mother, step mom, Step Mother, step parent, stepmom

I raise a coffee mug to all my unknown mommies. Oh let’s be real, my coffee mug has wine in it, don’t get me confused with a different kind of  broken woman. This one is for my unknown mommies. Yes, you may be known as mommy to one, two, three, or 16 children (bless your heart if it is 16!). But this is for my mommies that were mommies that lost. Mommies that don’t talk about it to other mommies. Mommies that DO talk about it to other mommies. Mommies that want to talk, but don’t know how.

Here’s to my silent heroes who suffer every birthday, every baby announcement, every adoption commercial, every damn gender reveal with silent tears caught quietly in the sleeve of their shirts. I salute you. I hear you. I see you.

Here’s to my “step” mommies that have lost and yet bear the weight, judgement, and unknowing scorn of the “real” mommies you share your child with.

I recently found out about a silent mommy at a funeral. It was at her funeral that I found out this woman was meeting TWO of her children in heaven. TWO! I know another woman who has had the courage to speak out and share her love, her hopes, her dreams for her child and demand the world acknowledge her baby with love and respect. Yet another woman who shares her love and sadness with only a couple of souls she can connect to in a beautiful way.  I see power in all of these women. I feel jealous of this power sometimes, to be honest. I didn’t realize I was an unknown mommy until this past Christmas when I blurted out my sorrow in an off-handed way after a couple of Christmas morning cocktails.

I want to honor my child. I want to honor and respect that I am an unknown mommy. I want to shout to the world that, “yes I am a step mom, but dammit I am a MOM too!” I don’t know how to start that conversation. I don’t know how to tell people two years later that I lost my only child and I have no hopes of another. I don’t know how to explain how adrift I’ve been. How lost and hopeless my heart remains. How I fill my silence with things, experiences, drinks, and pets! People don’t know how to deal with that. Well,  most people. So let me educate you on the best responses I’ve gotten to the statement ” I was pregnant, lost my child, and am now incapable of having children”

  • Silent tearful hug
  • “Talk to me” followed by silence
  • “I love you”
  • “There is literally NOTHING you can ever say that will make me love you less” said while desperately holding me tightly
  • Literally jump into my lap wrap your arms around me and tell me  “you are amazing and I love everything about you”
  • “What were your dreams”
  • “do you want to talk more?” …..and when met with “no”. …..”Do you want a glass of wine and a fire lit?”
  • Show up to my house with sushi, old movies, and zero questions
  • Bring it up, so I don’t have to
  • Let me bring it up when I want to
  • Understand that I don’t know how to “get over it” and I may never
  • “I understand now”

This life is so hard, even when we aren’t broken. We can actually help each other. We can ask the names of our unknown children. We can stop asking couples when they will have babies. We can start raising women up and start talking about the moments our biology failed us entirely. We can simply be there, silently, without judgement or advice.

All of my love to my unknown mommies–outspoken or silent. You are special and unique, and your baby is loved and honored in this world.

Oliver Jaymes ❤

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Forgiving. Forgiven?

11 Sunday Nov 2018

Posted by stepmommyrun in Uncategorized

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Tags

angry, crying, family, feelings, forgive, forgiving, happy, hurt, intention, Kesha, loss, Parent, pregnancy, Rainbow, stepmom, women, yoga

At the start of every class, my yoga instructor will start by asking us to find our “intention” for our time on our mats. Today’s stretchy version of hell was brought to us by the young gent who all the ladies seem to appreciate and spend extra time prepping themselves, their outfits, and even their bodies for. I personally prefer the Russian woman because she kicks my ass and takes zero prisoners during her class. He….well, he has a more gentle approach. (Probably why his class is always wall to wall sweaty assholes and there’s usually only about 5 of us suckers in her class–I digress)

It was “intention time”. Typically mine land somewhere between “I want to relax” and “I dedicate my practice to finding peace in my heart”. Today, before I gave it any thought…my intention leaped out at me. I had barely bowed by third eye to my fingers and it came screaming into my head at a quiet whisper: forgive.

