Why I Became a Tough Mudder

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Brock and I did Tough Mudder in March of 2011. We had been together a little less than a year. It really was a transformative experience for our relationship and had a significant impact on my learning to trust again. We continue to do events together that require teamwork and perseverance. In fact, we have decided to consciously make that a cornerstone of our relationship. Most recently, we took the beast (AKA Tiger) on an 8 mile canoe trip down the Chattahoochee. Due to the recent rains, the water was very high and there were quite a few newly fallen trees across the swollen river. At one point, we thought we had reached an impasse where the combination of fallen trees and debris blocked our passage. Brock saw an opportunity, turned the canoe around so that he was leading the boat and I was paddling backwards from the distant front. He carefully guided the canoe through a narrow gap in the trees. I was traveling blind, relying fully on him to tell me when to duck or dodge from the large branches. Three years ago, that same situation would have caused anxiety, as I wondered if I could count on him. Now? I trust again. And that’s a good place to be.

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Originally posted in winter 2012:

 

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When I told my family last year that I had signed up (and paid good money) for an 11 mile obstacle run, I think their first response was to shuffle through their contacts looking for the psychiatrist I saw in the early months of the divorce.  “You’re doing WHAT?  Why?,” I heard repeatedly, usually followed with a resigned head shake, “You’re crazy.”  Crazy I may be, but I felt compelled to do the event and I am so glad that I did.  Tough Mudder was more to me than a run.

A few months after the July disaster of my marriage, I signed up for my very first race ever: a half marathon.  This was a bit preemptive, since not only had I never competed, I still was weak and skinny.  I went into that race only having completed the distance once before.  That was the worst race of my life (cold, rain, illness), but I endured and made it through.  It was exactly the confidence boost I needed at that point.

Over the next several months, I ran more races, but none of them required me to dig all that deep into myself.  None of them gave me the sense of triumph over adversity that I was seeking.

Then came Mudder.  My boyfriend was the one who actually found this race and he proposed that we enter together.  I loved the idea immediately. With a shared purpose, we hit the gym with renewed vigor and not a little trepidation.

The event itself was unbelievable.  It turned out that it was slated to be held in a dry county, so the money that normally went towards beer instead paid for a longer track – almost 15 miles up and down (did I mention up?) a motocross track.  The temperature was cold, and the water obstacles were colder, as volunteers emptied flats of ice into the streams.

It was an amazing challenge for my boyfriend and I to tackle together.  It gave a true sense of working together and overcoming adversity.  My other races had been alone; it was beautiful to have someone to share this with.  It helped me learn to trust him, learn that he was not going to abandon me when the going got tough.  We pushed each other, encouraged each other, lifted each other, and even shared some muddy, sweaty kisses.  It was amazing.

I think everyone, especially those re-centering after trauma, should do their own version of Tough Mudder. Something that pushes you further than you comfortably want to go.  Something to show you what you can accomplish.  Something to show you that discomfort is temporary.  Something to show you that the support of friends can help get you through when you want to quit.  When the big picture of what you have to overcome is too big, it helps to have a little Mudder to think back on and realize, “I can do this.”

Tough Mudder logo
Image via Wikipedia

I Didn’t Fail

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Marriage is not a test.

I lived.

I loved.

I lost.

But I didn’t fail.

Society makes assumptions about those who are divorced. Maybe we lack the fortitude to persist through difficulties. Perhaps we possess some great fatal flaw that makes us unable to sustain matrimony. Or, possibility we are flighty, given to jump in without thought and give up just as easily.

There is often shame inherent in admitting that one is divorced, like some scarlet letter “D” is forever branded upon your character if your “ever after” ended sooner than expected. It’s as though you failed at one of the biggest assessments you face as an adult.

In the strictest sense, my marriage did fail. After all, it ceased to exist upon the receipt of the horrific text: “I’m sorry to be such a coward leaving you this way but I’m leaving you and leaving the state.” Furthermore, my husband failed me through his betrayal and abandonment. I failed him by not seeing that he needed help and I failed myself by not being aware of his actions and the signs of a crumbling marriage. Yet, even with all that defeat, I refuse to look at my marriage as a failure. That label undermines our years together with all its shared memories and joys; the shared life and experiences are negated with that single word. Although I did feel as though I failed in some ways, I was adamant that I was not going to let my divorce define me as a failure.

Failure is an act, not a person. I’m divorced. Not defective.

