Author: Cassie

Everything you want is on the other side of fear

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“Do one thing every day that scares you.”~ Eleanor Roosevelt

Fear.  It inhabits us in some form every day.  This post could be about how I’m about to give birth for the third time tomorrow. And of course, this terrifies me.

This post could be about how I’m about to be a mother of three kids instead of two and I have no idea how I’m really going to do it, let alone, having no idea how to parent a girl. And of course, this terrifies me.

But this isn’t about that.  Those things are fear inducing, yes, but I know I can do it.  So, while the fear is there, it’s not “real”, it’s not tangible.  No matter what, I will succeed at this because failure is not an option.

This post isn’t about that kind of fear.  It’s not about the fear you have when you know you will survive.  It’s about the fear you have when you jump head first into   something you’ve never done before, something you don’t even know if you can do, something where there is essentially no safety net.  This post is about jumping headfirst into something you have a 98% chance of failing at…and doing it anyway.

While this post isn’t about my pregnancy, per se, it definitely is impacted by it.  For most of my life, I have suffered from insomnia.  I don’t sleep a lot and I don’t sleep well.  This can be rather helpful as a parent, though when pregnancy induced insomnia rears its ugly head and you are getting 4 hours of sleep as a pregnant woman, a mom, and a kindergarten teacher, reason seems to go out the window.  And that is essentially where we begin.

Because it was this pregnancy induced insomnia that lead me to be on Twitter at 3 am on a random January “morning”.  And it was this sleeplessness that had me on the New York Road Runners website scouting out some post-baby races.  And it was this incredible exhaustion that had me reminiscing about how much I loved running and couldn’t wait to get back to it.  And it was this amazing weariness of both mind and body that led to the major lack of judgement when I entered the lottery to run in the TCS NYC Marathon.

I knew the chances of getting in via lottery were super slim.  I knew less than 10% of people are accepted.  So I put the phone down, attempted to go back to sleep and put it out of my mind.

And it was.  I went about my life.  I ran intermittently.  I started a a new Girls on the Run group.  I parented and taught and my life went forward as it always did.

Until March 3rd.  When somehow, in some strange twist of fate, I received this e-mail:

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At first I couldn’t breath.  Then I was excited.  Then I was downright petrified.  How the hell was I going to do this?  I barely made it through my half marathon in October.  At 5 months pregnant I could barely manage to talk by the end of it, let alone have completed another 13.1 miles.  Not only did I take a spot from a real runner, someone who dreams of the NYC marathon the way I pregnantly dream about cake and wine, but if I decided to go through with this, I was ultimately going to fail.

And for the past month, all I could think about was the fact that I was going to fail at this.  That I should drop out.  That I should quit so I could just stop worrying.  Then today I woke up and thought, maybe I wouldn’t.  Sure, there is a 98% percent chance that I would fail, that I won’t be able to finish the marathon.  But how will I know until I try.  I began making a list of the reasons I might not fail.  I began making a list so I could see that glimmer of hope in the 2%.  And while I was only really able to come up with 2 things, here they are:

1. I was able to finish a half marathon at 5 months pregnant.  I had barely trained because the beginning of my pregnancy had been emotionally and physically challenging.  I had finished the half in 4 hours with running very little of it.  The time limit for the TCS NYC Marathon is 8 hours.  With the proper training, there is a chance I can do this, even if I come in dead last.

2. I was able to accomplish this (and this, and this).  And somehow, it seems, when I make up my mind to do something, I don’t let anything stand in my way.

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When I really began thinking about it, I realized my fear was mostly about what the “others” would think.  What would my real runner friends think?  What would my everyday friends think?  Would any of them think I could do it?  Would any of them tell me to my face that I could totally do it, but then think negatively behind my back?

And did any of that really matter?  They weren’t running this thing, I was.  And that’s when I had my answer.  I was going to do it.  I might fail, I might not.  But that’s not really the important part.  The important part is the idea that I could try.

I would try.  2% and all, I would try.

See you in November, NYC.

Through different eyes

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“The greatest gift that you can give to others is the gift of unconditional love and acceptance.” ~Brian Tracey

As the impending due date approaches (it’s actually today) both little ones have been fascinated with baby pictures of themselves.  They’re constantly asking me to look through the old photos I have stored on my computer and happily I oblige, loving the trip down memory lane as much as they do.  Looking at the old photos convinces me that once this new baby comes into our lives, everything will be ok.  The pain and annoyance of pregnancy will have been worth it and while three kids seems daunting, so did 2 under 2 at the time.  We all managed those first moments and years relatively unscathed even though we had no real idea what we were doing.

