Slowing Time

Posted on December 31, 2024 by kwall0223

Do you ever feel like the end of the year gets here too fast?

Like you need another week, maybe two weeks, to just sit, process, reflect? At least breathe a bit before the next year comes barreling in, like a train filled with unknown mystery that you’re just not quite ready for?

I wish it was like hide and seek, but we’re the seekers. The next year doesn’t begin until we’re done counting, at our own sweet, slow pace. And only when we have decided we are ready to let the clock tick forward, we initiate the change of the year with our own personal announcement of “Ready or not, here I come!”

C’est la vie. It does always seem to be the other way around. With us hiding, retreating, finding just the right tree or curtain to hide. And the new year shouting, “Ready or not…” when we’re most certainly not. Before we have settled into just the right spot to be “found”.

But then something kind of magical happens once that final digit rotates. When January walks in, it doesn’t sprint by like summer and fall. Instead, it just dawdles. Like a slow winter stroll. January weeks tick by as if they have absolutely no where to be. Like there are no other months but January. The days go by like ice melting in a blizzard. And time suddenly moves so much slower, almost glacial, compared to the preceding chaos of the holidays. “When is MLK?” Oh, not for another two weeks. “How many weeks ago was Monday?”… we mumble here and there.

And I sometimes wonder if that’s the gift in itself. That after the madness and mayhem and torturous speed of November and December zooming by, their sister months do the opposite. They make time stand still. And give us a breather. A few weeks and months to just rest. Hibernate. And winter.

I’ll be the first to say that this year has been one for the books for us. And I could fill an entire blog all on its own with all we’ve accomplished and experienced. For those things, I am exceptionally proud. Maybe a little weathered, and certainly exhausted, but more than anything, I am proud.

Because of that, I particularly looked forward to my time to reflect at the end of the year. Look back on the celebrations that I never took the time to celebrate earlier in the year. Reflect on the lessons I was too immersed in to actually glean what I was learning. Name the triumphs. Journal the skills now in my tool belt. Bask in the wisdom that only experience can bring.

And maybe that’s why I find myself so disappointed that the new year arrives in such a rush. I put off my favorite part – the reflection – until the very end. Ah, procrastination, you are not stranger to me.

I don’t know what this next year holds. As with any year, I have goals, and plans. I have a meticulously laid out calendar of time blocks for every single of the 12 months and 52 weeks of 2025. I have personal and professional goals accounted for, documented, envisioned. But I know no more than anyone else what will actually happen.

So in these next few months, as the sun sets too early, and the chill doesn’t shake off, I’ll take a moment to breathe. To find my presence. To find clarity in the silence, and wisdom in the quiet. Or maybe, I’ll find nothing at all.

What I do know is that I’ll welcome every precious, creeping moment with gratitude. Because another year is upon us. And with each sunrise, we get the gift of time. Pace it as you wish.

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40

Posted on February 20, 2023 by kwall0223

So this is the precipice of 40: lying in the emergency room, hooked up to a mass of wires and an EKG machine, with a nurse asking, “When did the chest pains start?”

I’m not sure what’s more alarming: the efficiency with which I’m being admitted, stripped, and examined, or the fact that it’s happening to me. My heart rate was actually normal until the EKG machine rolled in, and then it rose with every sticker they added to my abdomen. I’m not sure what I envisioned, but not this full blown, Grey’s Anatomy “interactive” episode I now seem to be engulfed in. Even my ER doctor is hot. *Sigh* No, this is not how I envisioned spending this Sunday night.

Looking back, this was probably coming for quite some time. On a scale from 1 to 10, my stress level has waivered between 8 and 12 for almost a year. Maybe more. A stress level as low as “7” felt like a blessing.

Not to brag, but on the list of “Life’s Most Stressful Events”, I checked 5 out of the top 10 in under 18 months. Talk about over-achieving. Someone needs to have a serious “gettin’ too big for your britches” talk with my ambition.

Indeed, in 18 short months, I have:

Lost my mother, lost a dog, lost an income source, lost my former father-in-law, helped my husband start a business, lost an office administrator, hired a new office administrator, became the sole income source for my family, along with countless other family medical emergencies, surgeries, crises, etc. It’s been a non-stop ride. All while devoting large portions of my week to studying for a monumental certification (that I thankfully will not have to do again).

