Broken Trust

I was sitting in a waiting room at my doctors office. I was scared. I had just received, potentially, some horrible news. I waited a long time for test results, my mind buzzing with thoughts and scenarios. Time stopped, my body started to shake, my hands started to sweat. I felt like I needed to hold onto something. I was powerless. By the time the doctor walked in and sat down I knew, but I was full of so much hope for the best that I didn't want to be right.

I've always been healthy. I grew up an athlete, starting my first sport in elementary school. I pretty much played every sport I could in high school including basketball, volleyball, track, cheerleading. I would go to zero period weight training. In college I played a little volleyball and intramural sports. I was a lifeguard throughout my college and graduate school years, so I stayed in good shape swimming laps almost daily. Out of college I started CrossFit and went to weekly workouts. When I got pregnant for the first time I was doing CrossFit a few days a week. I was training with a trainer and we adjusted the workouts to fit my increasing anxieties around strenuous activity. The day I found out I lost my baby I had a training appointment. I got to the appointment early so I decided to go for a short run. I'm not normally a runner, but that day I flew. I didn't know what to do with myself and the various forms of betrayal and shame I was experiencing.

After that I started working out less, I pushed my way through the emotional pain. I focused on other things happening in my life (wedding, work, house, relationships). When I got pregnant the second time the hope and joy that comes with pregnancy was still there. When I lost that baby too (super early on) I was devastated. I grew up around several baby makers. My mother birthed 4 children with no issues. My sister had 3 kids with very little problems. Other relatives were popping babies out left and right. I felt broken.

All the work and all the time I had put towards my health felt like a waste. I had done everything right. I ate well, exercised, didn't do drugs. Overtime, I was able to rationally think through what happened but the sadness just lingered in the background. I started turning to treats when I needed to feel better. Food started to replace exercise and other forms of coping I had used in the past. When I got pregnant with my son I didn't work out at all. I was terrified, I didn't want to lose him too. After he was born I started walking more, but mentally I started to crash, so I went back to my therapist (who I had been seeing for years prior to all of this). I developed some better coping skills, but I still didn't feel "right." When I got pregnant with my daughter I stopped working out again and turned to food for all my comfort needs. When my daughter was 7 months old the pandemic hit. I was starting to work out again and eat a little better, but within 5 months after being stuck at home with my family, I gave up again. The pandemic sent me into a free dive of emotional chaos (sound familiar?). All my coping skills stopped working. I didn’t know what to do, so like many others, I started baking and drinking.

All I can say is shame is a beast. When part of me literally died, I felt so much betrayal and shame it became part of me (there is also the trauma surrounding the birth of my son, you can find that story in another blog post). Today, I still curse my body and I curse my inability to function the way I used too. I curse the process of aging and myself when I look in a mirror. I don't feel like I can keep up with the demands of my body and society. So, I eat ice cream because it makes me feel better (in the moment). I drink every night because it shuts off my anxiety long enough for me to enjoy my kids. I gave up and started focusing on pleasure because I just lost the ability to try. Annndddd enter addiction, stage right.

As I sit here and write this, I'm struggling, as most other people are around me. I know I'm not alone. The only reason why I'm laying this all out for you is because I had an AH HA moment the other day. I gave up alcohol for the month of July. I started to crave a glass of wine. Then I started to think about why I wanted it. Then I started to think about my consumption over the past 5 years. I started to think about my body in general, my self-esteem and how I got here. I started to think about the why's and the how's of my life. Why am I so lost when I have a pretty good life? It all came to this one point in my life. I miss the babies I never knew, although they are with me every day. I miss having hope, instead of persistent worry. I miss feeling like I can take on anything. I miss feeling powerful.

A health journey is full of detours. My trauma has been buried so deep inside I forgot it was there contributing to my life. When I lost my pregnancies I don't know how many women came to me and shared their stories. It was a staggering number. But when I look more deeply at it, the act of sharing, fellowship and love those women showed me felt like stitches in a cut. The conversations I have with friends, family, and my partner about being a human in this world, full of flaws, helps with the pain. My children are natural healers through snuggles and giggles. Visits with my therapist are invaluable. Because I do the work, it’s the only way I’ve been able to see this perspective. Sometimes it’s small steps up a large mountain. Sometimes it’s a sprint. Eventually you discover new choices.

As a mental health provider, I know that community and connection is vital. The pandemic has only magnified that understanding. I need my people. My community helps me every day and I know I have a team behind me, even if I can't always be around them. Recently I've been listing to a lot of Brené Brown and her talks on vulnerability and shame. I’ve started practicing gratitude and giving myself permission to feel joy. I have the power to create a foundation of physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual health. I’ve done it many times before. Also, this work doesn’t have to be “perfect.” I don’t have to be the best version of myself all the time. I can have ice cream and eat Oreos, because they are delicious. I am a dynamically wonderfully flawed human.

Sometimes I still feel broken. Yes, I have some open wounds, but now I can open the door to myself and find the first aid kit.

Be well.