The Year I Ran the Year... 2020.

July 26, 2020

“Wearing a mask is the equivalent of the government ushering you into a rail car.” And “COVID is a government hoax.” These are the memes that I see and the commentary I read when I’m laying in bed at midnight. Day 8. When the thought of lifting my head off the pillow exhausts me but the idea of falling asleep seems impossible because my body hurts so badly. Knowing all too well the virus: it’s very real.

Here’s my only advice for everyone... especially those saying “it’s my body”:

Know your normal body temperature. 

Know your normal oxygen level.

Know your normal pulse rate.

Know your normal fluid intake.

Take a moment now to learn what your body is when it’s “normal”....

Because if you get this virus- the one that makes you go from running 5 miles a day to trying to catch your breath because you simply stood up-you’ll need to know all those stats. Because your body won’t be yours anymore. And you’ll wish you had taken a moment to document what “normal” was because the “new normal” is a nightmare. And you just want to wake up. But you’re in so much pain you pray you just fall asleep.

July 30, 2020

There are a lot of unanswered messages and unreturned calls on my phone and for that I do apologize. I had intentions of posting an update on social media but there’s only so much social media you can handle when everyone is arguing over how to “cure” the “fake” virus you’re currently battling yourself.

Everyone is experiencing COVID differently. Thankfully I have moved forward from IV fluids, the inability to leave my bed and a high temperature. I’ve had a couple of setbacks this week but I’m working on it. Fatigue, shortness of breath, body aches/inflammation and a sore throat are what have decided to stick around (which means I don’t have a voice).

I’m following doctor’s instructions. I’m doing as I’m told. And there is nothing that I currently need.... except to have everyone take a time out real quickly. Remember that while you rip each other to shreds over a pandemic that has the country deeply divided— there are REAL people actually battling the virus you speak of as a conspiracy, joke or a political ploy.

And those that have it can do nothing but sit inside all alone— isolated from everyone they love— and try to get better. All the while knowing the world outside is fighting OVER the virus they’re just trying TO fight.

August 4, 2020

Today is the first day in about 2.5 weeks that I’m feeling like a human again. The symptoms that remain will be around for a while (and I’m coming to terms with that). Today I took another test (at Dickies Arena) and was able to see the faces of some of my favorite people that I have been on this Covid journey with since Day 1 but haven’t seen or worked with in over 3 weeks. It was only through a car window but nonetheless seeing them reminded me that we still have the best of the best working around the clock to keep the people of Fort Worth safe.

Many of you have asked to know the details of my experience (how I was exposed, symptoms, treatments, etc.) and I promise I’ll share all of that one day when I’m back to my normal self. I think I need to process the whole thing first.

Today though I look at my running shoes that I haven’t worn in 3 weeks. I know running isn’t in my future for a while but walking (slowly) is. So on the first day I’m feeling human again... I’m putting these shoes on and I’m walking to the stop sign.

It may not even register on my FitBit but it’s a start. Today I may not meet any of the personal goals I set for myself for 2020... but I can say that I’m on my way to beating Covid.

And that’s a goal I’m really lucky to meet. 💛

September 6, 2020

Back in June I registered for a virtual 5K that the Yankees were sponsoring. The proceeds went to local New York City non-profits helping to support those battling COVID. At the time my heart hurt thinking of all of the elderly sitting alone in a City that is usually filled with so much life and movement but had become so lonely and desolate. I saw the footage of nurses and doctors overwhelmed... families unable to be with their loved ones as they passed away from the virus... and funerals not being held because it wasn’t safe to gather with family. My heart went out to those at the epicenter of the pandemic. It was the least I could do— run a 5k. 

But then I got the virus myself and running a race became out of the question and the race came and went. Today though, I made the decision to walk the whole 5k. Because exactly what prompted me to register for the race months ago is the reality our family is living right now. 😕 I promised her I would beat Covid and I would be ok.... so this one was for you Grandma. 

I didn’t break any records (except for possibly slowest time ever) but I did it. And I wish I had the chance to tell you that I came through on my promise. You were the personification of “New York” so it only seems right. 🤍💙

December 20, 2020

“I have to get my miles in.”

Anyone who interacts with me regularly has heard those 7 words multiple times since January 1st. I set out to complete 2,020 miles in 2020 and as someone who is not the strongest math student, I don’t think I knew what I was actually signing up for in December 2019. And of all the years to run.... I picked 2020.

Dierks Bentley sings “Every Mile a Memory” and honestly that has a whole new meaning to me this year.

There were the miles on the treadmill in the gym late at night wearing sunglasses so no one could see my “exercise band incident” black eyes.

There were the miles in February walked in circles around the EOC wearing a heart monitor trying to figure out what made my heart rate spike while reading a briefing on this “Coronavirus situation” in Washington.

There was the absolute panic of gyms closing in March and beginning to work 16+ hours a day so my miles were put in at random hours around my house. In circles. In isolation.

There were the miles as the temperatures started to rise that felt like the concrete below me was melting.

Then there were no miles. Weeks of staring at the finisher’s medal hanging by the front door (ironically next to the IV bags) wondering if I would ever be able to put it on. If I could even earn it this year.

Then running turned to walking. Slowly. 🐢

The first trip from the porch to the driveway. Then the driveway to the stop sign. (And panting)

The first 10,000 step in one day again.

The first 5K I did after hanging up the phone with my siblings. I walked with tears streaming down my face cursing Covid. She pleaded with us to let her “go”... and we told her we loved her and it was ok.

The “I’m so angry at a boy” miles on the high school track after work and the “these two little boys mean the world to me” miles in Oklahoma holding their hands.

And 12/20/20 on Trinity Trail. 👊🏻 2,020 miles.

And every mile a memory of a year I never want to relive but never will forget.

Thank you to everyone that joined me on the phone... that pushed me to keep going when I said, “I’m too tired”... and to those of you who thought I was crazy but walked along from afar with me anyway 💛

Dear Alaina...

It's official. You're a girl. Being the Aunt to your brothers has been absolutely one of the biggest joys of my life. And when your Daddy hit that baseball and the burst of pink powder filled the air my heart was overwhelmed. Because that pink meant there was going to be a little girl. And you and I share something in common that I want to talk to you about even though you're not here yet.

You don't know it but you're being born into two families. One is your Mommy, Daddy, brothers, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins and a whole bunch of people who you share a family tree with. The other is a family that is so incredibly large I can't begin to introduce you to them all. But you'll learn that this family is a part of who you are just because of a certain someone. And let me tell you a little about what you can expect... because, you see, you and I share this special bond. 

Your Daddy is a policeman. 

Your Daddy has a job like no other job. And it is going to take a little to get used to but I promise that in time you will understand. 

You will understand that every day when he walks out the door he is not going to an office. He is not wearing a suit and tie. He is wearing a uniform with a silver shield on the front of it. When he goes to work he has one goal: to keep the city he swore to protect safe from the bad guys. That means he is the person who puts himself in the middle of the danger or in harm's way to keep people safe. He will also make sure they're going the speed limit, keeping their music at a reasonable decibel level and minding those red octagons on the side of the road. But every day your Daddy puts on that uniform, that belt, that badge and he walks out the door to keep people safe. 

That sounds pretty awesome, huh? 

Let's chat. 