So, yes, I can see how this episode of chest pains might have been on the horizon for a while.

But at the change of the year, from the wreckage of 2022 to the blissful hope of a new year in 2023, I found myself “deep breathing” into a slow transition of calm. I started some new morning practices. New weekly regimens for how to treat my time, and created a calendar that supported my weekly and daily flow. I paid more attention to my daily mental and emotional buckets, and began managing them proactively.

It also spurred me to finally get a GP (general practitioner, for anyone else who dropped the ball on their personal medical care). And she is fabulous. After a remarkable amount of time and investigation, we have come to four possible culprits:

a.) heart issues (unlikely)

b.) anxiety

c.) stress

d.) (very long medical term for inflammation in the tissue between my ribs)

“Here’s the deal, Doc. If you prescribe fours day a week of yoga, three days a week of nature walks, and daily meditation, I will follow it to a ‘t’. But if you prescribe a single drug, it will not happen.”

“Fair enough. Want me to add in monthly massages too? It’s not out of the question, depending on your health insurance plan.”

“Yes, please. You’ve got a deal.”

She’s my people.

So, yes. I’m turning 40 this Thursday. A handy excuse for John to play a particular Jimmy Buffett song on repeat.

I cannot shake the memory of my dad turning 40, and joke after joke of “being over the hill”, needing a walker, and dentures, etc. etc. etc.

40 seemed so much older back then.

I would love to tell you that I’m in the best shape of my life. That I walk several miles every morning. That I count my macros and follow a perfectly balanced food pyramid of veggies and fiber. That I regularly lift weights, and I run the occasional 5K. That I’m a regular at the local hip hop/jazzercise/Zumba group.

Nope. I can tell say that none of that is true in the slightest.

But despite this whole “chest pains” fiasco, I can tell you I’m pretty proud of this milestone. And incredibly proud of these first 40 years.

Through loss, family crises, and serious mental illness in my immediate family, I have never once taken a single medication for anxiety, depressions, mood modification, pain management, etc.

I have accomplished the most terrifying feat I once imagined: restarting of my life. And pretty successfully, if I do say so myself.

I have risen. At every stumble, fall, barrier, and crisis. I have risen to the occasion every time.

I have learned what an exceptionally terrible listener I was. And worked to embed my relationships with love first, curiosity second, and listening throughout. This mouth might spout a lot of sass, but I promise these ears have learned they are the true work horses in this world. And I have learned to covet my time listening to others, and their stories.

I have been loved. Not only by two incredible men, but by more family and friends than I could ever deserve. It is a blessing to know you are loved. It is a gift to be loved by so many, and accepted for just being yourself. If I could give each person in the world a single gift, it would be that feeling of being loved and accepted just as you are.

And most importantly, I have learned to love all the pieces of myself. The tough parts, the vulnerable parts, the growing parts, the shrinking parts – I’ve learned to love it all. Which is the most rewarding place to find one’s self at any stage of life.

I learned to love. To stand. To listen. And to rise.

Maybe 40 is older than I think. Or maybe it’s just a new start. I guess when it comes down to it, the first 40 is to teach us our personal “life lessons”. So we can spend the next 40 using the hard-earned lessons as our guide posts for the journey ahead. And we can pass on the wisdom to others, while living our own “best life”. Being the women we secretly admired in our 20s and 30s. Because they lived their lives as they chose. Chest pains and all.

That’s my hope, at least. To spend the next 40 doing all the same things. But with a full helping of self love, a dash of curiosity, and a smathering of experience to guide the way.

Oh, and I hired a writing coach. Actually a book coach. To help me write a book.

Love & Hugs

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It Wasn’t Always Like This

Posted on March 12, 2022 by kwall0223

I sat in the Clerk of Court’s office, flustered. My typical calm and rational persona had all but left the building. I remember all too clearly the last time I sat in a similar office, unfamiliar with the process, and shocked at the bureaucracy. But now I knew, I expected it, I’d numbed myself to the tasks of administering an estate, and thought for sure I was prepared for the process. But the most basic question stared back at me unanswered – my mother’s home address. Her car insurance showed a post office box. Her death certificate showed a short term housing address. And her car was registered to a homeless shelter. The lady at the clerk’s office tried to make things simple:

”Just write her last known address.”