But, as usual, I digress.  This post is about one particular picture.  While scrolling through the photos, Max made me stop at this one:

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I immediately grimace. Four months post-baby and I still looked like I had been hit by a truck.  Overweight, unhealthy, unkept.  I was probably 60-70 pounds heavier than I am now (at 40 weeks pregnant).  My idea of exercise was walking to the car to drive to the grocery store a half a mile away.  My idea of a good meal was multiple menu items at 5 Guys.    As I focus on everything I hate about this picture, Max looks at me and says

“I love this picture mom.  Can we print it?”

“Why do you like it so much?”

“Because it’s me and you together.”

And just like that, my 5 year old has proved he is wise beyond his years, that he is, in fact, smarter than me.  Because as I focused on all the things I hate about this picture, all the things that were WRONG with ME, I missed the most important part.  The picture captures a moment in time that he and I spent together.  While I focused on imperfections, he sees how much I loved him from the beginning.

And with that comment, I see how much he loves me too.

The unbalance between teaching and parenting

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“Children have never been very good at listening to their elders, but they have never failed to imitate them.” ~James Baldwin

Every day as a teacher (a kindergarten teacher in a fairly unsafe area of Baltimore, to be exact) there are so many things I wish I could tell the parents of my students.  While I am teaching, I always think that I know better and wish that I could impart my amazing parental wisdom on the parents of my students.  I want to tell them to let their kindergarteners be more autonomous.  Don’t walk them to the classroom.  Let them put away their own stuff.  Don’t hover.  Step back.  Listen to them, but don’t believe everything they say.  Let them be who they are.  And many times, if I have a good relationship with them, I do say these things.

But flash forward to today.  It is my first day of maternity leave and one of the few chances I have ever had to take my child to school.  We live in a “nice” neighborhood.  My kids go to “nice” public schools.  Nothing at all like where I teach.  I feel like I have absolutely nothing to worry about.  And yet, when I had to drop my kindergartener off in the carpool line today, and watch him walk the less than 100 feet to the front of the building, blind panic set in.  He had to turn a corner where I wouldn’t see him.  There are literally 12 teachers at their morning posts.  And all I can think is “what if?”  What if he trips and no one is there to help him? What if someone in line teases him and he gets sad?  What if he gets distracted, doesn’t follow directions, and therefor gets in trouble?  It took every ounce of restraint I had not to park the car and walk to the front of the building to check on him…to wait and hold his hand for the two minutes he was going to be in line before entering the school building.  To give him one more kiss and hug so he knows someone on this planet thinks he’s amazing.

I went to school for child development.  I teach small children how to read and write and complete math problems every day.  I try to instill in them a sense of purpose, a sense of kindness, and the ability to stand up for themselves and the things they know to be right.  I am with them for 7 hours a day, 180 days a year.  And I see how able and capable they are and what wonderful little people and citizens they have become.  I let them run and grow and engage without hovering over them all day.

And yet, that is what I do to my own child.  I hover.  ALL. THE. TIME. Maybe it stems from bad early school experiences for him.  Maybe it stems from him being slightly weird or awkward.  Maybe it stems from me being slightly weird and awkward as a child or not having very close relationships with my parents.  I don’t know.  But what I do know is that I am constantly yelling at my husband for hovering and I do the same thing.  At the park.  At home.  In public.  I know what I should be doing.  I know I should stand back and let him just be “him”.  And yet I don’t.

Within the next few days, baby 3 will be joining us.  There will be less time and attention for my other little ones and I keep having this panicking feeling that I didn’t teach them enough on how to be independent.  On learning to engage with other children.  On what to do if someone teases you.  On how to stick up for yourself.  I worry and worry and worry constantly that I hovered too much and tried to control too much.

And maybe, just maybe, it’s time for me to let go…so they can just be.

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Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow

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“People won’t have time for you if you are always angry or complaining.” ~Stephen Hawking

I sit.  I stare at the screen.  I know what I want to write, but I don’t.  I know what I need to say, but the words don’t form.  So instead of making myself, instead of just writing anything at all I shut the laptop and reach for the remote and drown my thoughts in crappy TV.

