Blog Posts

Football Mom

I’m not exactly rolling in money. Most weeks I’m just grateful that the bills are paid on time and there’s groceries in the fridge. I don’t have a separate “football fund” saved up. I don’t have a stack of cash set aside for cleats, gear, camps, and travel.

What I do have is gear that costs more than a car payment, cleats that could’ve paid my electric bill, and a kid who lights up the second he hits the field.

So no, I’m not rich. I’m just a football mom with questionable financial decisions and a SUV that smells like muddy cleats and sweaty pads to prove it. I’ll buy the $7 hot dog at the stadium and still Venmo tournament fees with one eye closed. I’ll cancel my own plans so I can cover gas, snacks, and another pair of cleats he’ll outgrow by December. I’ll sit on metal bleachers in the freezing rain for hours, praying the cooler holds enough Prime and protein bars to make it through the day.

Because I’ve watched him come alive in this game. I’ve seen the way he walks taller after a good catch, the way his teammates celebrate after a touchdown, the way his eyes scan the bleachers to make sure I’m watching. I’ve seen his confidence grow with every quarter, every missed tackle he shakes off, every lesson this sport teaches him about life, grit, and resilience.

So yeah, maybe I could’ve gone on more vacations. Maybe I could’ve driven a newer car. But instead, I spent it on memories. On laughter in hotel lobbies. On late-night drives home from games. On lessons that will outlast the game itself.

And honestly? I’d do it all over again tomorrow. Even if it means budgeting like a magician and finding turf rock and grass in my car until the end of time.

Because this isn’t just football. It’s his dream. And there’s no price tag in the world that could ever make me regret chasing it right beside him.

Navigating the Labyrinth of My Vision: An Unsettling Journey Post-TBI

For over a year now, my world has been perpetually out of focus, a landscape of escalating uncertainty following a Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI) diagnosis last April. What began as a challenging recovery has evolved into a deeply unsettling odyssey with my vision, a journey marked by frustration and a pervasive sense of the unknown.

I’ve embarked on what feels like an endless tour of neuro-ophthalmologists, each visit a hopeful but ultimately disheartening attempt to find answers. I’ve endured countless eye charts and participated in extensive vision rehabilitation, yet my symptoms persist, stubbornly defying every intervention. The recurring theme has been a polite but firm release from care, a dismissal that underscores the enigmatic nature of my condition. My eyes, it seems, remain an unsolved puzzle, even for the most seasoned specialists.

My most recent appointment, with a highly regarded neuro-ophthalmologist, brought a chilling confirmation of my fears. I went in deeply concerned about the noticeable decline in my vision. What I initially believed to be isolated peripheral vision loss in my right eye was, after thorough testing, revealed to be a more complex and disturbing reality: a loss affecting the internal peripheral vision of my left eye and the external peripheral vision of my right. This isn’t just an inconvenience; it’s a profound and disorienting shift, slowly narrowing my field of vision and impacting my daily life in tangible ways.

The most jarring aspect of that consultation was the complete lack of answers. Despite the advanced testing and the specialist’s expertise, there was no explanation, no clear path forward. The only recourse was a referral back to the neuroscience center, an implicit admission that my case remains a perplexing enigma within the medical community.

In the interim, a conversation with my TBI specialist introduced a new layer of anxiety. My escalating vision issues, she suggested, could be indicative of more pervasive neurological or systemic conditions. The possibilities now include Myasthenia Gravis, Multiple Sclerosis, or a thyroid-related disorder. This shift from localized vision problems to potential chronic illnesses has added immense weight to an already difficult situation. I’m currently awaiting the results of extensive blood work and an MRI, each test carrying the double-edged sword of potential diagnosis and further uncertainty.

While a definitive diagnosis would, in some ways, be a relief – finally putting a name to this relentless struggle – none of these potential conditions are benign. The prospect of living with a chronic illness, alongside the ongoing challenges of TBI recovery, is daunting. Yet, my most profound fear remains: that even after this barrage of tests and consultations, I will still be left without answers. To continue navigating a world that’s becoming increasingly blurred and constrained, without understanding why, is a terrifying prospect.

This journey is far from over. It’s a continuous, often solitary, battle to reclaim clarity, both in my vision and in my understanding of what’s happening to my body.

Are You Secretly a Superhero? (You Probably Are)

Are you a superhero? Are you wearing an invisible cape right now? If you’re not in a profession that involves saving lives, your answer is probably a resounding “no.” And I get it. Most days, I feel like I’m failing at almost everything.

