Spring Fashion

The path was a little wider than I like, floored with gravel and populated by runners, bikers, dog-walkers, and hand-holding lovebirds. Still, it was a glorious day and a treat to be able to surround myself with lush trees and a brilliant array of spring flowers that lined the path. At a particular bridge, I stopped to admire the rugged beauty of the stream that fed the Delaware River below. The rocks and soothing sounds of flowing water drew me in and I climbed down the bank to play. Now that spring had arrived and put on its colorful attire, I felt my mood lifting - the darkness dissipating in the sunshine.

I'm a self-proclaimed jeans-and-t-shirt girl. Dressing up, to me, is taking my hair out of the ponytail and putting on earrings. For some reason, a few weeks ago, I had it in my head that I wanted a summer dress, even though I was pretty sure I'd never wear it. I set out on my mission - alone, which is never advised for a person like me. Thanks to the invention of cell phones and photo-messaging, I was able to seek counsel on a few dresses I liked, right from the dressing room. I came home with two dresses that day.

I actually wore one of them later that week - to work, of all places, and felt really good all day. That is saying a lot considering the frame of mind I've been in lately.

I'm still battling some kind of depression. Feelings of worthlessness, paranoia, helplessness... I have an idea where it's coming from, but it's too personal to share. Some things just have to stay on the inside.

Yesterday morning I decided to adopt the mantra of some of my ddip friends, "fake it till you make it". I am so tired of sulking and pouting and bringing down everyone around me. My first step was to send a super-cheerful text to a friend - something she was not used to from me. I wasn't feeling it, but I was determined to act it out anyway. Then I got some exercise, cleaned the basement, and dressed up nice for work.

When I started acting happy, I actually started to fool myself a little. I was starting to feel happy after a while. Today started out a little more positive and I wanted to keep it going. My friend from yesterday commented that it was the second day in a row that I was chipper. This was a wake-up call to me. I had been so mopey that a good mood seemed out of the ordinary. For me - the person my boss describes as someone who "brings sunshine to work."

What happened to me?

So, it worked this time, and it makes me wonder. Can you just "put on" a positive attitude like you can put on a dress? Or like the spring puts on it's vibrant colors?

Silence

The trees did little to block the outside world and offer the quiet I desperately needed. Even when there was no one passing by on the nearby trails, I could still hear the whoosh of the cars and the steady hum of whatever machinery was responsible for construction in the park that day. I stood on the bridge, leaning over the rail to peer into the shallow water below. I willed the trickling sound of the water to drown out the world but it did not comply. I was every bit as alone as I felt, wishing for silence and feeling empty in every way.

I have been working on it for a while but somewhere along the way I slipped back into my people-pleasing mentality. Being so afraid of disappointing people, I have stopped speaking up and saying what I want - clearly and confidently.

Instead, I sit and wait and, when people don't say what I want them to, I silently begin to resent them. I give in to feelings of worthlessness and self-doubt and close myself off.

The question has come to me frequently in the last few weeks. Are you okay?

No. I'm not.

I want you to know what I want, care what I want, and tell me what I want to hear. I want it to be believable, which will be a challenge because I am dealing with trust issues too. I don't believe anything.

Pathetic right? I wouldn't want to talk to me either. How do I get my confidence back?

I'm going to take it back. That's what I'm going to do. I became confident before by setting goals and working toward them. I got confidence from proving to myself that I can do more than I think I can do. I didn't get confidence from people flattering me or reading my mind or seeking me out. I was too busy conquering fears and goals to need that.

Chameleon or Newt

I walked with the girls through the woods on the cool, damp, early-spring day. I shook my head, thinking there was not a chance we'd ever see any wildlife with all their giggling and talking. One girl proved me wrong by spotting a bright orange newt on the brown, fallen leaves. On such an overcast day with no greenery or summer colors, the orange seemed oddly out of place. This animal was not hiding or blending in with its environment like a chameleon, but daring to stand out and be itself, regardless of the consequence of being discovered. Had I thought of it at the time, I might have used this as an object lesson for those Brownies - a lesson on being yourself.

