The Cookbook Project

It all started almost four years ago. After a surgery I had to remove a very large fibroid from my uterus. During my recovery, I bent down to pick up an empty laundry basket and from that moment forward my entire body was compromised and riddled with debilitating pain. I have spent countless dollars, hours, and emotions on doctor after doctor after doctor, test after test after test only to be told that I can’t be helped, or that everything is normal. I did have some excellent holistic doctors along the way who would find bits and pieces they could work on, but nothing that ever alleviated my pain or gave me a full answer. The holistic doctors that were able to help, very strongly advocated for a strict gut-healing diet and taught me how integral good, healthy, whole, foods are to my recovery. 

Food is the only thing-up till now-that I had been able to pinpoint as the cause of a lot of my pain. A great deal of it resides in my spine and lower back and has to do with neurological issues that will take time to heal, but since the beginning, food has been a huge determinant in how I feel (i.e. bloated, achy joints, achy muscles, stomach pain, inflammation, lack of energy, brain fog, among other things). 

When I posted a couple weeks ago about my sad little pancake-less breakfast after I had started yet another food elimination plan, my friend, Brooke—who makes a kick-ass living creating delicious recipes, writing amazing cookbooks, and posting beautiful #foodporn to the interwebs—reached out and lit’raly screamed at me, “I want to do this meal plan with you, let’s do a cookbook.” AFTER I questioned her sanity for actually WANTING to cut out all the food from her life, I was all, “Sure, okay, great. Yeah, let’s do it.” Thinking this was going to be a casual little ho-hum project.  

But then. She started sending me pics. Lots of pics. Not the kind of pics you’re thinking of. But pictures of beautifully prepared breakfasts and lunches all while squealing with delight at how good they tasted and how amazing she felt after eating said healthy concoctions. I drooled just looking at them.  And so. From there we made a plan, and hit the ground running. 

You see, Brooke is at a point in her life where she feels dissatisfied with how her pants fit and her energy levels. She knows how important food is and wanted to not only help and support me, but make a change in her own life. And since we find strength in numbers, this little venture just made sense. 

The Wellness Plan I am on for the time being is a VERY STRICT elimination diet. I’ve practically eliminated everything but grassfed-organic-clean meats, fruits, and veggies. That’s right. No dairy, no eggs, no nuts, no seeds, no grains, no glutens, no nightshades (tomatoes, potatoes, peppers, etc etc) no sugars. And I’m sure I’m forgetting some things. The idea with this plan is to eliminate all the foods that are causing my poor little compromised inflamed body more inflammation and distress. 

When I first started about three or so years ago, one of the hardest things everrrr was cutting out dairy, gluten, grains, and sugar all at once. ALLATONCE. Eliminating food is NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART. It.is.hard. Emotionally, psychologically, and physically. It tests your willpower, your determination, your faith (I am not even kidding here guys, like did I have enough faith that cutting out these addictive things that I CRAVED so hard and missed so much would really help me feel better??? FAITH TESTER.) I remember sending texts to my functional medicine doc at the time (he required a food log—I’m sure, in part, to help keep me accountable) saying “whoops I ate a donut” or accusing my family of holding a gun to my head and forcing me to eat said donut because, no accountability, folks. The point is, I struggled. Major. But, I began to notice how much peppier I felt, how much energy I had, and how I never felt gross after eating. After starting this next round and cutting out the last two inflammatory foods (eggs, nuts, wahhhhhhh) I immediately felt the inflammation in my organs and joints go down. By.A.Lot. And even though I still fight fatigue due to my adrenal issues (we're working on those) I have energy! Like balls and balls of energy. My stomach doesn’t hurt, I feel light and floaty, my nerve pain has decreased and I have been running errands like a mother. This is uuuge!  

Because we know how extremely difficult a task it is to eliminate so much at one time we decided it would be so fun and incredibly beneficial to offer up a clean-eating-support group, ifyouwill. Just in case others wanted to jump on this crazy food eliminating train and see how much better they feel, too.

