fear

Summer is Different This Year

/ Cassie / Leave a comment

The past few summers have been a shit show. I mean, I’m sure there’s a better way to put it, but why sugar coat it. They were.

There’s the summer three years ago when I sat around every single day trying to find the courage to tell my husband that I was leaving. The amount of stress and exhaustion were enough to kill me…and I’m pretty sure they almost did.

There’s the summer two years ago where I was still scared of doing anything wrong. Anything at all that could make me somehow lose my kids. And the guilt of leaving was still so fresh that I constantly gave in to unhealthy behaviors simply to stay afloat.

Last summer was the worst. Going through the divorce and custody battle caused my anxiety to be at an all time high. I was nervous going anywhere even when I didn’t have the kids because something could go wrong. I couldn’t make one wrong decision or one single misstep because it could come back to bit me in the ass. I actually think I have slight PTSD from my custody/divorce battle. I actually had to turn my email notifications off my phone because hearing the ding reminded me of all the emails from my lawyer and I actually start to shut down.

This is the first summer where I finally feel free. Free to go on vacations with and without the kids. Free to make decisions without constantly worrying about what someone else might think or make an issue of. Free to mention Joe’s name without worrying about the repercussions.

It’s an amazing feeling, but you know what’s funny? It’s almost like a piece of me is missing now. I held on to all that worry, all that anxiety, all that anger for so long, that there is a void. What do I worry about now? What do I think about now? What should I do now?

Luckily, it’s still summer and for the first time in forever I can allow myself to find these answers. I can allow myself to figure out who I am or who I want to be. And most importantly I can actually allow myself to breathe.

Sometimes smaller is better

/ Cassie / Leave a comment

Usually around this time of year I begin to compose a post that is an ode to my favorite holiday. I. Love. New Years. LOVE. It has always been my favorite since I became a “grownup”. There are the lights and fireworks, being with your loved ones, and of course, the idea that the very next day is a blank slate. A do over. A new beginning and a new chance for anything.

Like I said, usually this post would be about all of that stuff. But not this year.

As I sit here and write, my house is in complete disarray. It is a literal shit show. And for someone who has anxiety related to clutter and crap, this is not good. Two of my kids have been sick. One is under-medicated and annoyed by the very one that only wants to spend time with him. The ear infection/lose tooth kid has been a terror because she’s been getting up before the sun. They all have. Every morning at 5:30. I am on break. Please sleep. Or rather, let me sleep.

And this is why instead of cleaning my house, or writing about love and magic and second chances, I have mandated that everyone lay down for the next hour and nap. I’m not naive enough to think any of them are actually doing it, but the doors are closed and it is quiet for five seconds, so that’s good enough for me.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this year and all the goals I made for myself last year…and I didn’t accomplish a single one of them. Don’t get me wrong, I have accomplished a great deal. But just not what I set out to do 12 months ago. I’ve barely run, let alone finished a race. I’ve gone into more debt (hello lawyer fees). I’ve added more stress to my life. I’ve definitely gained weight, because see above.

But I learned how to fight. I learned how to stick up for myself. I learned how to surround myself with people who appreciate those things and say goodbye to the ones who don’t. I’ve complained less. I’ve appreciated more. And while I’m not living my life while working from home in my RV, where I am right now is pretty great.

So, as I sit here with a glass of wine at 12:52 on a Monday afternoon (again, see above), I’ve come to realize that big goals and big resolutions aren’t all they are cracked up to be. Sure, I accomplished far more than I set out to, but still, had I made more manageable goals, maybe I would have gotten even further.

I’ve decided to set 5 goals for myself at the beginning of each month and document them here. That way, not only can I keep myself accountable, I can also hopefully inspire someone to “play” along with me and be my hand holder and cheerleader (and warning giver should I stray).