Who do I need to forgive? I don’t hold onto much anger. At least I didn’t use to. I only held onto it if holding on prevented me from being hurt again. But I wasn’t angry at anyone. I couldn’t think of anyone who had hurt me, was still hurting me.

I’ve been hurting. I’ve been hurting for a long time and I thought I understood why I was hurting and who was hurting me. As I bowed to my hands I began to cry. Right there on my damn mat, in the middle of dimly lit room, filled with sweaty ass strangers, and gentle but quirky modern music set as the backdrop for my mental breakdown.

I need to forgive myself.

I’ve been so angry.

A little over a year ago I found out I was pregnant. I kept it to myself, went to the doctor, took all the tests. I even recorded myself when they called to confirm the news. (Everyone records the dad finding out) I recorded me and my dog finding out. I didn’t tell anyone. I wanted to tell my husband first. I planned how I was going to tell him. I couldn’t believe we were able to get pregnant right away. I bought things, surprises, ways to tell him. I bought my (step) daughter a special gift for when I told her. I way over did it, of course. This was my first rodeo.  Halloween came and went–I didn’t drink because, you know “sober driver” wink wink. My doctor ran more test to be sure.

A little less than a year ago I found out I wasn’t pregnant anymore.

A year ago I found out I most likely never would be again.

I gave away everything I bought. Well, almost everything. I deleted the video. Gave away the books. Donated the life-size teddy bear. Today I realized how angry I’ve been at myself. Today I realized I can’t stretch, run, yoga, travel, drink, work, stress my way back to happiness. I have to find a way to forgive myself for this absolute failure of nature. Forgive myself for the way I planned and executed my life. (And I don’t mean that I would trade my life to do it differently) I need to be forgiven for absolute heart break my own body has caused. The finality of all my unanswered plans and dreams.

So this is where I’ve been, in case you wondered. My life is happy. But this sadness comes in unexpected waves. Sometimes I grant myself total relief from even my own judgement and allow myself to be human and fragile. Its these unexpected waves that run me over.

I know there is so much more to come in this life. I’m doing all the right things to get better. I could write a book on self-love and self-care. I’m not sure how to forgive myself. But I know that my practice today turned into something unexpected. I spent the first 5 minutes crying on my mat among strangers and spent the last 10 minutes the same. They say you should focus on your breathing during yoga. It helps to center you to what your body and soul need. As I sat there, breathing in and out tears, I focused on loving my whole self. After awhile, I was able to open my eyes and stand up.

I don’t know what forgiveness will look or feel like, I just know that if I were trying to forgive someone I love, I would be so much better at it. If a friend came to me I would tell her, “Oh my God, you are not at fault, don’t do this to yourself, you are perfect in this imperfect life!” I’ll let you know when I finally get there with myself. Until then, I’ll keep doing my wine+yoga+travel+work+writing+music+family+running therapy that should eventually lead to forgiven.

And there’s always music when words fail.  Kesha released this song only a couple months before I needed it.

 

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Stepmom’s Promise.

18 Monday Jun 2018

Posted by stepmommyrun in Uncategorized

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

coparent, divorce, family, fight, marriage, step dad, Step Mother, step parent, stepmom, therapy

I’ve read a few stories of men who marry women with children lately. I’ve thought, how beautiful that he made it special for her daughter. They often have pictures of him proposing to the child as well as the mom. These stories are incredible and wonderful, and should always be celebrated. We have so many single mothers and children whose dads aren’t in their lives, that shining a spotlight on those men who “step in when he stepped out” should be a priority.

And what of those women who “stepped in with her” to raise his child? I married my soulmate. We push each other, test one another, and always come back to talking through “us”. 67% of second marriages with children end in divorce in the US. 67%. I can tell you firsthand how and why those 67% numbers add up. It’s the failure to communicate, the assumption of responsibility, the laziness, and cattiness that is found on all sides. It’s the selfish perspective, the burning need to be right every time. It’s the foolish mistakes and the gross misjudgment. It’s the lies. It’s the secrets. It’s the money. It’s the “rights”.