Lately, it seems, all I feel is angry and bitter.  Towards my family.  Towards my friends.  Towards myself.  Even towards baby #3.   Almost everything makes me hostile.  I have been focusing so much on all the can’ts, and the won’ts, and the shouldn’ts and it’s really been eating me up inside.  I’m 38 weeks pregnant and even after today’s appointment, the baby isn’t ready to come.  I can’t run as fast or as much as I used to and yet all my friends are out there doing it and I feel so resentful toward them.  I shouldn’t be as mean and nasty as I’ve been to so many people around me and yet, I continue to do it every day.  I can’t get a good night sleep so I’m constantly tired and instead of going to bed earlier, I just blame the husband who can fall asleep at the drop of a hat.

Do you ever have those moments where it seems like you are outside your own body watching what’s going on?  That’s what this feels like.  Consciously, I know what I’m doing.  I’m literally screaming at myself to stop or shut up, to bite my tongue or walk away but I just don’t.  Afterward, not only do I feel terrible, but then the guilt sets in and it’s a downward spiral of shame and doubt and self-loathing until the next wave of anger sets in.

I have all these plans.  Big plans.  Colossal plans that I want to begin to see into fruition, but I can’t do anything about them until the baby comes. Everyone around me is moving forward, reaching goals, working towards whatever it is that they want to achieve, and here I am stuck.  I feel like I can’t do anything; make changes, move forward, anything, until this baby is born.

I’m sitting still and I hate sitting still.

I need to do something. The waiting place is a hard place to be.  But I don’t have to make it harder.

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Yesterday was a good day.

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“Running is like life, it’s a long journey, but well worth it.” ~Unknown

I needed yesterday. More than you know.

I woke up at 3:30 in the morning with the lovely pregnancy insomnia that has plagued me for weeks. It was also our first day without a delay or a day off in a week so the thought of working a full day was already tiring. When I couldn’t get back to sleep I decided just to get up and go for a run.

I hadn’t run in over a month and the entire month I felt off. February was rough. I had an extremely short temper with pretty much anyone that came in contact with me. I was angry, hostile, bitter. I felt like I hated the world. I felt like a terrible parent, a terrible wife, and a terrible friend. I blamed these feelings on the pregnancy and on the hormones, but really, what I think happened was that I just didn’t run.

Running has always been my therapy. As a kindergarten teacher and a mother, I don’t get much time to myself. Add pregnancy into the mix and most of the time that I had to myself had me being way too tired to do anything anyway.

I could tell you why I stopped for a month. I could tell you it was because the doctor recommended it (which she did, a least until 36 weeks), or because I was too busy, or because I was too tired. And for the most part all of these things are true. But the real reasons I stopped are far more shallow. I didn’t have a real goal to work towards to I slacked off. I got tired of seeing my mile times increase and increase some more. I got tired of seeing the scale go up incrementally.

So I stopped. I figured what’s the point. I would just sit around for the next few weeks and be lazy and grow a baby.

But what I’ve found is that I can’t stop. I need running. Like I need air. Like I need food. Like I need my family. I need it like my life depends on it. Because for all intents and purposes, it does.

So yesterday was important. Yes, I was more tired and sore than normal. But it didn’t matter. For the first time in a month I felt like me again. I felt positive. I felt ready. I felt alive.

So it’s time. It’s time to stop worrying about my time. It’s time to stopping thinking, period, and just run. Because you never know what amazing things lie on the horizon. And I know whatever they are, I can conquer them with my eyes wide open and my heart ready for anything.

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Starting Over Yet Again

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“Life is tough, but so are you.” ~Unknown

Looking through old items on my phone a few days ago reminded me of just how tough last February was.  I had just picked back up with my running and wasn’t impressed with my progress.  It was very snowy and the kids and I were going stir crazy.  I was an overly emotional wreck, which I chalked up to nothing and everything all at once.

Flash forward to this February…which hasn’t been much better.  It’s been a month since I’ve run because I’m finding it close to impossible to run in the late stages of pregnancy.  The weather hasn’t been that great and while I am enjoying my extra time off, I’m not enjoying my car continually needing work and the below zero temperatures that have kept us all indoors.  And once again I have been an overall emotionally wreck, which, I wish I could chalk up to being super pregnant, but unfortunately I know that’s not the whole reason.

But now it’s a new month.  With March comes the promise of sunnier days, *slightly* warmer weather, baby delivery, and simply a time of rejuvenation and starting over yet again.

I constantly feel like I’m starting over could be considered both a blessing and a curse.  I have to keep starting over because in reality I keep failing.  Promises and goals not kept, excuses constantly given, deals made and broken are all keeping me right where I deserve to be.  I feel like I’m in a whole and I can can totally figure out how to get myself out of it, but I just don’t do it.  I know it’s going to take work and discipline and self-sacrifice, but I am never consistent with any of these things.

