Your Story

Blog - StoriesNovember 14th, 2007 marks the “9-11” of my world. A date that became a dreaded day in my history book, one that shook me to my core, a depth I didn’t know was possible. This day not only marked the death of my sister, but the death of me as the person I had become thus far in life. As the years have unfolded I’ve realized how many times I’ve died, how many old layers and stories I’ve shed. But as with any death, both physical and metaphorical – comes birth. It’s funny how much we don’t realize or focus on that. With every loss of a person, relationship, home or possession comes new opportunity – assuming we’re willing to see it. We spend so much time looking back at that closed door trying to figure out how we could’ve left it open, that we blind ourselves from seeing the beauty that lies ahead.

There are times I’ve wondered – had she not died, would I have still found my passion? Would I be transitioning out of the corporate world to focus on revolutionizing and bringing awareness to a new paradigm around mental and emotional health? Would I have learned the same valuable lessons personally so I could connect and teach others? Would I have realized that it has little to do with labels and more to do with the underlying components, the ones we’ve all suppressed and forced ourselves to bury and forget? Lets be honest, I’ve always been good at expanding and pushing the limits, but would I have done it in a way that caused more pain and disruption, instead of healing and liberation? Would I have started a blog? One that began with my own story and  shifted into the love of telling others real and raw stories? Ones not only of trauma and heartache, but of love and healing? Perhaps we’re all still going where we were originally headed, but her decision, one that left a ripple – shifted my course to this path. A path that has pushed me to the depths of some very dark valleys, and pushed me even harder up the mountains. I don’t want this to be my only story – her death was the start of my story, and one I hope overflows to many others stories. Your greatest strengths really do lie in your deepest pain. Those are the very wounds that are there for a reason you have yet to discover, the ones that will not only break you down – but to break you open. Those are the turning points in your life that are pushing to you to new depths. It isn’t about allowing this to be your only story, it’s about pushing yourself to a new one. It isn’t about going with the norm, it’s about reinventing the norm. And it isn’t about her death as much as it is the life that can be birthed from it. The realization that in a world that often feels hopeless, there is still plenty of it. And that starts with us – that starts with the death of old stories and the pain we’ve held so tightly too, and allowing ourselves to rise from it. Its about being true to ourselves, instead of attaching ourselves to others. This blog began with telling my own story, but has blossomed into the realization that we all have one to tell. It has made me realize it isn’t things or surface conversations that connect us, its real life pain and emotion that help us realize, we aren’t that different from each other. To realize we all have something to offer, because noone has the same story, with the same perspective and emotion as yours has held.

So I leave you with this – if you had to think of all the stories you had to tell, what one do you want people to know? Will you tell the one people see from the outside just to please their pallet? Or will you tell them the one that sits deep in your soul? Will you show up in the world in the way it wants you too, or will you show up in a way that offers a deeper truth? Are you allowing old stories to play on rerun, numbing what lays beneath the surface? I have many stories to tell over my life, and especially the past 10 years – all bits and pieces of me, but none of which own me. The story I want to tell 10 years later isn’t the same – in fact its message is very different – this time, its one of awareness, hope and liberation. And for that I am grateful. So thank you Josie for the never ending lessons as I navigate through, thank you for the reminder that your death is not for nothing and that all things can be born again if we allow them.

 

Outside In – ED with Angie

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For anyone that has ever watched anyone die of any type of a disease, you know how absolutely horrific it can be. To know that something is stronger then them, and even with significant help of modern medicine, they’re unable to fight it off or overcome it. To watch someone try and fight so hard  for something, that in the end can takes their life, is beyond heartbreaking. To know that no matter how hard you try, or the resources you put in front of them, it’s nothing compared to what has overtaken them. A feeling of helplessness overtakes every part of you as watch the disease win.

It is through Mallory and Kayla’s stories that we are given the opportunity to learn from those who have walked this lonely path and bring forth awareness to our own words and actions regarding such matters. Because even though it may be possible that your child won’t directly deal with these diseases, there’s a good possibility that one of their friends may. After all, 1 out of 2 girls between the ages of 11 and 13 consider themselves overweight. By you being educated on these topics, you can have simple conversations with your kids, spouse, students, grandchildren, nieces and nephews – which in turns opens the door for conversation about a friend they may know that is struggling. This conversation plants a new seed that trickles down, making others around you more aware of what they’re saying regarding body image, while also being a support for their peers. You are planting the seed of knowledge, awareness and hope – which is something we need more of in this world. This isn’t something to be feared – for fear only closes the door of safety, leaving adults and children alike to feel even more isolated and alone.

When we choose to break down the barriers of these conversations, we open up room for something bigger, an opportunity to offer support and acceptance to others. I hope you are able to take from all of these entries, a new respect for those who have endured this disease themselves, as well as those who have stood on the other side – forced to watch those they love be overtaken by something, that while they thought they could control, only in turn, began to control them. Here are their stories.

My name is Angie Murphy and I would like to share with you our story of how an eating disorder turned our lives upside down. Anorexia Nervosa by definition is an emotional disorder characterized by an obsessive desire to lose weight by refusing to eat. This crippling disease took the life of our oldest child, Kayla, on July 13, 2013, 18 days before her 23rd birthday. Kayla was everything we could’ve asked for, she slept thru the first night home from the hospital, potty trained at 21 months, and learned to talk at a young age. As Kayla grew up she always appeared confident. She tried basketball, played in band and was even named Miss Kellogg. In doing all these things Kayla began to strive for perfection, which in time, we learned that perfectionism is or can be a starting point of an eating disorder. I remember her doing home work in 9th grade, she would be up all night re-writing things to make sure it was perfect. This perfectionism started to play a roll in her health, she would be up very late every night, not getting enough sleep, not eating properly, and always stressed out. We as parents, nor her teacher understood what was going on. We just thought she was concerned about getting good grades for college and was working way too hard to obtain them.

It was right before Kayla started 10th grade, that she made a comment about wanting to starting eating healthier. This wasn’t something that seemed alarming because we were always on the run and had a tendency to not always eat healthy. By January Kayla had lost a lot of weight, again we attributed it to the stress and anxiety from all her home work. My husband, Marty, said she needed to see a doctor to figure out what was going on. It was at this time the doctor diagnosed Kayla with an eating disorder and that some of her organs were in the beginning stages of organ failure. Our Doctor then referred us to Park Nicollet for admission to treatment. Kayla was so good about cooperating, but too far under the control of the eating disorder that she didn’t really understand how deadly this disease could be. But then again, none of us really did.

As we were going thru this whirl wind of facing the reality that our daughter has an eating disorder, we were so confused. My sister-in-law, Jean, also had an eating disorder (anorexia nervosa and bulimia), being that we didn’t live near her, we were never educated on the mental illness. Like so many others, we didn’t understand why she just couldn’t eat.  Kayla and our son seen how the eating disorder would cause someone to act in such a self destructive manner. But because we were not educated on the mental illness none of us understood why it couldn’t be fixed. We didn’t understand the signs that had built up to  the point of where Jean was at. This really goes to show you how naive we were to this mental illness. Eating disorders were something people didn’t talk about. That’s why it is so important to talk about them – to stop the stigma and to educate everyone on the early signs.

When Kayla was admitted to Park Nicollet in the Twin Cities we were so scared. She was there for several weeks, but bound and determined to beat it! After inpatient and weeks of driving daily 180 miles round trip to the Twin Cities so she could do outpatient treatment, she had almost restored her weight and learned coping skills on how to fight off what is referred too as the eating disorders “voices”.

Between 10 and 12th grade Kayla worked with several psychologists, some helpful more helpful then others, but during this period home life was horrible. Between the four of us, I felt like I had to always be there to make everyone’s life better. My husband and son wanted to help, but that usually ended up in arguments. Being so naïve to the disease, we really didn’t know how best to help Kayla at home. Eating disorders are so difficult. Sometimes when you try to encourage them, you are actually feeding the disorder. The tension at home was an everyday occurrence. We are a very close family but there were days I didn’t know if we could continue to live together. Our son didn’t really say a lot, he watched, but I know it was very painful to see his sister go through this. Fighting this disease takes everything out of them and you

Kayla was in and out of treatment several times over the four years she was in college. The most frustrating thing was when she turned 18 and legally became an adult. The doctors no longer had to tell us anything and Kayla could discharge herself from treatment when  she wanted. She wanted to get better so bad but the voices were so strong that it was hard for her to always make decisions that were most beneficial for her overall health and well being.

There are only a few treatment centers in Minnesota and Wisconsin that work specifically with eating disorders. The problem at that time, was they were so inconsistent on treatment methods. Many would get the patient to a stable point and then release them to go home. There wasn’t much guidance on helping the patient and family find a qualified psychologist or psychiatrist. They didn’t teach you how to go grocery shopping or how to really cope outside the treatment center. There wasn’t family education centers or meetings like they have now, that help you better understand the disease, or support groups to speak to other families that are going through the same thing, for additional support.

I think my husband was more realistic about Kayla’s passing, he never said it, but always worried about losing her. I was always a little more optimistic. I spoke with Kayla everyday and she was always trying to fight the voices, reminding her to stay strong. We would search for new doctors to help in anyway possible. Because the disease was so strong on top of a genetic link, I didn’t think Kayla would ever really have a full recovery, but I never imaged it would take her at age 22.

We will never have the answers to understand why this happened. After Kayla passed we were amazed by how many people came forward and said if it wasn’t for Kayla and her story they wouldn’t be here today. Kayla was such a caring and giving person. She touched so many lives, and that is our inspiration. Through this whole journey she/we were never ashamed of what we were going through, so we will continue to tell her story and continue to reach out to help others that are also dealing with eating disorders. We will continue to help educate where we can, continue to help raise money for the National Eating Disorders Association and The Emily Program Foundation in the Twin Cities. Kayla lived by many sayings, but two of my favorites were – “be the best you can be today because tomorrow is not promised to any of us” and “we can stand still and watch, or we can stand strong and fight”.