January Goals

  1. Finish four weeks of Couch to 5K – Running at least 3 times a week. I just spent $215 to sign up for these races, so I better actually do this. I love running. It has helped me through the toughest times of my life. I know it can help me again. Along with this, I’m going to drink less and eat healthy more (just not making it a concrete goal yet)
  2. Go to the gym at least once a week…to actually work out. I know this doesn’t seem like much, but baby steps, y’all. I paid for Merritt for months and never used it. I’ll hopefully update this goal in February, but I need something attainable right now.
  3. Unfollow all toxic people on social media. And by this what I mean is toxic people to me. People that make me feel less than or unworthy. People that complain way too much. People that live negatively and miserably. These people may not be toxic to others, but as someone who feeds into the climate around them, they are definitely toxic to me. While I need to use my phone and social media less to begin with, while I’m on there I need to surround myself with people who inspire and uplift me.
  4. Start each day with a daily gratitude. Each and every day I will pick one thing that I am grateful for and hold on to that idea throughout the day when things get rough.
  5. Decrease my daily phone usage by 10%…and do the same with the kids’ technology. Enough said. I use it too much for stupid shit and I need to learn how to put it down and read or write or cross stitch or something.

I’m definitely ready for these changes. They’ve been a long time coming. I’m ready to make my 39th year the best one of my life.

Summer is different this year.

/ Cassie / Leave a comment

I assumed that summer would be different this year.

I’m having a difficult time putting it into words.  I’ve written and then immediately erased at least 5 sentences before writing that one.  It’s not that I don’t know what to say, it’s simply that I don’t know how to say it.  Or maybe, it’s just that I’m too scared to say it.

Scared seems to be an overarching theme these days.  I only have the kids 50% of the time during the summer and I thought, at first, I would relish the down time.  I’ll have time to read!  I’ll have time to go to the pool!  But instead I just seem to have a lot of time with my thoughts, which has never meant good things for me.  I spend my days overthinking, overanalyzing, and simply being on such a high level of alert and anxiety that my body seems to vibrate constantly.

I’m buying a car, which for someone who has always had money issues, is highly stressful.  Can I afford it?  Yes.  Do I need it?  Yes.  But I keep hesitating, picking a different car each day, simply so I don’t have to do this thing.  Then, I start thinking about what Mike will say if I get a new car.  The arguments form themselves in my head seamlessly and without help from me.  My rational mind says:

“Who cares what he thinks?”

“He has bought a ton of stuff for himself without consulting or caring what you think.”

“You are separated.  You need a car to get to work.  All that matters is what you think.  The end.”

But it never really is the end.  That damn subconscious comes around to rear her ugly head to remind me in no uncertain terms that she is really running the show and it’s stupid for me to think otherwise/

And yet, I am 37 years old and I know this is a problem. The amount I seems to care what other people think is astounding.  I have always tried to pride myself on the fact that it only matters what I think and feel, not others.  But here I am, with all this time on my hands, CONSTANTLY thinking about it.

I tell myself to write.  That this process will help me work out what’s in my mind.

*What if people don’t like what I’ve written.*

*What if they think what I have to say is stupid.*

*What’s the point of writing.  No one is even reading it.*

I tell myself to throw myself into my half marathon training and the gym.

*Why?  You’re just going to quit again like you always do.*

*Why do you even thinking you can do this when clearly you can’t.*

I tell myself to put down the screens and read, go outside, do anything.

*Right after one more scroll through facebook to see that my friends (and others) are having a way more fun and happy summer than I am having.*

I don’t even know how to write more to this post.

I know I need a break, but I am simply too scared to take it.  I know I know I need to find the person I lost over the past couple years, but I just don’t know what to do to find her again.

When I was little I used to run around and smash lightning bugs.  Cruel, I know (at least now I do), but when I did that I was never thinking about their death, only thinking about how they would make me sparkle.  How, for a brief time, I would shine.

I never imagined that I would have to find a way to make myself sparkle and glow without the help of the lightning bugs. That I would have to do it on my own.

When did I stop believing in myself?

I have no idea.  I just know that I have to find a way to begin again.

Screen Shot 2018-06-28 at 1.58.07 PM

 

 

 

We’ll all float on Ok.

