Not jumping

I had lost my house, my job, and my joy. It was six months after my house had burned down, it was four months since my boss called me into her office and told me that she didn't think I really wanted my job, and I didn't. I hated going into that office and I hated going home, and I hated that I moved back to San Jose and all of my friends were moving away or had gone on with their lives without me.

I thought once I came back after being away for four years it would be the same as it was, but we all grew up. People were having babies, friendships changed, and I missed four years of shared experiences. I was looking at the life I had dreamed of, but the movie had fast forwarded and I didn't fit in the story the way I thought I would. I was different too, and at this point was so sad I could not muster up the energy to invite myself to the dinner party, weekend adventures, or just over for dinner. It was not that my friends didn't love me, it's that they were getting used to me being back around and I was just trying to get out of bed every day.

So I got a dog. A little beagle puppy that I named Pollyanna Louise. She became my life. When I felt as if I could have no joy, Pollyanna would curl up and fall asleep on my back, or lick my face, or snuggle so close that I could not help but feel love.

One night I was driving around, trying to put the pieces of my life back together listening to music and crying. I drove up the 280 and over to the 85 and then up the peninsula on the 101 to the San Mateo Bridge. It was dark out and as I got closer to the bridge the calmer I got. I had made a decision. I was not scared, I was not sad, I was totally and completely numb. I pulled my car over to the side of the bridge, right at the entrance, leaving my hazard lights on to protect other drivers. I stepped up and looked at the water below, it looked cold and harsh. I started to think how I would get over the wall without anyone seeing me or trying to stop me. Time was in slow motion and I was caught between turning off the voice of reason in my head, wanting peace, and trying not to pray. I just wanted to jump. But then I thought of Polly.

Polly was a puppy. She was home in her crate wondering when I would come home. I was her only human. I knew that if I jumped my parents would take Polly but would they love her? Could they love her? She would be a constant reminder that I was gone. And so with tears and a numb heart I got back in my car, turned off my hazard lights, and went home. I found my self less numb as I fell asleep Polly snuggled up on my back. That little beagle saved my life.

I eventually found a house, a job I love, and my joy with Polly beside me the entire time. She was a wonderful hostess to house guests making sure that if they left any underwear within reach she would eat them right up. She was very cautious about making sure the oven was not on for too long with coming and finding me so I could check it. She also was the best little bed heater and snuggler a girl could ask for.

Last month Polly got very sick. First we removed a tumor on her belly and then a we found one that would eventually grow into her brain. I told her that she saved my life and I would not let her live in pain. The night that she could not sleep comfortably in my bed and chose the hard floor, I knew it was time. So I did what a loving dog mom does. I spent the day with her and at 4:00pm Beardy Face (more about him in later posts) and I went to give her peace.

As I set there holding my girl and loving on her. I knew that a piece of my heart would be missing. She brought me back from the breaking point. She is the reason I didn't jump and she was the reason I took a walk the day I knew I needed to make a serious changes in my life and chose to go to BLR. She was my angel. As the doctor came in and out of the room preparing for her departure I kissed her face and thanked her. This little dog who saved me.

It is hard not to be desperately sad. It is hard missing her every day. This house is quiet and lonely and I constantly forget that she will not be here when I come home at the end of a long day. It is hard. But I would not trade a day of loving her. The sadness of missing her is nothing compared to the despair I felt on that bridge that night seven years ago.  The sadness of missing her reminds me that she taught me how to love after everything was lost, how to take care of something when I could not take care of myself, how being loved is worth living.

Thank you Pollyanna for loving me so much that I could not jump.

Babies

I have something to learn from babies. They are a running theme in my life this year. A week or so before I went to BLR my partner at work had his first baby. He was perfect! Born healthy and happy. But as I began my journey to better myself the person I depend most on at work was learning how to be a dad and take care of a human (I guess we were both learning how to take care of a human, his was just much smaller and can't say words.)

When I got back from BLR there was a new pregnancy. Another friend at work was pregnant. This pregnancy was not as easy. It was her second baby and she went on bed rest a month or so before her due date. Her little guy was born healthy but tiny and needed a little time in the "baby tanning bed" for his jaundice. He has a great big brother and is now thriving and growing every day.