Do you feel there are other driving factors that reinforce eating disorders aside from genetics?

Yes! Eating disorders aren’t the average dinner table conversation. Which is why it is so important to talk about them – to stop the stigma and to educate everyone on the early signs. Eating disorders can show up for a variety of reasons, they aren’t just learned behaviors, it can be genetic, or how they are “wired”. I also believe society plays a big role in these types of diseases. There is a lot of pressure to be beautiful, to be thin, to be smart, and to be successful. This is a lot of pressure for our children at any age and I feel these are also triggers that start the process. Anxiety, depression, OCD and/or feeling as if they can’t measure up or aren’t good enough, can be some of the beginning signs of eating disorders or the onset of mental illness. As they grow and these issues and thought process strengthen, they start to control their life. We start to look for ways to find control in our lives and as a result, our body chemicals used for coping – diminish. This makes it the perfect time for an eating disorder to develop. What starts as having control over something, eventually begins to control you.

This isn’t just something that effects girls either, I do feel young boys are taught that they should have that perfect “10” for a girlfriend. This leads to a lot of bullying to those that don’t fit the bill or measure up to the standards that our society, communities and peers place. It is both genders that have this perception of being “perfect” in all realms. There are continually more boys/men that are being treated for eating disorders as well. We see this when we look at the pressure sports puts on our athletes. Telling them they need to be lighter to wrestle or leaner to run faster. It’s another aspect of their life they feel pressure from and one they may feel they have more control over. This plants a seed that weight is the driving force behind their performance. We, as a society, put attention in places where it’s least effective and needed, planting seeds that grow into something damaging. Which begins building forests of judgement and stigma around important and necessary issues such as these.This may not be something that affects everyone, but with millions suffering from eating disorders it is definitely something to be concerned and talked about.

Have you noticed an increase in education around Eating Disorders since Kayla was in treatment?

Yes, it’s getting there. They are now working on requiring teachers to be more educated on the signs that may lead to early detection of an eating disorder. Early high school age is a common time for eating disorders to develop but there is no age limit. Eating disorders have been diagnosed in children as young as five, but people such as Jean, who passed away from Anorexia Nervosa wasn’t diagnosed until she was in her late 20’s. Again, it starts with the conversation around it, just being more aware of it, asking more questions, and being advocates for each other – within the homes and the schools. We are gaining ground, slowly but surely.

*If you or anyone you know may struggle with a possible eating disorder, please know there is resources and help! Please contact any of the following

NEDA (National Eating Disorders Association) https://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org/find-help-support

The Emily Program at https://www.emilyprogram.com/locations/minnesota

Foundations such as these are vital in our communities to help others struggling with Eating Disorders. Just as we help fund many other research facilities, these programs are equally important and often don’t the attention they deserve, due to lack of awareness. Please consider donating to The Emily Program Foundation at https://app.etapestry.com/onlineforms/TheEmilyProgramFoundation/donate.html

**Please share this important story and topic on social media, for you never know who could benefit!**

Inside Out – E.D. with Mallory

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 “Why can’t you just eat?” “Why don’t you quit eating?” “Why would anyone want to vomit after every meal? Gross!” “Why can’t you control the thoughts in your head?” “Why can’t you just be happy?” “Why can’t you just calm down?” “Did you see how much weight she’s gained – Ew!” “Put some meat on those bones” “If you were hotter – I’d date you” “God I’m so huge” “I hate my body” “I wish I looked like her” “Why did I have to get my mom’s hips?” “Is it so much to ask to be Beyonce?”

Welcome to the 21st century – where a majority of today’s focus rests on physical appearance. Too fat, too skinny, thighs are too big, ass could be bigger, take some from the gut, put it in the breasts, oh and the extra could be nicely added to the lips, I mean we hate to waste any, God only knows there’s plenty to spare! Welcome to the thought process of a majority of today’s population! If we don’t say them, I can guarantee we think them far more then anyone cares to admit! Whether about others or ourselves, the fact that this much thought goes into one aspect of the millions of things that make up a person – is a problem.

These are the ugly little seeds that are constantly being planted in not only our heads, but our kids’ heads on a daily basis. We stand in a check out line at the grocery store to thumb through the latest magazine with the latest named sexy actress, they watch commercials with half naked men and women, they hear adults talk about how much weight they’ve gained or how they shouldn’t be eating anymore, we hear men laugh and joke about sexist remarks or the ass on the waitress, or the lyrics to songs that reinforce what a “10” should look like.  Adults and children alike are constantly being reminded of the importance we’ve placed on body image – what seems harmless is often more harmful then we believe. We are setting precedence of what is the “norm”, leaving people to think that the only way to ‘fit in’, to be accepted or to be worthy of love – is to mirror these size 2 women, or ripped men. The fact is, that constant conversation, in any manner, around body image, good or bad – is the overall problem. You add these subconscious thoughts to a child who already struggles with things such as depression, anxiety, bi-polar, OCD or just plain fitting in, and you’ve set them up for a psychological disaster that could easily put them into place where control is no longer theirs.

This is a 2 part series on eating disorders, this entry showing what the inside looking out looked like from Mallory’s viewpoint. Angie will tell us what it was like from the outside looking in, watching her daughter endure, and eventually losing her life from Anorexia. This is another issue few care to familiarize themselves with because we often feel it’s nothing we need to worry about with our children. However, I think you, like I was, may be more surprised then you think about the stigma, signs and symptoms that can be associated with these diseases.

My name is Mallory Schad and I am in recovery from an eating disorder. My hope in sharing my story is that I can help shatter the stigma wrapped around mental illnesses. Yes, eating disorders are a mental illness, it’s not something you choose. I believe I was born with this disease. I believe I will always battle this disease, but most of all, I believe I can conquer this disease. Here is my story.

What was your “official diagnosis” and what does that mean via text book – more importantly – what did that mean to you? Has this been something that has always plagued you?

For as long as I can remember, I have struggled with body image. I was a “tomboy” growing up. I wasn’t your typical “girly girl” – I liked hanging with the boys, and dressing like one. My mom was supportive of my taste and always took me shopping in the boy’s department. She never tried to change me, nor told me I needed to look a certain way. So, for the most part, I dressed like a boy. That’s what I liked. Often times in public, I was mistaken as a boy. I felt ashamed of what I looked like, due to others’ reactions and perceptions of me. It was confusing. I was just being me. What is wrong with being me?

It was 7th grade where I finally gained some freedom from outside remarks regarding my gender. I was becoming more interested in make-up and grew my hair long. Funny how people stop ridiculing when you seem to appear “normal” or fit a mold that makes them comfortable. Aside from the harassment I endured from outsiders concerning my gender, there was another factor that I believe played a role in my developing disorder. As a 7th grader, I was a young athlete participating in sports at a higher level. Because of this, I became close with peers and fellow athletes that were older then me on a daily basis. I looked up to them and I felt like they had taken this shy little 7th grader under their wings. I was thankful for them. Exposure goes with the territory of hanging with students older than you. The topics I discussed with my friends in school, were very different from those that I overheard after school during practice. Topics discussed were natural for young girls their age, but for a 12 year old, it was very eye-opening. These girls were going through puberty and experiencing their bodies changing and developing. Naturally, I then became aware of my own body. I remember hearing others talk negatively about the size of their bodies. Comments were made about “being fat” or “having big legs”, etc. I remember a teammate crying at Cross Country practice, telling the coach she “had more weight to carry”, therefore had a harder time keeping up. I knew the weight had nothing to do with her performance. She was not overweight.

I stepped on the scale as a 12 year old and glared at the number I saw staring back at me – 89 pounds. You can’t let yourself get above 89 pounds. I remember feeling scared for having that thought go through my mind. I didn’t know where it came from, so I brushed it aside. I started becoming more aware of my changing body. I was gaining muscle as an athlete and noticed my thighs getting bigger. They touched when I walked. How come the other girl’s thighs don’t touch when they walk? How come my thighs are so HUGE??? “I HATE my thighs”. Fast forward to 9th grade. It was the beginning of Cross Country season. Apparently, I had grown over the summer people felt it was necessary to comment on other people’s bodies, as if it was worthy of discussion. I’ll never forget having 3 people in one day comment on my weight gain. “You look bigger out there running – Strong! Other people had noticed it too. That one stuck with me. I didn’t hear the “strong”, I heard the “bigger”. I went home after practice and paced in the garage. I was filled with rage. “Why was my body anybody else’s concern? I was pissed. I only wished I stayed pissed and didn’t turn that rage inward on myself.

I remained aware of my body through high school. As I entered 11th grade I started developing some disorder behaviors. I purged for the first time when I was 15. It wasn’t then that I fully engaged in this disordered behavior, but I definitely played around with it. During college, I experienced the inevitable “freshman 15”. I was 23 when I started binging and purging. This cycle went on for about 5 months, I’d lose weight and people would notice. They commented. I continued in my cycle of destruction. I saw a psychiatrist because I knew my behavior was unhealthy, but inevitably stopped going. I didn’t think I needed the help. I somewhat snapped out of that cycle of destruction for the time being, only for it to return.

When at your lowest, what did your mental, physical and emotional state consist of? If you could give us a briefing on what went on in your world on an average day, as well inside your head – what would that look like for you.

At the age of 24 I moved to Bemidji, MN for a change of pace. This became the best and worst time of my life simultaneously. In the fall of 2012 I decided I needed to step up my game to get in shape for my cousin’s upcoming destination wedding that February. What started as going to the gym, quickly became being obsessed with the numbers on the exercise machines. Every day I worked out – having to run longer, while increasing resistance and burning more calories. Something HAD to be more intense than the day before.