“It’s not that simple. Here are the addresses I know…”

”Sweetheart, what’s the address on the death certificate?”

I ignored the ”sweetheart”, and looked back down at the forms. I took a deep breath, blew it out in submission, and wrote a motel address as my mother’s address.

It was not always this way. My mother grew up “well-bred”, as some may say; with resources, support systems, and means. The eldest of three daughters, most descriptions of her are nothing short of glowing. “She was absolutely delightful”, “just lovely”, “a complete joy to be around”, ”you would have loved her, Katie”. I wish I knew.

In pictures, she was absolutely stunning. At 5’7” and slender, her huge green eyes seemed like they could light up any room. I came across her very first driver’s license – something most of us would rather shred. But my mother could even light up in bad lighting at the DMV. She was that beautiful.

Those that know me best swear I look just like my father – until they meet my mother. We have the same honey blonde hair, and signature gappy smile. I did not get her height, sadly. But I’m told I got her charm and ”delightful personality”. And her smarts.

She was charming from the time she could talk. As a young teenager, she would get invited to go with her aunt and uncle to military balls and galas. The young troops would swoon over her, and asked where she went to school. Slyly, she’d just reply, ”Greenville” – leaving them to assume she walked the campus of ECU during the week, rather than J.H. Rose High School.

My mother and aunts spent summers at my grandparents’ second home on the Pamlico River. They were avid swimmers and sailors. One of my favorite stories was when my mother often convinced one or the other of her younger sisters to sail a Sunfish or Lightning out towards the channel with her. Once squarely in the view of all of the boats in the channel, she would wait for a boat full of cute guys to appear, then capsize just as they sped by. I’m told it was her no-fail way to meet boys with boats. I always smile when I imagine the scene.

I got snippets of her humor later on in life when she shared stories like this:

”While I was going through my first divorce, I got a letter in the mail saying I’d been accepted into grad school; which was a HUGE surprise since I’d forgotten I’d even applied.”

“One night, I bought a car that I thought was gold. I loved it. The next morning, I realized my mistake – it was school bus yellow. It was terrible. Trust me – do not buy cars in the dark.”

And she was smart. Smart enough to get full scholarships into a small private college for her undergraduate. Smart enough to get into UNC-Chapel Hill for graduate school. Some would say she was the full package.

My mother showed few to no signs that something was off until her early twenties, I’m told. The first sign was when she admitted to a relative that she sometimes had suicidal thoughts. She was referred to late 70’s/early 80’s versions of psychotherapists and psychologists. Not long after, she was diagnosed as showing early signs of schizophrenia.

My Dad met my mother in her later twenties. He describes her the way others do: delightful, funny, lovely. And says that when she ”spaced off” – staring off into the distance as if in a trance – he thought nothing of it. He said at the time, it just seemed kind of cool. I like to think her charm blinded others to what was really happening inside.

I do wish I had known my mother as others did. Many assume the grief in losing a mother is always filled with a similar sadness, missing the person that’s gone. In my case, I just never met most of the things to miss. Most of what I knew was the darkness. And for that, I have grieved my entire life.

As I continue to unpack her few belongings, I learn more. Not necessarily things to miss. Just more of the abnormal. Things that for many would cause flippant remarks: ”I just don’t get how…”, ”What kind of person…” , ”Why would someone…” Yeah, I hear ya. It is odd from a ”normal” perspective. If you knew the extent of abnormal, and if it was embodied by someone you love, those flippant remarks would likely not come so easily.

But here we sit anyway, working through an estate where the decedent has no official home address. Praying there is little left in this process to fluster me, but mentally preparing myself for otherwise. I appreciate this lady trying to make this simpler – I would do the same. But still, “simple” sits a little heavier on me than it should.

I take another deep breath, and walk out of the courthouse to my next destination. With every step, I try to convince myself that it’s okay to keep these things simple.

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Mother: Beginning at the End

Posted on March 4, 2022 by kwall0223

Sometimes, I wish I had written this sooner. Now, I just hope I don’t later regret writing it now.

I officially lost my biological mother last month. She was found dead in her room, alone, nothing surrounding her but stacks of papers and a lock box. I’m told she had been living in this particular short-term housing for several months. Before that remains a tangle of questions, of which I am now slowly unraveling the answers.