And at the end of all those battles are the behaviors of the child. The child who learned she should lie to you to protect a parent. Who learned to bury their feelings because she watched you bury yours too. The child that starts crying because she must “tell you the truth now” about how she broke her toy, but she’s crying because she doesn’t want you to be upset. The child that has seen you upset too many times. The child who won’t sleep through the night anymore because things have changed at her other home.

67%.

It’s the books you order on amazon (2 copies of course). The articles you comb the internet for and print out to read at 2AM when everyone is asleep and the dishes are done and the floors are cleaned and the laundry is folded. It’s the multiple therapists you call and interview, even though you have no authority in this realm, and you know it isn’t up to you if she goes to a good “out of network” therapist, or even if she goes at all. It’s morning self-pep talks and 5 minutes of meditation you do to steal yourself against the infuriating and undermining surprises to come that day. It’s the midday prayers to God asking to help you be a more patient and loving stepmom. It’s the long phone calls to your sisters seeking the “other perspective” to help you love those who hurt you, despite them hurting you. It’s the lunch breaks spent running to hopefully fight your own demons.

It’s being a mediator and mentor, a therapist and punching bag. It’s realizing that you aren’t here for the adults. You never committed to protecting them. It’s understanding and accepting when you must excuse yourself from their battles. Excuse yourself from being taken for granted. Excuse yourself from all their burden that they should be shouldering. It’s reminding yourself what you promised, and being ok with only meeting that promise.

A year ago, I stepped in, forever. A year ago, I promised to be the best mom I know how to be for you. I promised you won’t always like what I have to tell you, but I will always love and protect you with my whole heart and being. I promised that to me, you are mine and God has planned for us to be together forever.

I promise these again today. You are mine.

67%.

67% get caught up on the wrong sides of arguments. 67% push themselves to exhaustion doing the work of others. 67% fall apart because they are drained of all their energy and creativity and no one is replenishing that well. 67% allow others to destroy everything beautiful about them. 67% try too hard in the wrong places.

I am your stepmom. Not theirs.soph and kate

Photo Credit: https://bryannewfield.com/

 

 

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Honor her sacrifice

28 Thursday Sep 2017

Posted by stepmommyrun in Uncategorized

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Tags

anger, family, feelings, fight, honor, husband, mom, mother, respect, sacrifice, step daughter, step parent, stepmom, struggle, wife, women

Men,

Do you have a woman in your life who loves and protects you? Has she taken on the responsibility of mothering a child that isn’t biologically hers. Does she stay awake at night worrying about how that child will grow up, who they will become. Does she pray for you? Does she exhaust herself taking care of your house? Does she lose what little sleep she use to get putting together fun projects, special lunches, unique ways to show your child how much she loves them? Is she literally the most amazing outcome you could have had to shitty start as a parent?

Do you honor your wife? Do you know what that means?

Your wife is invisible to the rest of the world. She doesn’t count. She’s not a mother, and yet she is responsible for all the mother things. She’s not allowed to have any title attributed to her that the world can nod and say, “oh I know who you are”. She’s not allowed to have a say. She’s not allowed most decisions. She can’t even have something special just between her child and herself.  She gets zero credit from the world. From her child. Are you going out of your way to give her credit? Are you honoring her daily sacrifice? Are you showing her your sacrifice too?

Or do you just take. Do you just accept her hard work as common place and expected? Your child learns from you. They watch you. They see you interrupt her speaking and know she is not of value. Her words are not important. They see you ignore her. They see you lie to her. They see you take her for granted.

The step mom of your child committed to sacrifice so many things; her ego, her everyday decision making freedom, her time, her tears, her strength, her sanity, her damn freedom! What have you sacrificed for her? What end of your bargain are you holding up? When you look around, did you get all the benefits of having a child, but none of the responsibility?

Have you left your partner alone to suffer and struggle while you kick your feet up and occasionally say thank you?

