All too well.
Navigating trauma is a delicate, wild thing. I’m sitting here, days after I’ve signed an offer with another large tech company and I still don’t know what I am truly feeling. I’m feeling everything, all at once and at times, I find it nearly impossible to decifier and define each emotion. All I know is that I am deep in the post-trauma aftermath, swimming in the unknown and trying to give myself grace.
On March 15, 2023, I was part of the mass layoffs at Meta. 85% of our entire org…gone. It was brutal how poorly the layoff was conducted and I was left in the wake of it all, so incredibly unsure of what to do next. And above all, completely triggered.
I’ve spent years doing EMDR trauma therapy, removing reactions to previous events, refiling traumatic experiences and walking head first into the fire of PTSD. I’ve learned how to manage my reactions, self-soothe and redirect my emotions when I feel anxiety creeping in or I am triggered by memories or words. I’ve put in the hard work and have made incredible progress towards healing. But no matter the work or progress, there are times in which the universe throws a massive curve ball in your path and your triggers lit up like a god damn Christmas tree.
Being laid off was new trauma for me, I’ve never been laid off before. Hell, I never have been fired for that matter. The reality of being laid off came crashing down onto me instantly. I just crumbled into a sobbing, blubbering mess and squeezed my eyes shut - willing myself to wake the fuck up from this nightmare. But as the days went on after that Wednesday, the reality slowly started to sink in…my dream job was gone. My work family had been broken up. My career progression came to a screeching hault. I was not ready to leave, I had so much more to learn and to give. But it was over. Done. Never my decision to make. End of story, move on.
This was all uncharted territory for me. Of course I’ve battled the job hunt in the past, but never like this. I was released into the market, along with thousands of other recruiters and operations professionals. A market that can only be described as the biggest dumpster fire you can imagine. And navigating it all over the last year triggered me in every way imaginable. I have no ability to compartmentalize so of course, I felt everything as it hit me. But I had to keep moving forward. I had to keep fighting. I had no choice but to keep pushing on. To say that this last year has been one of the hardest years of my life feels like the understatement of the century. But I couldn’t give up, even if I was triggered in every which way imaginable.
No choices. Having my choices ripped away and forced upon me with no say was one of the biggest trauma reactions that resurfaced for me. Growing up, I was never given a choice in any part of my life. I was always told what to do, forced to listen and never had an ounce of autonomy in my life. This continued from my childhood well into my adult years. Nearly every choice was made for me until I learned what autonomy and choice really meant for myself and my life. I had no choice in being laid off, it was never mine or my managers to decide. As soon as that job was ripped from me, the ‘no choices’ trigger fired up.
Not worthy. I have fought every step of my life to make people believe I was worth it. It’s one thing to never feel your self worth in relationships but to feel that with your career…well, that’s a whole other level of bull shit. While my career doesn’t define me, it certainly is a massive part of me. I take extreme pride in what I do and work my ass off to prove my worth to my team and to myself. With one swift cut of the axe, I was instantly transported back to being unworthy. My confidence diminished instantly, turning into a meek and broken empty shell of myself. I felt empty, not complete, this entire year. As if I had no purpose in my life anymore. My career was gone, what else can I provide for my family, society and myself. The hollowness I felt was palpable. And all because of a lost job. Another trigger, fired.
Not good enough. Not being good enough has always been the crux of my trauma issues and over the last year, it’s all come screaming back to me. Why did this happen to me? Am I not good enough? In the months following the layoff, the primary narrative that played on repeat in my head was, “what did I do wrong? Am I not good enough? What could I have done differently?” It’s near impossible to shift that narrative when you’re being triggered every time you wake up to more rejection emails. But after months of Brett repeating to me, “this isn’t something that you did, this is something that happened to you", I eventually began to believe it. But damn if it didn’t sting everytime I thought of my coworkers still in the office, or even when Meta started hiring back short term employees on the recruiting teams…and never reaching out to me. It sucks feeling like you’re not good enough. And as much as I can repeat my mantras or tell myself it was never me, it doesn’t truly lessen the blow of it all. More trauma resurfaced, more triggers fired.
Pick me. As far as I can remember, I have been desperate to be chosen. I wanted my mom to pick me over my step-dad, pick me and keep me safe. I’ve always schemed and changed who I truly was to make friends, to make friendship with me seem effortless. I wanted a man to choose me to love, to make me their number one. I am a pathelogical people pleaser, I fully admit. But it’s always been so that I would be chosen. Through therapy I’ve learned the root cause of this trauma response and have since moved forward in a healthier way. (And of course, I am my husband’s choice. He chose me for who I am, not for who I was for him). And after all this progress, it all came swiftly back to me…Meta didn’t pick me. I applied to hundreds of jobs and most rejected me or flat out ghosted me. Hell, I was even ghosted at the offer stage with not one, but two companies. Once again, no one would choose me. And it’s damn exhausting to pick yourself up time and time again after rejections. Yet again, more triggers.
That feeling of not being good enough, of the emptiness one feels, the loss of relationships and a beloved career, the trauma of it all, I know it now. I know it all too well. You can’t forget it, you can’t un-feel it. And the littlest thing can set you back on your heals at any given time too. Now that this miserable season of my life has come to a close, I’m feeling every emotion I’ve experienced over the year more clearly. So I keep moving forward, like I did throughout this year. Little by little the triggers dissipate, my anxiety dwindles, my confidence grows and I work on healing and accepting it all.
I thank the gods for the support I had during this impossible season. My husband, bless him, was my absolute anchor throughout this storm. He is a constant reminder of my strength and perserverance and the best gods damned cheerleader out there. My friends who helped scraped me off the floor when I crumbled to a lifeless frame…you know who you are. I don’t know what I did to deserve friends like you, but damn will I do anything for you to show you how much you mean to me. My dogs for keeping me accountable for getting outside, for mountain biking so that I can have moments of forgetting my reality, for every rom-com smut I read that allowed me a happily ever after escape, for antidepressants that helped me get out of bed everyday, and for the Mother herself, Taylor Swift, for holding me together with your songs when everything else felt futile.
I might be okay now but I’m not fine at all. Not yet at least. I know the trauma still lingers, the PTSD hits me hard when I hear of another tech layoff or as I sit here waiting on onboarding delays with my new position. The anger I have for those who cruelly volunteered us for tribute remains and frankly, may never go away entirely. The jealousy of those who are still with the company is slowly fading but remains nonetheless. And honestly, I don’t know what the hell I’ve learned over this last year. It makes me insane when I see LinkedIn posts about “I’ve learned so much, have grown so much over these few months after my layoff.” I call bullshit. Because losing your job is a massive traumatic event and when you’re tits deep in it all, all you can focus on is surviving. Once all the dust settles, I know that I will come out stronger and have learned lessons under me. But that’s all in hindsight, right? I’m not there yet, but I will be.
While I am battered and bruised and will never be the same as I was before, I survived and now I am moving forward to the next chapter. They say that all’s well that ends well, but I know that this will take time. So for now, I will take up all the space I need to process everything, I will give myself the grace I need to soldier on and I will accept that this all happened for a reason. I will allow this trauma to shape me into a new version of me, I will eventually discover the lessons to be learned and grow. I will come out of this stronger, but for now, I remember it all too well.
It’s worth all the blood, sweat, bruising and tears.
Recently, one of my friends asked me “What do you want to learn at your clinic? What’s your goal with want to ‘get better' at mountain biking?” And I’ll be honest, I had no answer for her in that moment. But it got me thinking about the why’s. Why do I mountain bike, why do I like mountain biking (wait, do I like it?!), why do I push myself…Needless to say, since that conversation, I have been reflecting on it all. Because as much as this journey has been incredibly fun, it’s been (and remains) far from easy for me.
It was late summer 2021 and Brett and I had just came home from another backpacking trip in the North Cascades in Washington. The trailhead was packed with cars like sardines and there were countless groups of backpackers/hikers out there. Luckily, I’m married to a man who refuses to stay on the road most traveled and we were able to escape all the humans and find our own secret mountain getaway. But it got us talking. Because of covid, hiking and backpacking populations grew to an almost unhealthy level…leaving it near impossible to be solo in the mountains. The crowds and Instagram’s geotagging really started to ruin these secret places and made us not want to backpack any more. “You know, if we rode mountain bikes, we could avoid those crowds…", Brett said when we got home from Washington. And that little statement spurred a two-week long intense conversation about mountain biking.
Now, I need to be clear, I knew Brett was a pro downhiller and I wanted nothing to do with that…ever. Bikes were life for him (spoiler alert, they still are life for him), an extension of who he is. By the time we met, he had hung up his helmet so to speak and was content on not riding anymore. He was burnt out and no longer wanted to ride the same trails over and over to no avail. And when we first started dating, that was perfectly fine by me! I swore up and down I would NEVER ride a mountain bike. Hell, I had only ridden a bike maybe 15-20 times in my entire life! (Seriously, I barely could ride a bike). So when we started talking about him getting back into mountain biking and me getting into it…my expectations, once I was convinced I would love it, were very low. We talked at length for those two weeks about every aspect of this sport - from parts to culture to expections and training. He was certain I would enjoy mountain biking as I had no PTSD surrounding it like I do with rock climbing and there’s a good connection to skiing, too. He warned me that if he gets back into biking, that’s pretty much game, set, match for him. It would be bikes or bust. And after those in-depth conversations, we pulled the trigger. It was late August and I received my first ever mountain bike.
Since then, I have worked my ass off to get better on the bike. And let me tell you, learning to mountain bike at the age of 42 is far from easy! In the beginning, it was all about learning to ride a bike. It’s not second nature to me. I racked up so many miles just riding at the school in our area, just to figure out how to ride a bike. Since then, I have ridden in Oregon, California, Washington, Utah and Canada. Over the last year, I have taken three different clinics, practiced over and over again in my neighborhood. I have struggled with health issues through it all, walked my bike up hill more times than I can count, wrecked hundreds of times, cursed my husband for dragging me up death marches and have given more blood sacrifices to the trails than I probably should have. I have pushed myself on more technical trails when I feel confident and stuck to the baby greens when my mental blocks eat at me. I work hard on learning my bike, learning to trust my bike and focus on bike/body seperation. I have cried so many tears of frustration, anger, fear and of joy. I get giddy when I’m finally able to ride sections where I used to walk the and sob when my health issues hold me back. It’s a real mixed bag of emotions, I’ll tell you! This sport is hard, y’all. It’s brutal, unrelenting, dangerous, hot and sweating, heart-pounding and down right terrifying. But this sport truly has taken ahold of my life and sunk it’s brutal teeth into me. I love it and I hate it all at once.
There are times when I am suffering on the trail so much that I just want to quit. I hate it, I’m miserable, I’m not having fun…why the fuck am I out here?! I tell myself I don’t belong on these trails, I shouldn’t be riding. I apologize for being slow or holding people up, which makes me instantly feel not good enough. However, when I’m asked to go again the next day or weekend, I say yes and I get back on my bike. But I’ve not really understood why though. For a while, I thought it was so that I can spend more time with my husband and learn about his love for bikes. After that conversation with my friend, I really have been thinking about that why.
And it hit me finally.
It’s my therapy. I love a good challenge. I love learning something new, too. I love being coached and seeing instant results. I craved to be pushed - mentally and physically - to see what I can do. It’s not the “adrenaline” that I seek, but it’s the excitment I get when things start coming together. I live for those moments when I finally get it”. When I’ve been working on my skills, technique or sessioning features and I finally clean it…that’s when I feel most powerful. That’s when my confidence floods in and wraps over me like a protective layer. Those powerful moments propell me forward to the next session. And hell, let’s be honest…riding my bike makes me feel like a little kid! It’s so damn fun. I feel free, no one to hold me back but myself. Mountain biking is the next best thing to riding and training horses. And since I don’t have my horses right now, mountain biking has taken over in that role. It’s the connection between me and the bike (or the horse) and how it all relates to real life.
I still struggle nearly every ride. Every climb I do is a true Type II Fun adventure and I’m constantly talking to myself to remember what to do and giving myself pep talks. Mountain biking is not second nature to me like it is to Brett, but the connection is growing. My legs are constantly torn up like a 12-year old boy. It’s a constant battle of my mind and physical strength. And yes, sometimes my mind wins and I crumble out there, breaking down and letting self-doubt flood over me. But I keep going. I keep learning. (And thank god for my incredibly patient husband for always waiting for me). Mountain biking feels like a contination of therapy and my own personal growth. I love therapy, as hard as it is. But I go to therapy because I want to continue to heal, process and as woo woo as this sounds, I want to become my highest self. I never want to stop progressing in my personal life and mountain biking has become an extenstion of this. It’s the ultimate truth teller. Working with horses was the only other theraputic connection I’ve had to my personal growth. Just like with horses, if I am feeling anxious or insecure, that shit comes out on my bike and I know I need to work through some things. And when I feel confident, everything clicks and I feel light and powerful, standing up a little bit taller than before and owning my craft.