But a recent conversation with a friend gave me a powerful “aha!” moment. It made me pause and realize that I might actually be doing a lot better than I think I am on a daily basis.

My friend was relaying a compliment – someone thinks I’m a superhero, mostly because of how efficient I am at getting things done. But then she added, “If you think that’s impressive, she also…” and went on to list a bunch of things I do every day that I consider completely ordinary. Ordinary, that is, for me.

She listed the countless hours I’ve spent advocating and caring for Oliver. The time and money invested so Gabe can basically be a pro-athlete at 10 years old. The steps I’ve taken to heal after my TBI, the endless hours I put into work, the teenagers who constantly challenge me, plus the volunteer hours I log monthly.

And it hit me: Why is it that as a mother and a woman, I often feel like I’m failing daily? Why is it that when someone pays me a compliment, my first instinct is to downplay it?

The Invisible Capes We Wear

It’s easy to dismiss our everyday efforts as “just what we do.” We’re busy navigating careers, raising families, managing households, and often caring for ourselves and others. We might not be stopping runaway trains, but we are doing incredibly demanding, important work.

Think about it:

Are you juggling a demanding job with family responsibilities? That’s incredible dedication.
Are you tirelessly advocating for your child’s needs? That’s fierce love and perseverance.
Are you prioritizing your own healing and well-being amidst chaos? That’s immense strength.
Are you showing up for your community, even when you’re exhausted? That’s true generosity.

These aren’t small feats. They’re monumental achievements, often happening behind the scenes, without fanfare or recognition. We’ve internalized the idea that unless it’s extraordinary, it’s not worth acknowledging. But what if “ordinary” for us is actually extraordinary to someone else?

It’s Time to Acknowledge Your Power

So, let’s reframe this. What if that invisible cape you’re wearing isn’t just for saving lives in a literal sense, but for all the ways you show up, support, create, and nurture in your daily life?

It’s time we stopped minimizing our efforts and started celebrating the incredible work we do. The next time someone compliments you, try to simply say “thank you” instead of deflecting. And take a moment to truly reflect on everything you accomplish in a day, a week, a month.

You might just realize you’re more of a superhero than you ever imagined.

What “ordinary” superpower do you possess that you often overlook? Share it in the comments below!

One Mistep

I briefly touched on my fall in my last post but a friend of mine thought it might be good to go a little deeper. She really thought I should make a video but again, the video blogging, TikTok talks just aren’t really my style – even if I do think I’m pretty hilarious.

April 12, 2024 my life changed forever.

I woke up from a nap before my upcoming dispatching shift. I was walking downstairs to start getting ready and the world fell out from under my feet. I’m not sure exactly what happened, if I missed a step completely or if maybe I just slipped. The video footage from our security camera, that funny enough had been recording because we had just hatched a cocoon, shows me completely fall out of frame. As a disclaimer/reminder, I have cataplexy, so falling down isn’t exactly out of the norm for me. So, when I hit the ground, Daylen didn’t panic or seem concerned in the video, because my kids know not to overreact. However, this time was definitely different. After about a minute and a half, I stood up, sore from my hip to my head from the slide down the stairs and continued getting ready for work.

When I got to work, I was limping slightly and had a killer headache, but I was prepared to work my shift. Saving lives one transmission at a time. But then my vision started going black in my peripheral. Supervisors asked me to get checked out by medics, “just to be safe.” Apparently, my pupils were abnormally large, and people were a little worried about me. When medics arrived, they felt more comfortable with me being transported to the hospital for a better work up. Ambulance rides are nowhere near as fun as you would think they are, especially when they make you wear one of those stabilization neck braces. SO uncomfortable. After a CT and X-Ray, I was diagnosed with a mild TBI and told to follow-up with a TBI specialist in the next few days.

A few days ended up being four. I was told to begin PT, OT and speech and follow-up in two weeks. At that follow-up, it was another four weeks. At the next follow-up it went to another six weeks. My time off was becoming longer rather than shorter. And through this time period I was being seen at the Neuroscience center 3 times a week for various appointments. Until I slowly started being discharged from care. Speech first, followed by OT and finally PT. They weren’t able to help me. I was referred to a neurological ophthalmologist who specializes in vision rehabilitation. I was eventually discharged from that as well. She said she would bring my case to her upcoming conference and call me if anyone had suggestions for things we hadn’t tried yet…. she never called. I tried five different prescription glasses and ended up with contacts. My peripheral vision is still not where it’s supposed to be. And I can’t return to the job I love because I am still unable to be on a computer for more than an hour without taking a 15-minute break.