You must try harder than most men. You must be more than most men. You do not get to sluff off the responsibility of being an engaged, thoughtful, aware parent because you found a woman willing to do it with you. She said she would do it with you. What did you hear in that promise? Did she say SHE would do it for you?

Your wife is not your child’s mother. Your wife is not YOUR mother.

Are you honoring her sacrifice, or are you just like the rest of the world allowing her to go on invisible?

 

In here, at least, I am not invisible.

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Burying pain with kindness

06 Wednesday May 2015

Posted by stepmommyrun in Uncategorized

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

anger, honor, hurt, kindness, love, mom, mother, Mother's Day, pain, step mom, Step Mother, stepmom

Let me start by wishing all of you Mommy’s out there a happy Mother’s day! I hope those of you who struggle regularly with the general lack of acceptance of you as a “real” mother, have someone out there this weekend who will call, or write, or text you “Happy Mother’s Day!” In case you do not, let me be the first to honor you, all that you do, all of your heartache, all of your sacrifice, all of your tears of joy and pain; let me be the first to honor you, and wish you a beautiful, blessed Mother’s Day.

I have been crushed through my core in the past. I have been hurt in ways that even my anger couldn’t conjure a cursing riddled with my experiences against another person. I’ve fought and clawed my way back from pain that I shouldn’t have known. Because of my fight for me, I struggle with believing in others. I often struggle with believing in humanity as a good and kind body, capable of honesty and value and positive impact. My career dampens my faith in others ever more, showing me daily the cruel, selfish, and self-serving side of our futures. Trust is a priceless commodity for me, and it takes years to acquire it.

Quite expectedly, it takes moments to shatter what trust you may have stored in your cache of me. I have been building, and working, and fighting for trust to surround me. I have limited my circle to very few, count maybe two hands (including my family). I recently welcomed a few into my circle, believing, having faith that I could trust in them. Believing that they supported me, supported us, what we are trying so desperately to do. I am heart-broken at the loss. I searched frantically for a text-book response to my hurt. Searching for a way to put my heart back together. Angry at how easily I’ve allowed yet another human being to get close enough to crush me. Shocked at my naivety that maybe they wouldn’t. I can’t go back into that black hole. I can’t come back from that darkness again. I never want to be surrounded by that kind of sad emptiness. I can respond differently. I can be stronger. I can bury my pain with kindness, even though you would say they don’t deserve my kindness.

I went out for a bottle of wine. And came back with supplies to make homemade Mother’s Day presents. One for each Mommy in her life. The grandma’s included. She is so excited to be making gifts. So ecstatic to pick out paper to wrap them in. So joyful to have something to give to those she loves on this blessed day to honor Mothers.  So beautiful as her eyes light up in understanding as she points to herself whispering “My Mommy” when I say, “And who is the best Mommy in the world that we should make the most special gift for?” Such accepting, beautiful, wonder and fascination in “our” little secret. No, these are not my Mothers, these women have managed to level a pain against me that I don’t fully understand, can’t fully process beyond my very rare tears. No, these Mothers are wonder and beauty and loving and kind to her. So in my pain, the only thing I can do to continue forward, is to repay in kindness and honor who they are in her life with love.mother-429158_640

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Choosing your life

22 Wednesday Apr 2015

Posted by stepmommyrun in Uncategorized

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choice, divorce, love, regret, relationship, step parent, stepmom

Most of my life, fell in my lap.

I stumbled into my job right out of college. I stumbled into relationships. I stumbled into promotions from success. I’ve been good at most things I try. Not number one, but good. My therapist says I need to try guided meditation and envisioning therapy. Like, visualize your goal and you succeeding at it. I’ve never really had a goal. I’ve just been doing. And if I ever had a goal, did I really work that hard to succeed at it? Or did it just come naturally?

I know you are sitting there thinking, wow, think highly of yourself?

I don’t.

We’ve been talking about moving lately. We’ve put it off and put it off for one reason or another. I do well with deadlines, and there is no deadline for moving. There’s no promotion or transfer at work. There’s no lease about to expire. There’s just the need for quality of life improvement. I need to be closer to work. I need to spend less time in my car. Although, on good traffic days, that hour is nice to just sit and ponder over things I don’t have time to wonder about.