So what am I wanting to learn from my next clinic? The answer is simple. I want to learn more about who I am. I want to explore more about what makes me me and grow into a stronger woman, wife, mother, friend and badass mountain biker (and a better skier!) I want to be challenged, to learn everything I can. Because working through all my shit and learning who I am will ultimately make me a better mountain biker. And vice versa, learning more skills on my bike will only give me more confidence and power to continue my personal journey.
I have a lot of work to do still, so much more to learn. I know every ride won’t be sunshine, rainbows and sendy pants. This is about growth and progression, not being “good enough”. And for the first time in a very, very long time…I fully accept this. It’s all about growth, connection and learning. In hindsight, this love for mountain biking should have been so clear to me. Afterall, I did name my bike Pony.
I’m so glad Brett talked me into this sport. All the blood, sweat, bruising and tears is worth it when it all comes together and you feel like you’re a god damned pro flying down the mountain and jumping roots. Gah, I love mountain biking!
With gratitude and pride.
November 9th, 2022.
Three days prior, there was a leak…aWSJ article stating that Meta was about to embark on a large layoff, the first in company history. The panic and reality of it all didn’t truly sink in for me till that Tuesday, November 8th. I tried to remain positive - I was safe. I had great numbers, I was crushing it. I was certain I was safe because of all the hard work I’ve been putting into my career. Then the doubt started to seep in. It was far too easy to let the negative engulf me, causing me to spiral out of control — the Blind posts, the rumors, people panicking, the intensity of it all. Recruiting would be impacted the most, they said, and there was no rhyme or reason as to how individuals would be impacted. No one was safe, turns out, and that knowledge dug its claws into me. So I began to prepare for the worst, hope for the best (and freak the fuck out for the in-betweens). I connected to every person I could on our team, text messages, phone calls or on VC. I reached out to all my Product Design Managers and Design Program Managers to say my goodbyes and let them know how much I appreciated them, how much of an honor it has been to know them, work with them and learn from each of them. Macabre, yes…but I would regret it if I didn’t do so.
Then we waited. I vividly remember being so afraid of signing off my computer. I was terrified I wouldn’t be able to log back in. I tried to sleep, but gave up at 2am and logged on…and waited. 3am came and the first of our team was impacted. East coast. One of my teammates pinged me, he got an email. And I collapsed into hysterics. I sobbed for a good 20+ minutes, uncontrollable. Then 4am hit. My partner, my sourcer, the Goose to my Maverick…he got a letter. No. Not him. None of this felt real.
Shortly after 4am, my manager pinged me. I was safe. I turned to Brett, who had just woken up and I choked out, “I’m safe” and collapsed into him. I was safe, I had my job…but 11,000 + others did not. How in the hell should I feel good about this when incredible people were let go, when the people I loved and worked so closely with received a letter and 10 minutes to say goodbye. Survivors guilt quickly took hold of me and didn’t let up till about three weeks ago.
March 14th, 2023.
De ja vu. Buckle up, cause here we are again, kids. The trauma of the last layoffs have suddenly come soaring back to us. The Hunger Games have returned and the Capital volunteered us as tribute. Here we are again, facing another layoff of 10,000+ employees…with recruiting first on deck. This time, we know what is to be expected. We understand that we are all at risk and have quickly gone into prep mode. The memories of the first layoff quickly gripped a tight hold on us and had us all spiraling. All day, I have been clinging to every conversation I can muster, forming text threads and exchanging contacts and following one another on Instagram and Facebook, (and praying MySpace would come back to save us all!). Here I am, yet again, afraid of turning off my computer.
We find out tomorrow if we survived or not. We find out tomorrow who remains and who is forced to say goodbye. And it all fucking sucks. All our meetings were canceled today after the official comms came out from Mark. But we, Product Design Recruiting, didn’t care...we created our own meeting, dammit! We wanted to see one another, wanted to talk, to try to make sense of all this and maybe get a laugh in or two. It gave us space to talk and listen to others, while they spoke about their experiences here and how much it all impacted them. But I couldn’t talk, I couldn’t get the words past my throat. Every time I tried to say something, I would get choked up. Hell, I could barely keep my video on, hiding my face from ugly Kim Kardashian crying constantly. Because the reality of it all is, this isn’t just another job. This is something so much more.
My manager wrote today, “Gratitude is often a skill that you cultivate, not one that necessarily comes naturally to everyone. Even to get this post started, I had to look up how to practice gratitude when you’re not really feeling up to the task. You know what the internet suggested? Write it down. Make it a chore. Do it anyway. And as I’m sitting here to write this post, the internet is right. Taking the time to stop and reflect, to be where your feet are, and to respect how far you’ve come is helpful. Even if it’s difficult and you want to fight it.” And she’s right, she’s so fucking right, (her and the internets). I may have not been able to say what I wanted to say to my coworkers, my team, my people. But I can write it all out. Taking the time to reflect and accept the trauma that hit us in November and just recently. Taking time to accept come what may. But more importantly, taking the time to write down how grateful I am for this experience, these people who surround me in my career and to write the words that continue to get caught in my throat — those that attempt to explain how special this group is.
And so, I’m going to try to write what I wanted to say to all of them…while tears pour down my face, knowing I haven’t said enough.
This is hard, y’all. You are all so damn incredible. This is by far the greatest, most talented team that I have ever been a part of. When I joined the Product Design Recruiting team, I was terrified I wouldn’t fit in or I would be in way over my head. The imposter syndrome crept up on me quickly and I was sure I didn’t belong. But I had a manager who believed in me, then I started to notice that I had teammates who believed in me. And in just a short period of time, I was one of you. That above all else, means everything to me. I have never been a part of a community that fully accepted me for exactly who I am. I’ve never felt more respected and heard then I have with this team. You all gave me so much confidence, I can never repay you. You truly showed me what I am capable of and washed away that imposter syndrome that had been coating me for what felt like decades. This group of humans, you are the most dedicated, compassionate, toughest kids out there. We are scrappy, crafty and unrelenting and yet, always willing to evolve and do better. This is group, no matter what, is always present. Whenever someone needs help or guidance or “an adult” as I always say, it never fails that at least one of you raises their hand and jumps on a call to help. You clear your damn calendars to be there for others. You jump in when it’s off hours to push up your sleeves and solve problems. This team is always there for one another, no matter the circumstances. You show up. Over and over again.
The relationships and partnerships I’ve been able to build here in our Recruiting org and the Business are truly the foundation of this place and our people. The genuine connections I’ve help cultivate and foster have taken root not only in my career, but my personal life too. They hold me steadfast, especially in times like these. So when someone says “we’ll be okay, we are employable and will get through this with another job” — sure, that’s absolutely spot on. But here’s the thing. This isn’t just some job. This was the end game for me. This is it. This is the crown jewel of my career. It’s so much more than just recruiting. This isn’t just some job we are being laid off from, this was our community, our life force, our cheerleaders, our believers, our pushers and our fighters. So forgive me, non Metamates, for not taking your half-hearted condolences kindly. And it’s not that I don’t appreciate it, it’s just that you don’t get it. Because this is a tight knit community of badasses that’s being broken up, not just some lame coworkers that you try to keep in touch with over the years.
It has been a true honor to know you all, to work with you and to learn from you. Thank you for believing in me. I am so grateful for each and every one of you. And yet, I will never be able to tell each of you just how much you mean to me. But know that I will always be here for each of you, no matter what happens. Because who we are, this is what we do. And we are not quitters.
Thank you, for literally everything. ♥️
So now we wait. It will be brutal, this much we already know. No matter what side of the coin we land on, it’s going to challenging. But I’m going to come into tonight and into the wee hours of the morning with gratitude and pride. I am so fucking proud to call this team my own. The impact you have made on my life is immeasurable. No matter what happens, each of you will remain important in my life.
Come what may. We got this, kids. Because we are tough as shit. I hope we all see each other tomorrow.
I love you all. So hard.
Finally, a diagnosis.
It’s been five weeks since I’ve been officially diagnosed.
Well… five weeks plus years of cycling through doctors, countless blood testing, asthma and allergy tests and specialists, EKG’s, wrong diagnoses and being ignored or dismissed - having been told that my symptoms could be cured by drinking more water and or it’s “just anxiety”. Years of me asking doctor after doctor endless questions, seeking some kind of answer and hoping that someone would finally listen to me. It wasn’t until last fall when I finally met the one doctor who actually listened and gave me some direction at last. I still remember leaving her office, simply elated that I was finally heard. She set me up on a course of more tests and referred me to specialists but with the focus of getting to the root of all that was going on. And here I am, months, years, decades later…with an official diagnoses.
I’ve been officially diagnosed with Familial Dysautonomia and POTS. Dysautonomia - a disorder of my autonomic nervous system (ANS) function. You know, the one in charge of all my involuntary functions like breathing, heart beats, regulating body temperature…just a fun old fashion failure of my sympathetic and parasympathetic parts. Fun times! And POTS - postural orthostatic tachycardia syndrome, a condition that causes my heart to beat faster than normal…when I’m doing anything upright. I like to call this, my cartoon heart.
For years, I’ve suffered from overheating when it’s 35° outside, (overall heat sensitivity and always susceptible to heat stroke), getting dizzy from just standing up or when my heart rate jacks up and constantly struggling with my sleep patterns. The headaches. Ugh, the endless headaches for no reason or the debilitating migraines that come out of no where. And my heart rate, my cartoon heart, well that puppy has been getting up to 187, 192 …just from skiing downhill, hiking up minimal incline, riding my bike down mountains or grinding up minimal elevation. For years I have battled these things and more. For years, I truly believed that every adventure or activity I embarked on was just destined to be a true blue Type II Fun sufferfest. I continued to push myself, continued to climb mountains, trail run, climb multipitches, backcountry skied and mountain biked every chance I could. And somehow, I still love it. I love being in the mountains and seeing what my body can do, but I’ve suffered every time. I don’t think I’ve ever had an adventure where I didn’t suffer or struggle in some regard. It has made me feel inferior and only adds to my trauma/baggage that, clearly, I am “not good enough.” My anxiety becomes crippling at times, stopping me in my tracks or even turning around. I would constantly make up excuses that I was slower than most or that I “didn’t feel good”, or my asthma was acting up, or that I was affected by the heat (which, duh, I was!). I made myself believe that I would never be an athlete, I would never be strong enough, I would never be in shape like my friends, my husband or those I aspired to. I just would have to continue to struggle, try to control my anxiety and hope that my body would someday turn the corner and make my dreams of never suffering come true. And until then, I would fully embrace the pain and suffering every time.
But now, I have reasons why. I have the true reasons why I have been struggling this much, this long. My cardiologist was the one who official diagnosed me with both. At first I was fully triggered by his diagnosis, thinking he was just another jabronie telling me it’s all in my head and to “drink more water.” I broke down and sobbed after that appointment, feeling so anxious and dismissed. Thank god Brett went with me, my voice of reason, helping me sift through the emotions and find the facts. When in reality, he hit the nail right on the head and one of the ways to treat Dysautonomia is indeed to increase your water intake. It took me some time to dive into research and learning more about these disorders for myself, as well as talking at length with my doctor. In the beginning, I came about this understanding very matter of fact. But every once in a while, the emotional impact would hit me like a ton of bricks. So many times in the last few months I have broken down and cried. Mad at myself for not listening to my body and pushing myself no matter what, overcome with emotion that I’m not the problem…it’s my nervous system that’s the drama, not me. The emotional side of acceptance ebbs and flows in me still, weighing heavy on me at times, not allowing myself grace. However, there are times in which acceptance of it all engulfs me and determination takes hold. Knowledge is power, after all. And I finally have the answers and knowledge I need to move forward.