On top of it all I really haven’t been able to run and it’s killing me.  I use running as a form of therapy.  It’s time for me to work out the problems in my head.  It’s time for me to be alone (which is close to impossible when you are a Kindergarten teacher with a stay at home husband and two small children).  It’s just a time for me to be completely and utterly myself and I haven’t had that in a while.

I understand, though, that the ability to start over is a blessing.  Each new day gives me a chance to try my hand at my goals one more time.  And each day I wake up thinking this is the day I’m going to make it work.

I need to stop making excuses.  I need to readjust my goals until this baby comes.  I need to readjust my goals period.

What do I want to accomplish?  Who do I want to be?  What do I want to do?

I need to process.  I need time to think.  I need to run.

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So Ready…

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“I’m waiting for my real life to begin” ~Colin Hay

In just a few short weeks I will be changing over from the world of two small kids to three small kids.  Most people wouldn’t want to speed this up, relishing in the smaller family world for just a few more moments.  But for me, this couldn’t be further from the the truth.  It’s not so much that I’m ready to be stretched thinner than I already I.  It’s simply that I’m ready to get my life back.

I get it, really I do.  I’ve had my fair share of fertility problems, more than I care to even admit.  I understand that being pregnant is a gift that not everyone gets to receive.  But that doesn’t mean I like it.  I can’t wait for baby #3 to get here.  I love feelings her kick and move.  I’m ready for her to become the piece to put our family puzzle together.

But for the most part I really hate being pregnant.  And I can guarantee you this is not about the wine.  I hate not being able to eat certain foods simply because they *might* cause some sort of harm.  I hate choking down my three pre-natal vitamins every day (and therefor become horribly constipated), I hate not being able to sleep more than an hour at a time because I need to pee, or simply roll over relieving some pressure on my hips, I hate not being able to wear real pants, I hate being tired ALL THE TIME, I hate not being able to run, I hate not being able to breathe, I hate not being able to take real medicine when I’m sick, and I really hate waiting.

I’m ready to get my life back together.

I’m ready to get this party started because I can already tell it’s going to be a hell of a good time.

Clarity

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“The beauty is that through disappointment you can gain clarity, and with clarity comes conviction and true originality.” ~Conan O’Brien

Do you have have those moments of clarity, you know, the ones where you are pretty sure you understand everything within the universe in an uncomplicated way?

Very rarely do these creep up on me, but today one did.  And what my moment of clarity brought me is the realization that I pretty much suck in all aspects of my world these days.  I’m a horrible wife, an exasperated mother, a bored teacher, and an unmotivated runner.  All I seem to want to do these days is eat, read, watch TV, and sleep and I rarely get the time to do any of these things.

I realize I’m causing a great disservice to most of the people around me.  I know what I should be doing, how I should be reacting, the effort I should be making and yet, I don’t (or I can’t).

Every night I make these grandiose plans and promises to myself that I’m going to do better, be better.  I’m not going to reply to every word spoken to me with sarcasm and contempt.  I’m not going to yell.  I am going to try my hardest.  I am going to put forth at least a little effort.  I’m going to put down the <insert food here> and get up and MOVE.

And yet, no matter how many times I have made these promises to myself, I have yet to keep them.  I wake up in a mood because of sheer exhaustion or because I simply don’t want to go to work and I immediately take it out on those around me.  No one is safe.  I always want it to be different, but it never is.

But the miracle is that every night I get to make that promise to myself and every morning I get to try and keep it.

Here we go…

The Best Intentions

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“Good intentions never change anything.  They only become a deeper and deeper rut.” ~Joyce Meyer

I’ve just turned 34 and I’m no better at this than I was at 24.  I make lists.  I make plans.  I identify things that need changing.  I’m proud of myself.  I’m able to take the first step.  Sometimes I’m even able to take the second step. I stick with it, for a day, maybe a week.

And then nothing.

I don’t know what it is.  I decided just one day off is ok.  I decide I need a break. I decide, for whatever arbitrary reason, that I deserve a break. Or I lose my cool. Or I break my promise.  And my one day turns into two, or three, and then, inevitably forever.

Why is it sometimes I can do it and sometimes I can’t?  Where in my brain is the motivation cortex?  The place that is supposed to help me keep going and reach my goals even when I want to quit.