We discussed moving the other night and he has been emphatic about this being the natural next step. My perception is that he is quite cavalier about it. Very much taking for granted that this is a choice. For once, we actually can choose. I don’t think people realize that every day they have the choice. Instead we make assumptions about life, and just continue on in our routine never stopping to say, “wait, do I want to keep doing this?” For us there are so many things that make that a scary question no one wants to ask.

Well of course we are going to keep going in this relationship. It would be hard to explain why we aren’t to Peanut. It makes sense to continue. We coexist well together. We help each other. We this, we that. At the end of the day, how many of you can honestly say, “I wake up every morning and choose to be with you”?

I asked this question of both of us, and we discovered some truth here. Neither one of us wakes up everyday and says, “I’m making a choice. I choose you.” With divorce rates in this country at a ridiculous high, no freaking wonder! I read this man’s story about wanting a divorce and started to wonder myself. He asks his wife for a divorce and she makes one demand: he must carry her from their bedroom every morning for one month, then she will agree to a divorce. In the end he falls in love with her again after making the commitment to her every morning. Are we making a commitment every day? I know we are sacrificing. Lord knows, we are challenged and sacrificing on a daily basis. I complain I have no choice, no say, no freedom anymore. This is one choice I can still make everyday. And by waking up and making that choice every morning, I am actively committed. I am actively choosing to stay together. I’m not reacting to the latest round of crap. I’m not doing damage control to piece it together. I am choosing, first thing, to be here, be present, and be a member of this family. Perhaps if I make the choice to be in this family, I can forgive myself for the heartache I’ve brought on myself by being in this family. It is still my choice. Everyday, it is still my choice to be here. So rather than feel trapped by external factors, some days I can feel empowered, I chose this. I’m strong enough, and this was my choice today.

Choice

http://www.godupdates.com/he-wanted-a-divorce-but-her-secret-brought-me-to-tears/

photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/85608594@N00/12024129713″>Deepak Chopra No matter what the situation, remind yourself I have a choice</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a&gt; <a href=”https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/”>(license)</a&gt;

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Being My Own Champion

08 Sunday Mar 2015

Posted by stepmommyrun in Uncategorized

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Tags

believe, Cheer, competition, goals, God, Mother Teresa, race, run, running, stepmom

I discovered that underneath all of my independence, is someone who is dependent on others to validate their work. And underneath all that reliance on others to validate them, is someone who finally knows how to celebrate themselves. Yesterday was a trying day. It was a last minute decision to join a race, rather than cheer and support. I had trained some, mostly inconsistently. But I had trained. I was getting there. Rebounding from illness, times two, and a round of depression that still seems thick on my skin, I was getting there. So when I signed up for yesterday’s race a mere 5 days prior, I was nervous and doubtful. I had no idea how I would perform, let alone finish. I had multiple layers of fear, both rational and irrational. What I didn’t have was my direct support team. I was doing this solo. Don’t get me wrong, I had some of my direct support, but they had their own things to get through.

As race morning was upon us, one member had spent the last 24 hours fretting and pacing, stressed and worrisome over the length and potential performance in the race. I spent much of my morning in silent support. Another member was battling her own demons with an injury that forced her withdrawal from her original race, to a lesser distance: my race. I spent much of my time trying not to be insulted and trying not to speak.

One thing I know to be true; I am the sensitive one. If I have an opinion, that is deemed excessive or too passionate, the natural response is “uh oh, she’s upset again, lets walk on eggshells around her” When in actuality, I’m just expressing an opinion or telling you how you make me feel. So I have a large basket of emotions at 6AM of race day. I’m doing my best to support the other two, as I still don’t believe I belong here, and therefore my fears and concerns about the race or my performance are not valid. I didn’t train as long or as hard as they did. I didn’t sacrifice the time I don’t have like they did. My battle is nowhere near the earned level theirs is. So I kept quiet. I said minimal about my injury. I said nothing about my fears. I tried my best not to retaliate, or even worse, pathetically beg for attention and validation on this cold run morning.