I was diagnosed with Orthorexia. For those of you wondering, the ‘text book’ version of Orthorexia is an “unhealthy obsession” with otherwise healthy eating, a term which literally means “fixation on righteous eating.”Along with this came the same mindset around food. Everything had to be strictly “the best”. When the various work out regimens weren’t enough, I decided I wanted to get back into running. I ran every day. It was my outlet, or so I thought. Every time I ran, I had to beat the pace from the day before, always having to push myself harder. This sort of mind set is what sent me into a downward spiral. It was “all or nothing” for me. There was no grey. Black and white thinking was my new norm. 

At my lowest weight, I was not living a life for myself anymore. I was living for the disease. There was zero space in my mind for anything other than disordered thoughts. I was consumed. My dietary intake became very rigid. I developed numerous food rules which included constant restrictions, followed by punishing behaviors. Anything else I ate outside of my obsessively strict and rigid guidelines, was done because I was in the company of others, because I felt I needed to hide my odd eating habits. This was my “FIT IS THE NEW SKINNY”. This was my “I’M GETTING HEALTHY” bullshit the media feeds you to believe. But nope, this was something else. This was the diet industries damaging message it sends to the public. Eat this, not that. Do this, to look like this. Looking like this, will make you happy. Wanting to look a certain way, became an unattainable nightmare.

 I was also diagnosed with body dysmorphia. Perhaps for some people they can work out and maintain a rigid diet and truly be healthy and happy. For someone fighting a mental illness, it became insanity.

I became so obsessed with counting calories that I started purging to restrict my caloric intake. I would eat small portions of food, believing them to be large, and then purge afterward. Often times after eating, I would feel such intense guilt and anxiety. Purging became my escape from the anxiety. Sometimes during the day I would go in a cycle of eating and purging for hours. I slept a lot to keep my mind from thinking about food. I wanted to eat all this delicious food that everyone else was having around me, but I couldn’t allow it. It was simply off limits. 

I also developed behaviors called “body checking”. I would measure my wrists and certain parts of my body. I would put certain articles of clothing on to make sure they were still lose, or that they were becoming more lose. I would look for protruding bones in my body, running my hands over them obsessively to make sure I could still feel them. I would take “progress pictures” and compare what I looked like previously to past pictures. I was so fixated on gaining muscle. I couldn’t pass a mirror without looking in it. But the thing was, my mind was playing tricks on me. Of course those bones aren’t protruding anymore and the pants are growing tighter and you look huge in those pictures.” Back to the gym, and you better go to bed hungry”.  The anxiety around that was paralyzing. This cycle was on repeat and this was what day in and day out consisted of for 2 years.

In the end, I did lose the weight. I did gain muscle. Physically, on the outside, I looked “fit”. I received compliments regarding my appearance, which only fueled the fire inside to keep the cycle going. What I wasn’t noticing at the time, was that it was never enough. I could lift a certain amount of weight, run a certain distance at a certain pace, but nothing was ever good enough. There was always room for improvement. This was my high, but also my imprisonment, my punishment. I often times got down on myself for not being a better student in college and partying too much in my early 20’s. I felt like I was turning my life around by achieving this “healthy lifestyle” and that I was making better choices for myself.  I wasn’t healthy though. I was exhausted all the time. My memory was shot. I would blackout often, felt weak and suffered with chest pain due to tears in my esophagus from purging.

Mentally, I felt at complete war with myself. I was not living my life at all. I was living for the disease. I was on a high from “controlling” my dietary intake and working out, but at the same time was severely depressed and didn’t know it.  

What were the general feelings that arose around food in general?

Immense fear. My underlying anxiety just overflowed to food, instead of having anxiety without consumption, I had it with the consumption. If I was consuming something I deemed “safe” I felt empowered. If I was out to eat, or eating something with family or friends that was not my choosing, I felt immense fear and anxiety. I wondered how it was prepared, and what ingredients were involved, which led to panic. I was not shy about sneaking off to purge the food either.

There was also sadness and guilt. I knew what I was doing was unhealthy, but I couldn’t stop because it made me feel so good. When I was eating inside my comfort zone it felt like a high. Everything was a judgement on myself, I obtained self-satisfaction by controlling my urges to eat what was doomed to be “bad for me”.

Grocery shopping took hours. Food was strange for me. Think of it as a drug that you only need a bit of. How do you start or stop when you feel so out of touch with the reality of it? When it controls you?  How do you develop a healthy relationship with it? Food is sort of like drugs in a sense, but also very different – because you need it to survive.

At what point were you aware this had become something beyond your control that needed professional help?

After being told by a doctor I was clinically malnourished, I started seeing a counselor, but she didn’t specialize in in eating disorders. In fact, noone in my area did! In all honesty I figured since I was there, I’d just get some good life counseling and tips to get myself back on track with school since it had taken the back burner to my rigid exercise routine. Besides, I never said I had an eating disorder, I just had “tendencies”.

After about a month, the counselor asked me if I’d consider inpatient. I thought she was crazy – no way! Eventually, she said she couldn’t help me, as she didn’t want to see me walk through the door again continually wasting away.  She quoted me previously saying “I’d give anything to have a healthy relationship with food” and made the analogy that – walking into a grocery store is like shopping for drugs for someone with a drug addiction. It’s insane. She told me it was time to seriously think about treatment. And I did. I called the Emily Program in the Twin Cities on a Friday and was admitted the following Monday.

                    How many times did you attempt help and was it actually helpful?                           If so, what parts did you feel were most detrimental in your journey to healing?

I attempted to seek help a few times, but was never committed. I would lie to counselors and tell them I was better. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t get help until I was completely submersed in my disease.  Eating disorders are really good at telling you that you don’t need help, or that you’re “not sick enough”. Master manipulators they are. It’s tough, because there is so much emphasis surrounding healthy eating and exercise, that it can be hard to tell when you have crossed the line into unhealthy habits.

How long have you been “free” so-to-speak from this disease and who are you since this journey as you continue to heal?

The decision to choose treatment over the comfort of the disorder was the hardest choice I’ve ever had to make. I knew my world would be flipped upside down. I knew it would be hard. I did 4 months of intensive outpatient. 4 days a week I would spend the day at the Emily Program. Re-feeding, dietary classes, group therapy, individual therapy and yoga. I’m not going to lie, the process was painful, but also very liberating learning to disconnect and free myself from it.

My mental state was at an all-time low. I struggled with suicidal ideation, major depressive disorder and anxiety. My body was in immense pain for a few months from the changes it was enduring. Week by week though, I learned about the disease and how to cope. I had no choice but to choose recovery after having my eyes opened to the dangerous lifestyle I had been living.

I’d say it was about 3 months after completing treatment that I became comfortable talking about the disease. I was still very uneasy and untrusting of my body right after treatment. It took some time to take the skills I had learned in treatment and put them to use on my own. I slowly became comfortable with the process and became more open to discussing it.

Today, I want to speak more freely and openly about the disease. I want people to be aware of it and to understand it. It’s so very misunderstood and there can be so many varying layers to it. I want people to know they are not alone, and most importantly that they are not abnormal for having the thoughts/behaviors they do. I want people to know there is help out there and that it’s possible to be freed from this deadly and agonizing disease.

Do you feel this still controls a large part of you, or something you’ve been able to slowly distance yourself from?

I have my good days, bad days, and everything in between. For the most part, my days are good, but there are days I still struggle with my current size and weight. There are times I wish I was smaller, or more fit. But then I remember what I felt like when I was those things. I wasn’t happy. I was sick. I was slowing wasting away in all aspects. Every day takes work. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t have to stop myself at some point and revert my thinking. It’s been 2.5 years since treatment.

I still struggle. I’m not where I used to be, but I know it’s going to take time. I’ve come a long way and I feel hopeful that it will only get better. It took a lot of work to get to where I am now.

What do you feel is the biggest driving force behind eating disorders? 

It can be very different for everyone, but often times I think it’s a fight for control mixed with societal beauty standards. But more times then not, eating disorders tend to mask other issues. I know for me, when I was in the depths of the disorder, it wasn’t beauty driven. It was about control, obsession and perfectionism. I had underlying issues that I needed to deal with and focusing on “getting healthy” felt like I was bettering myself.  I was masking.

I think the younger generations are very susceptible to developing eating disorders. There is a lot of pressure to fit in and look a certain way. I also believe that eating disorders do not discriminate. Any person at any age can fall victim to the disease.

How has this changed the course of your life? Is this a topic of conversation you feel deserves more time and light?

I’m not really sure how it’s changed the course of my life. I want to reach out to others and make myself available. My goal is to be a mentor to those struggling and to spread awareness and education. I want to help others along their path as I continue to learn, grow and heal myself.

Eating disorders take more lives than any other mental illness. That’s a staggering statistic, so yes, this disease absolutely deserves more time and light.

If you could speak to this age group- or any girls/women/men either at that turning point in their life-or already suffering, trying to hold on- what would you say?

I would tell them there is more to life than what they are desperately holding on to. That I know how terrifying it is to let go of the comfort the eating disorder provides, but that nothing compares to the freedom that treatment and recovery provide.

Help is out there. Trust in others. Trust in the process. Find a support system and reach out to people. Treatment and recovery is a real ugly bitch. It rips you wide open. You have to take a good look at yourself and question what you want for yourself in this life. I’d tell them it’s tough, but it’s so worth it. Most of all, it might not be your hardest battle in life. Choosing to fight preps you for the rest of whatever life throws at you. You learn about yourself, and you learn how to truly enjoy life.

I would tell them that we are all individuals and that we all have struggles. To look within and figure out what it is that is causing pain – really dig into it. Often times, eating disorders are masking a bigger problem.

