Blog~ Who I am

 "What would the child you were, think of the adult you have become?"

I have come back to this question over and over since I read it several weeks ago, not quite able to define a clear answer, yet unable to let the question go.  It prompted me to look back at some pictures of myself as a little girl and remind myself of what exactly I wanted to become back then.
As I looked back over the pictures I remembered hopes and dreams. I felt the memories in my body and my heart and I looked at the picture. 
I was reminded that the stubborness I have is not something I have developed over time, you can see that from the red nose and surly expression in the first picture.  Having my picture taken was not on my agenda that day and nothing anyone did could change that.

 I was also reminded that although I spent a number of  years in my late teens and early twenties being a history of poor choices, I was not always that person.  I was not only stubborn but very active early on and even then hated to wear shoes.  Turns out running on blacktop and stubbing your toe is dangerous.  I am amused by the look on my face more than anything.  As I looked at this picture I realized I have never noticed the sardonic "so what" look on my face before. 

And yes that is me, half naked and yes barefoot,  running around regardless of the fact that our backyard was a typical southern yard.  Snakes, spiders and fire ants were common.  Although I have seen this picture hundreds of times I have never quite noticed before this the all out gallop. 

These are just a few of the pictures I looked at and although I have seen them so many times before, looking at them with this question in mind changed the way I saw them.  I saw them differently and my reality was challenged by the question. 

In my adult life  I have really seen myself as someone who was a "before" and an "after".  A jagged edged and chaotic childhood, followed by early life choices, a failed marriage at a young age, self destruction in a number of ways and then the progression of realizing I wanted more and working toward it.

What I realized in my recent reflection was that maybe I have been wrong all along?  What if I wasn't a before and after but had never been given a chance to figure out the real me? Our beliefs are shaped by the beliefs of our parents, our families and our exposure.  We know what we live and we know only what we have experienced.

 I grew up in a time and a region where one of the worst words we have in our cultural  history was accepted.  I am not proud of it, but growing up in my familes circles the "n" word was used regularly.  I didn't know this was a hurtful word until my kindergarten teacher, who happened to be black informed me in a stern and loving way that it was not a word to be used ever. I remember the hot waves of shame when she told me why and even at that age was overwhelmed by the thought of hurting someone with my words.  I have never used the word again.  I often think of that example when I am challenging myself to see things in a new way. I inherited my world view from my family and from those who I spent time with.  That view included myself and when you come from a family whose culture includes drinking, smoking, swearing, basic education, and ultimately a rough type of life survival, there is not a lot of room to see yourself grabbing the higher level achievments.  And yet it doesn't mean that I keep the inheritance or accept it for myself.

When I look at the pictures I can feel the dreams I had then.  I feel them in my body with the intensity of the emotion I breathed, longing for something else.  I remember vividly the passion I had for the ways I was going to be the woman I wanted to be and the person I knew was in me.

There are chapters of my life when I lost that and somewhere along the way I came to believe that I was a "before" and now have become the strong, stubborn, and dedicated woman I am living this crazy and amazing life.  Yet when I look at the pictures I wonder if rather than a before I am more of a "getting back to"......

I started to look at other pictures too and I am amazed and grateful when I see the adult I have become.  Or perhaps always have been.  I have so many fulfilling roles, from personal to professional.  I am now a business owner, I am blessed to have so many people in my life that I love.  I get to do things I never really thought I would and when I replay the last 10 years of my life I am actually a bit awestruck.

I remember the image of the woman I thought I would become and I am stunned by how close to that I am.  The short answer is she would think she had done pretty damn well. The longer answer I will save for another article....For now if I had to pick one picture that sums it up.....my first solo jump.  True to me, I wanted to skydive by the time I was 30.  Which I did and of course fell in love with it, progressing through training until I physically couldn't anymore.  What strikes me as I looked at this was the smile on my face.  120 mph in free fall checking my altimeter and I am smiling.  No fear present just loving the moment.  A significant footnote is this happens to be the first jump after I had a terrible solo jump. It was a bad experience which luckily turned out well because of the amazing skill of the man on my right who pulled my cord and literally saved my life. 