As I grappled with the end of my marriage, I found comfort in the words of others. Others who had faced their own challenges and were determined to learn from and grow from their mistakes and unrealized goals. Read the rest on The Huffington Post.

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Forgiveness 101

Posted on by stilllearning2b
Forgiveness Mandala by Wayne Stratz
Forgiveness Mandala by Wayne Stratz (Photo credit: Nutmeg Designs)

Forgiveness. That word is often tossed about in hushed and almost reverent tones. It is the holy grail of one betrayed. Have you forgiven yet? We feel pushed to reach that nirvana, yet we are unsure how to navigate the labyrinthine path that leads us there. Nor are we even sure that we would recognize our destination once we have arrived. The trouble is that forgiveness will take on a different facade for every seeker and the path will vary depending upon who is stepping upon it. Even though forgiveness is an individual journey, there are some universal guideposts that can help you navigate your own way.

Understand What it is Not

Someone has wronged you. I get it. I’m not trying to take that away from you. Forgiveness is not a pardon. It is not excusing actions that are immoral or illegal. It is possible to accept the past, acknowledge the wrongs, but not be help prisoner by the actions of the object of your anger.

Blur

Forgiveness has always reminded me of one of those optical pictures where you have to relax your eyes and unfocus in order to see the image hidden in the pattern. If you look too hard and focus too much on absolution, it will remain hidden. Think of forgiveness like a shy kitten. If you lunge towards it and try to grab on, it will run away every time. Relax and soften and let it come to you.

Time

Forgiveness takes time. You can’t schedule it like an event upon a calendar (trust me, I tried).  The time needed to forgive will differ for everyone. It doesn’t mean there is something wrong with you if it takes you longer than it did your friend. Be patient and allow it to unfold on its own schedule. I know, it is easier said than done, but that is the nature of this elusive beast.

Keep Living

Luckily, while you’re waiting for the forgiveness fairy, you can keep living. Don’t put your life on hold. Move forward and move on. Surround yourself with people that bring you joy. Play. Laugh. That ember that still burns inside does not weigh so much that you cannot move despite it. Live as though you have forgiven.

Gratitude

Gratitude and anger are mutually exclusive. Be mindful of what you have and (brace yourself, this is the hard part) what you gained from the person that you need to forgive. I know, your hackles went up. “That ^#%^&? How can I be grateful??  He/She did _______ to me!!” True. I’m not trying to take that away from you. You have a right to be angry. But you also have a right to see the good. Look for it.

Remove the Ego

We all find humor in the self-centered world of the 5 year old, yet we really haven’t evolved that much from kindergarten. When things happen around us, we have a tendency to believe that they happened to us. For example, your child comes home and immediately is defiant and argumentative. Your defences go up and you perceive your progeny’s behaviors as an attack. If you take a moment and breathe and remove yourself from the equation, you most likely realize that the instigation for the behavior is probably something that happened at school minutes or hours before. Spouses are no different. Perhaps you weren’t really a target after all, just collateral damage.

Humanize

We are familiar with the concept of putting someone on a pedestal when we idolize them. We essentially do the same when we demonize a person. It can be easy at those extremes to see a person as two-dimensional, flat. We conveniently remove those characteristics that do not fit our perception. The truth is that we are all human in our messy and sometimes contradictory three dimensionality. Allow yourself to see the human side of the object of your anger. Let your own humanness peek out as well.

Start With Yourself

It is amazing as you take the journey of forgiveness how much changes as your perspective moves. You may be surprised that the target, the object of your wrath has shifted to yourself. We don’t like to be angry at ourselves; it feels traitorous, so we often project it on another. Like with everything, you have to begin with yourself. Soften to your mistakes. We all make them. Be gentle with yourself yet firm in your intentions. Let it go. It’s okay.

How will you know when you have reached your destination? There is no placard that says, “You are here.” No one stands at the gate and hands you a medal. Perhaps forgiveness is best described as peace. I hope you can find your own nirvana. Please leave breadcrumbs for those who follow behind.

You can read about my own journey to forgiveness in Lessons From the End of a Marriage.

A Wife By Any Other Name

Posted on by stilllearning2b

When I married for the first time, I changed my name without thought. I was happy to replace the name that I associated with childhood with one that I related to becoming an adult.

I was young – 22 – and I had not yet accomplished much with my given name. Shedding it caused me no harm, only the hassle of making the changes to accounts and cards.

I embraced my wedded name, had no regrets. And, yet, in court when the judge was finishing the last of the paperwork, I was struck dumb when she said, “And I assume you want to keep your last name of B—-.”