Amidst all these work babies, my sister got pregnant! She had been working on getting pregnant for over a year. She had miscarried and there was lots of prayer and worry but then it happened. I didn't really get excited until Christmas, when I saw her belly and felt that tiny little guy kick. I knew this guy was going to have to be a fighter. Every night I would pray for him to hold on. I would fall asleep praying, "hold on little spider monkey, hold on!" Until I got a call in the middle of the night from my dad. Ami was bleeding, they rushed her to the hospital.

I got on my knees in my living room 1,000 miles away from my sister and her baby and I prayed. I prayed hard and I asked God to do what was right for my sister. To save her from pain or hurt. To take that little tiny baby in his hands and to bless my sister so that she could be the mother she always wanted to be. Then I started emailing friends to pray. I wanted to fly home but something kept me here and I made the decision to go to my church retreat, where we had unexpected snow. I had no cell service and was snowed in and then he was born.

Robert Charles came on his own time. He was three months early and barely 3lbs but he was here and is here. Growing and thriving and teaching us, teaching me what strength looks like.

Tonight my friends had their second child.  They lost their first son the day he was born. I can remember praying for them and for healing. They have been such amazing parents to their first son. Honoring him in a myriad of ways and sharing their story with tenderness and love. And tonight they have a little boy in their arms that they will love along side their first child!

So I am sitting here weeping, overwhelmed with joy and appreciation. I have really been struggling lately with anxiety and worry, about my future, about work, and about not being motivated. Tonight as I reflect on all of these miracles I am surrounded by, I am humbled by the truth that God is Good.

I am so lucky that I get to celebrate the joys, the sorrows, the journey of so many lives. Tonight in Las Vegas my baby nephew is being held by his parents and loved with a love that is deeper than any I can imagine. In Milwaukee my friends are holding their son and falling in love more and more every moment. And in Little Rock there is a 10 month old and a 3 month old tucked into bed with sleepy parents nearby filled with love, joy and, exhaustion.

God is Good, and babies are really good.

 It's time to take care of myself so that I can love these little lives as long as possible.

What a Mess!

I know there is a running theme in this blog of me not being able to take care of myself, and this is another lesson of me learning how to do just that.

Last week was crazy! It was a huge week at work and I chose to totally and completely ask for help. I reached out to all of my networks. I had church friends praying for me, work friends giving me advice, and felt like everyone was taking care of me. It was such an important week that I just kind of flew through it until Thursday night, when I pulled into my driveway and noticed my back door was open.

I came in and saw Polly was safe, but my TV was gone. I was on the phone with my parents and told them I was going to call 911, and then I did just that. The woman who answered my 911 call was amazing and told me to get out of the house and take my dog and sit in the car, so I followed directions. Moments later there were two police officers here and it was then I realized my big messy life produced a big messy house! The officers searched through my house and then had me walk in and tell them what was missing, they were concerned that the people who broke in had destroyed my bedroom, I knew that the mess in my bedroom was mine.

I walked through the house looking for all of my treasures and most of them were there. The only thing missing was my computer and TV. I went back outside while the officers looked for fingerprints and called my Little Rock Family, who my mother had already talked to. As the police officers left my Little Rock Family pulled up.

Moments later I was standing in my house with one of the people that I respect most in the world. He was looking at me with care because someone had taken my things, but also he could tell that I was not taking care of myself. Standing in my kitchen full of dirty dishes I could see his concern, but his kindness and lack of  judgement was exactly what I needed. I packed my things and my dog and went to my Little Rock Family's home. There I was greeted with kindness, wine, and two little girls that were very sweet and very excited to have Polly sleep over.

That night we prepared for the big meeting I had the next day. I did not have time to process, I just kept going. Friday was a blur. Saturday I woke up in my bed in my messy bedroom on Valentine's Day feeling loved and embarrassed. I spent the day doing dishes, laundry, and learning that taking care of myself is just as important as taking care of others.

I get so wrapped up in my work, my friends, my church, my people. That I choose not to take care of things at home, things that make me better, safer, healthier, happy. I have always been this way. I just close the door and move on to the things that I can help with, the things I can fix. But this week someone kicked the door in and my lack of self care was evident.

This whole process, this whole journey, is about making me better and healthier.  I guess that means sometimes the door gets kicked in and you have to show the people you love and respect most that you are a mess. But fortunately they look at you with kindness, give you a safe place to heal, and help you clean up.