She would think she was pretty damn lucky and living quite a life.  She would also remind me that who you think you are is often an accumulation of experiences and chapters that really are your history not you.  And that when you go back and look you might find the you that you always have been. 

To be continued....

Pictures from kerrie~70.3, 5k, DC & 50k

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Blog post: Strong Enough to Cry~50k

My life changed radically in 2008 when I began training for my first marathon.  It is hard to believe it has only been 4 short years since I set out to do what “runners” do and grappled with the doubt and insecurity of entering a world in which I didn’t belong.   I have struggled with uncertainty and fear, doubting myself most of the way.  It is my default setting, whispering in my ear in the moments I am anxious and unsure of myself.

I have found purpose in my running and feel unbelievably blessed to be able to combine it with writing.  I am always incredibly touched when something I have written encourages someone else.  One comment I have never found a way to be comfortable with, is that I am an inspiration.  I squirm every time I hear this and although I try to accept the comment with grace, I fall short most times.

It is a similar discomfort I have with the challenge to be vulnerable. Being uncomfortable with it  is not the same as not being vulnerable.  I am vulnerable, sensitive, often easily hurt and exposed more often than I would like.

Running a 50 k yesterday, the hours on the trail  gave me time to think as always.   I found myself thinking about my tendency to wait just until the race to register.  I thought about my physical reaction, a tug in the pit of my stomach the night before as I was pulling in for packet pick up.  Driving into the campground of tents and athletic looking people all wearing the trademark brands of competent runners, I wanted to turn around and go home.  It is the same thought I have every time, which actually seems to be more of a feeling.  “These people belong and I don’t. “  I wait, holding my breath for the group to collectively turn and look at me, the one person who doesn’t belong there. It doesn’t happen of course, and each time I go through this I talk myself back into reality.  But the pattern is predictable, and stays with me through the start line the next morning.

I had plenty of time to analyze it yesterday.  Was I afraid I wouldn’t finish the race?  Was I afraid I couldn’t do it?  Was I afraid my body would shut down or that I would be injured? Was I afraid of being so  slow that the course closed before I got to the finish line? Was I afraid every person there would see me as an imposter, figuring out I wasn’t a real runner? Answering no to all the questions, meant I really didn’t have a good reason for doubting myself, yet I do every time. I am afraid of signing up and I am afraid of all of the things I know are not true.  I am afraid of quitting, even though I know I won’t.  I am afraid of failing even though I know finishing is good enough.  I am afraid of falling short and being judged even though it would be unjust.

In my mind I call it fearful courage.  It is as paradoxical as it sounds and I can’t explain it, because it is as emotive as it sounds.  The best I can do  is this:  It is feeling

Womens Adventure Magazine ~article published

Here is the second article in the series for Womens Adventure Magazine. 

http://www.womensadventuremagazine.com/blog/reader-stories/face-your-barracuda/

Adventures in Colorado



Notice where the step meets my body! 

 Start of the run, 8000 feet, finally hit peak to turn on trail....14,500 ft!  Distance to get there, 1 mile.  It was insane and brutal but of course I loved it.  Switchbacks for 6 miles down were crazy and could have been crazy fast except for the lack of oxygen in my lungs and severe dehydration setting in.  Less than 24 hours in Colorado and triple digit heat wave added to the challenge.







At the top

And the world seems a little better now that I got to go for a run with Craig again.



So very sad

Change of plans, wildfire broke out while we were on the mountain running.  We got out with hundreds of others and changed outline for the day!

Mountain biking through here, of course yet another adventure whenever I am involved.  Flat tire means a race back to vehicle to rescue Matt!

Well yes Craig I will bungee jump with you!