*If you or anyone you know may struggle with a possible eating disorder, please know there is resources and help! Please contact any of the following

NEDA (National Eating Disorders Association) https://www.nationaleatingdisorders.org/find-help-support

The Emily Program at https://www.emilyprogram.com/locations/minnesota

Foundations such as these are vital in our communities to help others struggling with Eating Disorders. Just as we help fund many other research facilities, these programs are equally important and often don’t the attention they deserve, due to lack of awareness. Please consider donating to The Emily Program Foundation at https://app.etapestry.com/onlineforms/TheEmilyProgramFoundation/donate.html

**Please share this important story and topic on social media, for you never know who could benefit!**

Santa Monica

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“Her mind’s made up
The girl is gone
And now I’m forced to see
I think I’m on my way
Oh, it hurts to live today
Oh and she says “Don’t you wish you were dead like me?”

And I remember the day when you left for Santa Monica
You left me to remain with all your excuses for everything
And I remember the time when you left for Santa Monica
And I remember the day you told me it’s over”

This was the last song I listened too exactly 9 years to the day with you. Although those lyrics mean something different since then, the feeling that arises when hearing them is still there. I had just put Gabby – 2 1/2 and sick at the time – to bed, waiting for Nathan to get home, you and I were chatting about wedding stuff. I had mentioned perhaps  meeting with Sarah to do wedding invites, I knew you wanted to do them, but she’s great at this stuff and thought maybe you could learn some things from her?! I remember feeling half guilty, half defensive by the look on your face that said “of course I wouldn’t do it good enough or the way you wanted”. It was that look, followed by a weak “sure”. I remember talking about all of these wedding things as you half ignored me, never looking at me – always facing the computer. I often wonder how you didn’t turn around and tell me to shut the fuck up – you didn’t care – because you weren’t going to there. I often wonder how you didn’t say many things to me – instead, always playing the part, keeping your mouth shut, trying to pretend to be happy for me – even though I knew you were pissed about the whole thing. Once I realized you were less then impressed with this choice of topic I said “oh Jos – you gotta listen to this song – you’re gonna love it – Santa Monica by Theory of a Deadman! I asked you what you thought and got a monotone “yeah – I like it.”

I’ve replayed in my head a million times us standing outside smoking – while freezing our asses off – we got laughing about I don’t  even know what. I vividly remember thinking – but never actually saying “you look so good, you’ve lost weight – you seem happy Jos!” Maybe I just wanted to enjoy that contagious laugh a little longer, so I didn’t say it – just like you didn’t say anything to me, so we carried on. When we came back in the house I told you I was sorry, you could finish what you needed too, but I needed to go to bed. I needed sleep – pffff – fuck – let’s be real – I always needed sleep! You acted bummed, with a brief hesitation – I took note of it, but was defensive and proceeded to bed. As I laid there – I remember feeling bad, but more so as if something seemed off – but too tired to bother inquiring. Instead, I heard you shut down the computer and walk across the kitchen floor for what would be the last time. I heard the door close and I fell asleep. And that was it. That was the last time I would see your face, the last time I would hear your laugh, the last time I would smoke a Marlboro with you, the last time I would have a discussion with you – it was the last of so many things that would taint me for so long.

For months and months afterwards, I would talk to you on my way into work as if you were in the passenger seat beside me. I would try and alter the reality of it – as crazy as that sounds – I just always felt like I needed those one-way conversations – that were far from conversations because I couldn’t quit crying long enough to actually finish a sentence. To this day whenever I feel you, I feel you on my right side – steady, solid, always quiet and always on my right.

At some point in all of our lives we have a massive shifting point, it shows up in many different ways, but it shakes us to the core. For those that don’t know what this feels like, you will in time, for it’s inevitable in the human experience. It isn’t a week long ordeal either – it’s a forever long ordeal. For as much as this blog has done for me, in regards to healing at a much more rapid rate on many levels – the replay of that night – the feelings that arise with that song – the longing to hear that laugh or see that smile will forever be imprinted when this week arises – year after year – despite the time in between.

How can something feel like yesterday and eternity all at once? There are times I feel as though I’ve lost the details as time has passed. There are parts of me that are thankful for that, for it doesn’t consume me like before – proving I’ve been able to let go and move forward, but there are also days – like today – when I wish I could remember every detail of your face, of your words, of your every breath. Here’s to 9 years – 9 down – plenty to go – but still looking forward to the day I see that face again.

OUT of the darkness, means bringing LIGHT to it.

blog-otd-walk-collageIf there’s one thing I hope this blog does for all who stumble across it is, to offer a sense of hope. To bring light to conversations, emotions, thoughts and struggles that so many of us face on a daily basis, but are often too fearful to bring up at the supper table. This is many people’s real life, whether it’s disease, finances, addiction, divorce, or death – these topics are too many people’s traumas and tragedies. While some have been able to triumph over these road blocks, there are still many stuck, unable to see outside of their current circumstances. These are conversations, that until we start having them – aren’t going to go away. Every change must first begin with awareness. I am hoping that this will shed some light and awareness on many different topics and emotions that I think more people will be able to resonate with, at some point in their life, then not. My hope is that this is the beginning of many more conversations to come within your life, ones with rawness, vulnerability, empathy and compassion. May this be the planting of new seeds of awareness, as well as hope in each persons life that comes across this, may you know you aren’t alone in your struggles and that the light always follows the darkness, so please – hold on.

I had the to opportunity to speak at our community walk this weekend, Out of the Darkness. This walk is to promote awareness and education, as well as support to the conversation of mental illness and suicide. This is something that no matter what – is just a heavy event, it’s really hard for it not to be, as these are heavy topics that come with heavy feelings and emotions surrounded by them. I really wanted this years talk to be different then I had done in years’ past, I wanted it to be general but specific, acknowledging all who were there and their stories, honoring whatever current stage they were in on their journey – but also bringing forth a lighter note  as well.

This is something that I want to include as an entry because for most of us standing at this event, we already knew all too well what standing on the other side of this hell feels like, carrying the guilt of not seeing the signs or being more proactive, the heart wrenching fact that they felt so isolated, empty and sad to be able to continue on is something we know all too well and it’s something that brings us to tears every time we think of what they endured and what it took for them to follow through. But the point isn’t just for those of us that now fit under the category of ‘suicide survivor’, it’s something that people need to be aware BEFORE they hit that point. It’s something that needs to be talked about MORE in homes around the supper table, no matter how uncomfortable that can be. The words “suicide” and “depression” need to be used more often, so that they roll off the tongue as easily as “pizza” and “sunshine”.

I’d like to share my story, to hopefully shine some light on this subject, as well as promote more light on such a dark and heavy subject. And I hope you’re willing to share this, to bring forth light to others as well – for you never who many stumble across it that may be in need of it.

” I, like most of you here, am a survivor of suicide after losing my sister Josie to a losing battle of clinical depression in 2007. It wasn’t until after that day that I was forced to feel the depths of the valleys in which she, and many others have walked. Through those years of darkness and fog I endured the sobering truth of what standing on this side of not only mental illness feels like, but what carrying the heaviest burden of all feels like – guilt.

We all stand here in different parts of our journey, ranging from months to years, with different stories. From veterans unable to co-exist in a world that had become foreign to them upon returning from the damage that couldn’t be undone, to those who had side effects to medications that forced them in the opposite direction of the intent of that medication, to an impulsive decision with what may have seemed like the only last piece to the puzzle, to just being sick and tired of attempting to fight what seemed like a losing battle through the darkness.

The details that go along with our loved one’s story, the aftermath for all of us standing here, is one we wouldn’t wish upon anyone. The reverberation that suicide generates, despite your stage in the grieving process, is all too familiar. To feel as if there were no other way out aside from this, to be so enveloped and suffocated in a deep and dark place is something that no individual should ever have to endure.

There isn’t a prerequisite needed in order to fall under this hush hush category, as we have seen that money nor fame can buy happiness or make you invisible from this crippling disease. From famous people such as Kurt Cobain and Robin Williams, to the ever growing numbers, especially in teens, due to the pressures of the world around them, to adults due to financial, work, home and relationship stressors and lack of facilities and treatment options. Simply being unable to talk about it in public, even in our own homes because we have made it taboo and an uncomfortable topic, and some just honestly not knowing how to respond. It almost always comes back to the feeling of being isolated and alone.

A large contributing factor for this being the third leading cause of death is the sheer lack of hope in so many. The feeling that others can’t relate, or that you’re the only one enduring these thought processes. We are in a time where electronics have silenced us even more, tearing us away from human connection and compassion. We have entered into an era where the world around us seems to get crazier by the day, full of noise and static, opinions, debate and fog – it can be hard to find that light of hope to focus on.

It took me a long time to see beyond those first years of darkness, to gain a different perspective, but I honestly believe that it is up to those of us that have endured the pain of losing someone to this terrible cause of death because we are needed to be the beacon of light through the darkness.

When we begin to break down these barriers of fear and hopelessness, allowing light to stream in through the concrete walls that have barricaded us from each other, we can begin to see that healing can be possible. Perhaps it is then that our loved ones stories can begin to affect and shift the masses in a new way, letting others know that this isn’t the end, that they are supported and loved and that we’re here to help, educate and facilitate. Perhaps it is then that we can help them see through a new lens, one that brightens instead of dims, educates instead of criticizes and one that comforts instead of torments. Although this event is held with heavy hearts as a reminder to those who have taken their own lives, I hope today can also be about remembering to carry on their story, that despite our age, from young to old alike, reminding ourselves that we all have the ability to reach out in ways big and small to help others, to bring awareness to a conversation that has been silenced for far too long and to bring light to others around us, in whatever manner possible. May today be about more than just a reminder of the guilt and sadness that many carry inside, but may it be about reigniting hope and a light into a world that needs it more now than ever. “

**If this resonates with you, please feel free to share on social media in the hopes of helping any who may stumble across it.”