/ Cassie / Leave a comment

I don’t seem to know who I am anymore.

Not so long ago I felt like I had it all figured out.  I’m a mom.  I’m a runner.  I’m a teacher.  I’m a friend.  Things were going well.  I had a wonderful new daughter, two amazing boys, and a fantastic support system of friends and family.  I literally had no complaints and was perfectly content any happy.

And then I broke…again.

This wasn’t like the first time I felt that I had broke, when my dad had died.  When that happened I feel apart all at once so it was almost easier to out myself back together.  The pieces were right there and easier to find, not scattered over space and time.

I wish I could say I knew the exact moment that it happened, but really it was a series of events that started small, each one separately almost microscopic in size, but together crumbled my world into a million pieces.

I cut back on my running and dropped out of the NYC marathon.

An old friend came back into my life just when I thought I was finally over our past.

I lost a person in my life who I thought was a good friend.

The separation began…and ended…and began…and changed so much that I don’t even know where we are at this point.

Most recently I’ve done things I probably shouldn’t have.  I’ve eaten things I probably shouldn’t have.  I’ve stopped running altogether.  With each passing day, the numbers on the scale keep inching closer to where I said I never wanted to be again.  And the worst part of it all is that I just don’t seem to care.  Not about being a bad person, or losing certain people from my life, or even losing everything I worked for.  None of it.

I feel like I’m on the roundabout on the playground spinning more and more out of control each day.  The sad part is that I know I’m the one that’s pushing it to go faster and faster.  I am in complete and utter control of this and I can’t seem to jump off and just stop. Because I know that when I do I’m going to break even more from the impact.  I know that I’m really going to have to work to find all the pieces and put myself back together again.  Not only in the “now” but in the past too.  The task seems daunting and so impossible that 99% of the time I don’t even have the desire to try.

But then, out of the blue, today happened.  The 1%.  The one glimmer of hope I had been hoping for.

We’re driving to the park and the library and all three kids are squeezed into the back seat.  Charlotte is singing along to Modest Mouse playing in the background while Oliver and Max argued about how many sheep are in an adjoining field.  The sun was shining in the blue sky as wispy clouds float by, my hand out the window rising and falling in the warm air.  I finally felt it.  What I had been longing to feel for so long lately.  A sense of peace and contentment.   A sense of placement.

This is where I was supposed to be.  Maybe not forever, but at least for right now.

And with that tiny feeling of hope, I know that pretty soon I’ll have enough courage to make the leap off the roundabout.  And maybe, just maybe, my feet will actually hit the ground and I’ll be able to pick myself up and begin to collect all the pieces.

Processing

/ Cassie / Leave a comment

It’s been a while since I have written anything.  Life has been busy, and wonderful, and messy and excruciating all at the same time.  But that’s usually how life is; the good with the bad, the best with the worst.


As the weather gets warmer I tend to spend most of my time outside, soaking up the sunshine, recharging my batteries, and just letting my mind wander to the tune of a gentle breeze and warmth on my face.  Lately my mind has been drifting more and more to the relationships in my life; friends, foes, loves, lovers, children, colleagues, etc, and how some stay and some go.


Recently, I lost a friend.  I’ll save you all the dramatics that surrounded it, but quite simply, one minute we were friends and the next minute we weren’t.  And quiet honestly it was for a stupid, arbitrary reason that I won’t even dignify by putting it into writing.  There was no falling out.  There was no betrayal.  Quite simply, it just ended.  But irregardless of the reason, I have one less friend than I had before.  Because of that I feel like “less” than I was before, like something in my life is missing…because it is.


And I’m sad.  I miss my friend.


There’s something so refreshing about having people with which you can be your unequivocal self, with no questions asked and no judgements posed.  I have very few people like this in my life, so when I find someone who’s soul meshes well with mine, I try to hold on to them for as long as I can.  I’m fiercely loyal and protective of these friends, so when one of them has to leave, it hurts.  A lot.