We arrive at our race, and the first runner takes off. We cheer, take pictures, we yell and clap for her and all the other runners. Then a nervous silence descended on the park. We had 3 hours before our race was scheduled to start. I set up to cheer anyone who came through the first checkpoint on. The injured went to sit in warmth. She was angry. She was frustrated. All of her hard work, training, sacrifice, and tears came down to destruction in her eyes. She was not going to run the race she signed up for, and all because part of her body had betrayed her. It wouldn’t function. It gave up. It gave in, and it would barely let her walk. I watched silently as she struggled to process her disappointment. That process, by the way, looks like rageful anger tinged with sarcastic humor. We are very similar creatures, using passive humor to somehow mollify the pain of failure. It wasn’t working. In fact, while not working, it was creating anger and resentment in me. It was pushing my limits of patience and understanding. I was near tears at one point, and considering lashing out in passive angry humor (ok maybe no humor). Here she was, shrouded in her own frustration and mutiny from her limbs, completely unaware of neither the words she was saying or the attitude displayed toward my race.

I accepted much of it. I accepted that my run wasn’t a real run. I accepted that the race I was doing wasn’t for real runners. Why? Because I lacked confidence in me. I lacked belief that I deserved to be here. I didn’t understand that although my race wasn’t the cream of the crop goal of every runner, it was still going to be an unbelievable accomplishment for me. I didn’t accept that I deserved to be here. I deserved to own and earn this accomplishment. I was spending my prep time battling for someone else’s sanity, and I deserved to have someone invest in mine. I was terrified. I didn’t think I could run as far as I had signed up to run! I didn’t think I could do it alone! I didn’t think I would make it. I feared I would be laughed at, walking this trail, by other runners that I’ve always believed were a supportive community.

And then, something changed.

I’d had enough.

I made an internal decision, which had an outward impact. I decided I deserved to be here. I decided my race was important. I decided my race was amazing. I decided I was valued. I decided to be my own champion. I decided I was important.

From that moment on, I was done worrying about others. I was done being an unresponsive emotional punching bag, intended or not. My race mattered.

The start lineup came. We lined up. We made the decision to run our own races. So often runners will unconsciously make the decision that they cannot leave each other behind. They will keep pace with a slower runner out of guilt, even though they may have trained harder than the runner they are pacing. I know from experience. I am the slow runner! I’ve had team members run their crappiest races because they have this internal desire to motivate and lift the entire team. I’ve had my mom make up songs in the middle of the race, just to keep me motivated and going. And she’s a regular marathoner! So we decided to run separate races. We decided based on our own needs, it would be best to do our races and do them for ourselves and on our own.

Best decision made. Injured took off like a bat out of hell. Her strategy was to run, and run fast before her limbs realized what she was doing, and hopefully once her limbs caught on she would be crashing through the finish line many miles later. I had committed to a 14 minute mile pace in advance. Based on the distant and my training, I believed this was a pace I could finish at.

The run was amazing. It was hard. It was trying. I had to stop 3 separate times to stretch out my own injury I was battling. But I never walked. Half the time I didn’t even pick my head up to look around. The scenery was amazing, but I didn’t know it. I was both my own cheerleader and captain. At one point I was babbling to myself through the trail. I called myself my own last name and my sister’s last name to chastise into running faster.

In the end, I sprinted my last 0.3 miles. I sprinted past our cheering team and Injured yelling and cheering me on. I sprinted over the finish line and claimed my medal at an average pace of 12.36 minutes per mile.  I did this. I did this for me. I accomplished something unbelievable, and I did it alone. No one else on my team really knew or acknowledged what it took for me to accomplish this, and it didn’t matter. I am amazing, and I know what I went through to smash this goal.

So in the end, your take away is this: Sometimes you spend your entire life reliant on others to validate your existence, to empathize with your struggle. And in the end, there is only you. In the end, you might be the only one who notices you. And that, needs to be enough. In the end, you are enough.

