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Carry On

  It's been a while since I've hit the publish button. And that's okay.  But I feel like I have some things to say, and so here I am, writing a few lines- preparing to hit the publish button this time.  I haven't really talked about my mental health lately. But being open about it really is a healing thing. When I'm open with others, it literally opens my heart to the encouragement and support provided afterwards. Sure, some judge, but that is more rare. Sharing is worth the risk. Vulnerability is too.  I'm filled with overwhelming emotion, being reunited with my children. We've been mostly separated since February 2020 due to two factors: my mental health and the sale of our house in Lexington. Jed (my ex) and the children moved to San Antonio in February to have the help and support of his family, and I stayed behind to continue working with my psychiatrist to find the right medicine while prepping the house to be placed on the market. The goal was to mo

Make a change, or make a mistake

Hello, again.

My sister posted an article the other day titled:

"Real Awakenings Are Not Elegant. They are Messy, Ugly, Shattered, & Raw."

Damn. That hit me.

It's a beautiful article you can find here.

That title jogged some pondering, and I asked myself:

What elements have been a part of my own awakenings that I've lived through?

Some of my awakenings revealed the beauty of life, the tragedy of our own existence, and have even helped me see people who they really are on the inside, whether full of light, deep pain, or somewhere inbetween.

But I think the majority of my own awakenings revolve around my own mistakes, or the mistakes of others close around me. You know: the chronic, deep set patterns that I was blind to and suddenly catch a glimmer of light on. Eventually I can't ignore it, and I have to choose:

"Make a change, or continue to make a mistake."

I'm pretty stubborn. But continuing mistakes creates such a visceral physical sensation as to make it nearly impossible for me to continue comfortably. For me, I compare it to scraping the back of my hand on a cheese grate. It's entirely painful and leaves a terrible mark. When I get that sensation, I know: Danger! It's trouble and I have to turn back.

Do I always turn back though? No. Not every time. 

A few select times in my life I have pushed forward foolishly. At the time, I think surely if I push through the thorns, sharp glass, entangling weeds, deepening mud, and biting gnats that I'll reach through to the other side.

It continues to get worse, and I get weary, and think: just a few more steps, I just know it. Then this will resolve into a clearing where I can rest and catch my breath.

But the rest never comes, and I am finally awakened to the now panicked reality that I've become entangled, trapped, with no hope of escape on my own. I realize that I need to enlist the help of others to rescue me from a spot I had been given internal warning after warning to stop and turn around. At this point, it's easy to give up hope. And the piercing thought sinks in:

"Damn. Why didn't I listen?"

In those moments, I have always held on, because rescue does come. It's not instant, and takes for damn near ever to get unstuck and heal from the experience.  And I have never really forgotten it because I'm always grateful for the lesson learned.

These times become sacred, life changing, motivating even. And these experiences really help me identify others that are following in the same patterns, where I can say: "heyyyyyy. Let's not go down this path, k? I've been there before and barely survived to tell the tale. Come over this way with me and I'll tell you the beautiful story of my progress and spare you the pain."

Interested in learning more?

Check out this TEDtalk about the neuroscience behind motivating yourself to change your own behavior.

Live, love, and learn, folks.

I would love to read any input or ideas you have on this topic. Feel free to join the conversation on Instagram or in the comments below.