I could blame the pregnancy right now and it would be so easy.  I’m exhausted and uncomfortable and will be for the next 2 months.  But that would be taking the easy way out because in reality, I was like this long before I became pregnant and long before I had two rambunctious boys to take care of.  I feel like I’ve always been of the “lazier” variety, of the “blame everyone but me” variety, of the “let’s make excuses” variety.  And as much as I make the conscious effort NOT  be like this, I always end up right back here at the starting line.

But I can’t stop, right?  As I do at the beginning of every month I have to believe that this month will be different, that this is the month where everything will finally stick and I will emerge victorious and transformed.  No more excuses.

The first step, no matter how many times you have taken it in the past, is always the hardest.

Faker

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“I feel like a big faker because I’ve been putting my life back together, and nobody knows.” ~Stephen Chbosky

I tend to harbor a lot of anxiety in my every day life.  Little things; money, family, and work, creep in periodically and make me a little on edge.  To be honest, this anxiety is probably felt more by my family than by me, which I know is not fair. But these are small things…the things that most of us face on a daily basis, and while they are anxiety inducing, they are not true fears.

I do have a fear though.  Just thinking about it can stop me in my tracks, unable to breathe or even see.  I am completely and unequivocally scared of dying.  It’s not really the dying part, per say, but more so the fear of simply not existing or my life, as I know it, being over.   When I start to think about it, I mean REALLY think about it, I reach a state of full on panic and I can barely get out of it.  I don’t know if it has something to do with me being too egotistical to understand that the world can and will go on without me or simply that  I wasn’t raised religiously, therefor I don’t really have any beliefs about heaven or the after life, but I’ve had this fear for as long as I can remember.

When I was little I would shuffle into my parent’s room in the middle of the night to tell them I was scared of dying.  It was never the dark, or monsters, or any of the “normal” kid fears, but dying.  The would roll over, tell me we would talk about it in the morning, and go back to sleep.  We never really did talk about it though. My dad, raised Catholic, believed in heaven and hell.  My mom believed our souls were reincarnated.  I had neither of these safety nets to fall back on so the fear continued to grow.

But why am I telling you all this?  Mostly because while this fear should make me more motivated to reach my goals, should motivate me to become the best person I can be, should motivate me to live life to the fullest, it doesn’t.  I’m constantly writing these posts about how life is short, that we only have a limited time to really do and be who we want, that we have to embrace change to really move ourselves and I do none of it.  I write about it, sure, but I don’t make any moves toward action.

And…I have no idea why.  I am so scared of the idea of ceasing to exist without being truly happy and making a lasting, positive impression on the world that I literally have a panic attack.  I clench up, I can’t breathe, my blood pressure and heart rate spike almost uncontrollably until I’m able to talk myself down, and yet I can’t follow through on ideas and plans without quitting or talking myself out of them.

Why am I scared of making these big leaps and changes?  You’d think the fear of a short lived life, unfulfilled, unhappy life would be enough to catapult me into change, but it’s not.  Ultimately, it’s a combination of factors that can stand seamlessly alone, but together gather strength as the fear of judgement from others.

I can sit here all day from my throne in my judgement free zone (really the arm chair in my living room) and spout off about how we all need to take ourselves seriously, that we need to do the things that make up happy, that life’s too short to care about what other people think, YOLO and all that but when it comes out of my mouth, it’s pretty much just a pile of crap because while I’m talking the talk, I’m not walking the walk.

I live in constant fear of judgment of others.  Yes, I post my running pictures, but only head shots because even though I lost almost 80 pounds no one wants to see me in my running tights.

Yes, I post pictures of my miles of running, but have you ever noticed that I cut the times off all of them because I know that when people see the time it took me to run one mile, many of them will realize they can actually WALK faster than that.

Yes, I talk about one day completing a marathon, but there is no way I’d ever tell anyone that I want to do that because I know the judgements would come because I just BARELY finished my half marathon and wasn’t very graceful in all the complaining I was doing in the end.

Yes, I complain about how I could be a better mother and wife and make all these plans in my head where I resolve to do so, and five minutes later I am yelling or bitching about something.

Yes, I sit enviously looking at people on Facebook (yet another thing that needs to go) while they follow their dreams and live fearless and unencumbered lives and again I make plans and have absolutely no follow through.

So, basically, what I’ve amounted to in all my “carpe diem”-ness is a blog with a lot of fancy words, but not a lot of action.

What does this mean?  Where do I go?  What action will I take?  I don’t know.  But I’m ready to do something, anything, to prove that I have a life worth living.

I can’t live a life in vain anymore.

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