I had not spoken to my mother for the better part of a decade. The only written communication was a letter, wishing me a Merry Christmas, and hoping my child was doing well. I’ve never walked the path of motherhood. To my knowledge, I’ve never even been pregnant.

The week before, I’d received a voicemail from her. Up until that point, I assumed she knew neither my number or my address. I assumed she had no way to communicate with me at all. The voicemail was muffled and rambling – the same as I’d remembered when we did communicate more frequently.

As most of you know, writing is my therapy. And grief seems to be my biggest muse. Her death has given me a tiny bit of courage to share the story of our relationship. Quite honestly, if I were to publish a book, this story would be it. Or the start of it, at least.

I often hold back when people ask of her. I know they are being polite – asking the typical friendly, chit chat questions. And I know they mean no harm, mostly. But there are few situations I find appropriate to share even a snippet. Even to summarize with “we’re estranged” brings up questions I rarely have the energy to answer. And I’ve learned I’m not the only one that withholds in this way.

As dedicated followers over the years, I’m in need of something I haven’t asked for before –

Encouragement.

For reference, I’m not sharing to social media outlets beyond my email followers just yet. This story is painful, and continues to be a deep wound in my life I do not share. I’ve struggled to find the courage to put it on paper at all. Maybe it’s shame. Maybe it’s fear. Or maybe I wanted to respect the privacy of a painfully complicated and difficult relationship, as well as a strained life. Sometimes I tell myself it’s the sensitivity of the topic that holds me back. Maybe I’ve just been a pansy about it all. But I doubt it.

My ask:

Give me time to let it out slowly, and in my own way. And when you feel called to do so, send a note of encouragement. If you’ve ever known or loved someone whose mind did not love them back, you will understand. If you have not, maybe this story will help you better understand the unimaginable. Maybe it will help us all better understand the darkest corners of mental health, and the lack of solutions actually available.

We all have layers to our onion we don’t unpeel. We all have chapters we don’t read out loud. So be kind in your comments, and in your feedback. My hope in sharing is that we each realize that our skeletons and dark corners make us more connected than not. Although this story feels unique to me, there’s a good chance it is not. True of any of our stories, really. We just have to share them out loud, to know what we share across the board.

This is the story of what I know of my mother. May I have the courage to write it with honesty and without regret, for a life lived in the gray.

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Disclaimer

Posted on February 21, 2022 by kwall0223

I bet I have 20+ blog posts drafted, just collecting digital dust in my draft pile. Most are no more than a paragraph or two. And some are more a stream of thought than a coherent flow of words. Because like just about everyone else, these last two years have been… yeah.

My life had a bit of shift recently. And as loyal followers, you know best that when my life shifts, I write. To date, writing is my most effective therapy. A part of me even hopes that reading is a form of therapy for a few as well. But that is a secondary benefit, and not always why the words hit paper.

This story is one I’ve known I needed to write for a long time. Truth be told, if I were to write a book, it would likely begin here. Not at the loss of Chris. Not with all the sage advice I manage to muster. But here… with what follows in the next posts. But in the past, I could not work up the courage. Or the gumption. Or silence the crippling fear of putting this out there into the world. Maybe because it wasn’t my story to tell. Or maybe because… it’s the part I hold closest to my heart. The inner most part of my onion. The part I let no one in on. Ever.

We all have chapters we don’t read out loud. Which could very well be part of the problem. If we really dig in, and analyze, and discuss all the things we’re silent about, we may find that the silence is the root cause of the chaos. The not facing the problem is the deciding factor in how bad the problem eventually gets.

I guess that’s what brings me here now. To finally work up the courage to write the story I’ve needed to write for so long. As you read, I must ask for grace. Grace for not writing it sooner. Grace for giving it the most honesty and integrity I know how at the time. Grace for knowing that, in the balance between courage and dread, the scales have just now tipped towards courage – and that waivers depending on the moment, and the wind.

So I ask for encouragement. I ask for support. I ask for grace. To lift the weight of silence and share this story aloud. To my wonderful community of followers.

Because in this world, there are others who need to know they are not alone in their struggles. And that if the silence is heavy, it can become lighter with a little time, and the courage to say the words.

Bare with me on this journey. May it bring some peace to us all.