There is no cure for either of these disorders but there is a way to control it all. After meeting with my cardiologist and my ND, I was set out on a course to build my tool kit to right my ANS and try to maintain it all. And boy howdy, it’s work. But I am here for it all. I’m actually sitting here writing this post from a medical center, getting my second infusion - an eight week prescription series of an electrolyte and hydration cocktail. I’ve gotten to work over the past five weeks, doing everything I can to reset this clock so to speak. I’m on very specific supplements to support my mitochondria, inflammation and my ANS, as well as a new medication. I’ve been drinking 100oz or more of water a day, and increasing my electrolyte and salt intake…(yes, I drink SO MUCH WATER NOW! My skin better look amazing here very soon!) I’m working to regulate and retrain my heart by doing HiiT style workouts, chugging water in between peaks of my heart rate - doing this five or more times a week. And cold plunging. Yup, I’ve been purposefully dipping my entire body up to my neck in 46° water for 4-5 minutes each time, so that I can attempt to reset my nervous system and focus on my cardiac health. It’s insane, and so cold, but it’s worth it. It’s brutal but I’m thoroughly obsessed with cold plunging now, there are way too many benefits not to love this stupid “white people thing”, as my best friend calls it.
I’m not gonna lie, it’s been a fuck ton of work and I’ve only just begun on this journey. But I’m here for it all. I have fully accepted and embraced the amount of work and dedication it will take to level out this mess because it’s not going to happen over night. This will take time, but I will stop at nothing to kept progressing further. It is exhausting at times. Somedays I don’t want to drink water anymore, or workout or jump into freezing ass water. There are some days I wake up and instantly feel terrible - dizzy and light headed, feeling every thump of my heart and I just want to wallow in my suffering and be a big ass whole baby about it. There are days when my heart rate peaks to 187 just skiing down a groomer or 134, just sitting in the sauna and I want to cry…all this work I’m doing and I’m not seeing any damn changes. But then there are those rare days in which I can actually manage my heart and breathing while I’m climbing up the trail on my bike, or my heart only getting up 178 skiing, (yes, I get stoked on those numbers in the 170’s!). Those days are slowly starting to show up in my life. And on those days, I relish in it all. I get excited about the lower numbers and I feel a sense of pride that all this work I am doing daily may indeed be working. It shows me progress. And for now, that’s all I can hope for. Progress.
I’m laying all this out there not for sympathy or giving my reasoning for being the slow-ass grandma on the mountain. I’m telling my story to remind everyone of you to not ignore your body. I’ve been so focused on my mental health these last 5+ years, working through my trauma, that I forgot to focus on my physical well-being. And it was easy to do, after being dismissed by medical professions so many times, you start to believe that it’s all in your head. You play Taylor Swift over and over in your head, “hi, it’s me. I’m the problem it me.” But we can’t ignore the obvious signs and messages our bodies send us constantly. Listen to yourself, you know you best. Don’t accept the bullshit diagnosis or lame ‘treatments’ given by your doctor if it doesn’t feel right or genuine to you. Stand up for yourself, be loud about it, be your own advocate. Because if you keep pushing it aside and making up excuses for yourself, like I did, it won’t do you any good and you’ll never get to the life you want and deserve. Stand up for your body, be it’s strongest advocate and never let anyone make you feel like it’s all in your head. You’re worth so much more than that. And thank god, I finally figured that out myself.
Okay, drip is done kids. Gonna head home, drink more water and get some work down. Lord knows there’s so much more to come on this journey, thanks for those who are with me for every brutal minute of it!
I’m back…ish.
Well, it’s been a hot minute. I suppose I have not felt like writing for a while, a long while it seems. It’s not been a lack of anything to write about really; we have lived so much life in the last couple years - I have enough content for a series of novels. But I have not been inspired to share my stories, my writing. I have not wanted to put thoughts to paper in a public forum. Maybe it’s because I haven’t had the time, or maybe it’s because I didn’t want some people to know my stories. However, aside from the lack of inspiration shining down on me, I feel the real reason is I needed to sift through, organize and process a lot more of my own baggage…without distractions. You’d think that four plus years of trauma therapy would help set me straight! While it was incredibly constructive and healing, there is always more to unpack and understand. And that journey is never over.
So I’m back. Or I should say, I’m back for now or for when I want to be. No rules, no goals, no deadlines or a promise of monthly posts. Just when I want to, when I feel like putting my words and emotions out into the universe. Keeping it short and sweet for now.
It feels good to be back writing again.
Dream on.
When I was a little girl, my Granny used to tell me that every time you saw sun rays in the sky, it was god bringing someone home to heaven. Even after walking away from the church and a hardcore religious house, I still held onto that belief.
The day of my Dad’s memorial, I sat on the beach early in the morning for 2 hours, grieving and reflecting…and those sun rays were there for the entire time. To this day, I see my dad every time those rays show up and I know, he’s still with me
The day my Grampa died, there were sun rays in Oregon and when I landed in Arizona, I saw them every day till I left.
Last night, my Mom called me at 10pm after talking to an officer in Long Beach, my Uncle Rick had suddenly passed. My world tipped on it’s edge in an instant.
When I couldn’t sleep last night, I asked my Dad to come get my Uncle Rick, to make sure he wasn’t alone. I told him that he needed his best friend again…and I think it’s safe to say he heard me.
Early this morning, Brett took the dogs to the river and he took this photo. When he showed me the picture, I knew Dad heard me and I lost it.
Life is so fleeting. We don’t know what the next hour will bring, let alone tomorrow or next year. It’s so vital to truly seize every single opportunity that presents itself and live life to the very bittersweet end. Be present, focus on the now, do stupid shit for fun and for fuck sakes, tell everyone you love that YOU LOVE THEM. You never know when it’s the last time you say those words.
.
.
.
Uncle Rick…
You were my hero, my favorite person on this planet. You were the essence of fun and a total idiot… rocking out to Casio keyboards as if they were boom boxes and taking me on the scariest rides at Knott’s at the age of three. You were my screaming 4 Non Blondes in grocery stores, my cruising the PCH in shitty convertibles, my getting bucked off old track horses and yelling “YEOWY MAUI!”
You were my refuge, my protector from evil. You were here with me, for me since the moment I came into this world. You defended me, you stepped in as a father when mine wasn’t there. You stood up for me and allowed me to run to you when I was scared.
You were my over the top, art loving, music obsessed, always loud, weird nickname giving, incredibly stubborn, terrible decision making Uncle Rick. But you helped shape the person I am today.
I hope you and Dad are drinking Miller Lite and smoking a joint right now, while Dad tries to rope you into one of his dumb adventures. Maybe try not to steal anyone’s car and leave them in the mountains this time though?
I love you, Uncle Ick. You will always be my favorite, and forever be 42 years old.
Dream on, Uncle Rick. Dream on.
Love, your Dewey.
Richard Allen Von Busch | 9 Feb 1955 - 1 Aug 2021
The REAL Hot Girl Summer.
Well, we are now living the very depths of the Devil’s hell simulation, where triple digits are our reality and even our nailbeds are starting to sweat! Mother Nature heard that Hot Girl Summer was all the rage…and took it quite literally.
With rising temperatures, decreasing precipitation and climate change being VERY REAL, heat stroke/exhaustion is more prevalent than ever in this extreme heat. And heatstroke is literally the worst and so incredibly debilitating. Exertional heatstroke happens when your body is unable to cool itself properly during exercise -- this has been my issue for as long as I can remember. I’ve never been a “sweaty” girl and turns out, that’s not always a good thing! But when your core temperature rises above 104 degrees, your central nervous system goes on the fritz... causing symptoms including irrational behavior, dizziness, chills, you stop sweating, migraines kick in and sometimes, complete collapse.
Sadly, I am no stranger to the damaging effects of that stupid fireball. Growing up in the scalding inferno that is the foothills of the Sierra Nevadas, I fell victim to heat stroke while I was doing chores in the blazing heat. When heatstroke kicks in for me, I get an instant migraine that stretches around the circumference of my skull, I get nauseous instantly, my motor skills dwindle (aka trip and fall on the trail), blurry vision, ZERO appetite and of course, good ol’ fashion vomiting. It’s just loads of fun...in the worst possible way. They suck!
Studies have shown that once you have heat stroke, your odds of getting it again have increased. I have personally struggled with this for years, years I tell you!! Evidently, whatever caused my heatstroke the first time is likely still an issue that I carry with me. I’ve attempted to understand what triggers my migraines, avoiding that thin line of vomiting and seeing auras and trying to stay as cool as possible under the sun while on an adventure or working on the ranch. I knew that when I pushed myself hard, fierce headaches coming on hard and fast and my body just couldn’t keep up with cooling down. The mere threat of a potential heatstrokes halted so many of my plans and killed my mountaineering dreams. If it was sunny and exposed, there was no way I would be able to make it.
But dammit if I didn’t try. I tried remedies, tactics...drinking gallons of water, migraine meds, you name it. And honestly, if another doctor tells me “you’re not drinking enough water,” I am going to whack them upside the head with my Hydroflask and feel no remorse. However, over time and putting in the work to truly learn (and listen to!) my body, I think I’ve finally figured it out! And I’m here to share with you some of my “pro tips” as they actually worked this last weekend, when it was over 100 degrees in the mountains and I did NOT DIE!!! Now, I’m not a professional in all this...I just have ample experience with that frenemy, the sun, and I know my body well enough now to know what it takes for me to abate it. So, with any luck, maybe one of these tips and tricks could help you!
First rule of heatstroke is to get ahead of it before it gets ahead of you. Start on treating it BEFORE you start feeling it come on. Because if you wait and you’re tits deep into heatstroke coming on, you’ve already lost. Be prepared for war. If you prep yourself and start hydrating early and keep at it, you will be in great shape!
Second rule, prep your tool kit. There are SO many electrolytes and supplements and weird bandanas I’ve tried over the years, but here are the ones I know work for me!
Hi Lyte Hydration Pills | I take 4 of these BEFORE I set out and then 4 each time I take them
Liquid IV packets | I’ve used Nuun before, they’re fine, but my favorites are the Liquid IV packets. Literally smell and taste like Flinstones Vitamins! I will drink 1L of normal water BEFORE I leave for the trail (or whatever I am doing), then I will add in a packet in every liter I drink after, including post-recovery
FOOD! | Guys. This, above all things, is my kryptonite. Because a) I have a terrible relationship with food and b) I don’t eat enough...but I am working on it! So find the best snacks, find food you WANT to eat, even when you feel like shit. But it is vital, because food is what fuels us.Eat something before you go, then at the top of the first hour, consume 200kcals THEN 150-200kcals every 45 minutes after. FUEL. YOUR. BODY.
Some of my favorite go-to’s: green olive packets from Trader Joe’s, gummi bears, fruit leather, left over pizza (I have been making pizza’s in the AirFryer - SO GOOD!), Trail Butter, more gummies, fruit and of course, meat sticks (I like the Chomps Turkey sticks).
Instant Ice Packs | Y’all...this is my secret weapon. When possible, I try to find a cold rock to sit on or a creek to cool off in, anything to lower my body temp. But sometimes that’s not possible and all the rocks feel like they came directly out of a fire pit, I use instant ice packs. I know they are not the best for the environment, but they work in a pinch. I always pack a minimum of two with me. They don’t last terribly long, but I am telling you...they work. (Had to use one last weekend and can I get an AMEN for it working so well!) They’re cheap, too!
The right clothes | I always bring a baseball hat, a Buff and a bandana...mainly to dip in cold water and drape over me. I can’t wear hats when I’m hot, so I just bring it with me for later, and to scoop water and dump all over my bod. (*and with that, I always bring an extra liter of water to dump on my body too, to cool down my body temp).
Sloooooww doooownn + try to take the load off | If you’re with someone, tell them what’s going on. Don’t be afraid to take your time. Listen to your body! We only get ONE body, so listen and honor that mofo, dammit! And if possible, if you’re carrying weight, shed some of that weight onto your partner (Thank you, Brett, for always willing to be my pack mule!!!) And take breaks in the shade, cause, duh.
Okay, so there you go. Some of my tips and tricks. Just remember, get ahead of it first. And if you can’t, do everything you can to cool down your body temp, replenish as much as you can and take it easy.
Those mountains will be there for you if you run up it or crawl. Ain’t no shame in your game when that ball of fire is trying to take you down.
Stay cool, kids. And go get some of that Hot Girl Summer!!! …just, don’t die of heatstroke!
Therapy matters.
For so many years of my life, I’ve felt lost. I didn’t think I knew who I was. I so desperately wanted to grow into the woman I was meant to be. I read books, blogs, talked to besties, watched too many movies...And sure, while all those resources did help at times, it was never true growth and realization. Growth doesn’t happen overnight, and it sure as hell doesn’t come from reading inspirational Instagram posts. But you know what does help in that process? Therapy.
I’ve been in therapy for the better part of the last 10 years and more consistently over that last five years. I’ve been lucky to have had great therapists over the years - those who have helped me through my divorce, losing my dad, family issues and terrible ex-boyfriends. But the one who has challenged me most is my current therapist. Maybe it’s just my ripe ol’ age of 40 that has allowed more clarity...or maybe she really is a ball buster and pushes me. Regardless, I personally have seen a substantial amount of change in myself over the last few years, because of her. And the majority of the change has been over the last year.