In a way you will wear that badge too. You won't be out protecting people or catching the bad guys but you will "serve" in your own way. And I want to make sure that you know... some days it is really hard. I wish I could promise you that it gets easier as you get older but trust me when I say it doesn't. You just learn that this is a part of who you are and you learn to be proud. 

Your Daddy isn't going to make it to all your softball games. Your Daddy isn't going to make it to every Thanksgiving Dinner or Christmas morning. And sometimes he may miss your birthday. It's not because he doesn't love you- oh sweet girl trust me that he loves you! But it's because the people need him out there to keep him safe. And he made a promise to those people that he would protect them. And the bad guys don't know you have a spelling bee or that it's your 13th birthday. You can feel disappointed but know that he wishes he could be there. 

Speaking of spelling bees. When I was in first grade I made it to the State Spelling Bee. (Your Aunt is a little bit of a nerd). I was so excited. I was sitting on stage and I looked out into the audience and I saw my Mommy but my Daddy wasn't in the seat next to her. I didn't win the Spelling Bee ("balloon" is a lot harder to spell than it appears) but I was more upset that my Daddy wasn't there. And when I found out he was at work while I was trying to win the Spelling Bee I was even more angry. So when he got home I told him that I was so mad and I yelled at him. He said he was sorry and that he had to help a little girl. But I didn't care. I thought that he must of loved that little girl more than he loved me to skip my competition to be with her. I didn't understand. 

I didn't see the exhaustion in his face. I didn't see the hurt he had when I said those mean words. I didn't think about what he had done that day and maybe if it had been really hard on him. And he didn't tell me for a really long time what "helping a little girl" really meant. But when he did tell me that day no longer was "The Day my Daddy didn't go to my Spelling Bee." That day was "The Day my Daddy saved a little girl's life." You see this little girl had a mommy who wasn't very nice. She didn't give this little girl who was about 4 years old a lot of love or food. And she broke a lot of rules. So my Daddy went to her house and took that little girl away from the mean mommy. And the little girl was going to go to a new house where she would get a lot of love but she was really hungry. So instead of leaving work and coming to my Spelling Bee my Daddy took this little girl to McDonald's. And she ate a Happy Meal and then ate my Daddy's food too. This little girl didn't know my Daddy but she saw the shield on his uniform and she knew that she was finally safe. That's a pretty special Daddy to have, right? 

You have one of those too. And your Daddy has helped so many little kids and given so much of his energy to making people safer. He is really good at that job. But we need to talk about what happens when Daddy isn't able to make people safe. When unfortunately it's just too late. 

Your Daddy is going to come home and he is going to be really quiet. He may even look really angry or mad but I promise you he is not mad at you. You didn't do anything wrong. He will try so hard to leave those sad feelings at the front door but a lot of times they follow him inside. He is going to want a hug but then he is going to want some quiet time. He may not want to eat dinner. And your Mommy may look at him... tell him that she loves him... and then take you and your brothers into another room. At first your Mommy is going to help you know when Daddy has had a bad day. But you will learn. And you will know that on those days giving him his space is actually loving him a lot when he really needs that extra love. It won't always be like that though. There are days Daddy will come home and it would be just another day. Soak those days up. Laugh and be silly and hug him as much as you can. But know sometimes when he comes home his heart hurts and his eyes have seen things he wants to make sure you never see. 

Your Daddy will be your hero. You are going to think that he hung the moon and that he is the strongest, bravest, smartest man in the whole world. And you know what? He is. 

But there is one thing I want you to know about your Daddy that is super hard for girls like you and me to understand: Not everyone likes your Daddy. And they say really, really bad things about him. They will call your Daddy names. They will yell at your Daddy and sometimes they will threaten to hurt him. And I know that doesn't make sense and that it is also really scary to hear. Because your Daddy is your hero... how can anyone not like him? He helps people right? He misses Spelling Bee Championships to save little girls. He misses dinner because there was a little boy who needed his hand held after a car accident. He spent money he was saving up for something nice to buy a refrigerator for an old man who couldn't afford one for his medicine and Daddy was trying to help him stay safe. How can people not like him? 

In this world there are good and bad people. And some times those lines are not so clear and they are confusing. That second family I told you that you are going to have now? That's your Thin Blue Line family. That's the men and women like your Daddy who wear the uniform and badge and do what your Daddy does every day. You are a part of that family now. And it's a special one to be a part of because those police officers will always have your back and will always take care of you. But sometimes a bad police officer gets in the way. And people will think all police officers are bad. That is not true sweet girl. They are going to say things to hurt your Daddy but I know those words will hurt you too. Trust me when I say that I have heard those words... I have read those mean comments... I have seen the hatred and I have watched that Thin Blue Line family hurt very badly. They feel the pain of their community when bad cops do bad things. They cry too but they are REALLY good at hiding that pain. They don't want to be called those bad names or have people try to hurt them. But it's a part of wearing that badge on their chest. 

I need you to know that by being his daughter you will hear those words and you will be scared. You will think the worst and you will hope for the best. You will see your Mommy look at her phone a little more and she will turn off the news. You will see that Daddy doesn't talk about being a policeman when he isn't at home and I know that's confusing because you want to scream it loudly and proudly. It doesn't make a lot of sense now but hopefully one day it will. 

Sweet Alaina you are being born into a role that you don't know about yet. But you will learn. You're going to be different from the other kids. And trust me when you're finally allowed to date you'll see just how different that is too. But you're being born into a family where you will learn the importance of saying "I love you" every day. You will learn respect and discipline. You will learn that the roots of our Thin Blue Line family are five generations deep. One day we will talk about a Tuesday morning in September. One day we will talk about how a birthday dinner ended in Dallas. I promise to hold your hand and teach you everything I know about the life you are being born into... 

Because your Daddy is my brother. 

Your Grandpa is my Daddy. 

Your Great-Grandpa was my Grandpa. 

And they are policemen.  

My Not-So-Imaginary Imaginary Friend.

Throughout the entire span of your life the person you will spend the most time with, despite siblings, parents, friendships, careers, marriages, and children is: yourself. To many homebodies and introverts this is great news. For extroverts and social butterflies this is surprising news. And if you're anything like me it's disappointing news as the most exhausting person you spend your time with is: yourself. Because at a very early age you were given an imaginary friend that isn't so imaginary. The two of you grew up together influencing each other's actions and behaviors and making decisions based off of each other. But over time you realized just how out of control this imaginary person could get. How no matter what you did to calm her down or convince her to make rational thoughts she rarely listened. And only when she's sound asleep- unconscious really- are you ever truly at peace.

She first showed up when I was in elementary school. I remember thinking I had plenty of time to finish a book report. She said, "No you don't and if you don't do it right now you will fail." So I rushed to complete the assignment early to ensure I didn't miss the non-existent early deadline that was created in unfounded fear. In middle school she kept me awake at night for hours on end. She would tell me that I couldn't fall asleep because everyone was going to fall asleep before me and (for some unknown reason) that was not ok. She made me fear bedtime and I never attended a sleepover with friends out of an irrational fear of not falling asleep. I remember visiting a sleep specialist in 5th grade who was adamant that a child could not suffer from insomnia. Hold my juice box doc because you're in for a medical treat. In high school she loved to remind me that I wouldn't get into college without straight A's, that my teeth would change back once I took my braces off, that everyone was watching me when I walked by commenting on my weight and that the best way to handle any stress, fear or change in my life was to stop eating. She was incredibly convincing for a 17 year old that was easily influenced and didn't react well to events that changed her life. On the morning of September 11, 2001, I looked at her and said, "You were right about everything." And she immediately took the wheel and dictated what I thought and when I thought it.