Oh and I have renters insurance, take it from me friends sometimes your house burns down and sometimes your door gets kicked in. Invest in renters insurance!

The State of the Sarah Address

I am overwhelmed by the number of people who care about me. This past year I have spilled my guts, my heart, my life, and my insecurites on this blog. And people have responded in huge, small, loving, kind, thoughtful ways. I am not half the person I was a year ago, which is what I thought I would be. I wanted to be thinner, have less mass, and I thought if I worked hard and wanted it enough it would just happen. It does not just happen.

It would be so nice if it just happened!

What has happened is I have lost a little weight in the past year. I have gone down a dress size and have gotten rid of all of the clothes that I did not feel good in. I have cleaned out every closet in my house. I have learned to say no to people, things, and decisions that are not good for me. I have been mindful about what I keep in my life and why.

But what I am most proud of is what I have gained this year.

This year I have learned how it feels to push your body to a place where your muscles shake and your mind says you can't go on, but your will to be better pushes you to actually be better.

I have closed my eyes out of fear but moved my fingers over this keyboard and surprisingly have been welcomed by this community who reads my words and helps me heal and grow.

I have started the process of learning what food does to my body and how I can use it as a tool and a treat, and how its power is not something that controls me but something that I control. (This is hard every day.)

I have gained back weight that I have lost and learned and tried to lose it again. I know now that this process is not failure it is growth. I am never going to be done getting healthy. I am never going on a diet or going off a diet. I am going to try to feed myself food that makes me healthier and stronger and I am not going to beat myself up when I choose a cake pop over a carrot. I am just going to try really hard to choose more carrots.

This is where I am, in the middle. I imagine I will be in the middle for a long time. I have a few goals for this year that I would like to share and hope you will help keep me accountable.

1. I will workout with my trainer 4 times a month and hope to increase my strength and decrease my body fat percentage. I also hope by the end of the year I want to go to the gym and it's not an obligation.

2. I will meal plan! I will meal plan! I will meal plan! I need help with this people. I love to cook, I love to eat. THIS SHOULD NOT BE HARD.

3. I will blog weekly. I need help with this too. I am my best self when I am sharing this journey with others, and I have to make time to do that!

I have some other goals that I am just not ready to share yet, but they are there and I am certain they will pop up.

This is not going to just happen, but it is going to happen and I am just going to try really hard. Thank you for letting me get stronger with you.

This Child's Life Matters

I have been sitting on my sofa for hours watching buildings burn down, people being gassed, and anger that has been trapped inside people spring out in force. As I was watching this my phone rang and the voice on the other end of the phone asked me how I was doing. I started by saying "I'm sad", and I was. I have been crying off and on all night thinking about this situation. But as I started to explain why I was sad, I could feel this rage lift inside of me and I realized I am deeply sad, but I am incredibly angry.

Michael Brown was a child whose life mattered. He was a kid that made some poor choices, but so did I when I was young. The difference is I never had to fear for my life. I almost ran a police officer over because I was not paying attention while driving and I didn't even get a ticket. I have never feared the police, and that is a privilege in our country.

I first learned about privilege when I was in the third grade and saw racism for the first time. My parents bought me a biography of MLK to help me understand the dichotomy of oppression and privilege . But it wasn't until I was 18 and my boss/mentor Joey sat me down and really talked to me about what it means to have privilege, that I truly comprehended my privilege. Then I did what most middle class white girls do, I felt guilty and I tried harder than I should have. I  blundered through learning how to cope with something I had always possessed. But as I grew I settled into what it means to know that just because of where you were born, what you look like, and how much money your parents make, you have different rights and freedoms. Eventually I learned how to take that knowledge and transform my guilt into action and understanding.

So as I sit tonight mourning the life of Michael Brown and the children in my community that have been killed because of where they live, what they look like, and how much money their parents make. I want to scream THIS CHILD'S LIFE MATTERED! Someone found joy in his first steps, his first words, the first time he went potty in the big boy potty. He studied for spelling tests, and wore his best clothes on picture day at school. He proudly put on a cap and gown and graduated from high school beating the odds of thousands of students who drop-out of school every year. His friends called him Mike and his mother called him son.

For me this is less about police officers or gun laws. It's about seeing children as people, about zip code not dictating if you will have to be afraid of being killed or imprisoned, it's about seeing a young person as a human full of promise and talent, not a threat.  Yes we must work hard to fix the system, but more importantly we must dissect how we treat children, all children, regardless of where they were born, what they look like and how much money their parents make.