Rock Bottom

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Have you ever been there – that dark and deserted place, where only one person resides? It’s as if it’s covered with mirrors and despite which direction you turn, the only one you see is yourself – because you’re the only lucky SOB that gets to occupy it. First name Rock, last name Bottom – turns out she’s one deep ass hole! It doesn’t matter how you snowballed your way there, whether by choice, mistake or an outside circumstance that pushed you, the point is – you’re there. Many people have occupied this space, sometimes you’re aware of it, sometimes you’re not. the odd thing for me was, I didn’t see anyone there while I was on my trip! Perhaps because I was lucky enough to hit it at Mock 90 and had crashed and burned without even realizing it.

It’s like the morning after a tequila bender, waking up foggy, wondering where you are and who’s laying next to you and fuzzy on the details as to how they got there. Pfff – don’t act like you’ve never been there 😉

 It’s as if I was standing there seeing stars – not even realizing I was actually there. As I look up, I see all the amazing people in my life rooting for me – some cheering, some praying, some blowing kisses, some giving pep talks – but all there, patiently waiting for me to find my way out. And as I look up I want so badly to be where they are – but it seemed as if it was thousands of miles out of reach. Although I saw the light that they were standing in, the darkness that surrounded me didn’t come close to that speck. It was so fucking black – and even more scary – wandering around, stumbling over every thing possible, just to have made an exact circle right back where I started.

I dabbled in multiple medications, from cholesterol meds to antidepressants, narcotics to amphetamines – some worked great while others propelled me into insanity even faster! I loved vodka (ok, fine… I still do)  but I loved it to the point of oblivion every single night I didn’t have my daughter. I smoked more cigarettes in my 15 years of smoking then most do in 30, if it were cocaine, I would’ve been out of control. Give me an escape and I’d get lost in it – bury myself in it. I can’t imagine, if piled up and set in front of me the amount of cigarette butts, booze and medication bottles that would surround me! They served me, and they served me well for quite awhile. They were as close as I was going to come to a “fix” while in survival mode. And despite the people on the sidelines still cheering for me, I couldn’t clear my mind to see outside of the current circumstance I was in. There was an emptiness, a hollow hole that rested inside of me while I tangoed in the depths of rock bottom – one that could only be filled with temporary forms of satisfaction – anything and everything that sat outside of myself. Grasping – always grasping – for the next night out, the next guy, the next set of meds, the next cigarette – hoping eventually one of them was going to fill the void – fix meeee! Whether I was in a relationship or not, trashed or sober, feening for my next drag or inhaling a nice long one of a Marlboro – it was still there, perhaps to a less degree because I was preoccupied, but it hadn’t left – and it wouldn’t leave until I faced it.

To be honest, I had no idea what in the hell I was supposed to be facing! Perhaps I needed to modify my mannerisms, learn to be less insecure, maybe if I quit drinking, met “Mr. Right”, (which let’s be real, he could’ve been standing next to me the entire time and I wouldn’t have known), quit smoking, exercised more, had a flatter stomach, more toned arms, learned to be softer and less rough around the edges, learned how to do more ‘right’ things and less ‘wrong’ things  – maybe then, I would inch away from the bottom. Well, turns out I tried them all – and to a degree, it did inch away from me – but there was still this “dead space” within me that all these things couldn’t fill.

How many medications does one need to numb the sadness, hate and emptiness? How many bottles or nights out? How many cigarettes? How many men? How much masking? How much faking? How much does it take before you stop to reevaluate – just to realize the only thing still standing between me and that mirror, is – well…… you! It was me – all along – the one I was running from, blaming and hating, using the temporary forms of satisfaction, swearing the next thing was going to ‘fix’ me, ‘fix’ him, ‘fix’ them, ‘fix’ that, ‘fix’ it – and here I was. Right where I had always been – standing in a room full of mirrors, screaming for help – just to realize the only one that was capable of it was me. That was a bitch of a realization, one that – to be honest – I had little to no interest in ever facing!

**If this post resonates with you – share on social media to help others!**

Final Sunset

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We placed that stone almost a year later, and I’ve hated it ever since. The coldness, harshness and permanence it brings every time just reiterates and reminds me of what we already hate to have to face. Another birthday is here, which means another year without a missing link sitting around the table to blow out 28 birthday candles. Another day spent with an especially heavy feeling in my heart while running through my mind all of the ‘who would you be today’ questions. From her occupation, to relationship status, her hair cut and color, to her current address or possible little ones running around – it’s impossible not to play out the endless possibilities of scenarios. As I sat staring at that stone last night, I noticed the perfect reflection of the sun set staring back at me. I thought of what the reflection of what her last sunset meant and what it has brought in the 8 years since.

This week has been a heavy one for many reasons beyond this – but the primary reoccurring theme has been the reminder that death surrounds us.  Doing these tributes and reading the heartbreaking stories of others’ lives that were shattered on account of ugly diseases, forces me to ask myself the question “what do I want my last sunset to look like?” I keep reminding myself that all the things that I’m unsatisfied with in my life right now – aren’t anywhere near what I want that sunset to look like as I take my last breath on this earth. So as I run through these countless thoughts of what she’d be doing if we were all sitting around that table together, I look in that reflection on that stone and also see myself. And I think to myself – “self” 😉 you are still sitting here celebrating more birthdays, so – who and what are you doing that feeds and fills your soul? While there are some things – such as being a mom – that I am proud of – there are  other things that consume large amounts of my time, that aren’t in alignment with what I actually love or am passionate about. While I’ve spent the past couple years trying to bridge these ideas and things together, unable to make a complete connection as to how or where I want to go next – I’m forced to be reminded that maybe in the end, none of the minor details matter. It’s just another push towards something more, something bigger, something outside the mundane. It’s as if we’re almost sitting and waiting for death to come knocking just so we can attempt to make it all right when that reality has become ours. Only then do we either live engulfed in regret and guilt, or try and make it all right when we know the end is near. Why do we do that? Why do we wait? Why do we work our entire lives just to hit a certain age to retire and actually ‘enjoy’ life and be stress free? Why do we wait until our kids are older or we have grandchildren to change the way we think about and interact with our kids? Why do we work our entire lives to pay off things we think we need, only to be surrounded by those things in the end to realize how completely unnecessary they are?

Although this day is a reminder of many things that will never come into fruition for Josie on another birthday that she isn’t able to celebrate – it’s also a reminder to ask ourselves what we want left – either etched permanently on that stone or painted on that final sunset of our lives. I want that sunset to be bright and beautiful, full of many vibrant colors that others remember for decades to come. I want it to consist of change, hope and healing from the inside out. And this is a reminder that we are still here, and we still have the opportunity to make it what we want, while we can.

I wanted to share this, as I thought it summed so many things up perfectly 🙂 This is part of an entry made by Chandra Nicole (her writing is amazing by the way, highly recommend following on FB, or reading the full entry on Elephant Journal at  http://www.elephantjournal.com/2016/05/a-lesson-about-true-love-where-to-find-it/ )

“But I think the lesson that’s most pressing here is the understanding that impending ‘death’ allows us to be present, which is where true love resides.

It allows us to live fully and to see what’s truly important… and also what’s total bullshit. When ‘the end’ is near, moments become intrinsically precious.

Parting ways with this man, has shown me that more clearly than anything before.

I wonder how differently we might live our lives if we were to really understand that everything dies at some point; that the only constant in this universe is change, and that within each change there is a mini-death.

In what ways are we resisting life by resisting death?

If we were to interact with everything, everyone, every relationship — with full awareness of the fact that it may soon die, how might we choose differently?
What might we say differently?
How would we show up differently?

What would matter?
And what wouldn’t?

What might LOVE actually look like in the space of total surrender and complete presence?”

-Chandra Nicole

Happy birthday Miss Josie – although we’d prefer you were here to cheers that drink with – thank you for all that you’ve taught and continue to teach us as we walk blindly through this thing called life.

Jos bday collage 2016

Siblings Tribute – Brynn & Jaime

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There isn’t anyone that doesn’t know of someone that has battled a disease at some point in their life. Whether it be cancer, mental illness, eating disorders, cardiovascular disease, Alzheimer’s, alcoholism, or addiction – to some degree, disease is disease. Some have triumphed over their struggles, while others fought the battle until the end, only to lose the war.

Although we lost our siblings to different diseases, we still watched them endure hardships while fighting against something that, in the end, was stronger then them. We, as family, were forced to sit on the sidelines, unable to make their physical, emotional or mental pain cease. From various forms of chemo, radiation or surgical treatments to different anti-anxiety and anti-depressant medications- they were forced to put their mind, body and soul through some excruciating pain just to be able to add another day to the calendar.

While we all know of these people, we don’t really, truly know these people. We’ve all heard of stories pertaining to disease and death, however, it’s rare that we hear or see what happens behind the scenes. The lasting impact it has on both the patient and the family and the roller coaster of emotions that take place along the way. From the fight to the triumphs and back to defeat, from what seems like never ending decision making, just to hope it was the ‘right’ one, just to doubt it and yet be forced to trust it all at once. From the overwhelming support of those around you, only to feel so alone in the crowd of supporters. From the distress on so many levels, only to hope it’s worth every ounce of energy put forth by everyone. From the tears to the triumphs, from overwhelming sadness to finding laughter in the little moments, the heartache to the joys of the smallest things you never noticed before, from the heaviest of guilt weighing on us down to trying to see the bigger picture through the diluted veil. From watching them in pain in every realm, to one day being forced to feel much of that same pain. This is a journey that so many – too many – experience, but one that often times doesn’t get brought up in the rawness in which is truth for many. And I want to bring forth that rawness, that truth and the awareness behind it.