Royal Gorge Bridge. Highest suspension bridge

Amazing view and so beautiful.  Took ride to bottom of gorge and also cable car across the gorge.  Completely awestruck!

Blog: Life Lessons 70.3

LIFE LESSONS; To Be Continued

 Today as I crossed the finish line, earning the 70.3 title, I crossed it a wiser person than I had been at the start line.  This morning, waiting in my wave to head into the water, I was filled with fear and uncertainty.  If I was honest with myself at the lowest common denominator I was afraid of failing and in fact had verbalized this several times in the days leading up to today’s triathlon.  I am not sure how I could have defined failure, mostly it was a vague cloud hovering over me.  As I headed into the water this morning, the only thing I could think of is wondering what the hell I was doing there. 

I was given the gift of several lessons today though.  Or perhaps I re-learned the lessons. I was reminded of  what finishing and winning means, and also was reminded about who I am in this sport.  I have always been quick to point out that I am not a triathlete and  I am still uncertain about my ability to make it to the start of Ironman in September.  Ironically enough, my IM goal was sparked while running 220 km across Africa which should be an indication of what it is that I love to do, versus what I am doing. 

I waited at the start of the swim today, looking at the buoy’s  and although I am sure I had thoughts, I couldn’t tell you what they were.  Primal fear was the only emotion I can recall and I am sure any thoughts I had were related to the fear.  Let me be clear on how much I despise swimming and how completely uncomfortable I am with it. My swimming is always one step shy of desperation and completely miserable.  Most times I can settle into a somewhat calm feeling after the initial waves of panic.  Today I couldn’t find it and fought my swim and fear the entire way.  1.2 miles is a hell of a long way to fight and by the time I got out of the water I was exhausted. 

Coming out of the water, I had two thoughts.  First relief it was over and a sense of pride I had done it.  It wasn’t pretty but I did it. I was reassured by the thought that cycling would be easier, although I have also yet to have a great ride this year.  I have been plagued by an inability to find a fit that doesn’t result in screaming pain from my back all the way down my legs.  With a recent bike fit, and new components I was feeling confident today would be a better day on the bike.   Within 5 minutes on the bike I was filled with dread.  My back was hot with pain in the first few minutes and with 55.5 miles to go I realized there was a chance the finish line would not be in my future today. Looking back I am not sure how I managed to finish the bike, other than sheer stubbornness. A few weeks ago it was pointed out as a criticism that I was stubborn, and thankfully yes I am. I will admit that the pain was so bad that I literally spent miles crying on the bike. I had one driving thought the entire time and that was to get off my bike and just be done.   I am not sure I why I didn’t, why I stayed on. 

The two memories I will have of the ride is the pain and the rainstorm that popped up with winds that moved me sideways. It rained so hard it sounded like hail on my helmet.  I tucked in as far as I physically could at that point and I remember just laughing and thinking “well we do need the rain”.  The winds were strong enough I thought I was done as it blew me from one side of the road to the other.  I had about 2-3 miles left to go when the storm popped up.

I could hear thunder and see lightning and despite spending hours fighting the urge to get off the bike and quit, I felt desperate fear they would close the race down.  My immediate thought was that no matter what I was going to run my 13.1.  WHAT???  It was an automatic thought and even as I thought it I wondered why the hell I wouldn’t wish for them to close the course.  There is no more dignified way out than if you are not allowed to finish right? I wish I could explain it to you, because it doesn’t make sense to me either.  It didn’t make sense to me last month in Utah either when I had a chance to run the half marathon instead of the full.  For a brief moment I was overwhelmingly relieved at doing a shorter distance and then although it would have been so much easier in many ways, I realized that I was going to do the full no matter what it took. 

I do understand though, my physical urge to get off the bike and quit was just that.  A physical urge, disconnected from who and what I am.  Isn’t this true for anyone doing their own race, from a 5k to an Ironman.  Our bodies recruit our nerve endings, enlisting a relentless campaign to somehow stop the pain.  My finish line is really about the ability to override the constant battle. I imagine they will have to pull me from a course before I ever raise the white flag.  It has less to do with pride or stubbornness, and much more to do with knowing what it feels like to not be able to move my body. 