Disability was a nightmare to navigate. At the end of my short-term disability, I was notified that I would have to continue to pay for my insurance out of pocket through COBRA. The expense of that was more than I was making a month from disability checks. I came into work with every intention of quitting my job. It was the only feasible thing I could think of because I was making too much for assistance and insurance was going to make my pay null. Luckily, I have a pretty great place of work, because they offered me a temporary administrative position that allows me to have the flexibility I need for appointments I need to attend as well as the accommodations I need to be able to work at all.

But I still struggle. My eyesight has not recovered. Apparently, I hit my head just right in the occipital lobe that it caused permanent vision damage. I also continue to have daily headaches, which are currently being managed with Botox injections, and pain at the site of impact. I am and forever will be grateful that my side-effects/symptoms are, as they put it, mild. But this invisible disability can be so consuming at times. Doing my best to put on a smile and pretend that I’m not miserable can be exhausting. But honestly, the hardest part of all of this isn’t the constant pain, daily headaches, terrible vision or the fact that I will literally forget words in the middle of speaking… it’s that I found a job that I absolutely LOVED, and I will most likely never be able to go back to it.

My next follow-up with my TBI doctor is coming up at the end of the month. It will be just that though, a follow-up. And then, in June, I meet with my neuro-optometrist. That’s the appointment where I will most likely receive a letter stating that my condition is now “stabilized” and I will not be able to return to my work. It’s a devastating blow. I’ll update more when that time comes.

Can She Do It?

This blog as never been consistent. I truly thought that I would become some amazing mom blogger who would make money from her endorsement deals. Then TikTok came along and vlogging and I’m just not built for that. But today, while I was sitting here wallowing in self-pity, I decided why not give it another go and see how far I make it this time.

a quick update…

Bryson will be turning 18 in a couple months, and with the newfound freedom that comes with a driver’s license and the exhilarating romance of high school relationships, we find ourselves seeing him much less than we would like to. It’s a bittersweet reality; we are excited for him as he embarks on this next chapter of his life, but we can’t help but miss our time together. Daylen turned 16 yesterday—while he didn’t quite get his driver’s license just yet, he did secure the all-important driver’s permit, which is a step in the right direction. Over the past year, he’s been quite a handful, testing every boundary we set and navigating the infamous teenage hormones that can turn even the sweetest kids into raging a**holes at times. It’s a rollercoaster ride, filled with moments of laughter and frustration, as we watch him grow into his own person while trying to remember the importance of patience and understanding during these turbulent teenage years.

Gabe is turning 10 next month, and his love of athletics consumes not only every free minute we have but has also put our finances in a headlock, stretching our budget in ways we never anticipated. On top of tackle football and wrestling, which he passionately dedicates himself to, he actively participates in both travel baseball and travel flag football—intense sports commitments that keep him engaged year-round. His enthusiasm for these activities is infectious, often inspiring us to cheer him on from the sidelines and celebrate his achievements. Meanwhile, Oliver, the baby of the family, is turning 8 this summer and is almost as tall as Gabe, which is surprising given their age difference. His ASD finally feels manageable, a significant milestone for our family. It has taken countless appointments, therapists, and various services from different areas to reach this point, but for the most part, he seems to be blossoming in a good place, finding joy in new hobbies and making friends along the way, which gives us all a sense of relief and hope for his future.

My relationship with Mike is better than it has ever been. He just celebrated his three-year anniversary of sobriety, which is a milestone that signifies not only his personal triumph over challenges but also the strengthening of our bond. In the last three years, he has become a better version of himself in so many ways; his dedication to his recovery journey has inspired not only him but everyone around him. He is a healthier, happier version of himself, which in turn has made him a better partner and a better father. I’ve seen him embrace life with a renewed sense of purpose, engaging wholeheartedly in parenting and our relationship, adding joy and warmth to our home. I consider myself truly blessed that I have been able to be witness to his accomplishments, as each step forward has enriched both our lives immensely. I never would have thought in 2020/2021 that we would be in the place we are right now, navigating life with such positivity and hope. But it is a definite blessing, one that fills my heart with gratitude every single day as we continue to grow together, facing life’s challenges side by side.