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The 3 Grr’s of Survival

Posted on April 19, 2020 by kwall0223

In my neighborhood there is a lake.  Beautiful all seasons of the year, it is particularly breathtaking in the spring.  It’s a wonderful treat this time of year to take the mile-long downhill stroll to the lake and clubhouse. To sit and listen to the waterfall/dam, watch the herons, and soak in the medicinal bliss of nature’s beauty.

I often avoid the walk, if I’m honest.  It’s not the walk down to the lake that is off-putting.  Rather, it’s the longer and more strenuous walk back up the hill to my house. It may only be a leisurely 20 minute mile stroll downhill.  But the walk back up tends to be quite a bit longer – and quite a bit more painful.

I find this to be much like the reality we all face today.  The path for everyone to “hunker down” has been shockingly swift.  Although not nearly as enjoyable as a leisurely spring stroll, it has occurred rather quickly, in less time than a full pollen season.  At this point, many of us hope that the path forward can be just as quick. But I imagine that we will find it to be like most uphill battles – longer and a bit more strenuous than anticipated.

I am not in a place to predict how long, or when, or by what means – I will eagerly leave that to experts and professionals with extensive expertise in such matters.  I will rather focus my time on the things within my realm of control, and within my world of experience. And that, my friends, is survival and perseverance.

I am no stranger to uncertainty and personal battles, and I’m not just talking about widowhood.  I have had a fair share of feeling like someone else is holding the reins to my own life.  And I know firsthand that in those moments, fear and helplessness can overtake us in overwhelming amounts.

When faced with these emotions, some of us grumble, growl, grumpily curse, and maybe even give up.  But if we’re going to make it back up the hill and onto the other side, it’s going to take a different kind of “grrrr”.

When faced with challenges, set-backs, or personal battles, I find I need a different set of tools in my tool belt.  These particular tools help me focus my attention on what I can control, and help me keep moving forward, even if one single baby step at a time.

Grit, Gratitude, & Grace

Grit

There’s been an abundance of research on grit in the last decade, thanks particularly to Angela Duckworth.  But here is the gist:  grit is the courage and determination we bring to the table every day.  Now, before any of you followers and friends get your undies in a twist, hear this: we are all in the same storm, but not all in the same boat.  It may take the exact same amount grit for one to run 5 miles a day as it does for another to simply get dressed.  It may take as much grit for one person to speak up as it does for another to stay quiet.  For me, sometimes I show the most grit when I delegate tasks to someone else.  Like many, I am not a fan of asking for help.  But I also recognize that sometimes, asking for help is my only path forward.

We are not all in the same boat.  We each know the goals that are of highest priority for each of us right now, and what must be done to meet those goals.  We cannot peek into another’s lane to see how exactly others are showing their own courage and determination, then apply it to our own lives.  Grit is personal for each of us.  But it is how we will keep one foot in front of the other.

Gratitude

Some of you are already visibly agitated at the thought of gratitude during this time of immeasurable life stress.  Please know: no one is insinuating that the trauma of these days and weeks is not present.  But if you find your mind only fearing for the future, only seeing the setbacks, and are easily angered by those “being positive”, this one might be for you.  Maybe.

Start by thinking of one thing that is happening, and think of how it could be even worse.  Risky, I know, but let’s try.  Now, for just a moment, be thankful that it’s not worse. You said so yourself – this is how it could be worse.  But you also noted that it’s not.  That’s a reason to be thankful.  Now, look inside your house.  What is NOT amiss?  Give thanks for that, no matter how small.  In what moment was someone helpful when maybe they did not have to be?  Give a word of thanks for that person, and that moment.  What parts of your life do you not have to worry about at this moment?  Is your power on?  Is there at least a meal or two in the pantry?  Are your cars in need of maintenance?  Are you healthy?  Do this once or twice a day, and you will find, bit-by-bit, that a focus on gratitude eases the worries a bit.  No “but’s”.  Just try it.  Once.  Find one tiny, tiny thing.  Then one more.

Grace

Often the most difficult, I often find myself needing to start with grace first.  In recent decades, our culture has evolved to lead us to believe we should accomplish everything.  Even when no one else knows, even when it’s not necessary to our own life path, even when it’s not mentally, emotionally, spiritually,  or physically healthy.  Friends and followers: it is high time we set lower expectations.  The world has quite literally slowed down.  Maybe our lives and expectations should follow suit.  Wash your hands, pay the bills you can, don’t kill anyone, then call it a successful day.  Everything beyond that can be called a win.  It is okay to take a breather.  It is okay to give yourself and others some room.  It is okay to give every human on Earth right now some much needed grace.