So, for your participating pleasure-IN ADDITION TO-our beautiful cookbook that will be filled with so many yum recipes that will promote better health, more energy, and maybe even feeling better in dem pants, we will be offering the support group. We will be sharing a weekly meal plan with a menu, shopping lists, substitutions for foods you eliminate, restaurant guides, tips on where to shop and how to shop for whole, clean, foods, and most importantly-we will be supporting and cheering each other on through this process. You can participate as little or as much as you want. I have to be 100% with my own diet, but you get to choose what you want to eliminate or change. In the group we can discuss other healthy foods-that my body can’t tolerate, but other’s can. You can add things like eggs and nut butters should you find you do well with those. There’s so many options. 

Our goal and mission is to help other people feel better in their body and have the support needed to get to that place. I have been through the gamut with diet changes and elimination diets (I even went vegan for a long long time—talk about hhhhaaarrrrrrddddddd). I understand every part of it. Down to the emotions it causes when you walk away from gorgeous, sugarcoated, incredibly soft, pillowy, melt-in-your-mouth-donuts. (Am I enticing you yet?) We are offering this all to you at no cost. It’s going to be a fun little experiment where we all will be learning and growing and we’d LOVE to have you join us.

Feel free to find me on IG: @heal.2.live or ole trusty FB: heal.2.live. Drop me a message with your name and email if you wish to enjoy this exciting little journey!!  

Also, you can follow Brooke Larke's amazing photog skills on the insta as @cheekykitchen or find her at Cheeky Kitchen on FB.

New Normal.

I have to create new normals in order to not let myself go #batshitcray. Like, every day. If I held myself to the standard I held myself to before I was in pain I would have lost it a long time ago. We’re talking major woo-woo here. I’m actually pretty impressed with myself that I’ve held it together this long. 

Seriously, go me. 

I have HAD to learn the value of acknowledging and accepting my limits. LIMITS. (Limits can suck it). 

Hi, my name is Ericka, and I…………….have……………………limits. (brrreeaattthhheeeeee) 

Still so hard to say. I don’t want to be limited in my movement, in my abilities, in my activity. I want to be able to do the laundry in two hours. I want to be able to clean my own house (is that weird? That I want to clean my own house? Oh, how I do. I’d clean your house too, if I could.) 

I want to go hiking and exploring and get lost in the mountains. I want to travel with my kids and watch them experience all kinds of life. I want to have a job. Go for a run. Do hot yoga.  I want to feel like I have a purpose, like I am not just sitting around waiting for my life to be able to happen. THE STRUGGLE. (brrrreeeaaatttthhheeeeeeeee)

I have been through a huge transformation. I have shed the outer layers….the selves that used to be me; gave them the old heave ho, they were ready to go. I have changed my thinking. I have changed so many beliefs. I have learned how to love myself. I have healed from heartbreak. I have healed the self deprication; the part of me that told me I was unworthy and other such bullshit. I have healed and changed so much. If you knew the me I was even 2 years ago, you would see it.

The frustration lies in the fact that I have been able to heal so many deep emotional wounds. I have been able to change so much about my Being…..but I haven’t been able to heal the pain. The physical pain. It’s still there. Every day. If I’m being totally honest, she's really starting to put a damper on things. Like, I get it. I’ve let her teach me, I’ve let her change me, I’ve let her open my heart and my mind to bigger and better things….I GET IT. You can move on now. I am forever changed; and dare I say I’m grateful, for that part of it. But seriously, get the hell out. #movealongbitch (That's my pet name for her; the pain that is)

There are places I want to see and things I want to do. I have a desire to live; I never had that before. Before, I was content to stay in my little bubble. To do what I had always done; what I was supposed to do. I did that, I did it good. But now, I’m ready to break free. I’m ready to burst out of that bubble   

In my mind I have this vision of the part of me that is aching to live, to adventure, to explore-breaking free from the part of me that physically can’t, and leaving it the hell behind. 

I am not happy about having limits. It’s aggravating. Imagine being trapped inside a glass box with no way out and the box is placed where you get to watch as the people around you live their lives. Where they do all the things you so desperately want to do. Even things you don’t necessarily want to do, like bend over and pick up a piece of trash, carry all the groceries out on one arm, walk without pain. (Is that asking too much?)  You see and feel all these things you want to do, but yet you can't get out of the box to participate. It’s like a prison. In hell. While The Debil laughs in your face. (Ok, that may be a touch dramatic, but do you feeeeeel me?) 