My second lesson today came on the last part of the race, the run.  It is no secret running is my love and it is what makes my world right many days.  Having made it through the swim and the bike and feeling more beat up than I ever remember, I came out of transition wondering how I would possibly run 13.1 miles.  My body was on fire, the pain and fatigue were overwhelming and despite my love of running, 13.1 seemed completely impossible.  I headed out onto the run and the first half mile is a solid uphill climb.  I was pretty sure I was not going to make it and yet like on the bike I also knew it was not an option to quit.  Ever.  One foot in front of the other, I kept going and watching people finish the run as I was just heading out which added to my defeat.  Adding to my misery I knew I had to do two loops, which is always a form of mental cruelty in my opinion.  Well-meaning volunteers would yell out encouraging words of “almost there” and I wanted to scream at them that I was just starting my $#@! run!   Thankfully words took too much energy at that point and I just kept moving. 

My epiphany came somewhere around the 6 mile mark.  Despite being on the course way longer than I had wanted to, despite the brutality of the first two events and despite the heaviness and fatigue in my entire body I realized I was loving the run.  The trails are home to me, I know every inch of them and I felt peaceful and happy being there.  Although it had been hours since I crossed the start line I felt happy.  I found myself thinking how great the day would be if it had been hours of running instead of having to do the other two events first. 

I have wondered if I would be one of the people who stood in line to get a spot in IM 2013 when I get to Madison this year.  I figured I would know when the time got here, and maybe I still will.  I realized today however that although I have unbelievable pride in my ability to not quit today, I am really not a triathlete.  I am a runner who is registered for a triathlon.  I came out of the first two events so defeated and tired.  Yet, still I can say with all honesty that even in the pain of the run I didn’t battle once with the thought of quitting, nor did I curse the run as I did the entire bike and swim.  This will be my summer to have an affair with the triathlon world but in the end I have no doubt running will remain my true love.  The Dr. Suess quote "be who you are" comes to mind and I am proud to be a stubborn runner.  Perhaps I will evolve over the year to feeling like a triathlete, but I have a difficult time imagining the peace and joy I did today when I finally got to run.  I am determined to finish what I started and will march toward the start of Ironman Wisconsin, yet in my heart I will get through the first part so I can do the best part.  

So many moments brought tears to my eyes and I walk away today, proud of finishing.  I am aware I still have many obstacles in getting to the IM start line in September, and I am grateful for today’s lessons.  I was brought to this journey by them, by women like me and by the fight to the finish line.   I am grateful in ways no words can explain for every moment of today and I carried several ladies with me reminding me that to be able to fight is the greatest gift we are given. 

Blog: Capture the Moments of Life

Olympic Stadium Beijing~Family wanted his picture with the "blonde"

The moments of life speed by and at some age, seem to gain momentum.  Some days gain the momentum of a downhill slide, careening out of control.  Today was another one of those days and after a day that stretched too long, I got home and spent an hour playing with my dogs in the back yard. Watching the sunset, I found myself letting go and forgetting the day.  I had not even taken the  time to change out of my work clothes and running around the yard barefoot, laughing at the playful antics of my dogs, I didn’t care.  I grabbed my camera, laid in the grass taking pictures of the dogs with an amazing sunset in the background, and forgot I was still dressed up. 

Most days I spend listening, coaching, counseling, and sometimes challenging people who want to make changes but don’t always want to have to make those changes.  I am passionate about my work and  grateful I get to do it.  I am lucky to be a part of the process as people experience amazing life changes.  However as much as I love what I do, by the end of the day I feel as though I need refuge. I live in a world where every part of it has grabbed for a chunk of me my energy and spirit is often drained.