And y’all: this includes yourself.  You hear me back there, over-achiever?  There will not be a trophy for the family who survived 2020 the best.  There will not be anyone celebrating the fact that you completed more of your personal goals than anyone else in town.  In fact, you may find the opposite happen.  So take a step back, and look at what the absolute daily necessities of living are.  Focus on that, and take a break from some of the rest.  This is not going to be a sprint, my high-achieving friends.  This will be a marathon.  And a marathon is about the incremental wins of survival.  Not who made it up the hill the fastest but passed out from loss of breath.

Give yourself grace, and celebrate the small wins.  When you look back at all of your accomplishments, you may find the small wins were your proudest moments.

 

So there it is: my three “grrr’s, and secret weapons in survival and perseverance.  I track them daily, in a little journal I started at the beginning of March:

  • 1 moment of grit (or way that I grew)
  • 2 moments of grace (wins)
  • 3 things I’m grateful for

Every. Single. Day.  Maybe you need to put different numbers for each of your’s.

In a way, it is my personal journal of survival.  But more importantly, it’s how I find perspective in a world where that’s easily lost.  Because when I get to the top of this uphill battle, I want to look back at more than just the lake; I want to know I came out with a deeper love for the journey.

 

Love & Hugs,

Katie

 

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Lessons From a Life Restart

Posted on December 28, 2019 by kwall0223

I think I have rewritten this post seven times now.  By the time you read this, it could very well be the tenth or eleventh draft.  Because I feel the need to summarize the year, and last few years, before the clock strikes 2020.

But I know our attention spans are too short for that sort of nonsense.  So here’s the abbreviated version, starting in the middle.

I restarted.  I restarted my entire life.  The whole shabang.  New town, new home, new career, new marriage, some new clothes, new vehicle, technically new fur children – new everything.

If we are newly befriended, and you’re wondering what in the world this is all about, I’d invite you to start here.  Be aware – it is jarring, and may seem a bit… raw.  But I’m told it has softened and matured over the years.

If you’d prefer a quick synopsis of just the restart portion, I’d recommend you go here or here instead.  See the right side of the blog for an overly simple summary of why.

So here I am, in year 2 of my own personal life restart.  And I have to say: it is still surreal.  And fiercely humbling.  I am happy, and flourishing, and all the things you would hope for.  But it is a continuous reminder of how quickly life can change.

As we anxiously await the clock to strike 2020, we consider our opportunities. Many of us are sitting here pondering the inevitable: what to let go of, what to keep, what to start, and where next to leap.

Pausing on above sentence.  I made a rhymey rhyme.  I think I need a Baby Yoda meme here…

For those considering a restart of any kind – career, relationship, relocation, sex change, whatever – there’s some things you should know.  I can only specifically speak to a few of these, but I think the themes will hold true no matter the situation.

1.)  You cannot restart until you let go.

For each of us, we begin our lives with a picture in our heads of what our life will be like.  And that picture becomes more clear and defined as we get closer to adulthood.  But when you restart, it’s because something in that initial picture changed.  And the initial picture can no longer be the reality you’re striving for.  Accepting this simple fact is a game changer.  When you don’t accept it, it’s like cement – it locks you in to where you are, and nothing in your life really changes.  When you are ready to change, and ready to restart, the first step must be to let go of that initial picture.

2.)  Restarting takes more faith in yourself than anyone else.

You will not do this on your own.  But your progress and persistence and self-talk will be solely on you.  No man is an island unto himself, of course.  And there will be times you have to depend on others.  But at the end of the day, whether or not you do make it in your new life will be on you.  Things change, people change, and circumstances change.  No matter who else you may depend upon to make your new life work, things could absolutely change.  You have to be ready to adapt – even to your own changes – and be responsible for it on your own.  And you must have more faith in your own ability to survive and thrive than you have in anyone else.  

3.)  At some point, regret will try to sneak in.

How could it not?  You will be leaving the known for the unknown.  And you will stumble over and over again.  Because you have entered a world that you do not know nearly as much as the one you knew before.  You don’t know who to call, how to get where you want to go, what to expect, the right tools to use when, etc.  Everything will be unfamiliar and new for a period of time.  And at some point, you will inevitably wish you could go back to what was known, familiar, and comfortable.  What you do with that regret is up to you.  Just know that the feeling is normal.