I guess that’s all I want. Is for people to understand. I don’t know why. I don’t know why it’s important for me that people get it. Maybe it’s because I am still struggling to understand it myself. I don’t. I don’t know why it started, or even how it started, or why it’s still there. And why there are no answers. And why every “solution” I try fails. FRUSTRATION. 

Anyway, for now, I have my new normals. I know my limits and I am taking care of myself by following those. It may sound like I have given up hope, but I haven’t. I’m holding on and I’m holding out…..for that one day when I will live. Like, really, really live.  

The Beauty of Alone

There’s something that draws me to being alone. It's the beauty I find in not having to rely on anyone else for comfort, for peace, for happiness. It’s the part of me that has learned to love the darkness. Because to me, alone = darkness. Not a bad darkness. But a fulfilled, placid, darkness. 

 A darkness where only I exist. Where I don’t have to take care of anyone, or anything. Where I can feel, do, and be whatever I want...in that moment.  Where I can be true with my thoughts, my words, my actions. It’s where I have come to know who I am beneath the surface, beneath everything I was ever taught and told that I was supposed to be.

Alone is where I have reconciled so many hurts, so many disappointments, and so many fears. It’s where I have gained my power; and learned to love. To me-being alone is my reward. It’s my proclamation of “I DID IT!” And I really did do it. I learned to love myself. I learned to be my friend. I learned to have compassion, for me. It’s my reward for making it through the constant battlefields of growth, of change, of hardship. 

I can be with me. I can love who I am. And I can embrace the beautiful, sparkly, darkness that comes with being one with alone.

The Power of F*ck

The Power of Fuck……as in, don’t give one. Not one. Not two. Not any.

Nada. 

Zero. 

Zilch......got it?

The other day I was climbing up into my Tahoe, my hands were full with my phone, my debit card, a little baggie from the restaurant where I had just ordered my salad on top of the most delicious smoothie, as well as a full cup of water with no lid. Why this restaurant does not supply lids for their water cups is beyond me, but I took my chances, filled ‘er to the rim and clumsily made my way into my car.  

“Phewww," I thought as I managed to arrange everything in a safe place until I could get situated. The drink holder in my lower console was full of water bottles and other such junk so I couldn’t immediately put my drink in there. I set it on the middle console, between the two seats, where there were no cupholders. As I started to find spots for everything; my food bag, the smoothie, my phone, my debit card, I accidentally hit the cup and water spilled all over my lower console; where I keep ALLLLL the things. And all over the floor. 

“Fuck!” My windows were down and I said it loud enough that whoever was walking past my car could hear. For a split second I thought, “Whoops, I shouldn't say that so loud.” But then I watched the water fill up every nook, cranny, and crevice and seep into my Post-It Notes where I write my ideas, reminders, and anything important I want to remember, and as it began to form puddles I got angry and I yelled it this time. “FUCK!”

I immediately texted one of my friends and complained to her that I had just spilt a whole cup of water all over the console that holds everything in my car. She replied with, “Oh dang!”  To which I responded, “Yeah, dang is not the word I used.” 

After I cleaned up as much as I could without having anything on hand to sop up the mess, my mind got to thinking about the difference between dang and fuck. I thought about how I used to be a ‘dang girl’. I used to be the girl who, the worst swear I ever said was damn, and even then I felt tremendous guilt. 

Growing up, I don’t remember my parents ever sitting me down and saying, “Now Ericka, we don’t use filthy language in this house. It’s wrong.” I don’t remember them swearing in everyday conversation either. There may have been a time when I was younger and I was playing Jacks and I accidentally said shit.  My dad heard me and I remember getting sent to my room. But that was the extent of, Bad Language Discipline, I ever received in my home, as much as I can remember, anyway.  BUT what I was taught in church is that our language should ALWAYS be clean, and swearing is a sin. A sin. 

The word sin always scared me. I never wanted to do anything bad or stray from choosing the right. I was so hellbent on not sinning I spent countless minutes, moments, hours, evaluating my behavior at every turn. In a way, it got to be obsessive. I was always feeling like I could be so much better, I could do so much more, and always felt like I needed to ‘repent’. Not a fun, nor healthy way to live. 