We must look at the life of Michael Brown and say, this child mattered.

.

For No Reason at All

I can remember being a little girl lying in my bed trying to go to sleep, and I would be struck with crippling anxiety. I would get out of bed in the middle of the night, or maybe 10pm, and go out into the living room where my mom was watching Johnny Carson and cry. I would not know why I was crying. But I can remember sitting on the couch cuddled up to my mom and just spilling my soul. She would rub my head and tell me it was going to be okay, and just as I would calm down another wave of fear and anxiety would break and I would be weeping, releasing all the struggles and fears of a 4th grader. The next day I would have a kind of emotional hang over and I would usually stay home from school thinking and watching Little House on the Prairie.

Last night I was up 'til 3am with a similar feeling. No tears, no mom to make it better, jut a thousand thoughts I could not turn off: Am I doing all I can to better myself? Does he think of me as much as I think of him? Do they like me? Why have I not gone to church in four months? I should get up and clean the kitchen. Is it snowing? Should I live this far away from my family? and just as I would try to answer one of these questions the next one would bubble up and I was paralyzed lying there. I eventually went to sleep and when I woke up this morning I had a bit of an emotional hang over, though I worked today instead of watching Little House on the Prairie.

Tonight I was cleaning the kitchen and listening to music and I heard this song and it opened me up, the way music does. And it made me remember that I am trying, and trying is hard. It made me realize that being open to love, and change, and more than what you have now, is brave and can be crippling. But I stood in my kitchen sang this song as if I were the lead in my own Broadway musical and cried. I cried because I ate two english muffins with butter for dinner. I cried because I push when all I want is to pull people closer. I cried because some day Polly is going to die. I just cried.

And I am here again. Spilling my guts to family, friends, and strangers. I want more of this life and I want to try harder, to be braver, to live bigger, and to love with all I am. So I need goals, because as Pam Gerber taught me "Systems Will Set You Free". I need routine and goals, I also need to write this blog. I need to release. And sometimes I just need to cry.

My heart

We all had that person, that person that ruined us for all other people. The first person you gave your heart to regardless if they gave their heart back to you, it was still YOUR first. I don't often think about the first boy I loved anymore. When I do I have a flood of memories that range from wistful teenage giggles to full and utter humiliation. I think the first time you clumsily give someone your heart you are your most vulnerable self. I pined for years over this silly boy and even today I am still a little ruined by him.

I could not tell him that I loved him. I wrote him a note and made him a horrible mixed tape. I knew it was an awkward situation for him so to make it easier I included a Hersey's candy bar, plain classic chocolate . I drove to his parents house over summer break from college and I put the note, tape, and candy bar on his car and drove away.  I guess my most vulnerable self just knew that he did not love me and I went home and listened to Ani Difranco, as most girls my age did in such situations.

Though we have been friends for many years, we never talked about the note, tape, and candy bar.

I never realized how vulnerable I would feel writing this blog. I thought I would put my words out there along with my emotions and a few people would read it. I never thought that those people would encompass every part of my life. I am really good at taking care of people, knowing what they need to be successful. I love with a big heart but I don't always know how to be loved back.

When I was little and learning to be loved, before there were crushes on silly boys before I knew what that felt like, I was hurt by an adult that was supposed to love me. I have worked for years to feel that hurt. To understand it. To grow through it. But when you are hurt when you are so little, letting people love you back is hard.

As I have been making changes in my life I have been remembering more and more of that pain, that sorrow, that fear. I have prayed and talked to friends who in turn have prayed, and the answer is: no one has to hurt alone. When I made the decision to go on this journey I never thought I would be this open. I guess as I loose myself I am gaining courage. The physical and emotional are so connected and I am trying to gain and loose and love, but it's not easy.

I started this blog so that I could be held accountable and in the past two months I have been stopped by countless friends who have read my words and loved me enough to ask how are you? I am sorry that lately I have lied to most of you. Here is the truth: This is really hard. I might fail. I am not always doing my best. But I am trying really hard and I want to make this change.

So tonight I don't have a mixed tape or a candy bar, but I am going to give my heart, and learn to loose and gain and go back to being vulnerable. I ask that in return you hold me accountable and stay with me as I heal.