Taking pictures of the sunset, playing silly games with my dogs, I forget everything else, my brain slows down and I lose my edge.  I couldn’t tell you what my list has on it and what I should be doing.  I simply smile, laugh and play and feel love as they unselfishly give to me with their own natural ability to be in the moment with me.  

Embracing the moment is challenging for me, and it does not come natural.  Often as I race through my days I check myself realizing I am not in my moment, I spend a lot of time fast forwarding or reviewing the tapes from the last game. It’s a little dance I play in my overloaded life, this mental tug of war. Experiencing the moment and tugging myself back to it again and again.

Last week  I tucked in tight on my bike and allowed gravity and a hill to do what it does. I watched my speedometer hit 35 mph and felt the amazing thrill of the moment.  There are times when the moment is so powerful it is impossible to go elsewhere.  Freefalling at 120 mph, in those moments before you pull for your chute, the moment cannot be ignored. Jumping off a platform attached by a rubber band, feeling the thrill of weightlessness in space. Those experiences are too strong to allow the moment to escape and those experiences make being in the moment easy. But what about the moments every day.  Last night laying in grass playing with my dogs and feeling filled by the beauty of my surroundings and my experience, I remembered the most important truth.

This moment will never come again and I have lived long enough experienced life enough to know the moments can be gone in an instant.  I get  this one section of time and when I am in the past or future moments I am cheating myself and also honest enough to admit often trying to escape myself.  In the pain of self-expectation I destroy the chance to do what I am truly supposed to be doing which is to just be.

Although it likely was not intended as a statement of self reflection Nelson Mandela once said  “If you want to make peace with your enemy,
you have to work with your enemy. Then he becomes your partner.”   When I read this I think of the enemy as myself.  It is my expectations, my fear, my ability to hover over the timeline of my life with a magnifier, second guessing and predicting. My enemy is the judgmental critic  with anger and blame, fear and shame, and a need to push beyond what I would expect of anyone else.  It is the place in me that guards against vulnerability, demanding adherence to a standard I have not yet found the author of.

A few days ago, someone said to me “You are so stubborn”.  It was not meant  as a compliment.  My immediate response was “So what? It’s one of my best traits”. 

It is also my enemy at times, and just as all of carry our greatest strengths in the same hand we carry our greatest weakness. I accept that I will never be satisfied on a large scale and not only do I accept this, I embrace it.  In satisfaction I find complacency which is dangerous.  I am reminded while running in the grass with my dogs or feeling the wind in my face downhill, that fulfillment is a different thing.  It is lasting and but only found in the moment.   In my moments of love and laughter, tears, beauty and life I am grateful for being able to embrace the moment.

Blog: Your Smile

“Because of your smile, you make life more beautiful.”

Thich Nhat Hanh To my mom who is the most beautiful and giving person I know.  You are the kindest and most giving person I know and I am touched by it and inspired by you every day.  I hope to be the love and gentleness you show the world.  Flower shopping Mom, lets take the Jeep! Shopping for flowers, you putting up with my craziness....black thunderclouds and I decide to take my Jeep and a dog.  It's never boring with me anyway.....thank you for laughing and loving it, it will forever be one of my favorite days!!!

Pictures from kerrie

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Ready to Run~

Face Your Barracuda

I spend a lot of time talking about fear, other people’s fear, mostly. It comes with my occupation and it is often our greatest motivator and our greatest barrier.

If you ask people why they feel fear in the absence of actual danger, their answers are usually related to past experiences, rejection, failure, judgement, and a whole list of negative emotions and thoughts. I call these the easy answers, they are used so often they have almost become cliches. I was recently in a professional setting and another therapist commented on how a client was not growing because of fear of change.  The tone of the therapist was just shy of condecending which angered me as much as his comment.  No kidding the client is afraid of change, welcome to the human race.  Anyone who says they are not is either not being fully honest, or numb.  Good or bad, change provokes fear.  However we live in a therapy culture where statements like this have become cliched and when they are spoken, people nod their head knowingly.  I think our fear is more than the tired statements which are easy to accept.  