Fast forward to my thirties and what can I say, LIFE HAPPENS. And happened it did. I lost my marriage, my health and my religion all at the same time.  I found myself alone, in a house that I couldn’t take care of, with a yard that I couldn’t take care of, while needing to be a mom to kids, I couldn’t take care of. I had a hard time taking care of myself, let alone the two little monkey faces that were depending on me to feed them, clean them, and entertain them.  Shit got real, and it got real fast. 

When things got real, everything I ever thought I knew and/or believed flew out the motherfucking window. And I had to start completely from scratch. 

THAT is when my love affair with The Fuck Word started.  I remember feeling so many emotions, so many feelings at once, that “crap” or “shoot” or “frick” didn’t cover the gamut. Didn’t do justice to how deeply I was feeling SO MANY SHITTY things. At once. So I started saying fuck. I said it and something inside me said, “Yep, that hits the spot. Say it again.”  So I said it again. I would say it while bawling my eyes out, alone, and in pain, in my bed at night. I would scream it while sitting in my car, in my garage so my kids wouldn’t hear, crying so hard I was hyperventilating. I would yell it at God, I would yell it at my situation, I would even yell it at my ex, not directly at him, but “at him” while I was hyperventilating in my car.  The Fuck Word became my drug of choice, which even you have to admit, it's better than Percocet; which I had ample access to, just never partook. 

It became my word for empowerment. I felt power when I said it. I felt relief. I felt satiated, and it was glorious. The more I said it, the more comfortable it became. And eventually, I let go of all the guilt from using it. I began to view it as just a word, like "green" or "hungry". It became so much more than just a swear. It had meaning. I began to say it with freedom. Freedom from being judged, freedom from being a sinner, freedom from being ruled by the confines of an institution that governed my every thought, action, decision; down to my very being. 

I came to find other uses for The Fuck Word as well. Like when I got good news, it works great at conveying joy! “FUCK YES!!!”  Or when I had to tell someone how much I truly loved and adored their face. “I FUCKING love and adore your face.” Who wouldn't feel the love?  Or if there was something I really, really, really did not want to do, I'd throw out a "Fuck no!" And my point would be made.  

There are hundreds of ways to use The Fuck Word. Believe me, I’ve used them. And while there are lots of people out there who just don’t get it, who can’t stand to hear the harshness of it, the abrasiveness of it, the dirtiness of it,  (which I totally understand, that used to be me; no judgement here) I know that I can never go back to NOT saying it. It literally brought me comfort in a time when I felt like I would never feel comfort again. I say it fiercely now, with conviction, with purpose, hell, sometimes without purpose, and I say it without giving one fuck as to what people think about it. 

  

In any situation where you are facing hardship and/or loss, it's a given that you will experience a mountain of emotions. Gut wrenching, heartbreaking, take you to your knees again and again, emotions. At any given moment, some emotions are strong enough to knock you off your feet and send you into a downward spiral of negativity. They have power; those emotions. They have energy, and if we let them, they will take us down.  

The thing I’ve learned about emotions is that they don’t last. You may feel like you will feel that way forever; that you will never recover from all the pain and all the hurt, and that you will live in a dark hole for always, being deprived of light, all good things, and life!!! (I’ve been there, I’ve felt that, time and time again!)  What a daunting thought! 

After my divorce I felt A LOT of emotions for a very long time. At least a good year.  There was always anger, hurt, sadness, and sometimes shame, guilt, and ‘I’m not good enough nor will I ever be good enough’. Powerful emotions. When we're being tossed around in an emotional shitstorm, it feels as if we will ALWAYS feel that way. It’s intense and it’s exhausting; mentally, emotionally, and physically. Especially, if you are also engaging in a little thing called: ADULTING. 

*Adulting- the act of being a responsible adult: Working. Parenting. Paying bills. Keeping up with laundry. Homework, and all the other things that suck the life right outta….well, life.   