Time and time again in my life, I have found myself so eager to fit in and be part of something that I let some of who I truly am fall by the wayside - even at my age. That has never served me well. It has often left me sitting on the sidelines, wondering what I did wrong, when I've been left out of something. Maybe I really wasn't fooling anyone. Maybe, even though I tried so hard, I was the only one being fooled by the effort.

It is an empowering feeling to realize that you are happy being yourself and that you don't need to fit into someone else's category. Even if you march to the beat of a different drum, there are those out there who will accept you right where you are. And if you wait long enough, you may even discover there are others in the world who hear the same beat.

I am not like everyone else. Most girls like to go to the mall and have their nails done and wear high heels and collect designer handbags. That's not me. I'd rather go in the woods and get my hands dirty and wear hiking boots and collect heart-shaped rocks and nature memories.

There is no need for me to be a chameleon. I'd rather be a newt.

Precious Cargo

The Warrior Dash was not my best mud run. I skipped two obstacles because of my paralyzing fear of heights, got disoriented, and ended up alone for the majority of the distance, separated from a caravan of friends who were there on the course - somewhere. Finally reunited with one of these friends, I attempted to climb an obstacle - a cargo net. It wasn't terribly high, but to me, it was terrifying. I relied heavily on KC's words of encouragement to get over it, fighting the urge to backtrack and go around. I managed to conquer the obstacle, but not the fear...

The first time I tried to climb the cargo net at the gym, I only got halfway up. I hugged the ropes the entire time and moved very slowly. When I got back on the ground I was shaking uncontrollably. I felt silly celebrating my victory because it seemed like a small one and I wasn't sure if M&M, who was holding it steady for me, truly understood the intensity of my fear.

The first time I reached the top, I paused, afraid to go back down but at the same time very eager to get to the ground. It was an amazing feeling to know I had done it, but, just because I overcame the fear that day, it did not mean I had conquered it. It's been six weeks since I first decided to climb that net, and I kept climbing before every class.

In week three, I was almost to the top, which had started to get easier for me. I caught sight of Drill across the room on the second floor/balcony area of the gym. I froze. I clung to the rope for dear life. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't climb up - or down. It was a new perspective for me of how high I was climbing. On the net it made me realize how far I had to fall - I was eye level with the second floor!

Once I had my feet back on the ground, it made me realize how far I had come. Scary as it was, I tried again the next class, clinging to the rope with my arms, my legs, and my will.

In week four, I noticed the bruises on the back of my arms. Bruises from bracing myself on the ropes with my arms while gripping tightly with my hands. Nice big, fat, fear-shaped bruises that looked like someone had been shaking me senseless. Bruises from not trusting myself, not trusting my strength, and not trusting my abilities. I kept climbing.

Monday, my husband was there for visitor's week and I wanted to show him what I could do. I proudly did my slow-and-steady, full-body climb to the top and careful, clingy descent to the ground. Then he decided to climb.

He scaled that rope like it was nothing, reached the top, then took it farther than I would ever dare. He leaned over the top, reached his hands down the other side, and flipped forward! M&M and I gasped as we watched him lose his grip and fall all the way to the mat. We looked at each other in shock for a brief second until that man of mine jumped up and exclaimed, "that was AWESOME!"

Wednesday I begged my husband not to do that stunt again. Then I climbed, faster than I ever had before. He and I were both impressed. There was less clinging and hugging the ropes and more hands and feet climbing. It became clear that his fall was actually good for me. If I fell, the mat would catch me. If I fell, I could get back up again. Unintentionally, my husband took away the last of my fear of that net.

I know that because today, there was not a second of clinging or a second of hesitation. My hands and feet did all the work, both climbing up and climbing down. In six weeks, I faced my fear of heights, stared it down, and emerged victorious!

The Icy Outskirts

We used to keep our bedroom window open at night to hear the rushing water of the creek behind our cabin. Such a relaxing sound. There were no neighbors or traffic to disturb the peace and tranquility of that mountain home. In the winter, the windows were closed and the creek would start to freeze over. The shallow pools along the edges developed a thick slab of ice - enough to walk around on - and the moving water had to fight to get through small channels to keep moving. The closer the water came to the edge, the slower it became, and sometimes swirled around in the same area until it, too, froze in place, postponing its journey until the spring thaw.