“The good you do today, may be forgotten tomorrow. Do it anyway…..In the end it is between you and God, it was never between you and them anyway.” –Mother Theresa

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Underpants and Responsibilities

30 Friday Jan 2015

Posted by stepmommyrun in Uncategorized

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beers, bubble bath, happy, need, reading, relax, step mom, stepmom, stress, underpants, underwear

If you’ve been keeping up with me, this week was rough. Oh who are we kidding, they’re ALL rough! 🙂 Today is a better day, but lets not get ahead of ourselves. Let me go back 24…

Emotionally destructive day. Questioning where I fit in and who I belong to and how I stack up in this crazy broken family we have. Emotional outbursts. Unresponsive at work. Just down right down, all day. I came home last night, very late as work went late and there was nothing I could do to motivate my team. There was nothing I could do to motivate me, let alone 25 of them! So we got out pretty late. I drove the hour and a half home without ever turning on my music. I just zoned out. At one point I realized I was confused as to which road I was on! Not that I was falling asleep or not paying attention, just not connected to the present in a normal way. I was safely connected to the road and my steering, but my thoughts were flipping past the days events. I walked in the door to find Peanut was sound asleep like a good little girl (She better be at 10PM!). Bacon gave me a hug hello and just smiled when I said, “I’m gonna go put on sweatpants.” I walked to the bedroom and found a surprise waiting for me.

The thing about this surprise is that it made me cry. I never let anyone take care of me. If you want to take care of me, you pretty much have to ninja your way in there, surprise me or catch me off guard, and just take control and do it. So to have someone just take charge and take care of me in a way that was taking-no-prisoners, was the “straw” so to speak on this overworked over-stressed exhausted camel.

It wasn’t the bubbles in the bath quietly popping and fizzing and emanating a soft sensual smell. It wasn’t the bucket, yes bucket, of my favorite beer on ice stacked on the foot stool next to the fizzing bubble bath. It wasn’t the 100 candles giving off a soft welcoming glow, lighting the room just enough so that I could read my book lovingly set by the bathtub. It wasn’t even the soft ocean sounds playing on the iPad propped up on the sink or the sign on the bathroom door declaring “Night spa”. I started to cry when I saw all of these things, to the point where my nose was so stuffy I couldn’t smell the spa smell anymore. It was after I relaxed in the warmth and quiet for a while. After I had enough time to actually get into my new book and start to attach to it. Once I had (I’ll admit) started in on my second beer. After I could start to feel myself let go of all of my self-judgment and frustration, my insecurities and unfounded fears. It was after all of this that I decided I was ready to get out and rejoin my family (well half of it anyway). And as I went to retrieve my sweatpants and sleepy shirt, lovingly folded and stacked on top of two fresh towels. As I dried myself off and thought, ah I’ll just go commando tonight. It wasn’t all of this swirled together in a little brief ball of love and care and affection in a way I can understand and relate to. No, it wasn’t all of these loving and thoughtful and carefully planned touches to make my evening relaxing that made me feel truly special and loved and taken care of.

It was clean underwear folded in the stack of towels and sweatpants that made me feel truly cared for. That of all these big shows of affection, I fell for the most basic need being thought of, and put out for me before I knew I needed it.

Sometimes I’m so good at all of this stuff. I’m so great at managing multiple schedules in multiple families. Controlling and overseeing a multi-milllion dollar project. Balancing emotions and outburst and inappropriate behavior. Planning meals, shopping for food, managing my own budget while saving for the future.  Stressing and worrying over a misspoken word or a poorly written email. I’m keeping up with everything on a couple of hours of sleep a night. Sometimes, I just need somebody to get my underwear before even realize I need it.

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We just communicated effectively

23 Friday Jan 2015

Posted by stepmommyrun in Uncategorized

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anger, communication, dog poop, garage, passive agressive, running, stepmom

I really don’t want to be passive aggressive, but I feel sometimes that my opinion might literally kill someone with words. Instead of, “Ya know, I absolutely loathe that you don’t care to pick up dog poop in the yard and assume that I will because I just tend to take care of everything so why should you care you son of a…”

woah.