Throughout the last 4+ months, I have been tits deep in trauma therapy. Yep, sounds like so much fun, right?! Trauma therapy? Who wouldn’t want to dive into that and swim around for a bit…Turns out, it’s fuckin’ HARD to go through all this. Hard, but absolutely necessary.
Months ago, Brett and I had a discussion about a hiccup we had (I say discussion as we do not fight. We get mad at one another at times, we have heated conversations every once in a while, but we never yell, we never fight. When we approach a roadblock we talk about it so that we can understand where we are coming from).
However, this particular moment, I was triggered badly and I couldn’t get out of the spiral I sent myself on, it felt impossible to get out of that rabbit hole. So I called my therapist immediately, talked it through with her and upped my sessions from every other week, to once a week. It was vital that I uncover and process my past in order to not jeopardize my future, my relationship with my husband and honestly, truly understand AND accept the person that I am.
As we began, my primary focus and goal was to finally process everything from my “ex.” So we started with EMDR. Brett had gone through EMDR with his avalanche and had massive success. While I was terrified to address the abuse from my past, I knew this was the only way...rip that fucking bandaid off. I wanted this shit done, I wanted that piece of shit to die in my memories, so that I can grow and walk away from that, and never feel triggered about him.
But as we started to process things, more came out...naturally. It wasn’t just Voldemort who left giant wounds, it was a combo of people from my past. It was primarily my step father. Which, of COURSE it was Mel. Of course I knew what kind of monster he was. But what I struggled with was, I pushed the majority of those memories with him far, far away. Hell, I’m pretty sure I only remember like, 19% of high school...the rest is all dark.
As I continue to go through EMDR, I’ve started to remember things…memories slowly came back into focus, like a movie I had watched before but completely forgot the details until I pushed play again. And as we process, everything begins to connect. While I still have loads of shit to unpack and sort through, I also have some clarity behind it all. I am able to now understand why I married my ex-husband or why I feel guilty when I don’t accomplish a task at work, why I get incredibly anxious about people watching me try new things or why I stayed with Voldemort for so long and endured his disgusting abuse. I’m able to parent better and have deep, constructive conversations with Brett that allow us to grow. Every week, we work to uncover a little bit more, process a bit further and gather a bit more clarity.
It’s been difficult to sit down and write out or even verbally express this journey I’ve been on. I still really don’t know how to articulate all that has happened to me, nor do I need to/want to tell the world. More difficult than that is finally remembering all that happened to me and feeling those reactions, those emotions and then processing them. You see, when you grow up with abuse, abandonment and trauma surrounding you around every corner, then you continue to seek it (because it’s comfortable and familiar) as a teenager, an adult...the trauma piles on and the memories are hidden in the dark corners of your mind and body, as your body holds on and never forgets. (And that’s fun...but really, it’s so true. Since I’ve been going through trauma therapy I am finally able to lose weight).
I’ve made a ton of progress, but I’m not done yet. So much is still hidden in my mind’s cobwebs. And as those memories emerge to the surface, we process them immediately. The work is not over yet.
I’ve thought about this for a long time, how to write this down or how I should, IF I should, share my stories and journey. While I may not go into every grave detail about every thing that’s happened to me, I will share parts of it on this blog.
I guess this is my way of kicking it all off. Therapy talks and brain dumps. What a topic to write about! Ha!
Therapy has opened my eyes to so much; allowing me to unpack and sort out the trauma and the bad, tap into my inner self and listen to my intuition, see people for who they truly are and be the best wife and better mother.
I’m not trying to find who I am anymore...I’m not lost. Therapy has taught me that. The fact is, I haven’t known who I was but now? Now I am finally starting to see who I really am.
I promise.
Do you know how difficult it is to write your vows to the person you love the most? Insanely difficult! Like, really hard. I think I started writing down notes about three months into our relationship and I probably rewrote my vows about 17 times. And yet, I was still concerned that I didn’t get it right. I wanted to get the words right, but I knew that all the words in every language ever spoken would never be enough to tell Brett how much he means to me.
My struggle with writing my vows was more along the lines of, I don’t want these words to be cheap. I was so concerned about not saying enough, saying too much, forgetting things I promise him and so on. But in the end, I finally (literally TWO days before we did our vows) finalized them. Knowing that I forgot things, knowing that these words - while beautiful - were simply not enough.
But I read them to him, to Hailey. I read these words to him in the Central Oregon mountains, alongside the Deschutes River, in the snow, wearing ski boots with a bouquet I threw together the night before.
These words will never be enough, but I hope they convey to Brett just how much he has changed my entire world.
My Vows:
Brett - moment I met you, I knew this was all so different. They didn’t have you where I come from, I truly didn’t think this existed. It felt like I was returning home to something I have always known, but yet...it was all brand new. Like magic. There's something so unusual about us, something so deeply spiritual and wildly familiar...and really weird of course. I know I loved you in more than one lifetime.
It's easy to deal with the hard stuff, the bad parts of life, knowing you're right by my side every step of the way. Our connection, our relationship - it’s too unique to explain. You are my home, whether we are comfy in our own house, or shacked up in a Murder Cabin somewhere deep in the mountains - you always make me feel at ease, at home. Loving you makes sense to my soul and that is all the proof I need to realize everything before you was merely preparation for us. I never knew the best was yet to come.
You are more than my person. You really are the most amazing person I've ever experienced. My dad would have loved you so much. You keep me calm and drive me absolutely crazy! You’re my refuge, my reasoning, my personal handyman and garbage disposal. My own search and rescue and my reminder that I am brave and I can do anything. You're every wild adventure I ever want to take. Plus, you’re really, really hot!
It’s incredibly difficult to convey or articulate how I feel about you, I feel that words will never be enough to tell you how much I love you or how much you mean to me but I will try my best every single day for the rest of our lives.
And I promise to never take you for granted, to always love, trust and respect and never break our bond.
I promise to never walk away when things get too difficult and to be your best when you're not at yours. To never judge you for your sadness, your flaws or your choices - I have always and will always accept you for who you are, no matter what. Even if you never clean out the sink or leave 2 pretzels in the bag and put it away...
I promise to not bring home another Aussie (well, not yet at least) or make you water any of the plants in the house.
I promise to always live by the “one no a year” rule.
I promise to always record the stupid shit you say, about inside dresses, how Luke Skywalker skis and that the Virgin Mary really is the Kingpin.
I promise to trust you when you convince me to do stupid things in the mountains because you say “looks like it goes” or, "it's going to be fine”...when in reality, that’s not always the case (then I rub it in that I was right!)
I promise to be the best stepmom to Hailey, to always be there for her. To raise her, teach her, be patient with her and to love her unconditionally.
And Hailey...I love you so much. I am so grateful you’ve allowed me into your life and accepted me as your stepmom. I am so proud and so lucky to take on that role for you. You’re a brilliant, beautiful and crazy child. I promise to always have our weekly dates, to teach you German and the joys of traveling the world, to keep trying to teach you to work smarter not harder. I promise to raise you as an independent, truck-driving, skier who dances for snow, won’t take shit from anyone and loves with her entire heart. And maybe teach you to love cheese!
This life of ours, Brett, it’s a wild ride I never want to get off of. My life now has a beginning, a middle and an end. Everything else before was simply the preamble. You and Hailey, the psycho dogs, you're my family. To every mountain and back again, in this life and the next, it will always be you...always. I love you, husband. And I know you love me. Want to know how I know? Cause butt sweat.
It just is.
We tell people we met at a family reunion.
But the truth is, we met in Bend. Brett was on Broken Top, I was at Smith Rock.
Well really, the truth is…we met on Tinder. But we started to connect while we were both in Bend.
Bend…where it all started. My home town, Brett’s home town. So really, this is a story of two country bumpkins falling in love.
I had finally flushed the toilet on a very toxic chapter/person of my life and I was finally ready to move on. Literally...I was actually planning on moving back to Bend in 2019. I had a house set up, worked remote - it would be great getting back home. So I downloaded Tinder again...to see what kind of jokers were in Bend, (rather, see how bad dating would be).
And then I came across Brett...who hit many of my “swipe left” criteria (yep - I had a swipe left on: drummers, bartenders, military/cops, more than 2 selfies, snowshoe photos, fish photos, has a doodle or a kid, or a Mazama). And Brett - came with a 9 year old, 2 doodles, took a Mazamas class...but something about him, I had to swipe right.
From Brett’s side - he had just closed a chapter on a relationship that wasn’t serving him...an off and on kinda toxic/kinda crazy/kinda still fun relationship. He too had been married before and figured his life would be a mix of dating off and on and raising Hailey solo.
And then, we matched on the ol’ dating app...
We connected and started to chat that night. And I kept at it. We grew quiet the week after we matched but something about him made me persistent (or that’s the word Brett used).
Fast forward to the following weekend. I was in Bend for a trail running race, Brett was in Bend for an AIARE 2 class. And we talked...everyday, all day long. Text, photos, phone calls. I couldn’t get enough. He got back to Portland Tuesday night and called me right away. And that night, on January 29th, 2019, we met.
I stayed at his place till 3am that night. The following night, I met Hailey and stayed till midnight. Thursday came around and Brett asked “I have a wild idea...why don’t you and River stay the night tonight?”
And I never left.
We dropped the L Bomb five days into our relationship. I “officially” moved into the townhouse, which became ours, in March. I became a step-mom real fast. I started to ski, we grew our two dogs to a pack of three, we traveled to Canada more times than I can count, I added more plants to our home, we each suffered injuries and life started to hit us hard and throwing every potential obstacle our way. And yet, we navigated it all successfully - growing into better, more confident and mentally healthy adults. (or so we think!)
We knew when we first met that our lives were completely changed. We were certain (and still are) that we were together in past lives. Meeting Brett felt like I was finally coming home. We knew this was unique and rare and so fucking special. The best phrase we both came up with about us was “it just is.”
And we were right. Three real estate transactions and a global pandemic with a couple career changes later, here we are. Owning a home together, raising our daughter, wrangling dogs and charging hard on mountains. We filled all the legal documents, I changed my last name (finally!!!) and all that’s left now is to say our vows in front of a few close friends, deep in the Central Oregon Cascades.
We never do a damn thing by the book. But you know, our relationship, our intense and deep connection, our crazy, extreme life...it works for us. And I highly doubt doing things “by the book” or following the “proper” protocol would never work for us anyway.
So we live our own wild life, by our own rules. We continue to fall in love every day, grow closer to one another, seek bigger mountains to climb and figure out what our next adventure will be.
Our story is crazy. It’s not your ordinary boy meets girl tale. But it works really fucking well for us. This is who we are, this Brett and April Show. And we love it. It’s wild.
But...it just is. And it always will be.
Fuck rulebooks.
“Your relationship is weird, I don’t understand it.”
That’s been told to me multiple times now, actually. And I’m here to address it, albeit, not that I have to explain myself...because well, it’s nobody’s damn business but our own.
However, here we go.
When Brett and I met, I knew with every fiber of my being, I was going to marry him. Instantly, we were more than dating. I met Hailey day two, his dad 4 weeks after. I essentially moved in day 3, but officially a couple months after we met. If we weren’t dating, then what? Boyfriend? Nah...I’m not 25 and we knew this was it. He was my partner. My true partner.
(Pausing here...he will ALWAYS be my boyfriend, we will ALWAYS date. That’s part of what makes our relationship so magical. And part of our promise to one another...never stop dating each other).
Fast forward a few months, we are talking about marriage. Now this was a very big deal as both of us swore off marriage (been there, done that!). Hell, I swore that I wouldn’t live with another man ever again! And he promised the same to himself. But I knew...I knew it was Brett. I knew he was the exception to my rule.I knew that I would marry him, the moment I met him practically. So we went for it!
So last December, right after we finished unwrapping our early Christmas, I proposed to him...as we were brushing our teeth and getting ready for bed. Fast forward to May, and we bought our home and began to remodel it for us and our family. Then to August 10th, when he surprised me and asked me to marry him, this time with some bling.
“This is your time to really enjoy being engaged! Relish in it, don’t rush... why are you calling him your husband already?”
Why? Because he IS my husband. He’s my partner in everything. Over the last two years, we have gone through SO.MUCH.LIFE together, it’s unreal. Two career changes, three real estate transactions (in 4 months mind you!), family illness, financial dips and then paying off debt, TONS of emotional and personal baggage unpacked with therapy, two significant injuries, custody issues and lawyer visits, loss of friends, almost losing Leo...the list goes on and on. And, because there are no rules in which you navigate life!