After the mute shock wore off, it took everything in my power not to scream,  “$#!@ no!” I wanted away from that name as much as I wanted away from that artificial life. Besides, since he committed bigamy, there was already another Mrs. B—. That’s too many in my book.

My given name was legally restored that day yet I continued to use the other professionally for the remainder of the school year. It was strange time, bridging two worlds and using two names.  I worked under one name yet was applying for new jobs using another. I had accounts and cards in both names. I started my first real Facebook account using my maiden name and it suggested that I friend myself that had the married name (I had an unused account that I opened out of curiosity). For a year, I carried my divorce decree in my purse so that I could prove that I was one and the same, even though I felt worlds apart from my former Mrs. I almost felt like a fraud.

Changing my name was different at that point. I was 32. I had made a name for myself professionally and had hundreds of former students who knew me only as Mrs. B—. I almost lost the opportunity for the job I currently hold. Upon receiving my resume, one of the administrators realized that she was close friends with a former coworker of mine.

The administrator called her friend, “Did you used to work with a Lisa Arends?”

“No,” replied the friend, assuming that I was some charlatan.

She was telling the truth. It was my other self that had worked with her. Luckily, she realized the duality of my identity and called the administrator back to clarify.

That was a wake up call for me.

In a time when women married young and operated primarily in the domestic sphere, a name change was harmless. Now, with women marrying later, working outside the home and facing the realities of potential divorce, a name change can have very tangible consequences. Most discussions that I see on issue address it from a philosophical perspective, eschewing the patriarchal origins or talking about embracing the new family.

That’s romantic and everything, but what about the real world?

When my parents divorced, my mom had no real choice but to keep her married name. She had spent years building up a small business and her name was key to the word of mouth. No name = no way to put food on the table. She has since remarried yet retains her prior married name, at least in the professional realm. Ideal? Perhaps not. But practical.

I am choosing to do much the same. Although I refused to keep my former name out of principle, I now am operating out of practicality. When I wed again this fall, I will keep my given name. I simply have too much to lose if I do not.

On a side note, this reminds me of one the nicest gifts I have ever received. I won Teacher of the Year under my old identity. After the divorce, the plaque, which once occupied a place of honor in my classroom, was relegated to a closet since it was no longer in the right name. For my birthday (the first we were together), Brock snuck the plaque out of the closet and had the nameplate redone to match my new identity. Yes, I cried.

I queried my Facebook followers the other day on this topic. Many of them had also faced setbacks and hassles with multiple name changes and do not intend to change it again, regardless of changes in marital status.

Did you change your name? Would you do it again? How do handle (or intend to handle) the kids’ names (an issue I don’t have to worry about:) )?

It’s always funny when my students comment on my former name. When they see Mrs. B— scrawled across a clipboard or emblazoned on a book, they ask, “Who is she?”

“Oh, just someone I used to work with.”  She feels like a lifetime ago.

Besides, Tiger doesn't care what I'm called, as long as I'm still his momma:)
Besides, Tiger doesn’t care what I’m called, as long as I’m still his momma:)

Six Relationship Red Flag Myths That Can Destroy Your Marriage

Posted on by stilllearning2b
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We’ve all seen the headlines: “7 Signs Your Man is Cheating” and “How to Know if Your Wife Is Having an Affair.” I don’t know about you, but I used to hold my marriage up to those checklists and, upon finding none of the warning signs in my own relationship, felt a sense of smug satisfaction. I found comfort and security in the fact that, at least according to popular wisdom, my marriage was strong and intact.

But I was wrong.

I used to believe that my marriage was impervious to outside pressures — we were passionate, communicative and had weathered many storms. I was confident. Too confident. My assurance that there was no danger was the danger. Subtle signs, that perhaps I would have seen if I was on high alert, went unnoticed since I thought I was safe.

I was familiar with the usual signs of infidelity — changes in hours, habits or behaviors. Apparently, he was familiar with them as well, as he was careful to cover his tracks without triggering any alarms. When his double life was revealed after he left the marriage with a text message, I was questioned endlessly about how I didn’t see it coming.

I didn’t see it because I failed to recognize the following myths about relationship red flags:

Assumptions

The danger of slipping on a wet floor does not come when we pass the orange cone emblazoned with, “Cuidado: piso mojado.” Rather, the hazard is when we do not see the sign and we continue to walk boldly across the innocent-looking floor until we are caught off guard by some hidden spill.

Read the rest on The Huffington Post.