4.)  Restarting is indescribably difficult.

That may seem like an exaggeration.  But I cannot put into words how difficult the act of restarting is.  Just look back at #2.  It takes serious grit, courage, gumption, self-confidence, and sometimes a little insanity to restart one’s life.  Because you are choosing a tougher path.  An unfamiliar, unmarked, uncomfortable path.  And the trouble is not the initial choice to take the leap.  It’s that once you take the leap, you have to make the choice every single day to keep on the path.  Even when you’ve been knocked down, even when going back seems so much easier.  Every day, you have to keep making the choice to go the tougher route.  It is not a one-time decision that allows you to just coast through it after: you have to decide it every time you wake up.

5.)  If you choose to restart for the right reasons, it is worth it.

I cannot tell you what the right reasons are for you.  I can only emphasize that the right reasons don’t lose their zest and appeal after a few months.  The right reasons will be sticky enough that they still motivate you 3 days, 3 months, 3 years, and 3 decades down the road.  If done for short term benefits, you will quickly find your pursuit was not worth the trouble after all.  There are countless ways to do this, from listing out your why’s, to pitting them against every barrier you could possibly face.  But at the end of the day, your reasons to keep at it have to be more resilient than the reasons of why you should not.

6.)  No one can tell you how to restart your own life.

Read that again.   I don’t know why or when you will find the need to restart.  Maybe it’s tomorrow, or in 5 years, or maybe it has already happened.  But I can tell you this for sure: no one can tell you how to perfectly do it right.  EVERYONE has an opinion, and well intentioned folks will share their unsolicited advice at the drop of a rumor.  But friend, these are your shoes and your shoes alone, and the path you take is a personal choice for each of us.   Be okay with that sooner, rather than later.

 

The decision to restart is a big one.  Heck, making any change can be.  So it’s understandable if you are debating, analyzing, and even agonizing over what to do with this new approaching decade.

The good news is that you don’t have to change anything at all.  It’s okay to just be yourself for a while longer too.  The good ones will still love you.

But for those considering a leap, it’s always helpful to know ahead of time what one may be getting themselves into.

Just like this blog post, your life could have many drafts.  It could be one continuous story, or it could have multiple rewrites.  Just remember: you are the writer and the owner of your story.  You pick the draft of your life that you want to live, and go write it.

Love & Hugs.

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Swerving Back In My Lane

Posted on November 10, 2019 by kwall0223

I am a terrible driver.  Truly awful.  I actually forewarn friends and acquaintances of this personal flaw when they suggest “carpooling”.  I’m all in, just be aware: I should not drive.

I know that sounds ridiculous.  “Katie, it’s driving.  Not rocket science.”  I understand it should not be difficult.  And the general mechanics of it are not.  The gas pedal, the steering wheel, the side and rearview mirrors.  No big deal.  It’s just that … I get so distracted by everything else while in the car.

I get distracted by people passing by, and well-manicured lawns, and pretty front doors and wreaths, by people jogging along sidewalks, and interesting window displays.  I get distracted by adorable dogs trotting along their owner’s sides, and cotton fields, and road side stands, and “Opening Soon” signs.  I get distracted by all the things happening in the world, all around me, and outside of my lane.

I think this is what happens in life sometimes too.  With Facebook and Instragram and Twitter and SnapChat, there’s so many opportunities to gaze into others’ lives.  Check out other yards, other homes, other achievements, and other weekends.  We now have constant access to everyone else’s life schedules, and everyone else’s adventures.  And it makes our own lives seem more… gray.  Boring.  Less awesome.  Maybe even in some cases, it makes our own lives seem lacking.  Or even depressing.

This is the point where John will likely pipe up from reading this and ask, “Is this the one where you’re going to tell us you’re putting down your phone?”

I agree.  I do spend much too much time on my phone.  Telling myself that I’m keeping up with the lives of friends and family, ready to cheer on their endeavors, or keep up with current prayer requests: whichever need they’ve chosen to share on their social media outlets.

If I’m honest with myself, the “keeping up” often has a deeper impact.  Seeing others’ lives so constantly can make my own life seem amiss somehow.