And we faced all of it, and more, together. Side by side and coming out of every situation stronger individually and more bound together than ever. If that’s not a real marriage, I don’t know what is.
So why the hell does it matter that I call him my husband? Is there a rulebook I somehow missed? (And if there was a rulebook, I would have tossed it out, long ago).
You see, there are no rules about how you celebrate your love for another human. No book saying you must do XYZ and in that order…don’t you remember, we told our parents to fuck off. We told them, nope…we are doing things our way now. Whether you want the big wedding with all the thrills, or not. Marriage isn’t about how much money you spend on a single day, it’s about how much attention and care you invest over the years that follow. It’s about your love for one another, your partnership with your person...your life together. There are no rules on how you celebrate your relationship. And there sure as hell are no rules on whether to call your person your boyfriend, your partner, your husband.
So I changed my name. I made it official. I tell people he is my husband. We don’t need the bells and whistles of a big wedding. Of closures we still have plans to do a small ceremony in January, but that doesn’t change our relationship in any way. That’s just for Hailey to be there, for our small group of friends to party on the mountain with. This is our life, this is our path, our choices. Rulebook be damned. And dammit, you know 2020 burned all it’s rulebooks! So why question me!
And it felt SO GOOD to get rid of my old last name...my ex husband’s that has been haunting me for years. So yeah, you bet your ass I was running to the courts to change my name, (you know, filling it out online and waiting 7 weeks just for the judge to change it, then waiting another 6 weeks for Social Security, then more waiting on the DMV, banks, passports… you know, running 2020 style).
So call me crazy, don’t agree with my tactics...I don’t care. This is my life, our life...and our choice. My and my husband.
Fuck rulebooks. Do shit your own way.
Leaning into the discomfort.
The Seven Stages of Grief, Pandemic Edition
Good lord, it’s been a while…So, brace yourselves.
Over the last few months, I have sat down to write a new post but every time I attempt to put my thoughts to paper (so to speak), I'm at a complete loss. How the hell am I supposed to write about what’s going on, what I am dealing with throughout all this?! To say that this year has been a flat out SHIT SHOW DUMPSTER FIRE is putting it very mildly. But of course, as the saying goes, with the bad comes the good. And with that, while this year has been incredibly challenging and emotionally charged, it has also been incredibly remarkable for me. You know, the really high highs and the ridiculously, low lows. What a fucking rollercoaster…
Recently, a question was posed to me; "what have you learned from this year? Any take aways, lessons, realizations, etc…over the last few months since the start of the pandemic and civil unrest?" (Also, let's pause here, shall we? And recognize the gravity of this situation we are ALL IN…we are in a global pandemic and watching history unfold. One in which every.single.human.on.this.planet is being affected by it).
Anyway, this question didn't spark any new thoughts or revelations, nothing profound came from that question immediately. But I sat with it for a while and with all that has occurred this year thus far, (dear god, so much), I really started to focus on the events, on the lessons and on what matters most. And while my thoughts and fears are still swimming within me on a daily basis and I really don’t have any answers, things started to become a bit more clear for me.
Rewinding a bit. We kicked off 2020 with a bang, Brett and I. We just wrapped up a two-week ski tour in the Canadian Rockies, newly engaged (essentially married without the legal docs) and set big goals for climbing and alpine objectives for the spring and summer. And boy, was I feeling it! I was getting better and better with skiing, dropping steeper runs, learning to transition better in powder, planning on big alpine traverses and projecting 10’s and just falling more in love with my husband. Roaring 20’s, here we come!
Then, injury struck. I did some serious damage to my right ankle, dropping a bowl I've skied countless times. Sloppy boots that I evidently grew out of fast and a too tight of a turn in deep powder and then next thing I know, I have a grade 3 sprain on ALL SIDES of my ankle. Cool…cool, cool, cool. Good job, April! I was heartbroken, but my determination always wins. So I rehabbed a ton, did all the right things and within a month, I was back! New boots, who dis?!
And of course, par for 2020, the first day I was back on my skis, was the last day our local resort was open. COVID hit with a vengeance. But wait! We are totally set up for backcountry access. Hell yes, this is what we live for! Earn those turns! We got this. So that next weekend, we geared up and skinned up Palmer to earn our turns and in an instant, the National Forest Service shut 'er down. God dammit…
Gyms closed, state parks closed, local climbing crags…closed. Restaurants boarded up, all appointments canceled, work from home now mandated.. No more seeing friends. My 40th birthday celebrations canceled. The trip to Spain with Brett was canceled. The Hawaiian weekend celebration with my best friend, canceled. Spring ski trips to Cali and Alaska, canceled. All the outlets we do that fill us, all the plans we had laid out, shut down in an instant. The withdraws were instant and brutal. Shock, denial then anger. Stages One, Two and Three of grief began to set in. Grieving the life we lost.
Covid took over the world and turned it upside down in the blink of an eye. We watched it roll across Asia, to Europe to the US like a tidal wave of fear and uncertainty. It's wild, watching this all unfold. I will admit, when it all started to unfold, I didn't think we were going to be hit by this. Little did I know, the life we had would never be the same. Now, it's like preparing for battle just to go grocery shopping. I truly need to be mentally prepared to go into Trader Joe’s now! I can’t tell you how many times I have driven to the store just to realize I wasn’t ready for it, broke down crying then drove home. True story.
We both felt completely lost. I lost friends in all of this. I lost all sense of my personal identity. I grappled with who I am and what I want in life. I was embarrassed that I could no longer portray myself as this wannabe outdoor badass. We lost it all. And who was I even kidding?! I’m not this person I painted myself to be. I wasn’t pushing myself with big objectives or training hard enough. Then the bargaining set in. If I only pushed myself more. If I had more time, I could have trained harder and dropped more mountains. If I wasn’t scared before this all happened. I should have done more. I should have gone for it, even if I wasn’t ready. Bargaining mixed with a heavy dose of losing my self-identity, a dash of imposter syndrome and a heaping side of lack of self-worth. Yeah...rough stuff.
So here we are. Left in the wake of overwhelming fear and the storm continues to build. The fresh trauma of this year, piling on top of the old and lighting up all of our triggers. I’ve felt so out of control with my anxiety and depression that it’s crippled me at times. One wrong move and I spiral. One thing occurs and my past traumas are triggered from my “ex.” Not posting enough regarding the civil rights movement has resulted in me being bullied. Not being able to see or hug my friends, my tribe. Not being able to go to the mountains and heal and do what I love, caused me to pause on posting photos. I felt like a fraud. I felt lost, hurt, beat down and fucking scared. Depression settled in big time. Hello, Stage five.
So I took a break. I stopped watching and reading the news, which was making both Brett and I unbelievably depressed and hopeless. I killed all social media for a month. I began a new workout program to help maintain some level of fitness. I began to search for a new job, as I was miserable in my work life. Brett and I hit a major hurdle, which lit up my trigger board and broke me down. So I upped my therapy to once a week and Brett and I worked through it, bringing us even closer now. Testing. See what works, what doesn’t. Stage six.
And now, here we are, entering stage seven. Acceptance. No, the depression and anger hasn’t disappeared. It still remains. I still have loads of boxes to unpack to move past my last relationship. I still have more training to do for my mountain goals. I still have more learning to do in order to be a better ally for POC. I am still incredibly safe when it comes to Covid and still have fear around it. But that is life, in the end...we will always have more stuff to deal with and to take in. Because shit keeps happening and keeps getting worse.
But I accept it. Come what may. Right?!
So what have I learned thus far? Fucking mountains worth. However, it’s not always easy to articulate it until you get through it all. But I have learned to pause, breathe and lean into whatever it is that is pushing back. I have had to learn to let go of those who no longer serve me or fit into my life. I have learned that my closest friends will always be there to help support me and provide space for me to work through life’s hurdles. And when I'm not feeling it, it’s okay to not be okay, and to be grateful for those surrounding me who allow me to go through those emotions. Because like it or not, this year is a glass house of emotions!
I’ve learned to put on my “count your blessings” type mentality - my family is healthy, my mom is safe, Brett and I both have jobs (I have a new job, too!), the dogs are happy (albeit a bit bored), Hailey is growing and thriving and my friends are safe and loved. I have learned that our personal relationships, our village, is what truly supports us in times of need and struggle, as well as times of joy and happiness.
This pandemic, the isolation that was forced on us has caused me to realize I literally have no control over anything but my reactions to things. I have come to believe that I do have the ability to relax into that, to accept it. This is a big switch for me, as I have struggled with control my entire life.
We have been constantly confronted with change and the unknown throughout this entire year. Our reactions to these events and experiences is what changes us. It takes time for any change to happen, personally or systemically. It gets really, really bad before anything happens. Change is so messy. And we truly don’t know if we made it through it all until we are truly on the other side of it.
More importantly, we really don’t know what is next, right? Shit just keeps happening. So instead of fighting it, I accept it. And adapt. Because really, if the mountains that I miss so much have taught me anything over the years, it’s to adapt to the environment, the changes and the challenges.
It’s not easy. Every day presents a new challenge. But I have learned to accept it, adapt and lean into the discomfort. Because that is when real change begins to happen. And with that, creating a new life. Time to get to work.
So this is 40…
Huh. So this is 40?
Honestly, didn't think it would look like this. Truth be told, I didn't really know what 40 would look like for me. I mean, do any of us know what 40 is supposed to look like? All I knew was that my teachers in high school were 40 and they had bunions. I don't want bunions! Is this really what 40 was going to look like Frumpy mom-shorts and bunions? Nope. No thanks, hard pass!
40 was hard to imagine. What am I supposed to look like at the age of 40?! Growing up in the 80's with a baby boomer mom and great depression era grandparents, I had their notion…marry a rich man, have babies, buy a home with a white picket fence, knit and garden and grow old. That was how I was supposed to end up…but, that was their ideal. And of course, there was the pressure of growing up Disney and glossy magazines, where the prince always swept you off your feet and carried you away into the sunset…but only if you were rail thin, took your quiz to see if you're good in bed or not, wore the best LA Gear and Jordache Jeans, (remember those gems?!), you were drop dead beautiful and could sing songs with woodland creatures.
Turns out, I'm neither Cindy Crawford, Joan Clever or Cinderella, so those expectations flew out the window faster than they came in! I don't have a supermodel body, I have three dogs, not three children. I'm divorced, I spent most of my life living paycheck to paycheck. I still don't know what I want to do with my career…if I want to remain a recruiter, go off on my own or scrap it all and start over. I'm far from what 40 is "supposed" to look like.
Between our parents, mainstream media, social pressures and everything else in between, there are many versions and opinions of what your life should look like, or rather, how you frame your life. My granny thought my frame should have a rich husband in it. My mom thought my frame should be stable and comfortable, but also be true to who I am. Glossy mags thought my frame should be flirty, skinny and put together. Instagram thinks I should be an influencer with a picture perfect life, sponsored by god knows who. My dad however, thought my frame should be whatever the fuck I want it to be. And that's exactly how it is.
My frame has been broken so many times. It's been super glued and duct taped back together, it's held together by string on one side and a ski strap on the other. It's tattered and torn and worn out in places. It's been put back together by other people, had some fresh coats of paint added and over the last year and a half, it's being completely remodeled. But it's me. This is my frame. Perfectly imperfect.
There is no right or wrong way to "do 40." Each one of us has our own frame and every single view is completely different. And guess what? That's okay! Cause we have our own paths, our own choices, our own fuck ups and successes to shape who we are as individuals. Everything that has occurred in my life has led me here. The flaws, the imperfections, the responsibility and the lack there of. The ridiculousness of my personality, the loudness of my voice. The wrinkles and scars and weathered skin. The failed relationships, the shitty jobs, losing a baby, struggling to make rent, the loss of my father and grandfather. The bliss of my now amazing marriage, the learning curves of parenting and of course, the unraveling of years and years of abuse through therapy. It's all me.
So here I am…40 and trying my best to keep my shit together and live my best life ever. I got this.
40 Fun Facts About Me
I am over the top. Brett tells me this every day.
I am bold. Brave. And I never, ever quit. I may be slow, but I won't quit.
I am a fiercely loyal friend.
Skiing is the greatest love of my life…aside from Brett of course.
I love to climb, but it still scares me every day and I'm constantly working on letting past PTSD go.
I am a country girl at heart. I feel most at home around horses and cows. I used to manage a ranch and break colts to ride. Truly, I am a cowpoke.
I blow snot rockets on the trail, like a real classy lady.
I am naked as much as possible. Pants are dumb.
I am an incredibly passionate human. I love everything. A lot.