As for me, I missed a step coming down from my bedroom last spring and completely changed my entire life in an instant. It was six steps and one solid hit to the back of my head that sent me spiraling into a world of uncertainty and challenges. I was out of work for six long months, a period that felt like an eternity as I grappled with the implications of my injury. And after enduring physical therapy, speech therapy, occupational therapy, acupuncture, and neurological optometry—which included six different pairs of glasses, then contacts, and visual rehabilitation—I find myself still not better. I have been given work restrictions for my eyes that make it impossible for me to return to the job I fell in love with: dispatching. The thrill of answering 911 calls, dispatching officers and being the lifeline for others is something I miss dearly. I’ve been blessed enough that I can still work at our center in a different capacity, yet it often leaves me yearning for the profound sense of purpose I once felt while dispatching. I long to feel like I am actively making a difference in the lives of those around me. Despite the hurdles, I still work two jobs, tirelessly juggling responsibilities to support my family. In addition, I dedicate my time to volunteering for SOS, where my heart is fully invested in helping those in need. I am still a partner and a parent, consumed 24 hours a day with a never-ending list of other people’s needs that have to be met, often leaving me physically and emotionally drained yet resolute in my commitment to be there for my loved ones.

which leads me to why I came here…

The real reason I came back to this blog wasn’t to find a sense of self or an outlet for my creativity. It was because I was feeling sorry for myself. Right before my 40th birthday, Mike and I traveled to Oregon for his cousin’s wedding, and little did I know how transformative this trip would be. If you’ve never been to Oregon, go. You will not regret it; the charm of this state is simply unparalleled. In my mind, Oregon was a flatland where my pioneering family contracted dysentery and died from a broken leg, but this outdated narrative was flawed. My memory did not serve me well, because the Oregon Trail did not do this majestic state justice; it was almost as if I had been blind to its splendor. The mountains were so breathtaking that I honestly started looking to see if a move would be feasible. Each glimpse of the towering peaks stirred something deep within me, awakening lost dreams and ambitions. Our trip was very short-lived – we flew in on Friday and returned home on Sunday – yet we managed to make it to Mount Hood and see its beauty in person, where I felt an exhilarating rush of connection to the natural world. The fresh air and stunning landscapes prompted conversations about life, purpose, and what we truly wanted for our futures. And on the flight home, with the clouds beneath us and the weight of my earlier thoughts beginning to blend into the sky, I made a resolution that I would climb a mountain before my next birthday, embracing the adventurous spirit I had long neglected.

Well, it’s now May and only 5 months until my next birthday. We had planned to go to Colorado to climb Pike’s Peak with Mike’s cousin and his wife, an adventure we had been looking forward to for quite some time. The stunning vistas and the thrill of reaching the summit were something we had envisioned sharing together. The only problem is that our summer schedule is completely booked through August with tournaments and games, leaving us with little to no free time. Every weekend except for one – and that weekend is the only weekend that they aren’t available – is filled with commitments, and it’s frustrating to think of what could have been. My heart broke a little bit when I realized this, as I had envisioned us standing on top of that mountain, taking in the breathtaking views and creating memories that would last a lifetime. I know that I could skip a tournament – but the one game I was going to have to miss for Daylen’s first year of tackle football this past fall was the game when he suffered a season-ending collarbone break, and it was devastating to see him go through that pain. So now I don’t want to ever miss something again, because mom guilt is real and it is strong; it weighs heavily on my heart, reminding me of the importance of being there for my children during significant moments in their lives, both joyous and challenging.

I know that I still have time to do things for me. I have ten years left of toting these kids around and making sure that they have what they need, ensuring they grow up with all the love and support they deserve. And those years are going to go by fast… because Bryson and Daylen are still just 6 and 8 in my mind, but really only seconds away from adulthood and moving away to carve their own paths in the world. I’m savoring every moment with them, capturing the laughter, the chaos, and the little victories that make our days special. I’m keeping my fingers crossed we can make this dream of climbing a mountain a reality this year still; the thought of standing on a summit surrounded by breathtaking views is something I yearn for. But at the end of the day, if I don’t climb a mountain this year, I’ll still be happy, as I know I’ve prioritized what truly matters. Sometimes being a good parent means making sacrifices; it’s about striking a balance between nurturing their dreams and pursuing my own. I’ll summit a mountaintop at some point because I made myself that promise, and while it might not happen in the timeframe I wished for, I know the journey will be worth it, both for me and for my children, who will witness the importance of following one’s passions.