Instead I do this. “Ya know, we’ll get a fine with all that dog poo in the yard. That’s really not a great impression of the Yellers to our neighbors. I picked it all up last time.” Hint Hint. Wink. Wink. Pick up the damn POO you son of a……

woah.

So one might say, I’m not the best at expressing my disappointment in things not being taken care of, especially when I have very vaguely and repeatedly directly but not directly asked you to do it. I like to let it fester and build. I like to see it every morning on my way to work and chew on it for the hour and a half drive. Then I like to work my tail off and expend all of my patience and energy at work. Then I like to drive home the hour and a half contemplating whether it will be there to greet me. Then I sit in my car. And stare at it. And think about it. And know in my heart that if one more day goes by….

And that’s how I escalate the poop in my mind.

So the other morning, I was trying to get my stuff together for a race. And of course this was just a typical race, but since the Packers were playing, it instantly became a themed race with lots of flair because I just can’t do anything at a normal pace/state/attire. So I’m searching for my green and gold leg warmers, because it was cold as blazes out and I want to be safe in my running attire. And I knew they were in my bin in the garage. My LABELLED bin in the garage. My LABELLED Packer bin in the garage. My LABELLED Packer bin of flair….in the garage. It’s early. I’m not the nicest in the morning because I don’t get sleep anymore between work and Peanut, and now the damn dog. So I really try not to speak before leaving the house, in general. I asked Bacon to help me get the bin down, because it’s early and I knew struggling with that was probably going to set me off. We go out to the garage to look for my LABELLED bin. And to my horror, we can’t find it. Not just because there are massive piles of BS thrown everywhere in this garage. Piles of xmas lights, boxes, bins, tools, who knows what thrown everywhere in this “shared” space we have. Bags of recycling piled up by the door to the house. Mid-progress projects abandoned in the middle of the floor. Summer clothes piled on top of the bins they should be piled INSIDE of. So I am pretty sure my huffs and puffs were audible at this point, as I am struggling to contain my frustration and not lash out….rationally or not. (Yes I’m aware I have organization/control/panic/lets-just-stop-the-list-now issues) And I finally give up in a boiling angry state of silence. And then I spot it, in the corner of the garage, I’m pretty sure there was a beam of light shining on it, or the light was merely a reflection of the lasers shooting from my eyeballs, but either way, problem solved. He helps me get it down, all nice, all quiet, don’t poke the bear just give it its leg warmers nice. I frantically shove my stuff in a bag, hugs and kisses goodbye, mutter some passive aggressive comment about dog poop and I’m on my way.

My run was, well just awful. Terrible performance on my end, but it was an amazing opportunity for ma and my sister (Whiskey Shots as I like to call her 😉) to really just lift my spirits after a tremendously dark and difficult week. I was happy as headed to work after the race. I was nice to my staff at work after the race. And then Bacon called.

And he asked if I was ok, because I seemed (pause for audible tension in his voice) “edgy” this morning. When I say I had no intention of getting into any sort of serious heartfelt conversation on the phone at work, I mean it. But he asked, and when he asks something, even though he may not totally absorb the answer, he really wants to at least hear it. So I started with some lame calm response that was passive about the garage. But, as we talked more, just talking got me to the root of why the garage bothered me so much. And what it ultimately came down to was an agreement that had been broken. The garage started off as a sacred space for both of us to share, me with my painting and he with his projects. But through lack of care or priority and excuse after excuse, I had been violently shoved out of my space (my own passive aggressive statement of defiance) and was now resentful, bitter, and down right ticked off. (That’s putting it nicely)

So in the end, a timid question, I’m certain he was terrified to hear the answer to, helped me express my honest feelings, that I didn’t even understand until that moment, and helped him understand how to more effectively ease my stress.

And…..there’s no poop in the yard 😉IMG_7575.JPG

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