When I feel fear, after I am done reacting with the full intensity of my personality, I try to figure out what it is that I am afraid of. It sounds like a healthy trait and it is, however if I am being completely honest, I despise something else having control over me. Which is the basic truth behind my tendency to tackle fear head on. I can also be guilty of coming up with the easy answers at times,  but when I challenge myself to dig through the  deeper and real layers, the common demoninator is almost always about me.  I find myself innately worried and afraid that  that I am not good enough, or perhaps I don't belong anywhere or somehow someone will see who I really am and that part of me will be exposed. Keep in mind this is not a rational process, it has the emotional intensity of a tropical storm although this is not visible from the outside.

The center stage for my fear these days has

Being Real

"Real isn't how you are made", said the Skin Horse.  "It's a thing that happens to you.  When a child loves you for a long, long time not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?"  

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse for he was always truthful.  "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."  

The Velveteen Rabbit

Kerrie.Mexico2012

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Grace

On a daily basis my job is to listen to people ask painful questions about their value, their worth, their purpose. I am no different, I ask myself the same questions.  I wonder sometimes how vulnerable and authentic I really have the ability to be.  On stage teaching a fitness class, in front of a room of students with my curriculum ready, or in a therapy session  connecting with someone, I can choose my vulnerability carefully, selecting it with caution.

As someone who spends her life and if fact makes it part of my mission statement to connect with others and help them reach beyond their safe zone, how vulnerable can I be?

I am a complicated person and my life has few linear lines.  My life is messy and chaotic, split in too many directions, none of which I could imagine giving up.  For those who know me, I am sure the revelation that I wanted to be at least ten different things comes as no surprise.  An avid reader from early childhood, I explored amazing worlds through books which sparked my interest and curiosity.

Early in life I knew what I wanted to be, I just couldn’t decide because the list was too long.  I wanted to ride horses, and be a cowgirl dancer.  I wanted to work in the rodeo but maybe work for the FBI.  I would  be an archaeologist and a lawyer, but then again I really dreamed of being a writer or maybe an artist.  I wanted to travel the world, be beautiful and graceful and when I was really old, at least 30, I would get married and maybe have children.

The world of books and my naturally creative mind gave me dreams, but the world of reality gave me something much different.  In fact if I am to tell the complete truth, by the age of 6 some of those dreams had already been shattered.  I lived in a world in which a college education was a farfetched dream and to finish high school was a big deal. My world didn’t have time for nurturing dreams and creativity, it was one of survival, chaos, and violence.   Even as I write these words I start to squirm because this feels somehow a bit too authentic and vulnerable.  I have an avid aversion to ever sounding like anything from a daytime talk show and when others share their stories in a public way, I find myself fighting the contempt of judgment. So I have always hugged the other end of the continuum, not  talking about it at all.

 I was thankfully blessed with stubbornness and grit which has helped and hurt me in life.  In a fairy tale world, these traits would have given me a happy ending and I would have beaten the odds and lived happily ever.  I didn’t get the fairy tale, my story was a different kind of book .

By the age of 15 I decided if I were to survive I needed to move out of my home.  What followed was an initial attempt to stay in high school and pay rent. Finally needing to decide between dropping out of school or working as a way to stay on my own, I sealed my fate for the next few years.  I had always been an above average student and although already in an alternative school by that time, I continued to get straight A’s and loved to learn.  Because of this walking out of school with my withdrawal papers was a painful and shameful experience.