A New Journey

Parenting is hard. I know that I don’t have to say that, it’s a repetitive statement in and of itself. But, let me reiterate anyway. Parenting is HARD. This past year has really tested my limits and made me question everything I thought that I may possibly know. Question every single thought that I may possibly be doing remotely okay at this and not completely, epically screwing up my kids.

Most days, I think I do okay. I believe deep down that I am a good mom that tries my best and still has bad days, but that my kids are cared for beyond just basic needs and that they know that they are loved.

To truly understand the monumental parenting leaps of this year, I’m going to have to shed a protective layer and bare some truths about myself. I do not do well in situations involving big emotions – I can feel what feels like a literal switch flip the second someone exposes very real, very intense emotions. Other people’s crying makes it worse. I have to consciously acknowledge this is happening and put forth a great deal of effort to come across as empathetic and understanding in a situation where all I want to do is RUN AS FAR AWAY AS FAST AS POSSIBLE. And it’s not that I don’t feel empathetic or understanding, that’s not it at all. I feel so deeply for people – but I am terrified that I am not going to say or do the right thing and I have this deeply ingrained co-dependency that makes me want to be able to fix everything for everyone and as an adult that has been through years of therapy, I also realize that isn’t possible. So I freeze and feel so immensely uncomfortable.

Now, as you can imagine, this isn’t ideal for relationships. Romantic relationships, friendships but ESPECIALLY as a parent. This year, my kids have had some GIGANTIC emotions with LOTS OF TEARS. We have dealt with suicidal ideations and self harm this year, depression and anxiety that are soul consuming. And as a parent, I had to do my best to put all of my own trauma aside to be not only present for my children during this time, but to advocate and fight for them like a fierce beast.

So when my son came to me with the fact that he had been self-harming and was having suicidal ideations, I did whatever I could to try to “fix” things for him. After bringing him to the hospital and being referred to an intensive outpatient program, we tried to face these issues head on. So there was the partial hospitalization program which referred us to intensive outpatient program that specialized on a specific diagnosis and then referred us to another intensive outpatient program which focused on yet another diagnosis. After going through those steps, individual therapy and medication management has continued. I pray that this year was the top of the summit and that we can continue to manage mental health for him and not be faced with such intense situations moving forward. I know that mental health is not cured and it does not just get better, it is a struggle throughout our lives and something we constantly have to monitor and work on. During this time, I am positive that I did not handle every single situation as best as I probably could have because of my own issues. There were times when I lost my temper because it was such a difficult situation and such new territory for not only him but for me. I felt like a failure that my son was so unhappy that he resorted to the means he did. Another layer peeled back, I self harmed when I was in high school, because my childhood was far from ideal, far from picturesque – if I have strived so hard to give him everything I always wanted in my childhood, why would he resort to the same thing? Again, I know that’s my trauma talking and self-blame, but as a mom, it’s the first place you go.

With all of this going on, internally it really felt like I was barely treading water and was going to lose it at any moment. But that’s not how it works when you’re a parent. You have to keep going – ALWAYS. And while I did my best, it didn’t feel like enough. When one child is struggling, it feels as though the attention that should be spread among all of the kids, is now focused on just the one. So when another child’s behavior started to become increasingly difficult to manage, I was sure that I would implode.

So when things finally started to feel like they were going in the right direction for my one kiddo, imagine my feelings of defeat when things progressively began getting worse for my youngest. He was having behavioral issues at school and at home. I was doing my due diligence though, reaching out to his primary, getting referrals for psychiatry, trying interventions and medication where suggested. Things weren’t getting better though. The exact opposite of that actually. They were going downhill on what felt like a combination avalanche, mudslide that lands in the center of a flaming pool of molten lava. Extreme mood swings. Violent outbursts. The things that he would say and do had me at the end of my rope. I had attempted to get interventions while he was still in school but because academically he wasn’t struggling, he didn’t qualify for “extra help.” The medications we tried didn’t do anything for him. We had experienced insomnia where he would be up for 24 hours at a time, outbursts where he was hitting, punching, kicking, spitting and biting, he would pee the bed intentionally and just cover it up – the list only continues and believe me when I say those are the milder things we dealt with.

