Be Bigger Than Your Fear

As you may have noticed, I'm spending a lot of time on social media.  I have a lot of time.  I troll the internet and catch up on what all of you are doing since I'm seeing less of people in person these days.

When I'm not online, I spend time in my head thinking about the accident, where I am in the recovery process and what I will do with myself when I'm healed.  I have big plans for this phase of life.  But, for now, in the limbo between crash and wholeness, there is this space; this ether that is largely dominated by fear.

One of the many selfies I am taking these days; I think I need a new hobby.
Orange is the New Black marathon??? 

One of the benefits of being a busy person is that it pushes your fear to the side.  Busyness refuses to let fear be felt. You don't have the luxury of time to be self-indulgent in your thoughts.  You're focused on what you have to do, what others need and your daily plan for accomplishing it all.  Before the accident, my life was an automated cycle of "what does Bryan need?" "what do the kids need and where do I have to take them?" "what do I have to get done for my clients today?" and "when am I going to work out (and run all my other errands)?"

Now, without these regular distractions, I'm left with my thoughts, which I've found are surprisingly less optimistic than I often perceive myself to be.

I'm afraid of a lot these days:

That my legs won't work
This is an irrational fear, I know.  I even walked after the accident - with five breaks and a dislocated foot - to the side of the road to get out of my smoking car.  But, despite walking and having not one shred of medical evidence to imply otherwise, I am afraid that when I am asked to take that first step - still weeks away - that I won't be able to do it.  It's very weird not putting any weight on your feet for months at a time.  I haven't walked in four weeks. And, there is this negative, naysaying part of my head that says I won't walk again.  Fear.

That my friends will move on without me
I know this is totally irrational. My friends have been an amazing support system, bringing me meals, running errands for me, taking my kids for afternoons on end and checking in every day to see if I want Starbucks.  But, at the end of the day, immobility is isolating.  The view from the floor is only shared with my one dog and two cats.  And they can't go to Starbucks.  I'm alone.

Throwback to friends many years ago. They've all done more for me than I can say

That my husband will tire of this ridiculous situation
I am, of course, not giving him any of the credit he deserves by feeling this way, but I do feel this way.  There are things I now require that I will not ask my mother or my friends. These are the thankless tasks saved for my husband. And they're not glamorous or fun.  So while I watch other families' vacations on Facebook, I am very aware that we are not that couple. At least not this year.

That my kids will explode after one more request to fill my water glass
My kids have really stepped up in the past month.  They do their laundry, they unload and load the dishwasher, and fulfill myriad requests all day for Advil, water, coffee, the remote, my laptop, etc.  Hand in hand with all of this is our cancelled summer vacation, our cancelled long weekend to Chicago to celebrate Sophie's eighth grade graduation, and our cancelled trip out east to see One Direction.  Yes, all these plans are gone and I've had to ask my kids to handle it with grace and with understanding.  It's a lot to ask kids. But I asked. So I sort of suck.

My girls and me enjoying Jeni's ice cream last summer. 

Gabe enjoying the beach he isn't going to.

I know the rebuttal to all my fears - I will walk; my friends are there; my family loves me and wants me to heal; I know all this is true. But that's the funny thing about fear - it ignores what's true and feeds on what's not.

I am not sharing this with you because I think what I am experiencing is unique.  I am sharing it because I find what I'm going through to be extraordinarily common.  My accident is merely shining a light on what I, and others, go through all the time as human beings.  We must be bigger than our fears.  We must make our decisions based on hope and our dreams.  Fear cannot be fed.

So, I will not shrink in this situation.  I will move as much as I am physically able to.  I will get out of my house.  I will do as much for myself as I can. I will be thankful that my upper body was not injured because I use it everyday to get around. I will appreciate sitting outside on the deck with my kids because that's the extent of our travels this summer. I will love every Starbucks, every call, every kind gesture that I receive. And when I ask my kids for anything, I will say thank you. Because I am so very thankful.

I read a quote recently that says, "We all have two lives. The second one starts when we realize that we only have one."  I am thankful to have started my second life.  And, I will not be afraid of it. I will embrace it and go confidently in the direction of my dreams.  I owe this to everyone around me, and to myself - as we all do.

Amen.

School Dances, Making Lunch and Flat Irons

I woke up last week and realized that I am living with a daughter who is growing up.  It started with her coming downstairs after getting ready for school, hair flat ironed, lip gloss applied, asking for a cup of coffee (with about three cups of added flavored creamer because she doesn't actually like coffee, but all mature people drink coffee, so why not??)

My favorite coffee from my favorite coffee brand in my favorite delivery device...the K-Cup

I looked at her, as she swilled her Starbucks K-Cup, and thought, how did this happen?  Where is my little girl, who watches Dora and has an American Girl doll collection? In my mind, I am still buying her adorable outfits at Baby Gap.

This is the classic story all mothers tell...time goes too fast...they grow up so quickly...where do the years go...you know the drill. But, what I am really asking, is where the hell did all my time go?

More important than my daughter getting older, I am getting older. Old. And, I think I can safely say that as you age, the years go by on what feels like an exponential scale, versus linear.  We adopt our own middle aged version of dog years.  One year of adolescence is like 7 adult years.  Woof.

I am struggling with aging, because in my mind, I am still in my 20's. I have relevant conversations with my college age babysitters.  I dress well.  I read Us magazine.  I know all the latest pop stars (I think just saying "pop star" made me seem really old).

In case you aren't as young and hip as I am, this is Nicki Minaj. She is a pop star.

But despite my best efforts to stay young, it just can't happen.  You age, become less relevant to the younger generation and start using inevitable phrases like "when I was your age..." and "back before there were cell phones..." In the eyes of youth, no good story ever starts out that way. What's an old girl to do?

I've decided that instead of fretting about my downward spiral toward 50, I am going to embrace it.  After all, I've invested 16 years in my marriage and 12 years in my parenting career that have made me happier than anything else I've ever done.

I don't put the pressure on myself I did in my 20's to be the best, look the best, have the most friends and be in on the best social scene.  I am content to make popcorn with my kids as we watch a family movie on a lazy Friday night after we've all talked about our week.

I know who I am.  (In my mind, the best gift of maturing) And once you know who you are, you can help your kids figure out who they are.  Self awareness is the key to not letting people, situations and life in general ruin your day.

So even though part of me is sad to see Sophie getting older because it means that I am too, I am eager with the anticipation of who she'll become and the life she'll lead.  She's off to school dances and packing her own lunch.  She asks me if I need help with anything and she is starting to babysit. She does her own homework and is begging for a cell phone. She is taking the baby steps toward maturity. And while it gives me a bittersweet pang to know she'll need me less and less, I hold her up, like a bubble, let her go and whisper, "float..."

This is my Sophie, 12 years ago. The years do go by...