Her name is Anxiety. And I truly don't remember a time in my life when she wasn't around. In a world comprised of memes and over-generalizations, the word "anxiety" is thrown around a lot. It's downplayed and it's trivialized. It's said in such a colloquial manner that it's severity and the impact it has on those that have it is lost in the public perception. But the reality of anxiety is that when it's personified is like having a small toddler following you around at all times. The toddler is moody, irrational, demanding, flippant and stressful. This toddler isn't the cute kind that sings silly songs or tells stories. No. This is the toddler that has had the world completely turned inside out because it asked for a purple cup but was given a blue cup. It's the toddler you're peeling off the tile floor of Target because you told her she couldn't buy that toy. Despite all attempts to explain simple logic she refuses to listen. And she is just manipulative enough that she will get you to believe things you would never believe otherwise. She knows it's best to make her move to get what she wants when you're at your wits end. She waits for those moments and seizes those opportunities. And when you're at your weakest she is at her strongest. And trying to keep her in line and make sure she behaves is absolutely exhausting. Just when you think she's in check though, behaving and playing nicely, you realize that she has been quiet too long and her silence means it's just a matter of time until she reveals herself in a monumental way.

Anxiety likes to play the childhood game of telephone. She hears what she wants to hear when spoken to and translates it back the way she thinks it could have been stated. For example:

Friend: "Hey! I got your message but I'm working late tonight. I wish I could get together. Do something fun without me!"

Me: "Oh. Well that sucks. Working late sucks. Not seeing my friend sucks. Let me send her a quick text to say, 'No problem! We'll try again soon!' Then I will just reschedule."

Anxiety: "She doesn't want to see you."

Me: "Say what now?"

Anxiety: "She's not working late. She just doesn't want to see you. Did you see that she didn't use any emojis in her text? And there were only two exclamations points. She's mad at you."

Me: "She's not mad at me. She didn't say she was mad at me. I didn't do anything."

Anxiety: "Yes you did."

Me: "No I didn't and I know what you're trying to do and I won't fall for it. Stop it."

Anxiety: "She's mad at you. Watch. She'll cancel the next time too. Might as well not even ask her for a next time because you'll be told no and that will be embarrassing, right? She's gone."

Me: "I will ask her again. I'm not worried that she'll say no. I don't think I'm worried-- No. You're doing it again. She is not mad at me. She's busy. You're making this up."

Anxiety: "Or am I?"

Me: "Or are you?"

Anxiety: "I win."

And just like that a problem that never existed-- and has no reason to exist-- has come into existence from the inner workings on my mind thanks to my unwanted life long imaginary friend. What a pal. 

How do you explain these conversations that happen in your head to people that you love and care about and that you know love and care about you? How do you tell them that the crippling fear you feel in asking a simple question like, "Are we doing dinner for Thanksgiving?" seems completely irrational to most but is rooted in your personal anxiety driven mantra: On my honor I will try to serve God and my country, to help people at all times, to not be a burden to someone, to not be an inconvenience to someone, to not get in the way, to not set myself up for disappointment, to not be a disappointment, to please everyone and to live by the Anxiety Girl's law. 

Anxiety is the definition of circular reasoning. Simply by her presence I make the things I don't want to happen... happen. I create problems that would never have existed and I develop crises that never would have come to fruition if not for my mind creating them. Let's look at an example, shall we?

Kristen: "I should probably call and see if they want to get together tomorrow. I know they just got back but I don't know if we're getting together or not. I don't want to wait until the last minute."

Anxiety: "If you text them now you'll be bothering them. They're tired and probably don't want to be bothered."

Kristen: "But if I don't ask then I won't know if we're making plans or not. I need to ask them so I know what I'm doing tomorrow."

Anxiety: "Oh, Kristen. You're solo tomorrow. Yeah. You're not going to have plans because they don't want to see you. They mentioned weeks ago that tomorrow may not work. So what makes you think that they changed their mind? Give them their space and time. They'll reach out to you when they want to see you but if you do it then you're bothering them."

Kristen: "I see what you're saying but I feel like I'm making a bigger issue if I just assume rather than ask."

Anxiety: "You'll make an even bigger issue if you ask and bother them. You know you're probably assuming correctly. Don't inconvenience people with your insecurity. It's unsettling."

Kristen: "You're right. If they want to see me they'll reach out. I won't say anything because they don't want to be bothered."

Fast forward... 

Friend: "Hey! Didn't hear from you so I guess we're not getting together and you're busy. We'll try again some other time. Bye!"

(Everyone please welcome to the stage our guest "Problem That Never Needed to be in Existence") 

Kristen: "Wait. What? I didn't say anything because I didn't want to bother them or be a burden. Now they think I didn't want to see them? And now I don't get to see them? When do I see them again now?"

Anxiety: "Not only were you going to be a burden but now you have no plans (and could have) AND they're also mad at you. Great work."

Kristen: "What just happened?"

When you're given your imaginary little toddler so early in life you're given enough therapy over the years to know the signs and symptoms of when she is at her worst. And it's usually when you're not at your best. There are certain triggers that make Anxiety even more brutal than usual. These triggers can take many forms but the one thing they have in common is that they break you down enough to let your guard against Anxiety down just enough that she starts to make sense. That her usual temper tantrum laced antics suddenly don't seem too irrational. You're just exhausted enough to see common sense in her thought process. And it's in these weak moments that you risk it all because you're defenseless against her and the friends she brings along with her when she's ready to really fight.

Her side kicks? Well there's Sensitivity. That's the one she brings that makes sounds louder and lights brighter. Sounds take on an almost deafening tone where even the smallest bird chirp makes you crawl out of your skin with frustration because you can't hear past that one noise. The lights around you are brighter making you want to just close your eyes to shield yourself from the glare. There's Gravity that comes along when Anxiety is in full force. Gravity's only job is to make your heart race and your feet to be unsteady. It does this by making you feel like you were going down a flight of stairs but missed the bottom two. You know that "heart-skips-a-beat-I-almost-face-planted-but-I-think-I'm-ok-but-maybe-not" feeling you get when you miss those steps? Gravity's job is to make sure that you feel that... but continuously. Without a break. And without feeling like your feet are firmly placed back on the ground even though you never actually tripped. There's Claustrophobia ("Claus" for short) which packs a mean punch when brought to the party. When Anxiety invites Claus the whole room starts to close in around you. Physically there is nothing happening and nothing is moving but somehow Claus makes you feel like the walls around you are closing in and it's getting harder to breathe as they get closer and closer to your outstretched arms trying to stop them. And to close out her posse she brings along Anger. And not just any anger but the kind that is inappropriately directed at people that didn't do anything or even worse people who are trying to help. On the sidelines, ready to hop in whenever needed, are Fatigue, Insomnia, and Agitation all stretched out and limber in case their number is called. And off to the side is Anxiety just laughing as her friends make you cringe at noise, fall without taking a step, hold your breath while you feel you can't breathe and lash out at those that care about you because she gains so much joy in your pain. She sees you struggling to explain why you're acting the way you're acting or feeling the way you're feeling and she just smiles. Because despite her existence with you daily in little quirks and annoyances it's the big moments- the "Anxiety Attacks" as she so creates- that are her favorite. The ones that she knows will cause the most harm to you and the ones you love. The ones that make you question what is wrong with you and why you are the way you are.