I feel truly honored to be able to share this ‘Siblings Tribute’ with 3 other strong, brave, compassionate and determined souls to bring forth both their siblings stories, as well as their own. Our hope is that this can offer a sense of peace for those who are struggling in any way – to know that you aren’t alone on this journey, whether you’re the one who’s in the ring for another round to fight, or the cheerleader on the sidelines – your story matters! This is Part 1 of a few entries and I am truly so grateful they agreed to do this with me! Although these entries were excruciating to write – I’m excited to share both of their stories, as well as their sisters battle against a disease we’re all well aware and hear far too much about – cancer.

*Disclaimer: a box of tissues is recommended – you’ve been warned 😉

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“Sisters from the start, friends forever from the heart.”

You and your sister (names, background, ages)- who were you both pre-diagnosis?

My name is Brynn Ashley Soderlind. I was 31 when my sister Jaime Teresa Gartner was diagnosed with breast cancer on October 14, 2011. Jaime was only 32 years old. I was 8 months pregnant with my first child as I sat in the waiting room of the doctors office. My three year old nephew, Jaime’s son Jameson, sat on my lap on a blue upholstered bench. He was such a patient child. He held my hand and we sat there mostly in silence. It seemed like years. We waited and waited and waited. Finally, three hours later, Jaime came down the dark grey hallway. Her dark brown long hair framed her beautiful face like a picture. I remember her brief eye contact with me and then her eyes quickly fixed on her son. Tears were pouring down her face as she opened her arms to meet his little body. He fell into her with relief. She looked to me and smiled as she wiped her tears quickly from her cheeks and shook her head “no”. I knew right then that the massive lump in my sisters breast wasn’t a cyst or an enlarged lymph node. My throat felt tight as I swallowed hard. My sister had cancer.

We grew up with a strong sense of self. We lived out in the country on a hobby farm with our loving parents and grandparents, some goats, chickens, pigs, dogs, rabbits and a blind cow. We had great company each day with our siblings- Ericka, Ian and Seth- and the neighborhood kids our mom babysat. We loved to hike on the land and explore the 132 acre woods that we lived on and absorb all that nature provided to us. Jaime and I loved to take our Red Ryder BB guns out and shoot targets that Ian would set up for us. Life was easy. Life was so good. We loved to go to Whitewater State Park and as teens we would spend most of our summer hiking and swimming. We also loved to travel and took several road trips together and with friends. We did almost everything together. Where there was Jaime, there was likely Brynn.

We would end up moving to Colorado together in 1999. We loved the mountains. We loved the experience but eventually we ended up back in Minnesota together.

Almost a year before her cancer diagnosis, Jaime and I were in Esthetician school together. Jaime and Jameson lived with my husband Adam and I in our condo. Jaime and I had a long history of sames. We had the same jobs, wore the same clothes, loved the same foods, had the same friends, lived in the same cities, read the same books, listened to the same music. Her and I shared a bedroom, secrets, underwear, makeup, cars, lunch money, dreams, aspirations, germs but mostly, we shared genetics. I was encouraged to have genetic testing done shortly after my 33 year old sister had a bilateral mastectomy. I knew that if my sister had breast cancer at 32 years old, I had a pretty good chance of getting it too. When I got the genetic counseling and testing, my daughter was a baby and still breastfeeding. I remember the fear surrounding a positive genetic mutation. What if I too shared the BRCA2 mutation? I knew for me, it would mean a mastectomy and possibly a hysterectomy. That meant no more children. I was ok with that as long as I had an upper hand on controlling the disease.

I had a strong feeling that I didn’t have the mutation. I soon learned that Jaime had the same feeling. Sure enough, I tested negative for the BRCA2 mutation. I cried so hard when I heard the positive news; half of me was relieved and half of me felt guilty. I know it may seem strange, but it was like we had always shared everything and now we didn’t. And I was happy and devastated all at the same time. You see that’s the tricky part about disease and being a caretaker to someone you love so much. The cancer may have taken over my sister’s body, but it also consumed me, differently, but still the same. It completely changed everything.

I thought about cancer all day long. I thought about ways to help heal. I threw myself into research and tried to educate myself as best as I could. I attended every appointment. I quit my job to care for her full time. Her cancer became my cancer. Her life sort of became my responsibility. I’d lie awake at night running through all of the “to do’s” Did she take all of her meds? Did she eat enough? Were all of her appointments scheduled? Did we write down all of our questions? I learned as much as I could about her tumors on my own time. When they told her that her tumors were ERPR positive, HER2 negative, I researched. When they told her that she needed  radioactive Theraspheres implanted into her liver, I researched. When they said there was nothing left to try, I researched. I always wanted to find a way to save my sister’s life. I wanted her dream of becoming a grandmother to come to fruition. I wanted to see her pain-free and dancing in the woods at night like we used to do when we were young. I wanted to travel again, hike, shop, sing, learn to knit and play guitar with her. She always wanted us to take knitting classes and guitar classes together, but I guess we never made the time. I wish we would have figured out how to make it work. Especially guitar lessons. We both loved singing and music so much. I imagine how therapeutic it would have been to be able to play guitar and sing together during her 4.5 year fight against cancer. We both had our own guitar and knitting needles, but never learned. Now, I am ready to take guitar lessons. I will learn to knit this winter. The thing I’ve learned is that life doesn’t wait for us. We have to take advantage of the time we have- right now- today. If there is something you want to learn or experience, go for it. Set goals! Chase dreams! Jaime’s goal was to make it to Mother’s Day. My goal is to make sure that women aren’t dismissed when they find a lump in their breast, at any age. Jaime was dismissed by 3 different doctors before the fourth ordered a mammogram. 3 different doctors! None of them thought she had cancer because she was young and because they told her cancer didn’t hurt, so her lump must have been a cyst or something. It will take me a lifetime to get over the dismissal she received from those individuals. If a 31 year old woman complains of discomfort and has a sizable lump, it should be taken seriously. Mammograms save lives. Every lump should be examined thoroughly.

What battles (disease, metastasis, how many times in remission/relapse) did she endure and for how long? Explain what impact this had on you personally and how it changed both of your lives/perspectives, good and bad.

Jaime possessed a natural ability to find the positive in situations. She never complained about her circumstances. Not one time. She never had a pity party. I’m sure on her own time alone she often struggled, but she never divulged any of those feelings. She made light of the adverse reaction she had to steroids during her radiation treatments. She would joke about how the development of Cushing’s Syndrome was the worst part of the entire cancer experience because she had a 100 pound weight gain which was painful and left her almost unrecognizable. Her skin began to split in areas from the rapid weight gain. Her body ached all over.  They learned that the steroids they were giving her for pain control caused her adrenal glands to fail and shut down. Jaime didn’t mind loosing her hair. She liked hats. She knew she could manage the mastectomy with future reconstruction surgery and prosthetics. But Jaime did not know how to be ok with the Cushing’s Syndrome and her physical immobility and intense pain. In my opinion, the most challenging piece through her cancer journey the rapid weight gain and pain that accompanied it like an orchestra.

Jaime was diagnosed in October of 2011. She started chemotherapy quickly. Her lump was so invasive and so aggressive that they feared removing it without hitting her with a cycle of chemotherapy prior to surgery. Jaime had 7 rounds of chemotherapy between October 2011 -April 2012. On May 11, 2012, Jaime underwent a bilateral mastectomy and sentinel lymph node dissection. They inserted tissue expanders inside the chest wall to reconstruct her breasts with implants. The expanders were placed behind the muscle of the chest wall. The idea was to slowly stretch the skin by filling the expanders with air overtime to accommodate an implant.

We moved into her apartment in May after her mastectomy to care for her and Jameson. She couldn’t be alone and certainly couldn’t care for her three year old son by herself. I spent my days with Jaime, Jameson and my 7 month old daughter Poppy. I took her to appointments, cared for her and the children and did all of the normal day to day tasks and errands. I had so much help from Adam at night and on the weekends.  Following her discharge from her mastectomy, Jaime’s pain continued. She had so much pain. She was so weak and tired. Her surgery sites began to show signs of infection. I called the clinic with great concern. I was reassured several times that what I was describing was “normal healing”.  When her pain became unbearable, I brought her into the ER at a different hospital. She was quickly admitted after examination. She went into surgery the next day to  have the tissue expanders removed because she was septic. I felt so angry and so frustrated. I felt like I let her down. I had called several times with concern. I was always told that it was normal. Now she had a major setback in her recovery.

After that surgery to remove the expanders, Jaime never really felt good again. Ever. It was like the infection had gotten into the core of her being. She was so unsure. Her days and nights consisted of doctors appointments and pain management. After that surgery she went six months without seeing a doctor. She moved to Waseca and rented a house. She and Jameson lived right next door to our mom and stepdad. She just never felt good. Mom and Dad expressed concern about the lack of medical care and lack of follow up. Jaime was in a deep dark depression. She seemed to feel like they did everything they could do for her and this was what she would endure. We felt that she should be closely followed with scans and check ups. Nothing was scheduled. She had no desire to go to the doctor. Then in November of 2012, Jaime came to visit us in New Hope. She was in so much pain in her hips and low back that she could hardly walk. The pain was constant and ibuprofen wasn’t even coming close to touching it. Adam encouraged her to go to the ER. After some persuasion, she agreed. The ER dr in Plymouth MN listened to her history and decided that a pain injection of Tordol  to her hip would suffice and he sent her home. No scans were ordered. Her blood work showed elevated white cells and all of her numbers were either a bit high or low in almost every category. They knew she had cancer earlier that year. Why wouldn’t they have investigated her complaints and concerns more thoroughly? She was a 33 year old single mother with a history of breast cancer. I will never understand the lack of care. Fast forward a month later, she has similar complaints of low back pain and hip pain. Adam takes her into the ER again, and she gets the exact same diagnosis and treatment. They say it’s likely menses pain and they encourage a hot bath and ibuprofen. That was in December 2012. A moth later, on January 21, 2013, she fell in the bathroom in the middle of the night while visiting us in Duluth at our new temporary home. Jaime managed to crawl into the living room where she was able to wake us with screams like I have never heard before. After helping her up, Adam got her into our SUV and drove to the ER at St Lukes. At 3am on January 22, Adam texted me that he and Jaime were meeting with a neurosurgeon and likely she needed spinal surgery to fix her broken lumbar. He also mentioned that they were quite confused how she managed to break her lumbar by falling in the bathroom since the lumbar is the strongest part of the spine. After laying flat for 4 days in a body brace, the biopsies revealed that Jaimes entire skeleton had been infiltrated with breast cancer. I remember the look on her face when they told her that her breast cancer was a stage 4 and terminal. She looked relieved. She looked frightened. She looked so young and so lovely. I was engulfed with sickness and anger. Terminal breast cancer?!! How did this happen?