I collect foreign editions of Harry Potter.
I used to train birds of prey - hawks, owls, eagles, falcons…it was so cool and I still have my gloves!
I still eat olives on my fingers.
When I get nervous, I cough.
My favorite foods are sushi, a loaded baked potato, steak, olives, ice cream and gummi bears.
And I really do hate watermelon.
Music is essential in my life, and I credit my mother for that.
I eat weed gummies on the reg.
I still watch animations and cartoons, and generally cry at every Pixar movie.
I hate being tickled and hate my belly button touched.
I will not tolerate racism, lack of accountability and those who insist on playing the victim.
I go to therapy every other week - she is the best.
The mountains are my second home.
I must touch the ocean every time I see it - even if it's 30 degrees out.
I still want to learn how to twerk, and randomly I work on it at really inappropriate times, mainly in front of strangers.
I am known for my random dance parties in the grocery store.
I make up songs about simple tasks I'm doing, or theme songs for the dogs.
Speaking of dogs, I love my dogs too much. And River is the best boy.
I pay my bills on time (finally got to this point of not being behind!)
I'm like a kid when it comes to Christmas, I get way too excited.
Disneyland holds a special place in my heart because of my entire family.
I carry around a token from my dad.
We just bought a house together and honestly…I never thought I would own a home!
I cry at everything - during commercials, movies, songs, when I'm angry or scared or happy.
I collect plants…like, it's a real problem (sorry, Brett).
My first car was named Grandma Tilly - thanks, Beastie Boys!
I used to hate reading. I used to pay my sister to read for me.
I used to be fluent in German…and when I drank, I would only speak German.
My grampa was more of a father to me than my step father.
I mix up my analogies like my dad used to - "sharpest tool in the strip" or "I'm space lost" (yep, said that last week).
I am excited about the next 40 years - spending them in the mountains, in the backcountry, on skis, traveling around the world, on horseback, with my dogs, my kiddo and the love of my life.
It’s not always, it’s just right now.
**warning, long post (so, get over it)
Welp. Everything has changed. Life as we all know it, is vastly different. And we are all feeling the effects. We are in this together. Someone wrote recently, "it's not always, it's just right now." While that is true, I'm having a real fuckin' hard time truly believing that statement.
We have no answers yet. We are swimming deep in reckless emotions that constantly change every hour. Not one bit of information we receive has continuity in it, every report shares different "facts". We don't know what to think, how to act, how to properly prepare, how feel. We are living in fear. We only have uncertainty, only the unknown. We only have each other.
They say self care, self reflection is everything. And yet, there are those of us who seek self awareness and healing and comfort in the mountains. That is our sanctuary, our church, our home. We don't have the luxury of feeding that need with a simple walk in our city neighborhoods or home workouts or push-up challenges. We have no refuge during this time. Sadly, I'm bitter toward those who feel great after a quick walk around the block or a home yoga session. Those things are needed and wonderful, but for me, for us, for our community… as my grampa would say "that ain't shit."
The truth is, we have no mountains to retreat to so that we can breathe, or ground ourselves, or heal, or even fail. We are stuck, isolated, alone in our crowded homes. And for a real purpose, yes of course. We must protect and isolate and give an actual fuck about our brave front line workers and the rest of humanity. However, doing the right thing is often the absolute hardest. It's truly difficult. But alas, necessary.
We mourn for the temporary loss of access to the hills and of our outdoor sports. We cry because we have no escape and we don’t know when it will return to us. We stress because we have no outlet. We watch people walking outside, enjoying their escape and we resent them…we hate that simple tasks allow for release for them. We scramble to figure out what we can do…then the parks close, the National Forests closes, the local trails…all closed. And then we start that thought process (um, read spiral) all over again.
This is not easy. This is unlike anything we have ever experienced. I'm not handling it well, this has taken me by surprise. I truly didn't think this was going to be this hard, this taxing. But here we are, dealing with a global pandemic, a global crisis…a worldwide depression. Uncharted territory we know dick all about. We just are watching the stock market crash and the economy crumble. We see our restaurants go under, hearing about our community struggling to find food and for god sakes, can't find fucking toilet paper! I'm taking call after call about everyone losing their jobs…thousands unemployed in one swift move, attempting to comfort them in this wild, strange, horrid time.
Going into all this, I truly didn't think I would be this distraught over it all, I didn't realize just how much this would effect me, our family, our friends. But here I am, crying over the phone to my therapist, my anxiety and stress so overwhelming I'm no longer sleeping and barely eating. The uncertainty and unknown has activated all of my triggers all at once. I find myself spiraling at night, thinking terrible thoughts about myself, not feeling chosen or wanted, dwelling on the abuse I endured, fearful of what's to come. I'm cringe every time there is a new breaking news story, terrified for my friends fighting in the medical field and I find myself constantly forcing to stop thinking about losing my mom, losing Brett's dad, my granny. I even freak out about dying myself or losing Brett! One day I'm fine and I'm working away, baking cookies and laughing with the family. Then the next day, I'm a fucking glass house of emotions and I can't pull my shit together because I hear an endless cycle of "it won't be till Q2 of 2021 when we will level out financially, this may go through summer, this will happen again in the fall, our hospitals are overwhelmed, your parents may die, the economy is crashing, unemployment rates are sky high and god forbid…it's a fucking election year". It's just…too much. It's hard. And guys, I'm not doing great with all this, turns out!!
I get it, boo-hooing over the fact we can't go outside may seem to be a first world problem for most. I get it, I know, it is a first world problem. But we aren't doing well! I'm not just "outdoorsy", this is my life, this is who I am. It's who Brett and I are. And having that taken away feels just like we lost a close family member. Judge me all you want, these are my feelings, my emotions, my fears. This is who I am. And yes, fuck yes I wish I could be in the backcountry right now on my skis - hell, I would give anything just to step onto a muddy trail or stand in trees, or sit on a stump in the woods. Anything. I would give anything to be in the mountains.
But then there are times when the memories hit us. We reflect on the good ol’ days deep in powder and high on cliff walls. We reminisce on the fun we had with our friends, the epic (sometimes stupid) adventures we have embarked on. We MUST remind ourselves to never take our freedom for granted. We tell ourselves to be positive, to rewrite the narrative we have playing in our heads, and above all, we remind ourselves to be grateful for what we have. Which is damn true - I am grateful for my health, our family and friend's health. I'm forever grateful for my husband, my step-hooligan, our insane dogs, for a home, for our jobs and for our love. I'm grateful for Marco Polo messages, FaceTime WineTime lady dates, happy hours on Slack with the girls, text messages and more. Funny - we are so far removed but yet, we seem to be connecting even more now.
We are doing the best we can! This is not permanent, (it can't be, right?!) We keep denying that it's temporary because we can't see the end of all this. We only see the tragedy that's occurring now, not the positives that will come from this. The unknown has us blind to the light at the end of the tunnel and it's hard to think we will come out okay. And until it's safe to go outside, we still pray for snow, (but not too much snow). We still dream of spring skiing and ski mountaineering, of muddy single-track runs. We are making plans for multipitch alpine climbs, backpacking trips and traveling the world so when it comes time to go, we are ready. And without a doubt, we still call the mountains our home. It's not always, it's just right now. (repeating to myself…)
There's this meme going around Instagram that says "maybe this is mother nature sending us to our rooms to think about what we did." I keep thinking there may be some serious truth to this! Maybe this is the real reset button we all needed, that I needed. Maybe this is the time we can clean up the planet a bit, reevaluate our careers, discover what is most important, let go of the bull shit that holds us down, truly learn to see ourselves for the awesome humans we are, see and appreciate others around us and more importantly, live in the present. The past serves us with memories, worrying about the future only halts our progress but focusing on the present allows us to live. Again, maybe, just maybe that is why we are all stuck in our homes with our dogs - so that we learn from them and their ever present ways. Dammit, I KNEW IT! This was all created by our dogs! A conspiracy to keep us home with them…damn masterminds.
But really, I'm saying all this because I need to remind myself to continue to rewrite the narrative and focus on the present And maybe we try to appreciate this time and use it for growth, for good. Easier said that done, that's for sure, but it's important that we try. And let's just hope the right now doesn't last too long.
Breathe. We got this right? We are all in this together. Stay safe, stay sane.
It's not always, it's just right now.
The emotional road that is recovery.
Recovering from an injury is one of the most difficult tasks an athlete can handle.
It’s overwhelming, frustrating, infuriating, stupid and above all, incredibly emotional.
Over a month ago, I tore five ligaments that surrounded my right ankle in a ski accident. 10” of floofy powder pulled us to dropping bowls and at the bottom of one, I caught an edge, my ski stuck, didn’t pop...but my ankle did. My boots were sloppy and loose (turns out, I’ve progressed much faster than anyone thought I could in a year!) and the extra room allowed for a pretty serious ankle injury. Once Brett figured out that I wasn’t just stuck, he rushed over, helped me take off my boot and tried to asses what was wrong. I was completely terrified. I refused ski patrol, and stubbornly skied (the worst turns of my life) painfully down to the truck, then off to the emergency room.
Now, I know I could have had worse. I know how lucky I am. I truly do. But damn if this injury didn’t knock me on my ass!
The next day, I cried. Literally, all day. I couldn’t handle it. The thought of what happened and the repercussions destroyed me. I understand that we do incredibly risky sports and injury is bound to happen. High risk, high reward they say. I have been injured in the past - from horses (dear god so many injuries), trail running, climbing…But this was new for me.
I have fallen so madly in love with skiing that all I want to do is ski. I want to learn more, get better. I want to study snow science, take every chance I can to get turns in. I love every bit of it. Even the stupid wind and icy Hood conditions.
So I didn’t know how to handle it. I didn’t know if I was done for the season. I didn’t know how to recover. I couldn’t understand the emotion that engulfed me. I texted people and talked to my friend Alex who told me stories of remarkable recoveries. I wrote about it, and I cried. I probably scared the shit out of Brett. Cause dude, I cried. A lot. Like a fucking child who just lost their favorite toy. I was a mess!
But then, I picked myself up. I created a plan of recovery. I talked to my therapist, I dove right into a heavy rotation of manual therapy, acupuncture, stretches and hot epson soaks. I have been downing collagen and Chinese herbs to rebuild the ligaments. I continue to work hard on stability and mobility. I don’t push it and I listen to my body instead of my heart. I got NEW and stiffer boots and I prepared to ride out the storm.
And then, today. I stepped into my bindings. I was so damn nervous. I was shaking and couldn’t get my freakin boot in my binding. Then, I got on the lift, took a deep breath - and just like that, we were back in the game.
My first turns were slow and calculated. Testing the new boots, testing my ankle strength. I was focused and I don’t think I took a breath till I hit the bottom. Then, I pushed the gas a bit on the second run…and guess who is back?! FUCK YES I AM!!!!
I didn’t push myself too much. Took one tumble that scared the piss out of both Brett and I. But I got back up and repeated “I’m okay” at least 36 times - to Brett, to our friends Shannon and Reed and to myself. I think I repeated it to myself down the entire slope.
And I am okay! I took it easy, I listened to my body. Stuck to chill blue runs. I didn’t go full throttle but I kept up. I still have lots of recovery and strength to build but honestly? I feel stronger than I did months ago. (Alex, you were so right!)
Injuries suck. Recovery takes time and patience, of course. But it also takes a village to help and encourage, therapy to help answer questions of why you’re reacting this way, mental check ins and many journal entries. It takes listening to yourself, to others to make the right decisions. It takes giving yourself love and kindness, setting boundaries for yourself and giving yourself the best care you can. And maybe reading a few good books along the way.
This injury was a huge lesson for me. One that I continue to learn. Injury may take us down one path, but the recovery shows us what we are truly made of.
Learning to Mama Bear.
I never thought I would ever be a mother.
Truly. I didn't want kids. I was perfectly happy with having dogs and horses and maybe a couple of Scottish Highland cows and a fainting goat or two. It's not that I didn't like children, quite the opposite actually - I think kids are rad. Some are dicks, sure. But that's the parents, not the child. Kids are awesome, hilarious tiny humans who only want to learn and play and adventure - what's not to like!
No, I didn’t want kids because I did my time. I already raised many children actually. My mom and step father (and my grandparents), I played second mom to countless foster babies and kids. I helped my mom raise children that came in and out of our life for various reasons. As I was the "normal kid" (umm…far from normal), I was forced to grow up and step up to the plate. As my therapist just told me last night, I was adultized at a very young age. I was forced to be an adult who was held accountable for adult-like things…like raising kids, working, countless chores and no real childhood. So I did my parenting, I did my time.