When you attempt to explain Anxiety to your friends and family it's nearly impossible. How was I-- as a child-- going to tell my family that I deliberately woke them up at night when I couldn't sleep because I had an irrational fear of people falling asleep before me? There is nothing in the history of humanity that says, "If you're the last person in the family to fall asleep you will not live to see 20." Nothing. I never feared for my life but I was terrified. And when those sleep specialists wanted to know what made me so terrified to sleep as an 11 year old kid I didn't have answers from them. I just had the lines on a piece of paper that a machine attached to my head was creating when they said, "And now you're going to go to sleep." How do I explain something that I don't understand myself? At 11 years old I knew I had something that followed me around and made things very difficult but I didn't know it was Anxiety and I didn't know then that it was there for life.

The two of us attempt to coexist. She's always present and she is always ready to jump into action when the opportunity presents itself. One of Anxiety's favorite hobbies is to make sure I never forget. She holds the remote to press play on all the videos in my mind of events that have happened in my lifetime. Rarely does she pick my favorite memories like becoming an aunt or watching the Yankees in the Bronx. No, Anxiety has her own Greatest Hits that she loves to put on repeat. Right about the time my head hits the pillow she hits "play" and I go through the thoughts she thinks I should relive at that particular moment. At first she started simple with videos from failed middle school dances and wardrobe malfunctions. Then she matured with me. And I was kept awake by images of planes into buildings or a car filling with rushing flood waters. I used to be crippled with fear as she would press play over and over again on these videos that I just wanted to stop seeing. And over time I learned how to hit the pause button. Much to Anxiety's disgust I gained that talent. But much to her appreciation, life is always full of moments that can change everything. And just over four and a half months ago I had one of those moments. Anxiety has been incredibly happy and active ever since.

In that time she has made it incredibly difficult for me to go into a public place and not be on edge looking at all doorways and obsessively watching the people inside. She has made me jumpy and antsy. She has brought her squad along with Insomnia and Claus spending all their time with me and Agitation coming by more often than the welcome mat insinuated. What some people would consider "normal" reactions for some are far from "normal" with me. And in an attempt to coexist with Anxiety I realized that in the past few months she has taken over. She pulled a complete Captain Phillips and at some point looked at me and said, "I'm the Captain now." And without fighting it I turned myself over to her. In doing so I have created more of those guest appearances by a "Problem That Never Needed to be in Existence" than I would like to admit. I have hurt friendships and I have hurt family members. As quick as I am to be the first to run to an emergency exit now at the slightest sound I am also quick to jumping to conclusions. With every fiery temper tantrum Anxiety throws I pacify her with "no I think you're right the fact that they're deliberately ignoring me for no apparent reason means they're mad" and "I know this means I am only going to get 3 hours of sleep but I will humor you will going through all the ways that could have gone wrong- do you want it alphabetized too?" When presented with a simple yes or no question most people would say if I go this way it is a "yes" and if I go this way then it is a "no." But with Anxiety at the helm of this hijacked ship my line from A to B is about four lines, a circle, a polygon, 3 loops and one backward arrow.

Rooms seem smaller. Noises seem louder. Colors seem duller. And I'm beyond exhausted trying to pacify her tantrums and irrationality. But all of that pales in comparison when you see what the insecurity that Anxiety drapes you in- like a weighted blanket- is doing to those that you love. To your family and friends that feel like they need to walk on egg shells around you for fear of hurting your feelings or disturbing the peace. I wish there was a way that every morning when I woke up, like a forecast, I could announce to family and friends what the day had in store.

"We're looking at a great day. Very little cloud coverage and plenty of sun. It will be a beautiful day to be outside. Temps look to be in the low 80s and Kristen's Anxiety Scale is coming in at about a 2.1 today. Stellar day. Make things happen y'all." 

"We're looking at another Springtime Day here in Texas folks. Watch out. The sun may be shining but at any time it could go behind a cloud and there could be historic storms. We're looking at temps ranging anywhere from 28 to 110 degrees with astronomical pollen count and Kristen's Anxiety Scale registering at a whopping 9.8, y'all. Yeah, she's going to be impossible today. Grab your umbrella, mittens, sunscreen and steer clear of the brunette wondering if the Barista is mad at her because she took too long to find her debit card in the drive thru." 

I wish that predictive forecast was an option but it's not. And in no way am I writing this post with the intention of condoning any behaviors I might have exhibited or words that may have been exchanged that didn't make sense. Quite the contrary. I'm laying it all out there so you can see my vulnerability and know I want to make a change. That I want to silence Anxiety as much as you want me to "normal." And I write this in hopes that maybe it will help someone else who tries to explain Anxiety to their friends and family but can't find the words to piece together to do it. Take my words. Take my advice.

Take my stories and my reality because there is a reason that I have spent my life side by side with this Not-So-Imaginary Imaginary Friend...  Maybe my ability to personify her will be enough to pacify her. And if not perhaps my words will be enough to make someone else understand that they're not alone... that they're not crazy... and that we're in this thing together.

Or not. You don't have to be in this with me. I don't want to bother you or inconvenience you in any way. You don't have to come along. You do you. Don't be mad. I'm sorry. 

Beauty and the Beast: The Version You've Never Heard.

I was 8 years old when Disney came out with their best animated film to date. The story of an awkward brunette book lover who finds herself with an anger-management candidate Beast who she tries to change into a better person. As a kid I saw no holes in the story and only saw a fairy tale where the nerdy brunette was gifted a castle's library. My expectations for relationships were probably shaped, unhealthily to say the least, by that exchange and their "happily ever after" that followed. But as a bucked tooth brunette with her nose in a book how could I not see a fairy tale amidst the dancing plates and singing teapots?

There's a piece of my past that rarely gets touched. But every October, like clockwork, I'm reminded of it as the purple ribbons are put on and the social media posts flood my news feed. October is cluttered with really important "National Month" titles. We celebrate National Country Music Month, National Potato Month, both National Dessert AND National Cookie Month, and the all-so-important Breast Cancer Awareness Month and Fire Prevention Month. In between the sweets, the good music, the potatoes and checking smoke alarms there is a cause spotlighted in October though that stands out to me every year: National Domestic Violence Awareness Month. Hallmark doesn't make cards that you send out to celebrate that event. But the spotlight is put on those who have a story. And I always chose not to share my story because there are hundreds of thousands of women who have the same tale to tell. Perhaps you could say it's a tale as old as time. 

But recently I have noticed women close to me being put in situations where their loved one- the man they trust, the man I watched them marry, the man I looked in the eye and said, "Never hurt her"- is engaging in behavior that worries me. One friend said, "Well he hit me but I think it was jokingly." Another one said, "I'm fine because he can yell and scream all he wants but he hasn't hit me-yet." There is even one that confessed, "Sometimes it's easier to not say anything and just bear it because if I upset him then I pay for it." And they look at me and they use words like, "strong" and "independent" because I'm single and self-sufficient. But it's not as easy as it looks because that strength and that independence did not exist at one point. And to this day, if I hear the sound of a slamming door or an angry tone, that strength and independence I have been credited with having find a place to hide.