Yesterday was our Manna Run at DDIP. The cold air was tough on my lungs and I had a coughing fit when we arrived at Manna on Main Street. Because of this I wasn't able to help pass the food down the chain. Drill noticed me hanging back and shouted "Stoney, why are you on the outskirts?"

We've been having a really good session so far, with challenging workouts and motivated people. Nobody knows exactly what the magic formula is that makes this one stand out so much but others have noticed it as well.

In my case, I feel like I have shaken off a heavy weight. My head is clearer and I feel more focused. I'm not out to prove anything this time around, just to get stronger. And I think, for me, the change has something to do with influence.

I won't go into detail but I think I can pinpoint where I took a wrong turn and let the influence of others draw me to the icy sidelines and slow me down. It was a gradual process, the swirling in circles until I dropped out mid-session to get my head on straight.

I had drifted to the outskirts and got caught up in a cycle of people-pleasing that distracted me from my focus. When will I ever learn? Even at my best, I do not have what it takes to make the whole world happy. 

Since the holidays, I feel like I have more confidence and a firmer grasp on who really plays active roles in my life and who draws me to the cold outskirts.

It feels like this is going to be a good year. A year of being who I am without apology. A year of challenging myself to new heights - such as the cargo net I mentioned in my last post. In case you were wondering, I have climbed all the way to the top several times now. And it's only January.

Hay Loft

It felt like a privilege to be up in the loft, watching Daddy work, so I did my best to stay out of his way. He was tidying up, using the pitchfork to gather and stack loose hay, probably to make room for new bales coming in from the pastures. I took a step back as he changed directions. He sharply said my name and I stepped back again, thinking I was still in the way, but that wasn't it at all. I gasped as my foot went through the opening where the ladder is, and down I went. My leg caught briefly on one of the rungs of the ladder and I saw Daddy reaching down for me, fear in his eyes, before gravity compelled me the rest of the way down. Nothing was broken, but there were bruises - lots of them. That may have been the day my fear of heights was born. I was eight years old.

A lot of people have a fear of heights, so I've been okay with mine. Until now.

In college, I was in ROTC. We learned rappelling - bounding off a building with a rope. The first time we were to try it, off the mezzanine in the gym, I was kind of excited. The guys made it look so fun. But what looks fun from the ground looks quite different from the top. I was all snug in my Swiss seat, and the instructor was handing me the rope. Everyone was doing their thing, high on adrenaline, having fun, but I was too busy watching my life flash before my eyes.

All I had to do (all I had to do!) was stand on the ledge with my heels over the edge, lean back into an L shape with my feet against the building. (I have stopped typing to wipe the sweat off my hands twice already, just telling the story), then bound down. I knew the steps. I knew I was safe. But knowledge is no match for raw terror. So I got off that wall my own way. I cried, blubbered, begged, and made a fool of myself until the let me walk back down the stairs.

We went away for a weekend of training at Fort Indiantown Gap, where this challenge presented itself again. There were two towers. One was 60 feet high. My husband took it in two bounds. (He was also able to rappel forward, spread-eagle, like a skydiver, which I watched him do off the school building as part of an ROTC demo for incoming students. I don't think he has the slightest fear of heights.)

The other tower was 30 feet high. I was determined to do it this time, and the instructor was able to coax me backwards off the ledge. I cannot explain how much fun it was to bound down the wall. Once I cleared the edge, it was exhilarating! Still high on that experience, I did it once again before the fear came back.

It is hard to understand why I still have a paralyzing fear of heights after such a victory, but remembering how that victory felt is motivating me to take action.

In the gym where we have boot camp, there is a vertical cargo net hanging next to the foam pits. It looks pretty high but I won't try to guess how high. I want to climb to the top. Today I tried it for the first time and got halfway up before giving up. Next time I'll try to wait longer before I look down.

I can do this!