But more importantly, I was never with a true partner that I could actually see growing old with, let alone have a child with. And to top it all off, I was fucking terrified! What if I lose the baby, what if they hate me, what if [insert a million other irrational fears regarding parenting here] happens! Yeah no, I was good without kiddos.
I knew I would have been a good mom. I'm caring and giving by nature. I literally mom everything in my life. But I washed my hands of it all and accepted that I could have been a great mom, but I would only raise the four-legged kind.
Then, I met Brett.
And with Brett…Hailey. (I met her on day two!)
Brett was the first and only man I’ve been with who had a kiddo. And Hailey, well she's one of a kind.
My entire world changed not only with Brett, but with Hailey too. I knew that this was a package deal, and when I committed myself to Brett, I did the same with Hailey.
But let me tell you…parenting is HARD! Dude, learning to be a mama bear, well let’s just say the learning curve has been steep.
She's an incredible kid. High energy, talks all the time, has a wild imagination, total people pleaser, pusher of boundaries but craves structure. She gets frustrated easily and is highly emotional. She wears her whole heart on her sleeve, is empathetic to those who surround her and still has no idea what emotions are, let alone how to control them. She is fearless and fearful, she is intelligent, she loves all things squishy and fluffy, has more stuffed animals than we can count, collects rocks and sticks, chases lizards but runs from spiders, makes everything a game, a hot-water stealer and carbs only eater. She struggles with making friends and thrives in trying to do her best. She skis her face off, loves to rock climb and adventure and is completely obsessed with aliens, monsters, weird-ass creatures and terrifying movies and books. She eats more Goldfish than she should. She is wild and unwise, she reads the room, she plays to her strengths. She is stubborn and uncompromising, she is fierce and determined and passive. Her love for animals is deep and the care she shows for others is incredible to watch. She is beautiful and kind and has Brett’s exact buns and legs. This kid, she is just so damn special.
Because of Hailey, I’m learning patience and pure kindness. She’s reminding me to continue to play and keep my imagination running wild. I am able to relate to her on the empath and emotional level and help guide her through understanding. She highlights all my faults with a giant magnifying glass and teaches me how to correct myself when I’m wrong. She shows me her fear and her curiosity and her happiness and her undying, unconditional love for everything with a heartbeat. She shows what she is missing and I in return, help to fill that gap for her. I get to hold her hand when we walk across the street and rip down black diamonds with her. We have brought her tutors to help her with school work, she asks me to teach her history, we read together, do art together and I am able to instill a bit more knowledge in her. I get to protect her and guide her through life. I get to teach her about periods and bras and how to wash your face properly. I will teach her about dumb boys and mean girls and how all we can control is our reactions. I get to tell her to focus on the present and not worry about the past or future. That what matters most is how she feels about herself, not what others might think. I get to teach her to ride horses and introduce her to the best books. I get to teach her life and how to be a fearless woman.
She’s teaching me to Mama Bear, and I’m teaching her to be her true, authentic self.
It's a give and take with Hailey and I. It took a while to figure out my place, where I stand, what I can or can not do. Brett and I talk at length about how we can be better parents, or set firmer boundaries. He and I are aligned with it all. And Hailey, well she has accepted me as her step-mother, as Brett's wife with absolute open arms. Is it easy? Fuck no! I'm exhausted, overwhelmed, always afraid I am going to do the wrong thing. I stress out, I need breaks from her, she drives me crazy when she hangs on the cupboards and digs in the fridge for strawberries and Nutella. Or when she literally never puts ANYTHING away! (look…I know I need to pick my battles but damn, it’s so hard being a type A, Monica Geller type person who lives with two messy human beings…) But at the end of the day when she comes up and cuddle me and tells me she loves me more than I know or makes me a card for when I get home from work, well, it's all so damn worth it.
Parenting is fucking hard. End of story. But this kiddo, she is so special, so amazing…she makes it worth all the hard work and heartbreak.
I never thought I would ever be in this position. I never thought I would parent. But damn, if I'm so proud to be her Mama Bear.
And turns out, I may be kinda good at it, too.
A reason, a season, a lifetime.
Many years ago, my friend Vicki told me that people come and go. They are here in our lives for a reason, a season or a lifetime. She said that we may not have all the answers as to why people come in and out of our lives but to trust that there is a reason. We may not ever know why people flit into our lives, but there is a reason and we must acknowledge it.
This sentiment truly resonated with me. For years I repeated it to myself, to others. I really believed it. I lived by this notion, almost to a fault to be honest. Because for me, it was an answer.
In the past, the problem was that I couldn't help but feel that it me that people were walking away from. It was me that caused them to leave - that I needed to do better. You see, I have a bit of an abandonment/not be chosen issue (which, I constantly work on by the way) so when people walk out of my life, I feel a tremendous weight thrown directly l at me. I knew, I was certain, it was me that they were walking away from. I would meet amazing people and hope they would be my bestest friend that’s ever lived and then poof! they’re gone.
Of course that’s not the case. And I know that. Does it effect me at times? Ohhhh yes. Because that mentality has been with me since I was a toddler. I work hard to rewrite that script in my head. However, I must go back to that phrase - a season, a reason, a lifetime. As much as I believed I was the reason for their timely departure, I had to try to believe that Vicki’s statement was true. There was a reason, and it wasn’t because of me.
We have all had those relationships were you stop and think "ummm…why the hell were they in my life and what kind of lesson is that terrible person teaching me?!" We may not ever know the truth as to why they darkened our doorways, we may never understand why they caused damage and why they continue to haunt us. But you know what? There is a reason. Even if we know the reason or not. For a while, I didn't understand why my toxic ex was in my life for 3.5 years, holding me hostage. But as the time passes and my relationship with Brett continues to grow, it's becoming more and more evident as to why we was in my life for so long. I learned so many lessons. I went through immense amount of growth. I finally gained some appreciation of what I went through. I can now talk about my experience with confidence. I learned what NEVER to do in any relationship. I learned the difference between hope and love. And ultimately, after treading that path, I found love. So. Many. Reasons. Why.
I met a woman on a plane while flying down to my dads memorial back in January of 2014. I had the window seat, she was in the middle. I can’t recall how we started talking, but I knew in my gut that I was able to divulge my story to her. So I told her about how I met my dad after all those years. I told her what an incredible man he was. I told her of his cancer, his fight and his death. I told her about the family that pushed me away and wanted nothing to do with me. I told her about my regrets not being with him when he died. And then she told me about her husband. About how he was fighting a rare case of leukemia for the second time. How he was now living at OHSU full time, running through tests and holding onto every single ounce of optimism he could find. She told me she was scared but grateful that she and her girls still had him in their lives. And we cried together. We told each other funny and ridiculous stories about the two brave men. We talked about how crazy they were, how much love they had and how stubborn they both were. We parted at the airport after sharing our contact information. About a month later, she texted me, saying her husband lost the fight and that he and my dad were having beers together now. And I cried. I never heard from her again. But somehow I knew we walked into each other’s lives at the right time, even if it were brief. She came into my life for a moment, to show me love and comfort - and I did the same for her. A perfect stranger…whom I will love till the day I die.
I have had friends whom I thought they would never be out of my life. Upon my divorce years ago, friends whom I believed were in it with me for the long haul instantly up and vanished after the papers were filled. People have come and go from job changes, after finding new relationships, simply losing touch over the years or moving and even personality changes differences. Did I lose great friends? Possibly. Did it hurt to lose the people I cared for? Of course! But I continued on without them, I grew from the lessons they gave to me and I gained new friendships along the way. They brought joy to my life, they were there for some hard times, amazing times and of course, drunk times. They helped me reflect on my behaviors, altered my decisions and impacted my choices. But like so many relationships in our lives, they come and go, for a season of our life.
And then there are those forever lifetime people that come into our lives and shape us in ways we never thought possible. And they stay. Forever and ever and ever and ever. Our friends Reed and Shannon who just recently entered our life when I was bleeding profusely from my nose after a dog attack at the mountain, whom we ski with every single weekend. Like Grant, my oldest friend of 35 years - boy, have we gone through life together! My best friend Vanessa, bonded for life since the Snivellus days of high school. Chelsea, my sister, my family, my lesbian life partner. Karen, my Forever Ski Bunny Lobster Lover Russian Spy. And Brett…my best friend, my partner, the love of my life. Brett came into my life and I knew the moment I met him he was my lifetime. He is home. He is my adventure. We are both convinced we loved in other lifetimes. He is forever.
People flow through your life for a reason, for a season, for a lifetime. We might not know the why but our job is to simply accept it. The reasons why will come to us over time, or they won't, but knowing that the humans in our life shape us is all that matters. They shape us in so many ways.
So thank you to all who have haunted my life, loved me for a couple days in Las Vegas, broke me down to the ground, make me feel seen and heard, spark fire in me and who have chosen me. Thank you for the lessons, my friends. Just, thank you…
Find your fetch.
Recently, I was listening to a podcast called The Stokecast, a podcast that talks with outdoor enthusiasts, athletes and activists and trying to balance work, life and adventure. This particular episode kicked off the new year where the hosts spoke about looking back across the past decade but only doing so in order to look and move forward. At the start of it, one of the co-hosts began talking about his dog, (I mean, obviously). He spoke about his dog being completely obsessed with playing fetch. He could be in the middle of eating a delicious treat or running around with other dogs, but if he sees a ball or an opportunity to play fetch, it's game on. This pup will drop all the things to do the only thing he loves the most in the entire world, play fetch. Playing fetch is the greatest joy, biggest love and most excitement and nothing will stop him to engage.
Dogs teach us so much about how we should live our lives. They teach us to live in the absolute present. They don't understand or recognize time so when we walk away for 10 minutes and then back to them, they act as if we have been gone for days and they're thrilled we are here with them again! They enjoy the tiniest things in life, even a quick trip in the car leads them to the best day ever! And then of course, their love of their battered, beaten, torn up, favorite toys. Their beloved toys could be torn to shreds and they still want it in their life. But this particulate lesson is about finding what you love most in the world and not let anything in the world stop until you from getting to it. It's about "finding your fetch."
I've never been an athletic girl. I grew up with asthma and I was a really sick kid. And with that, I grew up in a house where my mother was terrified that if I played sports I would die a horrible, fiery death. (I could ride, break and train horses of course, because that's not dangerous of course…okay, mom, makes sense). I simply believed that I would never be able to do anything exciting and find my true passion, my fetch. It just wasn't in the cards for me. I was just meant to ride horses and go about my life.
So I got into the habit of not pushing myself. I didn't not try new things or challenge myself in any way. There were things I did that I enjoyed, sure, but push myself to levels in which I do now? Never. And I sure as hell didn't have anything that I loved so much I would stop everything to engage.
However, that all changed when I went to Iceland, put on my first pair of crampons, held an ice axe in my hands and stepped onto the tongue of a glacier. I knew from the moment I touched ice, took in the volcano and saw the marks from glacial melt, I was home. This is what I wanted to do for the rest of my life, be in the mountains.
So I started hiking which quickly became my fetch. Which then led to summit into my first volcano, Mt. Saint Helens. Then the bug to bag peaks hit me and mountaineering became the ultimate fetch. But then it led to a whole new aspect of mountains, rock climbing. You guessed it, fetch.
Now, I’m going to pause real quick and be honest here, mountaineering is dumb. It’s hard, it hurts both physically, mentally and emotionally. When it’s over you never want to touch another mountain again. Then, a couple days go by and you start to think, maybe…then your friends approach you with a bigger objective and you’re like fuck it, I’ll do it again. Then, you do it all over again and hate yourself (and mountains) once more. It’s a sadistic, vicious cycle that only type II fun seeking psychopaths like. (Yep, I’m one of those morons).
Once I grew enough balls to try rock climbing, that began an even bigger shift in my passion and love for mountains. I began to see them differently, truly look into the technical aspects of them. More than anything, I saw more potential. My ex taught me to climb and there is a much longer story to that, but I’ll save that for another time. And damn, if mountaineering is stupid, rock climbing is certifiable! It’s terrifying!! It’s uncomfortable, your brain takes over and screams “you’re gonna die you idiot!!!” You shake like mad, you panic on the wall, you get tunnel vision that then paralyzes you. You must learn to trust your partner, yourself and ignore your fear. It’s impossible and stupid and crazy and why the fuck do I do this?! Oh that’s right, cause I do stupid shit for fun and climbing became my new fetch.
With climbing in my life now, I was able to go higher, push for harder objectives and crawl deeper into the mountains. But it took time and I’m incredibly impatient so what’s next? Trail running. Duh. Now another thing you should know about me is I don’t go small. When I’m in, I’m all in. Go big, or go home. Fuck the nonsense about starting small. So what do I do? Train for a 50k trail run, an ultra. Did I mention I do stupid shit for fun? Ugh. This fetch hurts the most, I think, cause running is hard!