I felt completely broken. So I drove him to the Wilder Foundation where they do walk-in mental health evaluations for kids. When I got there, I felt completely hopeless and all I wanted was for someone, anyone!, to say that they could help. The day that we showed up, they had a staff retreat and were going to be closing early… they apologized and offered to get intake paperwork started but told me I would have to come back. I broke down. I began crying uncontrollably at the front desk in front of everyone because I didn’t think I could take ONE MORE DAY doing this. Luckily, one of the supervisors saw the amount of emotional distress I was in and offered to speak with me. And she got us in for an appointment for the next week. And for three weeks in a row I told a woman I had never met every single thing about myself, Oliver and our family.

On week 3, we were given a diagnosis of anxiety with a preliminary diagnosis of autism spectrum disorder. Unfortunately, the wait for official testing for ASD is currently 8-9 months. Wilder has been a godsend though. They have referred us for OT to begin soon, therapy which we completed the intake appointment this afternoon and a case worker so we can hopefully get some extra assistance while we navigate these new waters. The therapist is already pushing for more testing with his new school. I feel like we finally have advocates working for us.

The therapist started to tell me that, while change won’t be immediate, she is here to help us get through this, no matter how long it takes. I told her, I don’t care how long it takes, and I have no expectations set for a timeline on when to expect change. I just want to feel hope. I want to feel hopeful that things are being faced head on and that while change won’t be here tomorrow, we have a team that is fighting with us to ensure that my kid has the best chance of success throughout his entire life and not just right now when things are tough.

Even after today – which was a very rough day for him, like sent home from school for some very high-intensity behaviors – I feel that hope. Wilder has given me that. No matter how hard we have to fight, I know that there are people finally listening and hearing us and willing to face this all head on with us. And that is an amazing feeling.

Day Dates

My time is stretched thin. Too thin. Maybe I’m just not good at time management. Between my work schedule and trying to keep the kids on a routine, it appears that there just isn’t enough me to go around.

My solution? Day dates.

If I just plot out a couple hours, one day a week for everyone, that I should be able to keep a smile on all of their faces. In theory.

What it comes down to now, is finding things we can do that will pique their interests and not leave moths flying out of my pockets.

Here is a list of things I think we’ll give a try:

~~Como Zoo~~
Mill City Museum
Saints Game
a movie
Minneapolis Institute of Arts
Science Museum
~~Children’s Museum~~
Minnehaha Regional Park
Sea Life
Fort Snellling
Queen Boat Ride
Edinborough Park
Crayola Experience
SkyZone
Vertical Endeavors
Dodge Nature Center
Bunker Beach
Afton Apple Orchard
Discovery Hollow

Who knows what will actually happen. And do I then make sure to do all of the same things with all of the kids? Or do I do different adventures with everyone? If I make it a weekly thing, that does come down to 36 separate things to do. Suggestions are welcome of course. If I recycle some of the places, I will definitely make it through the summer at least. I think that getting to a new park/outdoor activity as much as possible throughout the summer should be the main goal.

Being outdoors is one of my favorite things to do but my work/sleep schedule can throw things off quite a bit. I’ll try to document my dates each week and see what all we can get accomplished.

Stretched

Lately, I feel like I am a rubber band, pulled as tight as it will go before it either snaps or is released to fly through the air, and if it’s my house, hitting someone right in the eye.

Everyone needs me.

They always needed me though, right?

I feel like every single second, of every single day, is dedicated to doing things for everyone else. And then, at the end of the day, it still doesn’t feel like enough.

I work too much. Even when I work when everyone is in bed, I’m still the bad guy for not being home to hang out. Everyone wants a piece of me. From the second I wake up until the second I go to sleep. My only reprieve? Sleep.

I had gotten so good at giving myself the time I need. I had put myself first for once in my life and then I started my new career, something I am already in love with doing, yet my world feels like it’s crumbling around me. Where I once carried it square on my shoulders, still a lot to bare, it now feels like I am buried beneath all of the pieces, grasping for air.

I haven’t been able to figure out a way to make things work. How to make time for everyone and the needs that they have and also make sure that I am looking out for number one. I know how important self care is for me and my sanity and yet I have not been making the time like I should be…. and if I do? Guilt. And not just from myself.

50 hour work weeks.
24 hours of volunteer time.
School pick-up.
Dinner.
Bath.
Bedtime.
Hang with the preteen for an hour.
Sleep.
Shower?
School drop off.
Grocery shopping, cleaning, laundry, cats.