My high school sweetheart basically walked out of a John Hughes film. If we had a disagreement he was under my window with a boombox... in the rain... holding a 10-page poem on the beauty of our relationship before the sun even went down on the feud. Voices were never raised and grudges were rarely held. But we were too young to know that the fairy tale we were living wouldn't last. And when it came to an end after a few years I was devastated. I stayed single for a long time. Until I met a man my senior year of college who taught me that not all relationships are filled with love songs, poetry and forehead kisses. Not all relationships are with a Prince Charming. Sometimes the girl falls for the protagonist... and the story is anything but a fairy tale.

He was older than me by a few years. I had just turned 21 and was finishing my Bachelor's Degree and working on political campaigns. He was my personal trainer as I tried to find a way to drop that inevitable freshman 40 I had gained at school. He was well liked by his peers. He was funny. He had a wall full of medals from body building competitions. And he told me I was beautiful with my brown hair and my nose always in a book on the elliptical machine. For someone who's self esteem had taken a severe blow and was looking for compliments and reaffirmation I was absolutely twitterpaited with this dream come true. For someone looking for a gullible and easily manipulated girl, I was his dream target.

It wasn't immediate. There were "be our guest" moments of romantic dinners and long talks by a fireplace. But those moments lasted just long enough for me to "fall in love" and to begin to think I couldn't be without him. The first time I sensed something was off was when he said he would be coming over one night after I finished work. I didn't see him and I never heard from him. That was so out of character for him that I was beyond worried. When I finally got a hold of him I was taken back by how angry he sounded as I questioned where he had been and why he didn't call. I learned that morning that the art of walking on egg shells had just begun. And it would only get worse.

I either worked too late or was home too much. I spoke to too many men (despite the fact that I was a female working in conservative politics in the South). I was too close to my family (even though they were 1200 miles away). I didn't know how to cook and if I even attempted to it was never good enough. I weighed too much and my clothes didn't look right or I was spending too much time at the gym and dressing provocatively. There was no happy medium. No in between or Green Zone. I remember thinking, "You're an Irish girl from New York, Kristen. You don't have to take this kind of behavior. Stand up for yourself."

And I did. 

I quickly learned that standing up for myself meant I was going to have to explain things by lying to my friends the next day. The long sleeves in the dead heat of summer or the anxious way I jumped every time my phone went off and I was not home. Coffee dates with friends were ended abruptly with a simple, "I have to go" after receiving a text. And trips up North to see my family were put on hold "because I was so busy in Nashville." He told me who I could see... what I could do... and what I should feel. And when I didn't follow those directions I was reminded what the hallway wall felt like against my back or just how hard a body builder could hold onto your wrist and make you walk where he wanted you to walk.

I remember when the day came for my College Graduation. My entire family flew down to attend (the first and only time we were all in Nashville at the same time) and my dear friend from Baton Rouge came up to surprise me. It was a huge weekend filled with congratulation dinners and countless pictures with friends in our caps and gowns. But there was one person who didn't make the photo album. He never came home the night before my graduation. And I thought, "He'll come to the campus for sure." And when I looked up from the main floor of the Curb Event Center and saw my family lined up in a row of seats, Leigh after them and then an empty chair... my heart sank and I realized he wasn't coming. I checked my phone and I didn't have any missed calls. He had known how important the day was and there was no way he would miss it. But he did. And unfortunately later that night, despite my family's wishes to ban him from the restaurant when he walked in, I let him join us for my graduation dinner. His family was already seated next to mine. I couldn't make a scene. And I assumed he obviously had a good explanation for why he missed one of the biggest days of my life.

He didn't. (And I was just glad that the girl he had spent the evening with so he missed the ceremony didn't come to my dinner with him.)

Everything in my body told me to run. And run fast in a completely different direction from him. My family told me to leave him and free myself from such an unhealthy relationship. My friends- what was left of them- told me to choose between him or them. And one by one I watched them walk away. Everything in my body also told me: "This isn't you." And those three words had a different meaning every time I heard them.

You're the daughter of a police officer... This isn't how you were raised.
You went to school to be a District Attorney and help battered women and children... what are you doing?
You wrote your High School Thesis on the "legal inadequacies of prosecuting domestic violence cases"... you know the steps to take to legally get away safely so why are you still here?
You used to be so outspoken and feisty... Where did that girl go?

But every time I would run away, like Belle did from the Beast when he roared angrily at her in the West Wing, I would come face to face with those wolves. And those wolves were my personal demons: The low self esteem. The belief I could never do better than him. The betrayal I felt at leaving him because of everything he had filled my mind with over the years. But unlike Belle the Beast didn't sacrifice his own safety to save me. Rather, he fed off my fear and made me believe I really could not live without him. So I always returned. I was presented with so many ways out but I just didn't have the strength to act upon any of them. So I was a prisoner in my own apartment living in fear of what he would do next. Every single inch of my world became "the West Wing"- a place he banned me from going without his permission, his direction or his supervision. The irony though was my career goal was to work inside the real West Wing and with every day that passed with him that dream faded away.

Growing up my Dad was adamant that I knew how to defend myself. Maybe that made our father/daughter dynamic a little weird but we bonded over self-defense and learning how to protect myself from danger. He would come up from behind, lock my arms and tell me, "Get out of it." And I would be so frustrated thinking, "Dad! I'm busy. Stop.You're crazy." What I didn't realize was that he wasn't crazy. He knew how scary the world was out there. I believe he was more concerned with my walks to class at night or living in my own apartment one day in a big city. I don't think he could have guessed it would be the man I was "in love with" that he would be saving me from.

But he did. 

To this day I can't recall what exactly I yelled from the living room into the kitchen. I know it was sarcastic and I know it was said with every intention to anger him. And I don't know where I got the nerve to even "talk back" to a man I was accustomed to fearing. But my words were heard and then I heard his foot steps. He wasn't walking into the living room... he was running. I found myself with nowhere to go because I was backed into a corner with a couch to my left and an end table in front of me. I couldn't run away and I couldn't hide. He was coming straight towards me and I could hear the expletives getting louder and louder. And then I felt him grab me and I knew of all the times he had grabbed me that this was going to be the time that hurt the most. That he had never been this angry before and I was the source of it. But something in my mind snapped and I said to myself, "I'm done." And as I saw his clenched fist begin to rise I had one arm free and heard my Dad's voice, "Get out of it." I turned, took the base of my hand and threw it directly into his nose. He fell back, letting go of the grip he had on me, and I watched the blood stream down his face. In the time it took him to scream more expletives and grab his nose in pain, I had grabbed Jack Daniels hiding in the other corner, my bag and my keys and ran to my car. I could hear him following behind me but I knew he couldn't catch me this time. Still shaking I got the keys in the ignition and heard him yelling my name from the front steps. "You won't get away with this" was all I could make out as I drove out of the parking lot and got onto the interstate heading East.

It wasn't until I had driven almost 10 hours that I called my parents. I told them that I was coming to visit them and they sounded so excited to make plans to see me. When they asked "when?" I told them in about 12 hours. I was halfway there and I was coming with no suitcase and just my cat (asleep on the floor board of the passenger side). I didn't dare tell them everything that had gone on inside that apartment earlier that day. I just drove the 22 hours to the farmhouse in Vermont and finally felt safe, for the first time in a long time, when I walked through that front door. 