Each one of those activities and sports became (and still remain) my fetch. Each different of course, but the common thread has always been the mountains. The mountains is where I can think, it’s my place of worship. They challenge me, the bring me to my knees and they welcome me every time. They are where I feel most safe and most afraid. They take my breath away and give me life. It’s all woowoo I know, but it’s true. They’re where I feel most alive. But something was missing. After all that I leaned into, learned, suffered for and grew from, I still wanted more. I wanted to learn to ski.
Then along came Brett. And I discovered my ultimate fetch…well, if I am being honest, I found two of the ultimate fetches, Brett and skiing. And ho-ly shit is it fun! I honestly never thought I would learn to ski. I had always wanted to but circumstances prevented me from actually doing it. But with Brett, I had no other option but to learn.
I vividly remember my first day on sticks. It was February 18th and we went night skiing. I was completely terrified on the magic carpet "hill" and never thought I would get to the point of dropping bowls or double black diamonds. I mean, who learns how to ski at 39?! Fast forward to now and I am starting to drop black diamonds and in Canada! Now, all I want to do is learn more, push myself, fine tune my technique, ski every resort I can (even if I am scared) and ultimately, drop steep and deep on big mountains. I love it! It's so hard and challenging and there are days when I cry and I want to give up but I never do. It's my biggest passion. Skiing. Is. My. Fetch. Who knew I would be such a slave to the snow!
Boy when you're passionate about something, it takes over. It engulfs you. When I started to rock climb, I would work on one monitor and watch YouTube videos about climbing technique on the other. When skiing entered my life and I watch the weather like a hawk, I study snow science, I watch every ski movie I possibly can my hands on, I crush on professional skiers and I dream of cold, dry, fluffy champagne powder dreams. It just takes over, it consumes you. Sure I have other responsibilities, but would that stop me from doing what you love the most in this world? Never.
It's so important to find your why in life and to find what motivates you. We are driven by passion and when we fail to pin point what that means for us, that drive tends to disappear. The beauty of it all, it's never too late, you're never too old to find your fetch. The only thing that gets in our way is ourselves. So whatever it is you want to try? Do it! No matter what, just do it. Because if you try, you never know what you will discover.
Just go out and find your fetch. Try something new. Give yourself a chance to learn, to fail. And get all in on the thing you love. Find your fetch.
The monster that is Impostor Syndrome.
Ever feel like you're a complete fraud and it's only a matter of time till someone finds out the truth and exposes you for the true loser you really are? Or you scroll through Instagram and your only thoughts are “I’m not doing enough, I suck” and then you rabbit hole down the stalking spiral of people you admire, ex’s, old friends, etc…Yep, me too.
There is a term for that, you know. And evidently, there are numerous articles written about this, too. It's called Impostor Syndrome. And dude, Impostor Syndrome is real. Impostor as in, someone who pretends to be someone else in order to deceive others. So essentially, I am pretending to be someone else. What the hell?!
"Impostor Syndrome thrives because our brains are telling us that we aren't enough" - David Roche.
There is this weird (and wrong) illusion of what our life is supposed to be like. There is this strange notion about how we are “supposed” to act, what adventures we should be taking and we must live our lives according to every picture perfect story we come across. We beat ourselves up for not being good enough, skinny enough, not wearing the trendy clothes, not climbing hard enough or not skiing big enough mountains. And sadly, social media only feeds that illusion, into those lies in the most aggressive way. But really, who wrote the official rule book of "how to be?"
I can't tell you how many times I scrolled through Instagram only to think to myself…"gawd, I really need to do more. Why am I not this cool?! These people really know how to live. Why are they so cool?! Gawd, I suck…I need to be better." Then the negative self talk really starts to spiral…"I'm not a great runner, I'm slow, I suck, I wish I could drop steep and deep, I am starting over with my climbing - what a loser, this sucks, I'm terrible at climbing, I'm just learning to ski, I haven't climbed I'm not a badass, I am not an athlete, seriously I SUCK, I am really terrible at that"…the dark list goes on.
Just look at that negative dialog! What the shit is that? Would you talk to your best friend like that? Hell no! It's super rude, pretty annoying and no one wants to hear it.
First comes FOMO, then the negative self talk hits, then the comparison hits hard, followed by the stress and anxiety of not being good enough, which is often combined with overworking, over training and a terrible image of perfectionism to over compensate. Might as well work harder to be the person you want to be, right? Even if it means injuring yourself. If you get cool points and a great photo for the Gram, let's do it! Who cares if you're destroying yourself along the way. And that's exactly it - you're destroying your body, your mind, your emotional intelligence, just to keep up with the Jones'.
Truth is, who gives a shit what the Jones' are actually doing! Who gives a shit what your friends, you ex’s, your enemies are doing. It is difficult to truly grasp the notion that no one cares, that their life is their own, that you don't have to keep up with anyone. I get it, it’s hard to stop comparing. There is no rule book on how to be a bad ass, there is no bar set in order to reach cool status, so why does your bar have to be the same as a professional athletes or the town bad ass. Professional athletes are more than weekend warriors and outdoor enthusiasts, some people are natural born killers when it comes to sports or life. Instagram only highlights the good, not the reality and really, we don’t know their truth. And yet, we see these people, put them on a throne, worship the ground they ski upon and then…beat the crap out of ourselves because we aren’t good enough.
What does it solve when we beat ourselves up and compare ourselves to others…nothing. It just makes us more anxious and depletes our self esteem into dust. It causes us to stop trying because we will never amount to the level we want. It kills our self esteem, we stop having fun, we cry about everything we want and “can’t” have and spiral into the black hole that is our faults. That's not a way to live.
It's taken me a long time to come to this notion of not comparing myself and feeling like a fraud. And I would be lying if I said I am completely cured and I think the world of me! Pssh…bull shit. No, it's a work in progress. It's years and years and years of built up narrative that needs to be rewritten. It's being conscious of that negative talk and stopping myself to say "that's not true" or "that's not your story." It's a lot of work! The definition of "good" at things had a completely different definition to me, than it is to others. I'm getting better about it remembering that, too. I'm getting better about being proud of my own accomplishments and not asking for validation that I am doing well. I am getting better at when something really, really sucks and I want to give up…I don’t I push through for myself and my own goals.
Turns out, you are freaking amazing just the way you are, and you are loved from the surface of your skin down through every nook and cranny in your soul - whether or not you can drop double black diamonds in your sleep or send a 13.c with ease. It just doesn’t matter! You know what does matter? Showing up. Doing the shit you want to do. Honoring yourself by trying it. If you just do the thing, then you'll be doing it. It's that simple. Sometimes the biggest hurdle isn't it? It's hard to put yourself out there and try something new…because, what if we fail? Well, to quote that basic bitch quote "well, what if you fly." Full cheese, but it's damn true. Try to not let the thoughts of failure interfere with your actions. If you're afraid you'll fuck up, so what! We all fuck up. That's what learning looks like! Practice makes perfect and with growth, comes failure and lessons learned. Then one day, it gets easier. And you’re stoked about how far you’ve come! (And then a new and harder task rears it’s face and you’re back to square one).
So set goals within yourself and DO NOT compare yourself to others…their accomplishments are not your own goal posts but rather, an inspiration. Be proud of yourself because you did a thing. Did you fall 24 times the first time you learned to ski? Sure! But you were skiing. You were doing it!
It's a work in progress, learning to not feel like a failure. It takes work to not compare myself either…(thanks social media for making that monster even bigger!) But at the end of the day, at the end of the adventure…you did the thing and you didn’t give up. And that my friends, is all that matters.
In every decade.
It all begins with an idea.
I read a meme on Instagram recently that said:
"If you were born in the 80's and raised in the 90's and you make it to 2020…you will have lived in four different decades, two different centuries, two different millennia's and you're not even 40 yet."
I mean…come on! How cool is that?!
I've always been weirdly grateful that I was born in 1980. It's easy to do birthday math and every 10 years of my life is an entire decade. It's neat and organized, just how I like things!
Every decade I've lived through has brought life lessons…which, duh. It's called growing up and learning how to human. Most of the heavier, more "hits home" life lessons came near the end of my 20's, and wrapping up the 2000's. It's when I started to realize there was more to life than complacency and settling for bull shit. I met my father when I was 24, I started college at the age of 26 and I realized how deeply miserable I was in my marriage, (see, I got married at the ripe old STUPID age of 22…seriously, what was I thinking?!) More importantly, the end of my 20's were a time when I realized I wanted so much more in my life, and that beyond anything, I couldn't stand the status quo.
Then this last decade came along and both knocked my socks off and knocked me to the floor…sometimes all at once! It brought so much to my life. My 30’s have been the absolute hardest, most difficult and trying years of my life. And yet, the most brilliant, life giving, amazing, perfect, adventure filled and beautiful ones, too.
So let's recap this last decade, shall we?
2010 - I left my husband, and two dogs sadly, after an eight year marriage
2011 - I was the first of my entire family to graduate college, graduating from the University of Oregon at 31 years' old, (now, with a mountain of student loan debt but hell, it’s worth it, right?!) and I moved to the big city of Portland for a new job
2012 - met Stephen, life was decent, I was still very insecure, my father took a bad fall through a roof in November, leading to the next horrific year…cancer
2013 - My godson, Rhys, was born in June, countless trips back to California to see my dad, traveled to Belize and Guatemala, and in December, we said the final goodbye and lung cancer took his life
2014 - Celebrated my dad's life in January, realized Stephen was not the one but kept dating anyway, traveled to Iceland (where I stood on a glacier for the first time ever and it changed my life), career change to the agency world
2015 - Ended the 2.5 year relationship with Stephen, began rock climbing and mountaineering, met "Voldemort" and fell into a toxic relationship, traveled to San Francisco, New York City and Austin with two best girlfriends
2016 - Traveled to Spain, the truth of the toxic relationship began to unfold - read miserable and stuck and constantly being abused emotionally, mentally and sexually by him
2017 - Another career change - this time working remote, still in said toxic relationship, traveled to Germany, Amsterdam and Norway…more and more miserable
2018 - (oh boy, this was the worst year...) I got pregnant. And then lost the baby. I lost my grampa to a long uphill battle with COPD, finally ended the toxic mess! (thank god he moved to Texas!), started trail running, traveled to Switzerland, lost too many friends, hit rock bottom, contemplated suicide multiple times, went on COUNTLESS terrible dates (which was basically death), mended friendships, started therapy again and the best…I brought River home in August!
2019 - (get ready!) I burned the last remaining pages of the Voldemort saga at the beginning of the year…then, I quickly met Brett, fell madly in love, met Hailey, moved in with them, became a step mother, learned to ski finally, got back into rock climbing, learned how to trust someone, big career change again, mother to three dogs now, traveled to Canada four times, got engaged, dropped black diamonds and HOLY SHIT!
I mean…these are just the highlights, folks…I didn't even go into any detail or expand on everything that happened. Hell, half the crap that did happen I've forgotten about! I may dive into more details on things later down the road but for now, we will leave it at the highlight reel.
As I'm sitting here writing all this out, it dawns on me, so much has happened. And the crazy part is, most of my life has happened in the last ten years. Like, an entire life's worth of living in 10 years! While losing my father and grampa and nearly dying over the relationship with You Know Who was almost unbearable, I don't regret any of it. Because without the shit parts in life, we wouldn't have the good. Everything that I have been through has brought me to this exact moment…sitting in Canada, three dogs at my feet, watching the snow fall after a full day of skiing with the love of my life and our 10 year old daughter.
I firmly believe that everything happens for a reason. I also believe that we get to choose which life we are going to lead. Do we learn from our lessons, or learn the situation - be the victim or be our own hero? Our actions, our decisions, they dictate which direction we go in life. When a heavy curve ball is thrown at us, what do we decide? To hunker down and attempt to avoid? Or do we push through it all and walk directly through the fire? It took me years, decades even, to learn that there is no avoiding grief and pain, for if you do it will only get worse.
To be honest, grief, pain, frustration, that's all apart of being human. To feel these things is to be alive. To feel sad is to know what joy is meant to feel like. To suffer loss is to know what true love really is. The "bad things in life" help us remember and cherish all the good that comes our way.
For me, if I didn't experience everything I went through, I wouldn't be ready to be with Brett. I wouldn’t have been ready to be a mom or to be a professional even. Everything happens for a reason and it leads us to exactly where we need to be. And for that, I am truly grateful.