But all this aside, my most recent friendship ending has led me to evaluate many other friendships and relationships in my life.  I have best friends, and close friends, and acquaintances, all of which play integral roles in my life and help shape who I am.   And they all play their self-selected roles well.  We’re there for each other.  We check in.  We do the celebrating when it’s warranted and the cheering up when needed.  Just by being in my life, every single one of them makes me a better person.


But if that is the case, if I have some truly amazing people in my life, then why, oh why, do I continue my relationships with the toxic ones as well?  Those are the friends that lie, cheat, and manipulate their way through friendships and relationships.  It’s usually directed towards other people, not at us.  And we sit back silently and watch the way they treat other, judging quietly, but not saying anything.  Because it will never be us.  They’ll never lie to us or manipulate us.  We’re safe, we believe.


Until we’re not.  Until we realize that we’re the ones being lied to. And the moment you catch them in that lie, it’s like the wind gets knocked out of you.  You have no breath, you have no words.  And then comes the anger…followed shortly after by the overwhelming sadness.


And we tell ourselves that’s just the way they are and it’s something we need to put up with in order to keep the friendship.  And up to a short time ago, I would have believed this.  I would have put on my game face, hoped they didn’t do it again, and let our lives move on just as they had been doing.


But today…no.  Today I say THIS IS BULLSHIT.


Why the hell am I going to continue to put up with someone who treats me so poorly?  And not just me…but everyone else as well.  And the plain and simple answer is: I’m not.  I have some amazing people in my life, including my most recently lost friend.  I don’t need to continue to be friends with the toxic ones; the ones that make me feel less than, the ones that always make me second guess the truth, the ones I simply do not trust.


I’m 35 years old and I know that I still have a lot to figure out when it comes to life, love, and relationships.  Most days I feel like I don’t know much at all.  But I do know this.  I’m no longer going to allow these people to be in my life.  I may not always be the most self-confident person, but I do know I’m better than that.

I’m not me. But I will be soon.

/ Cassie / Leave a comment

I started the post awhile ago and then stopped.  There are so many truths within it that I just didn’t know if I was willing to face them.  By admitting these things, I feel like my life course, my life as I know it, essentially all that I am, will be different.  And I’m literally writing this after I had a mental breakdown on the side of the road at 5:30 in the morning.

I started running when my dad died.  Ok.  That’s not entirely accurate, but that’s the truth that I tend to tell people because it seems more acceptable than the real story.  More acceptable and less ugly. But really, what have I got to lose at this point?  Nothing.  They say the truth will set you free.  Well, maybe that’s just what I need.  Freedom from who I think I am so I can become the real me.

After my dad died I fell apart.  Which was odd to me because we hadn’t spoken in 5 years.  But I had often seen myself in him.  He was angry a lot and tended to push those who were closest to him away.  As I watched him die sick and alone I worried that this is what my life was destined for.  And I tried to run away from everything.  During that time I got caught up in a relationship that I shouldn’t have.  I thought it was healing me when in reality it was slowly dismantling me.  When it ended, leaving me heartbroken and empty, I had no idea how to handle two losses in such a short amount of time.  So I went for a run.  And it truly saved me. I had found something that could put me back together, slowly and piece by piece.

And it worked…for a time.

I loved being able to say I was a runner.  It helped me feel accomplished, like I could do anything.  It made me feel more confident and pretty bad ass. But it also gave me an escape from my life, the escape I thought I had needed before; a way to “run away” so to speak.  In reality, it didn’t save me from myself.  It simply gave me the outlet to gloss over my problems; to bury them deep down and save them for another day.

Cut to me crying on the side of the road because I couldn’t run.  I have so much going on in my life that I had begun to use running as that escape again.  Now I have an injury and can’t run.  What am I supposed to do?  Without the running, I’m actually going to have to face the demons in my life.  I’m actually going to have to figure out what’s wrong and get to the root of my problems.