It becomes difficult when you are anchored with shame to live a purposeful  life or to live a life of value.  Within a year I had made choices that would alter the course of my entire life.  At 17 I had moved to a foreign country, was engaged to a man 9 years older than I and had no direction or purpose of my own.  Fear of my future with him allowed me to briefly call off the engagement,  but it lasted only as long as a persuasive phone call from him.  We were married one month later, I was less than a month over 18.  The clichés’ could not be more painful when I describe my wedding night.  I watched him get drunk with his friends from the base and tell me that I hadn’t looked as  fat  as normal.  I was 1500 miles away from any family or friends, it was  before cell phones and accessible internet or email, and I was horrifyingly stuck.  I find myself wanting to back away from the vulnerability I feel   when I describe the utter despair I felt.  For months with no phone, no car, no job and no high school diploma watching him leave for work every day I  wondered what I would do to get through the day and what my future was.  I am not proud of the way I escaped, lying to an elderly man to get Greyhound bus fare, telling him my mom was sick.  Promising to pay it back knowing I would never see him or step foot in that bayou again, I added to my list of shame.  Many events followed including a near terminal illness, a hospital stay which meant my then husband found where I was living and many other events that come with living a life of  hopelessness.  Through it all I found myself returning to the little dreams that would be my big dreams.  A GED,  a divorce, a place of my own where I wasn’t afraid, a home that I could call my own.    

When people ask about my marathons and races, the questions that seem to be the most common are how and where does it come from.  People are genuinely curious about the desire to push to limits. They seem to hope for a simple answer that will give them  the formula  to replicate some aspect of it.  I don’t ever have a good answer for the question often wishing myself for the answer.

I can only  guess and  those answers are likely to change by tomorrow. My best guess is this. I know that my mistakes in life have shown me exactly who I do not want to be.  I know that when I allow myself to be totally and completely, vulnerable, authentic, connected and genuine I somehow feel better despite my urge to cover my emotional nakedness.

I know that the stubbornness, defiance, resilience and determination I have are not things I get to claim.  I have them by grace and my moments of defining decisions in life have fine-tuned them. I have  at times hurt myself and others with them.

There are times when I experience flashes of clarity and joy.  I have learned to celebrate and cherish these moments and know that when they come there is a message I need to listen to.  I had a moment yesterday when  I pulled in to my driveway after too many hours of work especially for a  Saturday.  Chronically tired these days and overwhelmed with a list which grows bigger every day I felt drained. But as I pulled in I felt a tug from the past.  That scared,  hopeless and homeless kid, the one without a diploma, stuck in a no win world, tapped my shoulder and reminded me that as tired as I am , I am a long way from my roots.  She reminded me that I am tired from a long day of working at my own damn agency.   She reminded me that I have been this tired before. The fighting that got me here is the reason that I am the first person in my family to go to college, that I was the first to even get a GED.  She reminded me that the house I was pulling into with its beautiful country view, wide open space and three amazing dogs waiting for me, was better than the homelessness of my early years.  She reminded me that with bad odds I have raced through China and Africa and half the United States.   I am so much more than my early years promised and so much more that 15 year old walking out of high school for the last time filled with shame.

I sat in my driveway with tears running down my face and wondered how the hell I had made it here and why ?  I thought of the woman I met with earlier in the week who talked about the other women who have it all together and how she feels so inadequate. 

My headfirst dive into vulnerability in writing this is to be as real and authentic as I can be and to honor the process I encourage others to take every day.  The people around you don’t have it together , sometimes they just have a better cover.  I will forever be that homeless vagabond kid, fighting the shame of being a dropout and a life of  poor choices.   I hear the voice so many others hear asking “who do you think you are?” challenging my dream of being loved, being accepted and being good enough.

I hear this voice when I dream of what I want.  I want someone to cherish me and to be loved fiercely and passionately.  I want that one certain person to fall head over heels for me, just the way I am.  I want to feel the certainty of knowing I am  good enough when my dogs come running and are overjoyed to see me. I want to connect with others and  share moments and feel the peace of acceptance.  I want to exist with grace and to live each day judgment.   I want to be daring enough to show the real me, with my scars and my shame.  In my risk to be fully authentic  I want to find love and peace and connection.  And I want to know that I didn’t put on a shiny cover, and that in that act I allowed someone else to find the peace that comes with being as authentic as you can be.

Blog~Grace and growing up