Emotions are not everlasting. They aren’t burned into our being. They don’t make up who we are. I like to think of them as visitors. Visitors, who many times, wear out their welcome.  We have the choice to allow them to stay, get nice and comfy and settle in for a time; and we certainly have the prerogative to kick them the hell out!  But that takes time, and practice, and feeling ready. I honestly believe that we will hold on to an emotion until we are ready to let it go.  

I think we can learn a lot from our emotions, if we only allow ourselves to dive in to them; to meet them head on; to recognize and acknowledge them and let them work inside us. Allowing ourselves to feel what exactly we are feeling can be very cathartic and it can present a huge learning opportunity. A lot of times, this is when we are made aware of the parts of us that may need a little work, or the beliefs that need changing, or the thought patterns that need reprogramming. 

Processing, growing, gaining wisdom from emotions cannot happen if we are constantly running from or distracting ourselves from them (hello Facebook 80 times in 2 hours, that used to be me. ***Here’s a little side note, if you want to see just how much time you use your phone to distract yourself during the day download a little app called, Moments. I was mortified to say the least). 

Processing emotions is not a walk in the park, unfortunately.  In fact, there are probably a thousand other things I would rather do than sit down and have a tete a tete with fear. Or anger. Or heaven help me, despair. I’ve met up with despair a lot in the past couple of years. We’ve squabbled a time or two, but I’ve always managed to come out victorious.  

Regardless of whether I beat my own emotions, or they beat me, (which does happen from time to time) I always come out having gained a greater knowledge about who I am.  About what I am capable (or not capable) of achieving.  

Every time I give in and: 

A. Allow myself to acknowledge and feel the emotion

And then try to figure out: 

B.  Where the feeling is coming from 

C. Why it’s there

D.  What I can do to change it 

E.  How to let that shit go

I  grow just a little bit stronger. I gain just a little bit more wisdom. I sever, yet another chord binding me to the extremely heavy weight of resistance and non-progression.  

 This is not a quick process, by any means. Sometimes it takes days to give in and let myself feel, or to figure out the why, and mostly, days to let it go. Letting go is probably the hardest step for me. But it’s also the most rewarding.  

The next time you find yourself struggling with any kind of emotion, give yourself the gift of opening yourself up to your feelings. It hurts, and it can be quite intense, but in the end, it pushes you that much closer to recognizing your strengths, moving on from the past, and becoming your YOU. 

I was having a very real conversation the other day with a dear friend about the word can’t.  I’m not talking about the can't where you can’t live your life to the fullest or you can’t be successful at your job if you work hard or you can’t have true happiness.  I am talking about the can’t that you can’t control. The can’t that exists because of the circumstances in your life, the lives of those around you, or your own body.  The can’t that comes from having two jobs just to survive and still not having enough money to go spend on those cute pair of shoes you’ve been eyeing. The can’t that comes from not being able to get pregnant after years and years of trying. The can’t that comes from having to take care of someone close to you who can’t take care of themselves. The can’t that comes from physically being incapable to do certain things that you want/need to do. Those kinds of cants.

For me, my can’t is pain. 

It’s hard to explain three and a half years of pain to someone who hasn’t ever experienced chronic pain. Three and a half years of nonstop, every. single. day.  in some form or another, ranging in degree, want to put a gun to your head, nerve pain, bone pain, muscle pain, spine pain, whole body pain. Pain that goes unexplained at every doctor visit, every MRI, every blood test, and nerve test. Pain that gets worse with every protocol that is supposed to help.  Pain that makes it hard to bend over, do laundry, grocery shop, not only sit on a bench to watch my kid play basketball but walk to the gym where my kid plays to be able to watch him play basketball.  

My physical can’t is that I can’t bend over to pick something up, be the mom I so desperately want to be, go dancing with my friends, take trips with my boys, go hiking; hell, go to the mall to buy a new pair of jeans. It is physically impossible for me to accomplish those tasks when I am hurting so badly or when my back decides that today would be a good day to lock up and stop working. 

MOTHER FUCKING PAIN. (Pretty much how I feel about it by now….if I am being honest).

I have accepted it….for now.  I don’t wake up every morning anymore expecting it to be better or different. I know it will be there and I know I will have to work my day around it. I accept, that in this moment, I am dealing with chronic pain, but at the same time I maintain hope and a belief that it will get better. 