And I don’t know if I can do that.  I’ve been putting them in the background for so long that I don’t how to face my problems without running away.  I don’t know if I’m entirely ready to make these hard decisions that I know have to be made.  I don’t think I’m disciplined enough to make the changes that I need to make in order to actually survive.

But maybe that’s why this happened.  Maybe this injury is the universe’s way of telling me to grow a pair and handle my shit.  Because life is short.  And time is not guaranteed.

I need to say good-bye to running for awhile.  I need to learn how to cope without it. I need to learn how to love myself completely without the label of being a runner.  Once I’m whole again, we can start our journey all over, when running is something in my life and not the only thing.

Here goes nothing.

images.jpeg

It Comes and Goes

/ Cassie / Leave a comment

I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately.

I’m completely unmotivated to do anything.  I pack my gym bag and then skip out.  I lay out my running clothes and then say forget it.

Why did I let myself get to the starting over point again?  It’s so hard to be here.  To see all my hard work gone.  To have my 3 miles feel like 30.  The numbers on the scale are climbing with my mile time.  I cry way more than I should.  I’m literally at the “what’s the point?” place and I can’t seem to find my way out.

I have a half marathon coming up in 12 weeks and I just don’t care.  I don’t seem to care about a lot of things lately…especially if they take extra effort and energy.  Once I put the kids to bed I am comatose on the couch.

I’ve become mean.  And spiteful.  And judgey.  AND I HATE IT.

I’ve got to be in here somewhere.  I don’t know this person.  I don’t want to know this person.

Fall down seven times, get up eight

/ Cassie / Leave a comment

Everything hurts and I’m dying.

I literally don’t think I could get out of this chair if I wanted to.  And I only ran/walked 2.5 miles today.  This summer I was up to over 25 miles a week with my long runs between 10-14.  Today? The idea of running 10 miles at one time makes me want to kill myself.

And yet, I have an alarm set on my phone to sign up for a half marathon when it opens on Thursday.

I’m constantly starting over. And for no other reason than I’m constantly giving up.  Something happens when I get to a certain point in almost every endeavor in my life.  I leave it behind, trying to convince myself I won’t get any better, or that I’m just going to fail, or thatI have something more important that needs my time and attention.

But we all know this is crap.  And then I’m forced to start over again.

I constantly wonder how far along I would be if I simply stopped giving up.  When I first started I was “running” a 16-17 minute mile on a fast day.  And I would get better and faster, but never lower than a 12 minute mile and never for very long.  And now here I am,  not anywhere near where I started, but definitely not where I was.  And after just a day back into it I feel like giving up…again.

My word this year is (was) supposed to be “brave” but I’m not feeling very brave these days. I have all these plans and goals but I’m too scared to follow through.  Mostly it’s fear of judgment.  And a little fear of failure.

I want to do things.  I want to help people.  I want to make the most of this tiny amount of time we are allotted on this earth.  I want to claim my guaranteed entry to to the NYC marathon, but what if I flake out again?  I want to really start using my running to give back, like running with Back on My Feet, working with a population I respect and who needs so much love, but will always feel like I’m too slow. I want to write more, more than just these blog posts, but never feel like it will go anywhere so what’s the point?

I have so much trouble putting myself out there…really out there.

Brave?  Not so much these days…

But I guess the fact that I care at all is something.  I guess the fact that I always try again proves I’m meant for more.

I know who I am.  I know what I want.  I know what is important to me.

But knowing is easy.  Doing is hard.

 

 

Honestly So…

/ Cassie / Leave a comment

This is hard.  Harder than I thought.

I don’t think I’ve ever been so sad.  Or so defeated.  Or so alone.

One minute I have the utmost conviction that this is what I am supposed to do…that this is what I need to do.

To save our family.  To save us.  To save me.

And the next minute I think, maybe this is my lot in life…the idea of almost.

Almost happy.  Almost in love.  Almost understanding.

Today was not a good day, but I held it together.

And for now, that’s more than enough.

In fact, it’s all I can do.

Faker

/ Cassie / Leave a comment

“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.

IMG_7098