After she broke her back, she realized that St Lukes hospital in Duluth Minnesota was where she was meant to be. She began her care and treatments of weeks of radiation, many surgeries, continuous chemotherapy, injections in her neck and back and pain management. The nurses and doctors were incredible at St Lukes. She felt cared for and loved and validated. Her pain was finally explained! She could finally trust medical staff. She became so close to her oncologist, Dr. Based Goueli and her nurse Terri. They gave her the greatest care and love. She trusted them. I trusted them. We were able to navigate through all of the bad news together and even in her final days, she felt comfort and trust when she talked to Dr Goueli or Terri specifically.

During her battle, she also had to have a hysterectomy. Pathology of her ovaries detected breast cancer. From there, Jaime’s cancer spread into to the liver. Her care team kept up on her treatments of chemotherapy and she was able to fight for another year and a half. Jaime ended up passing away on a beautiful sunny Thursday morning in the arms of me and our older sister and our parents. Jaime had been in hospice care at St. Luke’s hospital for less than a week. Jaime died from liver failure caused by metastatic breast cancer to bones and liver. She had so much trouble breathing in her final hours. I remember feeling like she was drowning and I couldn’t pull her up or give her air. She fought until the last breath. April 14, 2016 was the hardest day of my existence. I lost a big part of myself when she passed. She had been unable to communicate the last day, but moments before she died, she opened her eyes and made brief eye contact with me and began to cry. She quickly shifted her eyes to our sister Ericka as tears fell down her face. Her eyes fixed towards my parents with her last breath.

I remember my mom placed her delicate hand on Jaime’s sweet face as she gently ran her palm down over her eyes to assist them to close. I remember the sound of my dad pulling a bandaid off of Jaime’s arm and throwing it across the room as he wept. I continue to replay these moments over and over- just like the the day she was diagnosed. The connections. The similarities. The tears. The beauty and the tragedy of it all. The brief eye contact that cut like a knife, the tears that poured from our eyes like wine, and the fear and yet the calming sense of peace that embodied all of it.

What did this consist of for you personally – to recall being a cheerleader on the sidelines, observing, but being unable to save them? (Ultimately the trauma of being the survivor).

I am forever grateful that I was able to care for my sister during her fight with cancer. I was able to support her and fight right along side her. I made sure she knew that she wasn’t alone. It’s been a month since she passed. The sorrow and pain really does come in waves. Everyday I wonder if there was anything more or anything else I could have done to help her have more time. I guess there will always be a part of me that will lament over the possibilities of treatments and cures. She ultimately decided that she would fight until the very end and she did. She fought so hard. Now I sit with my sword down and my shield up. I am still at war but all of the enemies are gone. I am less now. I am forever less without her here beside me. I will never understand why my sister had to fight so hard and ultimately die fighting breast cancer.

How has this changed you and your life course? 

Jaimes diagnosis absolutely changed me. I changed because I had to. I quit my job to care for her, we cancelled a move across the country to care for her, and I directed my focus and energy towards her health and healing.

Jaime and I were somewhat different from one another. Physically we were basically opposite. Our personalities, although different, meshed as we complemented each other well. We understood each others sense of humor. We had so many common threads and so much interest in one another. We had our own language and the ability to read one another with little effort. Sometimes we even felt one another’s pain or discomfort when apart. Jaime was 20 months older than me. We were only a grade apart in school. She always joked that I was the “big sister” and she was the “little sister”. I was taller, so that was ok with me. I will remember Jaime as an intelligent, loving, generous, carefree, slightly unpredictable, esthetically well maintained, stylish woman. She always had a big beautiful bright smile and she was always late for everything.

Since her passing, I have had a strong pull towards becoming more carefree and less concerned about details that don’t matter. I’m trying to learn to live in the moments that we are given each day.

I am contemplating my next steps and trying to discover what is best for me and what is next for me now that she is gone.

Do you feel you’re meant to do something differently with your life because of her death? And if so, what is your hope/goal? How do you want her to live on?

Jaime left me with three quotes:

“Be a rainbow in the cloud”  

“Something will grow from all you are going through, and it will be you.”  

 “Don’t worry, No one likes a know-it-all”

I am doing a lot of soul searching and digging deep to find my balance and my purpose in life. I believe that Jaime’s spirit will help to guide me down the best path.

I do feel that I have great compassion and empathy and love and concern for others. Jaime has always encouraged me to become a nurse… but she also wanted me to pursue an acting career and become a professional photographer so I’m a bit confused about her impression of my actual talents or calling. I guess I may be confused as well? I feel like I need to find a vessel that allows me to help advocate for people struggling to find the medical care that they need and deserve. I don’t want one more woman with a lump in her breast to have to go to four doctors just to get a mammogram. I want to bring awareness to breast cancer affecting young women. Breast cancer isn’t only killing post-menopausal women. Breast cancer doesn’t discriminate. Men, women, young and old are all candidates for breast cancer. Screening is key! Early detection saves lives. Genetic counseling helps us to make informed preventative decisions  about our health. Who knows, maybe my sister would still be here today if the first doctor who saw Jaime would have ordered a simple mammogram.

Jaime will live on in the masterpiece she created. Her strong loving intelligent boy Jameson carries her beauty, strength and perseverance. He has her personality and her heart of gold. Jameson is the greatest legacy and a beautiful reminder that my sister still remains.

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Russian Roulette

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After a last minute decision to hit up a bar that was recommended by a local in Madison that’s known for it’s great vibe and even better drink concoctions, we decided to give it a try. As we were standing at the bar discussing what sounded good, a guy to my right said “Russian Roulette – let the bartender choose.” As much as I loved the idea and the random comment, I couldn’t quite bring myself to do it. I mean I’d sure hate to waste money on a drink that I might not like! 😉 So, as I tend to do, I had to know what I’d be handed and ordered my go-to vodka water with a splash of cranberry – which just so happened to taste like shit! Ha But, my cousin, Liz, told the bartender “Russian roulette” and landed a killer drink that turned into our drink of the night.

This got me to thinking, how could I apply those 2 words to my life? Maybe they need to be a little more prevalent, maybe it’s something, in certain areas of my life I need to learn to gamble with. As with any of us, I think it’s fair to say, we are laid back in certain areas of our lives while uptight in others. Certain aspects are triggers for us, forcing us to feel as though we need to be either proactive &/or reactive/responsive, while other areas we are just fine ‘going with the flow’. While I’ve tried really hard to loosen up in all areas of my life, the more I start to let go in some, the more I find myself clinging to control in other areas. Whether it’s a certain circumstance playing out in my head, thinking it has to be a certain way in order for it to work or finding myself fighting certain things that are happening around or within me, not wanting to accept them as they are, it seems I still feel as if I have to have some power or control.

When I look back, I’m well aware of what a control freak I was and to some degree, still am. I was especially bad in my home life, even though to the outside eye I seemed fun and easy going. When I think back to my past relationships it’s been me having to be the caretaker or the one that ‘holds it together’, but I’ve also always had a hard time receiving or allowing myself to be open to good things or gestures. I wanted them to change and change in the way I thought was best. I think a majority of it stemmed back to not having control in major areas of the relationship, such as the need to compete with other things/people, so I took control in other aspects that I knew I had some say. I was wanting them to change for me, when really it’s just who they were and I needed to be OK with letting them go, instead of trying to force them to fit this mold that I had inside of my head. And there were also some that just plain treated me shitty and I needed to accept that as a good “no” as well! Instead of insisting on trying to force different pieces into fitting, I needed to see that they weren’t fitting for a reason and we’d both be happier being who we wanted to be instead of expecting each other to be something we weren’t.

When it came to friends and party planning – that was totally my gig! I planned everything and I loved it! Whether it was in high school – when people needed to know where the next party was, or how I was going to pull off hosting it if there wasn’t one lined up;) or who was driving (take a wild guess, yep – almost always ME, again, then I had control as to when we left, or what the outcome would be) or where we were staying. When we got older  I hosted a majority of events from wedding and baby showers to grill outs or dates with my friends and their kids, and if I didn’t, I planned or helped planned them. The time, the place, the date (that almost always revolved when would work best for me), who was bringing what food or what booze, if kids were invited, if they weren’t – the whole 9 yards. Again, looking back, I’d say it was a control aspect, and also something I felt I could take pride in, one of the few things I thought I was good at, considering I didn’t have a college degree or a home that I owned or spouses like my friends did, it’s as if I needed to compensate in other ways.

Prior to Josie, finances were a big thing for me, I always had control because he was wreckless with money and I was fearful of getting behind. It’s not to say that wasn’t the case, he was a poor money manager, never looking to feel secure or really get ahead, but I’ve also always had a fear of not being able to pay my bills or provide. This is most likely due to the fact that I watched my parents and grandparents endure many struggles related to that same thing and something that was ingrained me to always be prepared.