ACCEPTANCE. 

Somehow having this mentality makes it easier on the days when it is hard to do much of anything.  Some days I can accomplish things like laundry and grocery shopping and taking my kids to the trampoline park, the rec center, or going to dinner with my friends. Those days I go to bed feeling rather accomplished and good about all I was able to do.  And other days, all I can manage is picking up my boys from school and the bare minimum. THE BARE FUCKING MINIMUM. That’s no way to be a mom. Or live your life. 

The bare minimum has a way of messing with your head. You start to feel like you are incapable, insignificant, and worthless when all you can do in a day is a couple loads of laundry or empty the dishwasher. You fight thoughts that say that your boys would be better off without you, that your family would be better off not worrying about you, that your friends would be better off not getting the ‘I can’t do this/how am I supposed to do this???’ texts. It’s pretty defeating and leads to feelings of inadequacy. Most of the time I feel utterly useless….if I am being honest. 

I am a believer in mind over matter. That if your mind can think it and your heart can want it, you can have it.  I also know that in order to make your dreams happen you must take action. You can’t just sit around waiting for them to come to you. Which is what I’ve done for a good part of the last three years, due to the fact that I have felt immobilized, paralyzed at times even.  That has to be one of the most frustrating things for me. Knowing that my life can be everything I want it to be, but not being able to physically do the things I so desperately want to do to make it so.  

For now, I can’t change my circumstances. I can’t magically make my back heal and my pain go away. Although, Dear God I pray for that everyday. For relief. For an answer. For a solution.  All I can do is accept that this is where I’m at right now. I don’t have to like it and I can’t control it. It is what it is. 

What I can do is get up every day, get ready, and live my life to the best of my ability. I can take responsibility for my own happiness and even though I can’t experience life to the degree that I wish I could, I can make the most of every situation I am given, with my kids, with my friends, with my health, with my circumstances.  I can be grateful for the things I can do even on the days when getting out of bed feels like the biggest feat on earth, physically and emotionally. I can let go of the way I think my life SHOULD be and learn to love it for what it is and I can continue to take steps towards finding solutions to my pain AND towards building a career that I can do from my couch. I can show my boys that instead of giving up I show up and I make it through yet another day, even if it means asking for help. 

I deserve help. And I’m learning how to use my voice to ask for it. But that’s a whole 'nother post.

I have two options in this scenario called Life. I can give in to the negative, depressing, ‘woe is me’ thoughts and be miserable on top of being in pain (and I do that…don’t think that I don’t). OR I can choose to do my best e'ryday.  Despite the pain, despite my circumstances, despite the can’ts (I do that too).  I can choose to be okay with the fact that my best today may be hugely different and maybe not as productive as my best was yesterday. Choosing the latter is not only standing up for myself but it's taking responsibility for my own happiness and not allowing my CANT'S to dictate my CAN'S.  It's also the only way to get out of this crazy thing we call Life...........alive. 

I’m dubbing 2015 the worst year of my ever loving life. It’s been dubbed, knighted, crowned, awarded, acknowledged and left the motherfrick behind. It’s also the year that I experienced the most personal growth.....ever. Funny how that happens. 

After a year of separation, my divorce was made final in March of 2015. Like any levelheaded, newly divorced single lady, I jumped into the dating scene with both feet. Partly because I felt "ready" to get out there and see what I’d been missing for the past 11 years and mostly because I needed a distraction so I didn’t have to actually feel the heartache that comes from losing everything you are and everything you ever believed you were or would be, in what feels like an instant. Even though the breakdown of my marriage happened over the course of many years, it felt like it was gone in an instant. And before I even knew it (or better yet, was willing to acknowledge it) it was too late. Too late to try. Too late to change. Too late to make it better. It took a long time for it to be gone....in an instant.  Almost a year later I still ask myself if I will ever recover fully from the loss; from the failure to acknowledge the demise along the way, the failure to make it work.  But I digress. 

I can thank Tinder for the amazing, hysterical, somewhat traumatic, eye opening introduction to Dating101 in 2015. And let me tell you, these ain’t your Grandma’s dating stories. In fact, I’m not sure my grandma’s sweet little heart could handle the Tinder happenings in the world today.  And while my dating experience deserves a whole post dedicated to just that, for the sake of time and discretion, let's just say I learned A LOT. Yeah, Tinder was a circus.   