The emotional damage he caused was followed quickly with the financial damage he caused too. Credit cards opened in my name that I had never authorized but were maxed out. He had control over so many things at that point in my life but he no longer had control over me. I moved into a new apartment and he was the first to never know where I called home. I blocked his number and I made sure my new neighbors knew what kind of car he drove, what he looked like and who to call if they ever saw him around our apartment. I tried not to live in fear of him finding me because I knew eventually he would get bored and find something- someone- else to hunt.

As the physical proof of my life with the Beast faded away I reminded myself- like a daily mantra- that I did not make it up and healed bruises did not mean everything was ok again. But in a parallel to when Belle is finally free and believed the Beast had changed, she wanted "to see him." So she looked into the magical mirror and saw that he was in pain and hurting. She missed him. But any and every mirror I looked into I didn't hope to see my Beast. I saw the reflection of the person who he had made to feel like nothing. I didn't want to look in a mirror and see him... I wanted to see me. But not the Kristen I had become at the hands of a monster. I wanted to see the person I could be who found her self-worth again, found her voice, found her confidence and knew how to be independent. I wanted to see the Kristen that didn't sheepishly wait for a man to give her a library but made one for herself.

It took a really long time to meet that reflection one day. And it took having to start from scratch and build myself up piece by piece. But putting on a purple ribbon and telling my story was something I could not see myself doing. I wanted to put that chapter behind me. I wanted a fresh start. And every curve ball that has been thrown at me since I walked away from everything that year: the Beast, my political career and the future I thought I had all planned out... may have resulted in strike outs but not one was down looking. I always swung even though I often missed. Whether it's a Thousand Year Flood, a failed job, a new tumor or a lost relationship... I go through those experiences knowing that I am strong enough to face any of them head on. But it's not the kind of strength you find in a superhero cape or even a weight room floor. It's the kind of strength that you need to find deep within you and bring out on your own when it feels like you're no longer in control. The kind of strength you develop when you've lost everything.

In the years since freeing myself from the grasp of a failed Prince I have seen firsthand women who needed someone to tell them, "Run." And for some reason I was able to show them the way out. Maybe they looked in my eyes and saw themselves. Maybe I was just convincing. Or maybe they had finally hit their "snapped" moment too. But I have never, and will never, use the word "victim" when telling their story or the very few times I have or will share mine. No one who makes it to the other side of abuse, of disaster, of illness or even of war is a "victim." They're a survivor. And somehow that word gets lost in the translation of the story.

It's been years since I've seen his face or heard his voice. He found me a couple of times on social media or on a Channel 5 News clip once when I was doing tornado debris clean up. (Ironically, doing manual labor he always said I was too weak to do). But he has never come close to me again. And I find my strength in knowing that even if he did I would be ok. Because I'm not the person who he made back then. And frankly he can keep that person that he created because the person I turned into on the other side is pretty special. At the end of the Disney movie you see the Beast transform into the Prince and the Castle return to bright colors with all of the animated objects coming back to life. That wasn't so much the case in my version of the tale. I was the one who went through the transformation. I became a new person and with every test of my strength I transformed a little bit more.

So today I stand here unwilling and unable to settle for anything less than someone who doesn't compromise the person that I have become. Someone who doesn't make me question my worth or my value. Someone who treats me kindly and with respect. I know that that's what I deserve now. Because once upon a time I didn't believe I was worth anything. And it's truly bittersweet sweet and strange, finding you can change, and learning you were wrong. 

There Was An Old Woman Who Lived In A Shoe... (Box)

It's become rather routine now. They know me by name. They know that I will stand backwards on the scale because I refuse to know how much I weigh. They know that I'm going to argue with them when they ask me how much coffee I drank that day and I attempt to negotiate and plead my case for what was only one pot. They'll put me in the chair and I will point to the freckle on the inside of my elbow and tell them, "I'm not going to watch. You know I like you. You're a great person. But if you want the blood put the needle to that freckle and let me hum while looking at the wall." Then they'll bandage me up, walk me to the next room and tell me to "take a seat and she'll be right in." Every month like clockwork I walk into that office. Every month like clockwork the doctor tells me I work too much and that my sarcasm won't change her mind on any of the "mandates" she hands down to me. Limit your coffee intake, Kristen. Get more sleep, Kristen. Get more exercise, Kristen. Pretzels are not considered dinner, Kristen. 

But this particular visit she said she wanted to do an extra test. So I was sent down the hall with a piece of paper and put into a gown and propped up on a special table. When the other doctor walked in I immediately went into my, "I'm nervous so I'm going to be completely incapable of not making jokes or speaking sarcastically" mode where a brick wall should be put up behind me and a single microphone placed in my hand for stand up. The tech was a male so there was a female nurse (bouncer, body guard, informant?) standing by the door. The machine was turned on, the screen illuminated and a whole bunch of clicking and clacking on the keyboard began.

Me: "Are you writing an email right now?"

Doc: "No. I'm inputting your information. It asks a lot of questions."

Me: "So do I. The machine is in good company."

Doc: "This is going to be a little cold."

Me: "Then why didn't you warm it up? You knew I was coming. By the way, why am I here exactly?"

Doc: "When someone like you has a history of their body making tumors we want to be incredibly proactive in anything we may see or suspect is present. So today we are just taking a closer look."

Me: "I'm looking at your screen and I only see static. What exactly is that supposed to be? My kidney? Spleen? Lung?"

Doc: "Your uterus."

Me: "Well, I was way off."

Doc: "And it's empty.... Let me get a picture of that here."

And his words hit me harder than I imagined they ever would. My eyes glazed over. 

Doc: "Now let's look here... This is what we wanted to look at closely. That's your right ovary and as you can see it's covered in cysts or fibroids. To be safe though we need to make sure they're not masses. Let's get an image of this one."

Me: "You're all about taking those photos, huh?"

Doc: "Eesh. And the left one. I had hopes for the left one. But I think we can safely say the left one is out of commission. Wow. Let me capture that image too."

Me: "Listen. You're like the reproductive organ paparazzi over there. Stop taking so many photos. What are you saying? Are you saying they both don't work? That they are covered in things they're not supposed to be covered in? What does this mean?"

Doc: "We'll run tests and we will see what these come back as but I'm sure they are cysts or fibroids. But there is a lot of damage." [more clicking and photography]

Me: "Does this mean I can't have children?"

Doc: "From what I see... I don't think that's something you will physically be able to do. But your doctor can talk to you about that more in depth I'm sure. Right now we want to understand these growths. How much caffeine do you have daily?"

Me: "What the hell is up with everyone and my damn coffee intake?"

At this point I felt the tears in my eyes no longer holding back and they fell warmly down my cheeks and onto the paper gown. 

Doc: "I'm sorry to have upset you."

Me: "Don't take it personally. You're a doctor. That's sort of your thing."

As he walked out of the room (taking his female bouncer with him) I swung my legs over the table and put my face in my hands. I kept asking myself, "Why are you crying?" I tried to reason with myself that I knew this was a possibility for a quite a while. Was it the way he said it? Was it the fact that my routine monthly blood tests somehow turned into something more? And then the realization hit me: He had taken so many photos during the ultrasound and I wasn't walking out holding one. Every time I had seen that machine in use prior it was with someone that was expecting a baby. And when the session was over there would be printed images passed around of little fingers and little toes and smooshed baby faces. Not only was I walking out with just what I walked in with but the words "it's empty" just echoed in my head. Obviously I wasn't expecting him to find a baby but the finality of his words and his tone hit me hard.