My house always needed to be cleaned and in tip top shape and if that didn’t happen, I wasn’t a very nice person either! I was always fearful of people coming over and it being messy and even if it wasn’t really, truly a disaster, I felt obligated to apologize or comment on it!

I find it in my parenting – that I’m trying to control or avoid her being hurt or her allowing others to be. That I want her to eat well and be healthy inside and out so I’m pushing the importance of not eating processed, crap food or drinking sugary drinks because I don’t want her to have health issues or be made of fun because she’s overweight. I’m trying to “fix or control” her as well in certain areas because of my own fear, because of things I’ve had to endure and I’m so worried she may have to face similar struggles. When  really, I need to accept that all I can do is try and guide her and allow her to make her own mistakes and fumble along the way, even if some of that does turn into heart break or poor decision making that she’ll learn from in her own way, without me just preaching about it.

But I’m realizing how many of those things are my insecurities, things that I have tried, or am trying, to control. I think a large reason of that ‘need’ comes from not having control in various aspects of my life through the years, that I focused on what I could control and took it to the extreme, many times driving people away or making them feel inferior. The need for control is just a lack in another area of our life that we don’t want to face or acknowledge, or perhaps are unsure how to gain any type of control of the reigns. Or, maybe it’s learning we don’t always need the control, it’s like attempting to swim against the current of life, thinking my way is the correct way, when really the current is trying to drag us down river, although perhaps through the ringer, to something better. The longer we spend our time and energy trying to force something or someone into fitting or changing, the more time we’ve wasted getting to where we really need to be.

I think the swimming against the current becomes a comfort after awhile, even though we’re so exhausted in many areas of our life, it’s become what we know and wouldn’t know what to do if we weren’t fighting it! As hard as I’ve tried loosening my grips on alot of these realms of my life, I find myself still expecting a certain outcome and sequence of events when it comes to my career, always wanting to jump and just BE THERE already! I’ve also noticed this with relationships, thinking meeting someone has to happen a certain way, or in a certain manner, like they need to be local, or it would never happen at a mundane place, like work or the grocery store, or I’ll have to loose the 20+ pounds I’ve put on since I quit smoking, or this, that or the other thing – when really if I’d just loosen the reigns and quit holding on so tight to this illusion or need for some control, if I’d start playing a little more Russian Roulette and just see where things take me, even if there are a few misfired bullets along the way, maybe I’d get where I want to be a little faster! The bullets are just another learning curve, nothing permanent, just a redirection – maybe those would be easier then this constant need to keep climbing up that damn down escalator all the time (have you tried that before – that shit is exhausting! 😉

So, as hard as it can be to put into play, maybe those 2 words need to enter my mind a little more often, take the gamble of moving with the flow, in a different and new direction and allowing it to unfold as it needs too. To quit relying or expecting others to fit into my puzzle and just keep on with the hope that it’ll eventually come together without so much resistance and effort and those things and people that were meant to be apart of it, will still be there, and those that weren’t, that’s OK too!

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Missing Piece

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We weren’t exactly orthodox both pertaining to a death surrounding suicide or in the manner of the grieving process. Once the initial shock of the realization that this was a suicide wore off, I’d say we were fairly accepting of her decision overall. Perhaps because it wasn’t an impulsive decision, or something done out of hate, revenge or to make a statement. I remember my dad saying ‘this is the only selfish decision she’s made, everything revolved around other people and trying to make them happy, it’s hard to be mad at that.”

I’d say the remainder of the stages, at least to me, are kind of one in the same. It boils down to a new reality and acceptance. And I don’t know if that word ever really fully makes sense in the aftermath of it all. To go back through the journal entries and read the repetitive words over and over again is so painful. It’s as if there were different ‘go-to’ thoughts that were the ‘theme’ depending on which stage I was in.

For awhile it was the word ‘never ever’. To say “never ever will I see her again, never ever will I be able to hear her laugh, never ever will she stand by my side at the altar, never ever will she watch my daughter grow up, never ever will I have nieces and nephews, never ever will I be able to make it right, never ever will I have be able to kiss and hug her again’. That one word – NEVER – was such a cold and harsh word to wrap my head around. And I remember breaking down every time the thought crossed my mind.

Not many are lucky enough to say they not only have a supportive family but to say I was able to grieve semi in sync with mine, seems to be a rarity. From what I remember, although very engrossed in my own life,  fog and daze – my parents and I were usually on the same page, or not far off from each other. I’m sure the experience for my parents was different as they were with each other more then I was with them, but I remember my mom saying when one was down, the other was up, so they were able to offset each other.

When it came to my personal household however, that couldn’t have been further from the truth. I hated coming home, the only place I wanted to be was my parents, just because I knew they got it. They got it on my level – the deep seated agony, hurt and overwhelming sadness. My ex tried to be supportive, but it wasn’t the same – there was so much that he didn’t get – and so much, too much, that I expected to him understand. After awhile, always being with them became another driving force between him and I and in many ways that was my escape from dealing with things at home, things that were there before this, but far worse since this! He wanted our lives to get back on track with some routine and normality. To me, there was no such thing – there was NOTHING about my life that was going to go back to what it was, and he was insane for thinking it would! And there was alot of it, that I didn’t want to go back! There were many parts I swore were going to change from that point on, promises I made to myself and to her, that it’d be different from here on out. He didn’t believe in the ‘crazy shit’ I was reading, that she could still be here, or that the soul is still present – he believed she went to heaven and I needed to start remembering what I had sitting in front of me, which was him and my daughter. But I had no interest. He would say ‘you’re here physically, but mentally you’re nowhere to be found’. I couldn’t explain things to him and it be a 2 way conversation, he wasn’t open to it and many times, I didn’t know how to express it. My parents just got it – it was effortless and I expected him to just ‘get it’ too. But I see now that it doesn’t work like that. I was expecting him to understand something that was literally impossible to “get” unless you’ve actually felt it for yourself first hand , but at the time, I didn’t care – I didn’t have it in me to care – I was exhausted.

I suppressed alot of it, the replays and play by plays –  for about 6 months before I had my own breaking point, at which time I was put on meds and enrolled in the outpatient program to avoid going inpatient. From that point on, I pretty much stuck with the thought ‘if this is how she felt every day of her life without anything significant happening to her – I don’t blame her one bit for choosing to leave.” From then on it was a constant toying thought of doing the same, the constant thought of just wanting to be able to see her again. I think my parents and I were all in that same boat for quite awhile, it was just the thought of “I just can’t wait to see you again!” For me, it almost became more of a dream then a statement, like, really, I just want to come see you, I don’t want to live in this horrifying, heavy pain anymore!

In a large way, I think that was the beginning of my acceptance phase, and it really came quite early. ‘It’s ok Jos, I don’t blame you, you didn’t deserve to have to live like this, you didn’t do anything to deserve this terrible feeling flooding you on a daily basis and never having any idea why you felt that way.” To all of those that initially refer to suicide as ‘selfish’ or think ‘what kind of person does that to their family,’ ‘it’s never that bad’ or ‘they took the easy way out’ has simply never stood in those shoes. I’m sorry, and it’s not to say that isn’t sometimes the case, but alot of times, it really, honestly isn’t. I have tried to explain many of times to many different people that isn’t, or at least wasn’t the case with her, and it isn’t that easy to just “snap out of it.” I remember being told by a counselor at Mayo that ‘suicide is often the last missing piece to the puzzle – they’ve tried everything else, from meds (which only 50% of people actually benefit from a medication that will truly help), being more social, a different job, an exercise program, etc. It’s as if they’re trying to constantly force this piece of the puzzle, but nothing seems to fit, and it comes to the point that, after being so exhausted, this is the only one that seems to make sense, this is the final missing piece that will put an end to the suffering. I heard this within the 1st month after she left but for some reason, that has always stuck with me. And the more I began to feel the depths of that pain, the more I began to see how much it really made sense.

Sometimes I wonder, are we all looking for that ‘missing piece’ of the puzzle in some area of our lives? It seems if we’re satisfied in one area of our life, we’re dissatisfied in another. It’s as if we get one piece that matches, just to lose another component. Home life is great, but I hate my job, finances are shit, but my kids are thriving. It’s hard not to feel as if we’ll never have all of the pieces, and maybe we won’t to some degree, but I wish she could’ve seen that in many areas, she wasn’t the only one feeling like that. I think that’s the importance of it all – is being aware that none of us are in any of it alone, that it can get better and be better, maybe some of the missing pieces were the absence of the conversation to begin with. Maybe if we weren’t made to think or feel as though our private lives were that different from the next persons, some of those gaps would be filled.

8 years into it, there are still plenty of days that when I actually stop and look, really look at her picture, it doesn’t seem real. There are times I’ve actually questioned ‘were you ever really here? or ‘are you really gone’? So, on many levels, I often wonder what the word ‘acceptance’ truly means, or is there such a thing of really being at peace with it all? To so many degrees I really thought I had accepted it, that it was her choice, and one we needed to accept. One choice that to many degrees, was perhaps the only selfish thing she ever did do. But there are times like these, when I go back and read the entries that acceptance is furthest from my truth. To read the letters and think ‘it didn’t have to be like this, or who would you be today?’ But despite how I replay it, how I accept it one week and deny it the next, it’s the truth and sobering reality of our life. So, I suppose I’ve ‘accepted’ it the best I know how, as much as the human brain can wrap their head around the thought ‘never ever.’ There isn’t an award or a checkered flag at the end of the stages saying good job, congrats – you survived it! I guess it’s just knowing some day we’ll meet again, and until then, I’ll trust that despite how many people call it ‘crazy’ I do believe she is still by our sides. I know she’ll be the first face I see when angels sing and for now, that’ll have to be my ‘acceptance’.

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