And here we are, four posts in, finally talking about running. I suppose it would have been better to begin with a positive running experience, but I prefer to keep it real. I never said running was a cure, or even always positive. Shit, sometimes it is really negative.
And then what?
And then you really face them.
Because they are YOUR problems.
We can wake up in a fine mood and then we spill milk everywhere. Of course it's chocolate milk and of course it goes everywhere. No big deal, right?
And that's when I lost it. I lost it over spilled milk, milk that I spilled. It was downhill from there. My hair trigger activated, I was an angry disaster ready to blow. Crawling the walls to get out, begging to hit the pavement. Certain that I could pound the fury out of me. Fast forward to toddler begging to go too, a shoe tantrum, and finally getting out the door even more frustrated. Almost turning back because that beautiful boy keeps yelling at me to play I spy. And then .80 of a mile in needing to go pee pee...which happened behind a building because it of course it is Memorial day and everything is closed.
I've cried a lot. I've been beating myself up. Why can't I be stronger, more patient? I love my son so very much. And yet I keep losing my ability to hold on to what little sanity I have left. My run actually amped up my anxiety. Because I told you there is no cure, only self care and symptom management. And I have not been doing either.
I can lay out all of my carefully constructed excuses. None matter. I am not taking care of myself.
You wanted to read how I run and manage my depression beautifully. How I am so great at getting myself to therapy consistently. How I don't allow the ebb and flow to overtake me until it is too late and I am swallowed up by another downward spiral. Happy ending coated in glitter and rainbows.
I love glitter, but reality isn't always so sparkly. Each day is a new battle. Each day I am running.
I think it should start becoming clear that I don't always run in my awesome running shoes. Sometimes I just run to the bedroom or bathroom, anywhere to hide. Wishing I didn't have to come out and face the fact that I still have to be ok somehow. I still have to be mommy. I still have to be a wife. I still have to breathe in and out.
I think today will be one of those days I just breathe in and out. That is today's success story. Maybe tomorrow we can try running outside again.