I got dressed. I looked in the mirror to make sure it didn't look like I had been crying too much. I said, "Pull yourself together O'Hare because you're better than having a comeapart in an exam room." And I heard my phone go off with a text message. I grabbed my bag, my phones, opened the door, walked down the hall, put my sunglasses on, said "see you in a month ladies" to the receptionist desk and walked into the corridor. I looked down at my phone and saw it was from my sister. And when I opened it there was a photo of my youngest nephew with a huge smile on his face covered in baby food. The text stated his love for carrots (the vegetable I loathe) and I frantically started texting back explaining the horrors of carrots and how she shouldn't subject him to such torture. And then I told her "thank you for the sweet photo by the way- I needed that smile." To which she responded with a video of my older nephew singing a Sesame Street song in his pajamas. I laughed with tears still in my eyes from the exam room. But the tears were from the sweetness in those boys and those messages coming in at the perfect time.

I'm 33 and not married. I work around the clock and I live in a shoe box apartment with two cats. Even healthy and capable, the reality of having children at this stage in my life would be impossible. But being a mom is something that I have wanted to be since I was given my first Cabbage Patch doll and told I was responsible for taking care of her. I loved every minute of it. And I looked forward to the day when my child wouldn't grow in a garden and then be delivered to me in a box. I know it's not my "biological clock" ticking away which everyone talks about kicking in when women want children and feel they're running out of time. No. Wanting children but being told you can't have them is a different kind of "ticking" inside you. It's like an emotional time bomb you don't know when it's going to go off but you know the pin has been pulled.

Maybe it will go off when you're standing with a bunch of moms at a kid's birthday party and as the little ones run around your feet the mom's starting having the "are you done?" talk. That awkward talk where they start discussing whether they want more children after their second or third or should they try for a fourth? And they debate amongst themselves which age is the best and how far siblings should be spaced apart and how if they knew what they were getting into with multiples they may have stopped at one. Their eyes glance to me and I reply, "Nope. I've got nothing. I'm just here for the cake."

Maybe when you're checking out at the grocery store on Mother's Day and the cashier says, "Happy Mother's Day, ma'am" and you say, "thank you." And it stings and it hurts but you know they were just being polite and meant no harm whatsoever.

Maybe when someone at work asks why you don't have kids and you feel like you need to explain yourself and justify the reasons why you're almost 34 and not picking out day cares or waiting in the carpool pickup line.

Maybe on April Fool's Day when the fake pregnancy announcements are posted and everyone laughs at the humor behind the flippant remarks because what is simply a joke to someone is an unattainable dream to someone else.

And yet... all of these things have happened. And they happen repeatedly. But I have never felt like I was going to fall apart. I have never felt that rush of anger, resentment, or even the "why me?" feeling take over. There are times when I have said to myself, "Kristen, this isn't fair" and like clockwork I answer myself back with, "It is what it is." And honestly the only time I truly resent those people that can have children are when they do and they don't love them. But it doesn't take infertility to instill that anger within someone. Any human with a beating heart would feel the same way.

Now that I'm in my thirties and my friends are having children on purpose I come face to face with baby showers and birth announcements all the time. I wait for that overwhelming rush of "why not me?" but it doesn't come. I expect a twinge of jealousy but it's not there. And I think I'm starting to realize why...

Perhaps it was determined long ago that having children wasn't in the cards for me. Perhaps I was dealt that hand to begin with and in return I was given the kind of heart that loves children unconditionally. A woman that can be a biological aunt, an "aunt by affiliation," a babysitter, a nanny, a mentor and a humanitarian. A woman who's heart can love a child like it's her own because the chance to love one that she grows for 9 months isn't an option.

Because of this heart... there are some kids in Nashville that I walked around the house with on the nights when it was Colic-1 and Tin-Tin- 0. I watched one of them take their first steps... and he will soon start driving. I watched one give up all her pacies... and she will soon lose her braces. And all of the times I spent with their friends and their cousins are precious memories when I was able to open my heart and love a child like it was my own. There's a family in Nashville that taught me what 2am feedings and 3pm carpools are like and my heart is always going to be grateful for the opportunity to watch these children (and all the children that came with them) grow up.

Because of this heart... there is a niece in New England with a Boston accent and blonde hair. She looks nothing like me but she is starting to love women's history and she has quite the sweet tooth. She loves to read and she is vivacious, outgoing and has a beautiful soul. She was the first child that shared any blood relation to me and I remember holding her for the first time in the hospital thinking, "A little bit of me is in this little tiny human." My heart was full. She was born just a month after the Flood that changed my life. She brought laughter and happiness into a time that was uncertain and chaotic. I don't see her nearly as much as I would like to but when I do I know how blessed I am to be her Tin-Tin.


And just over two years ago this heart was introduced to a new title and a new way to love unconditionally when I became "Auntie" but also "Godmother" to a sweet little boy with the biggest cheeks. The word "mother" was not lost on me then but in light of the news from the doctor recently I cherish the title more so now than I did just a couple of years ago. I remember my nephew being placed into my arms for the first time. My heart was so overcome because this was the little baby I had seen in every ultrasound image at

every appointment I followed my sister to. This is the little boy that made me reconsider moving back to Nashville because being a Godmother was an opportunity I couldn't give up. And when his brother was born I remember asking his mom if it was possible to love humans that aren't yours as much as I loved those boys. Every Sunday I do everything I can to make sure there is a way for me to see them because my heart is better for loving them.


And this heart... this heart that somehow must have known a long time ago that it would not have the chance to be a "mommy" watches in awe as her best friends from childhood and college have beautiful, funny, smart and loving little girls and boys. One is already going to school in Washington... and one was born just a couple of days ago in Indiana. There are beautiful little girls in California and a sweet little Irish boy in Boston. And their mom's and dad's let me into their lives to love these children and share in the special moments they celebrate together. And for that I am grateful.

And then there is my heart every day. The heart that is driven by empathy and wants to save the world one person at a time. It's a lofty goal but I have been blessed with the opportunity to help others. I am able to provide help and hope- on the good days- and I always find that I am drawn to the heart of a child. I don't have much to give but I will give whatever I can when needed. It's almost as if my heart has made extra room for other's children to fill the void that would inevitably be there because I won't have my own. And if that's how God wants to use this heart then I will happily give that over to those who need love the most.

Every morning I pour the ONE cup of coffee that I have been restricted to and I take the medication that is supposed to treat some complications I have during a six-month treatment plan. The irony of this daily dose is the awful morning sickness it causes and the blatant reminder not to get pregnant while taking it. I pour my coffee and open a pill with a warning that obviously doesn't pertain to me and never will. I feel like I should be angry at the daily reminder of the future I am being denied. I feel like I should be jealous of those that have what I really want. But the reality is the only thing that I will ever "be due" with is the rent. And yet I have a life filled with children that I love unconditionally and make my life more whole than I could do on my own. And while I didn't walk out of that doctor's office with an ultrasound picture in my hand... I walked out with two photos sent to me on my phone- at the perfect time- with the sweetest smiles and a lot of love.