I make time for me at least once a month. But let’s be honest, that’s not enough. I feel guilty for any time that I spend that isn’t at home with my kids because of my work schedule. And it’s honestly ridiculous. Yes, I miss bedtime three to four days a week. And yes, half the time I miss getting them to school. But it’s half the time. I’m only gone, missing time with them for maybe 3 hours. But the guilt is still there.

At the end of the day, it boils down to one thing. I’m tired. I’m tired because I work 12 hour overnight shifts. I’m tired because it literally feels like I’m being pulled in a million directions, by a million people and things. And if I don’t figure out a better self care routine soon, I think that the pulling that rubber band is not only going to make it break but still go flying into someone’s eye.

saying goodbye

Talking about addiction is really hard. Having a relationship with someone who has an active addiction is even harder. People will compare addiction to any other disease. “What if they had a brain tumor? Would you leave them then?” “What if they were paralyzed in an accident? Would you quit then?” I’ve had a lot of time to think and process those comparisons and the relationships that I’ve had with addicts and I’ve had a lot. My mother was an addict and lost her life because of complications brought on by her addictions. My father is still an addict. My soon to be ex-husband is an addict. Although addiction certainly strains relationships because of the addiction itself, it’s the actions of the addict that make those relationships either maintainable or unbearable.

My relationship with my mother was terrible. There were highs and lows and I loved my mom for the fact that she was my mom, but that’s about the extent of where that went. Our relationship was strained, she was a narcissist and a sociopath I believe. I can openly admit that I have my own set of codependence surrounding my relationship with my mother and more often than not end up in relationships with people that have similar personality traits because of my “mommy issues.” My mom passed away in 2010 from complications from cirrhosis and Hepatitis C – which could have been treated had she chosen to seek treatment to stop drinking and doing drugs but her addiction consumed and eventually ended her life.

My father and I have also had a very strained relationship. His addiction to alcohol and drugs, now just drugs, has led to violent behavior and poor life choices. The details aren’t all necessary but for some reason despite his abusive past and issues with controlling his anger, I always knew that he loved me at least. And even though my childhood was not ideal, it had its good moments and eventually I was able to leave that situation. I still have a “relationship” with my father and I still love my father but wonder what it would have been like to have a dad that wasn’t addicted to drugs.

Which leads to being in a romantic relationship with someone with an addiction. The red flags we ignore. The rose colored glasses we wear. The blind eye that we turn. It doesn’t matter how much love there is in a relationship where there is addiction. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, love is not enough. Love is not all you need. Even with the best of intentions, if the person with the addiction is unwilling to get better, it makes a functioning relationship nearly impossible. Being with an addict is possible, if the addict is willing to work on sobriety.

Alcoholism is a disease. That’s what we’re taught, right? That we should treat people with addiction as we would any sick person. Except we don’t, do we? Outsiders will tell us how to stay in our own lane, how to avoid conflict with our addicts, how we can support them without leaving them. But when someone is fighting a life threatening disease our families and our communities come around us to support us. Don’t get me wrong, I have had some amazing support and I also know that those meal trains eventually run out, but it felt like I was expected to fix him and stay with him despite the fact that he didn’t want to get better, refused to get better and continued to hurt and drag down our family.

Have you ever seen someone who is drowning get saved before? If you watch carefully, a lot of times they will claw their way onto the person trying to help them, dragging their savior down below the surface with them because they are in such a panic. Other times, they will just be dead weight, so heavy from their exhaustion and the fact that they have given up their fight that they are worse to save than the person who is still fighting. That’s what it’s like being in a relationship with an active alcoholic that doesn’t want to change – who REFUSES to get better. They’ve given up on their life and instead of fighting for the things that used to matter to them, they push those things away and drag the person trying to help them, trying to save them, down below the surface with them. And that is exactly what happened in my marriage.

I was hell bent on not writing these words. On not bad mouthing my husband, soon to be ex-husband. I truly hope that these words don’t come across as an attack on him. While I do believe he very much has a personality disorder, I believe his disease took over and all that was left of him was a shell of the man that I fell truly, madly, deeply in love with. No matter what I did, how many al-anon meetings I attended, church services I went to, therapy I dived into, no matter what ultimatums I gave, the fights, the indifference, not our kids, not me – nothing was enough to beat that addiction for him. There was no help coming from anyone in our circle… no interventions were given. Plenty of enabling has and still occurs though.