After a couple of short lived relationships, I decided that maybe I had jumped into dating a little prematurely. I wasn’t ready. At all. I still hadn't dealt with anything from my actual divorce. I could have won awards for how neatly I packed away the emotions that I didn’t want to feel regarding the end of my life as a wife to the guy I was supposed to be married to for time and all eternity. I hadn’t allowed myself to face and feel the despair that comes from the unraveling of the little family I had dedicated my adult life to growing and loving.  I conveniently skipped over that part of The Big D.  

It didn’t take long for everything to come crashing down in my little pretend, ‘I’m really okay so I’m going to date’ world.  You can only run away from trauma and emotions for so long before it all starts to catch up to you. And even the most amicable of divorces equals trauma. Eventually the trauma starts to gnaw, pull, poke, prod, until  it’s almost impossible to ignore it anymore.  At that point, one has two choices.  One can continue on their crooked little path of “I’m okay” and waste energy finding distractions to resist the gnawings, OR one can bear down and face them. 

Welp….I decided to face them. Head on, in all my ‘fear of emotions/how the hell am I going to get through this’ glory. I finally allowed myself to give in and just feel. I gave myself permission to sit, in the darkness, with the heartache and let it flow through my being and penetrate my soul without trying to stop it or distract myself from it. I gave myself the time that I deserved to come to terms with everything that I had lost when I signed my name to that insipid piece of paper that canceled out the last 11 years of my life and broke apart my little family. To say it was painful is an understatement.   

At the time I was also dealing with physical pain. Up to that point, my physical pain had far outweighed my emotional hurt. But once I opened those flood gates and my emotions started flowing, it was the most painful thing I had ever endured. It’s difficult to express in words the feelings of loss, failure, shame, unworthiness, despair, heartbreak, regret, and so on and so forth that come with divorce. It was dark, it was ugly, and it sucked. It felt as if my entire world had fallen apart. And I had no idea how to put it back together again. 

Fast forward ten months and I still find myself healing and navigating the unchartered waters of putting my life back together again. Where does one even start? There were some days where I felt like I was going insane by trying to make sense of what it means to be single at this stage of my life; and how to be alone. Ugh, alone. 

As my emotional healing progressed, I found that once I was able to process one trauma, one emotion, one thought pattern that took me in circles, another one popped up in it's place and I had to begin again the process of letting go. Letting go is an art. It's an art that I have learned takes practice, perseverance, complete awareness, and endurance on one's part. When we fail to let go of the way we think things were supposed to go and keep allowing ourselves to meander down a path of negativity, shame, guilt, hurt, anger, etc... it puts us in victim mode, and nothing productive comes from being a victim.  I got damn good at being the victim.   

Eventually, I got sick of feeling so unhappy. I started to find things I could do that made me feel uplifted and content. I got out of my house, even when it felt like my spine was going to explode from pain.  I went to movies and restaurants by myself.  I embraced solitude in all it's splendid glory and learned to love having time to do what I wanted to do. By myself. Alone. I also surrounded myself with amazing, inspiring, women who had been down the same road I was traveling. I gained such an appreciation for learning from other's stories, from listening to people who have been where I've been and know what it's like. Many parts of me have healed through telling my own story, being vulnerable, and relying on others to help when I need help.   

The thing of it is, is that no matter how much healing happens, how much progress I make, there will always be something else to heal, to change, to make better. When I choose to recognize and acknowledge my faults/weaknesses/thoughts/ emotions/patterns, that aren't serving me, it's impossible NOT to MOVE FORWARD, even when it feels like I am being held back. There is something very powerful that happens when we accept those parts of us that aren't perfect and we show ourselves patience, love, and compassion and  give ourselves the time to work it all out. And it is through that healing process that we come to know who we are at our core and gain the strength needed to live as that Being. 

So while 2015 was awarded "Worst Year Ever" I don't regret a single thing that happened. I am who I am because of what I have been through. And as I travel along this healing journey I will continue to be who I am, until I become who I am meant to be.