I believe the old rhyme is "There was an old woman who lived in a shoe, She had so many children, and loved them all, too." But that was 1790 and this is now. Now she lives in a tiny shoe box apartment and although has no children of her own has a life filled with so many children she adores. She may not have given them life but they fill her life with love and purpose. "And she can only have one cup of coffee, too." 

Little Miss 4.0 Fails a Test

I remember in elementary school the teacher's having to stop putting the assignments for the week on the blackboard because I would complete all of them in one evening. I remember in middle school being told to "stop taking school so seriously" because I was making the other kids uncomfortable. That was also the time I was told that I couldn't bring a book onto the playground anymore because it made me stand out as anti-social. I remember registering for classes in high school and only "accelerated" and "AP" were allowed on my schedule. College and Graduate school were no different. If there was an assignment I was going to complete it on time. And I was going to complete it with the highest grade I could get because failure wasn't an option. If extra studying, tutoring, sacrifices to the educational gods, or moving into the campus library were necessary measures then that was what I was going to have to do. Grab the candles and the robes and let the ritual begin. Anything below an "A" was unacceptable. Not to my parents or my teachers. But to myself. I was the fat kid in class with head gear, glasses and a haircut that was anything but "The Rachel" which I distinctly remember asking for at the salon. (I walked out with an uneven mullet.) I didn't have many things that I was confident in but being "the smart kid" in the class was something I could always push myself towards. And just pray the hair grew back and the teeth somehow got their act together or at least that gap together. 

As I grew up I took this mentality with me into other areas of my life. Work? I was the hardest working dishwasher the summer of 2001 at that little lake's diner (first job) and then continued throughout all the jobs that came afterwards whether a nanny, a political speech writer, a receptionist, an archivist or a sleep deprived disaster responder. I wanted to make sure that I was fully prepared, fully knowledgeable, and fully dedicated to giving the best I had. And when it came to relationships, I couldn't see any other way to approach one. Study. Prepare. Study. Present. Make corrections based on feedback and peer critique. Study. Prepare. And take the test. It's a tried and true (and rather well-tested) formula that has always served me well. Until now.

When it comes to relationships there are no assigned books to read, no papers to draft, no cram sessions with a study group to hold and no mid-term progress assessment. The studying belongs solely to the person entering the relationship. The preparation is their personal responsibility. It's a lot of work... and work that is not always easy to complete. But when you do complete it then you know you're ready for the test. And if you studied hard enough and put the work in then you should pass it without a problem.

That is... until you fail. Without comments in the margin, a breakdown of what went wrong, or even a "thanks for trying." You just fail. 

After the Summer of 2016 I knew that I was in no position to date again for a long time. I needed to take the time and energy necessary to heal. As I began a new career and made new friends I began to piece together the broken parts of myself. And it wasn't just sitting behind this computer screen writing these entries. I learned how to be okay with being alone again. I learned how to fall asleep without feeling heartbroken that the other side of the bed was empty. It took a few tries but I practiced enough to be able to sit in a coffee shop without being hidden behind a stack of books and just drank coffee with myself- no barriers or buffers. I took road trips to Nashville to remind me of who I have grown to be and how much I have changed since I was 18. I cried to sad country songs and I laughed with best friends on the phone. I started over and studied myself: who I was and what I wanted. My heart was tired and it needed rest. So while it rested I took the time to do whatever I could to make myself stronger. Because, if and when the time allowed for it, I wanted to be prepared and ready to love again. It wouldn't be fair to whomever was to come along that I didn't do my part to be the best me.

I remember being surprised when he asked for a second date because the first one had ended with me handing a complete stranger at the table next to us my business card and walking out of the restaurant because I didn't want to hear about a Hurricane. I remember the second and third date went well. This was gaining momentum and I was excited. I reminded myself with each date to ask before getting out of my car, "Are you ready for this? Are you prepared? Because if you're not then this isn't fair to him. Have you done what you need to do to be okay?" And each time I shut the car door I said, "I'm okay. But..." And there was that "but" at the end of each heart to heart I had with myself and I knew what I had to do.

I needed to close the book I still had open and I needed to stop taking notes in the margins of what I could have done better or where I went wrong. That book was my ex. So I met him for dinner and we talked for a really long time. So many questions were answered and misconceptions clarified. I walked away from that dinner feeling stronger and more ready then ever to move forward in this new situation I had found myself in. I had done all my homework. I had studied. I had taken the time to rest and reset. I put in the extra work and did everything and more to ensure that I could take the next step. My studying was complete. My hard work had paid off. I was ready.

But then I was sitting on the couch next to him, my head turned to the side in confusion as I asked, "If you don't want to be with me then why are you with me?" And his answer, without making any eye contact, was simply, "It was a test." And it was a test I could not pass. 

That's not to say I didn't try to pass. I truly did. I probably tried too many times and put in too much effort but it's the only way I know. Giving 100% and then some is the only way I approach things. And no matter what I did and no matter how hard I tried the test was impossible. It wasn't my past that was holding me back from moving on. It was his. And that hurt because it was as if I was paying the price in a group project where only one person had come prepared and had done all the work.

It didn't matter how much time I had taken to heal. It didn't matter how much effort I put into being a better person and a stronger person. It didn't matter what measures I took to prepare myself for a relationship with another person. He had set out to date me "as a test." A test that would determine whether or not he was over his previous relationship. A test that would show him whether or not he was ready to be with someone else. I thought the test of a relationship would be whether or not we could make it work together. I didn't know there was a prerequisite assessment that determined if I was even eligible to participate. It didn't matter how much time I had spent studying and preparing. I was going to fail an impossible test that was never meant for me to pass.

And I think that's the hardest part of the finality of this exam's grade: there is no retake and there is no comment section. It was simply a pass or fail. No well worded essay, no well defended data based question, and no extra credit would improve my grade enough for me to change that "F" to a "P." And the over-achiever in me... the girl that was the teacher's pet throughout school... the girl who never met a pop quiz she wasn't ready to take... struggled to understand how she could fail a test she didn't even know she had to take.

So last week I stood with my toes in the sand looking out at the Pacific Ocean. Behind me was my best friend of 20 years. In front of me were miles of blue waves and Malibu mountains. I wanted to think about anything other than the test I had failed a couple of days prior. I wanted to focus on the beauty of the moment or the tranquility of my surroundings. Instead I wondered where I could have tried harder or what I could have done better. I wanted to know what I had done wrong.

And then I was hit by a huge wave. A wave I didn't think would reach as far as it did or crash into me as hard as it did. And who knew the ocean was that cold? I was so unprepared for the freezing snap back to reality that all I could do was laugh. Really, really laugh. And in laughing find the irony in the fact that I was trying so hard again to study/analyze the past that I was oblivious to present. Until it basically knocked me over.


It doesn't always matter how prepared you are for something. You are only responsible for your part. You can only do so much on your own. The other person needs to put in their time and their effort. They may not approach it the same way you did but at least you can walk away knowing you held up your end of the deal. You did your best and in any other situation would have walked away with a passing grade.

Little Miss 4.0 may have failed a test but in taking it she learned was no longer Little Miss Afraid or Little Miss Independent. And perhaps in failing she learned more than she could have by continuing to study and never pulling up a seat to take the exam. And it must be noted that it was his test she failed... not her own. In the test of "learning to live again," Little Miss 4.0 gave everything she had... and she laughed her way through the extra credit.