It seems like there is a lot of guilt put onto loved ones of those with addiction, putting a stigma on leaving the person with the addiction. I understand if you’re looking at this strictly as a disease – not leaving someone who is trying to treat that disease. A friend gave the comparison of this to another taboo disease – depression. If you’re treating the disease and you’re having a hard time or there is a bad period, it’s easier for your partner to work through that with you. If that person goes completely off their meds, refuses to take them again and quits treating the disease, things will become more chaotic and unhealthy for everyone involved. In these situations, leaving to preserve the safety and well-being of those involved ends up being the only choice that is left.

However, telling someone that they shouldn’t leave an unhealthy relationship when the person struggling with addiction is choosing not to treat that disease is even more unhealthy. I love my husband but our family was shattered. All I could do was leave. I’ve never been in a relationship with someone suffering from a medical disease so I’m not sure how they go through the stages of that. What I do know is that the stages of addiction were not healthy for him or me or our family. So while people may say that I didn’t do all that I could for that relationship, I really fought my hardest, in every way I could think of, for a very long time and getting out to save myself and my kids was a tough decision I had to make. To end a relationship, a marriage, that I thought was going to last forever, was not an easy decision.

The real reason I wrote this is because I saw a beautiful video today of a woman caring for her soldier that was now paralyzed from the neck down. It was a music video and the song and images were so striking and it made me so sad. Sad because of the guilt that I’ve felt over leaving that I’ve put on myself and that others have made me feel. I shouldn’t feel like what I did wasn’t enough, I shouldn’t feel guilty for my ultimate decision to leave, that my love wasn’t enough just because I left. It might not have been what he needed to find the inner strength that he needs to better himself, but it was enough to help myself, it was enough to leave so that my kids can have a better life. Because in order to break the cycle of complete childhood trauma you have to show your children that they can love someone from afar.

Out with the old…

What a year it’s been. I can say with complete confidence that nothing went the way I thought it would when 2020 rang in.

I spent December 31st with my boys… we celebrated with non-alcoholic champagne and the fun little headband things. Honestly, I knew my world was crumbling but I put on a happy face for my boys. We spent the night together and I knew that there was change on the horizon, just didn’t realize what it would actually mean.

March 1 marked a new chapter in our lives. One I had tried to prepare myself for, but nothing truly prepares you for the end of your marriage even when you know it’s already over. And amidst the leaving and starting over in a one bedroom apartment with all my boys Covid-19 decided to grace our presence.

And since then, my life has been a roller coaster of emotions. I do really well and then something will remind me of the past and I’ll become emotional all over again. And I’ve learned that’s okay. It’s alright to still feel sad sometimes because that was a huge chapter of my life and that’s not something that is supposed to be easy to overcome. It’s not supposed to be simple to move on quickly from a marriage.

I spent a lot of time outdoors this spring and summer. Exploring local trails. Paddle boarding. Taking the kids out and about. Doing whatever we could to enjoy the weather and each other with the world being shut down.

I traveled. I know not everyone approved but I did. I spent time with my siblings and friends. I explored new cities. Tried my best to find myself and to find what I love. And I love traveling. I love outdoors. I love moving. I love exploring new places and trying new foods and new drinks and meeting new people. And I’ve met some AMAZING people. People that have touched my life indescribably. Folks from Arizona and Nashville. People that will remain in my heart forever because they have literally shown me a new part of myself, have shown me kindness, have been a part of new chapters of my life.

I’ve gotten two new tattoos. I pierced my nose. I’ve changed my hair. I’ve lost weight and gained weight and worked out and been stagnant. I burned the things from my past life. Made new friends and lost old ones and deepened some really important relationships. I’ve moved twice – currently in a very cute two bedroom apartment on Grand. I’ve gotten two different vehicles – now driving a minivan that fits us all much better. I was able to have Christmas for my kids – not only that but paid for us to take a trip to Denver coming up.

This year was far from perfect. It was one of the most difficult years of my life to date. But it was also one of the most fulfilling. I have grown so much and although I have a lot more to accomplish, I am proud of where I am. I left everything behind and started a new life and I have many goals in mind for this upcoming year. But I can say that I am proud of where I am right now and I’m excited to keep growing and moving forward.

Cheers to a happy and successful New Year!