But when I swerve back in my own lane, stop looking out the window and rather look into my own living room, my own kitchen, and my own life, I find that I’m a lot more content than my Facebook scrolling would have me believe.

You see, there was a time when all I wanted was to have back what everyone else had now.  There was a time when my adventurous, spontaneous shenanigans were just a cover up for escaping the loneliness of not having my family at all.  There was a time when all I sought was getting back to normalcy.

I’d post adventures, and check-in’s, and laughter, and shenanigans.  But what I really wanted was what I had lost.  And in coming to terms with the fact that there was no going back, and that the former life could not be replaced, I instead started to just wish for normalcy.  A normal routine, meals made at a home, the monotony of chores, and a predictable passing by of life.

I yearned for that for so long.  In what others may call a “boring” life, I saw my dream.

At this moment, I am taking time to swerve back into my own lane.  And as I peer into my own life, looking closely at what surrounds me, here is what I observe:

My house smells of coffee and dog dander.  Later, it might also smell like the after-effects of that sausage patty Chip nabbed during breakfast.

My kitchen sink is filled to the brim with dirty dishes, because John finally gave in to my requests of making waffles for breakfast.

The white couch is yet again covered in a layer of black fur from an extended session of belly rubs, and needs to be lint rolled a second time this weekend.

A wilted orchid sits on the mantle.  I thought for sure I could follow the explicitly simple directions to keep it alive and watered.  But John has had a hard time hiding his doubt since it was received as a wedding gift.

Tonight, there will be snoring.  Some will be mine, more will be John’s.  And I look forward to that sound each and every night, because it means he’s still there.

A stack of unread books sits on my bedside table.  Sometimes a chapter at a time gets read, but more often they just collect dust.  I’ll get there.  Slowly.

The laundry room appears to be more of an ode to the stages of laundry, thanks to John’s active travel schedule and my disdain for the chore in general.  His suitcase is a semi-permanent fixture in our lives.

Our DVR, like the laundry basket, seems to always be full.

Our daily conversations revolve around vitamins, dinner, and whose turn it is to vacuum.

And somewhere on the kitchen table, there is the name of a traffic attorney I need to call.  Because I may have been so engrossed in the enjoyment of a beautiful fall drive one day that I missed the decrease in speed limit for just a smidgen too long.  And the friendly uniformed traffic supervision thought I should know.

So just like that, life has settled back into its own rhythm.  For some, this may sound like a life of chaos.  To me, it is a picture of my own imperfect heaven.

Had I been staring out the window at the posted pictures of others’ lives, I might have missed this subtle change in mine.  If I spent time obsessing over how my life could be better, or improved upon, or at least up to par with what I compare it with on Facebook, I might have missed the pivotal shift when it became exactly what I’d wanted to be.

IMG_6034

I came across this a while back and saved it to my phone.  But as I sit here, taking inventory of the present, I have to wonder if “one day” is actually today.

I have made no secret of how difficult loss continues to be.  But right now, in this moment in time, things are okay.

As the holidays approach and I’m asked what I want for Christmas, I’ll likely shrug.  Because when I look around, I have all that I want right here.  And when friends and acquaintances ask about my New Year’s resolutions, I will politely smile and ask about their’s instead.  Because I have no interest in any big self or life improvements of my own right now.

When I swerve back into my lane, I see that the mundane pieces of my life are actually quite wonderful.  And although I have goals and dreams still to achieve, my lane is the only place I’ll be focusing.

You’re welcome, fellow drivers.  And Fuquay-Varina Police Department.

 

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Finding Your Person

Posted on August 25, 2019 by kwall0223

John is a big fan of my blog.  I daresay it’s one of the reasons he fell in love with me.  Maybe.  So when I go through droughts of what to write or when to put pen to paper, he encourages me with topic ideas.  Actually, it’s just one topic idea so far.  He persistently requests I write about “how to find your person”.  As a wedding gift to him, I figured I would give it a shot.

Spoiler alert: This is not going to go where you think.

I love Grey’s Anatomy.  In many ways, and as I assume many will admit, the show has been a refuge away from my own life drama.  In other ways, it’s a source of life wisdom and of life inspiration.

But I think all the fans can agree on the importance of that pivotal moment when Christina admits to Meredith, with her head on her shoulder, “You’re my person”. For some of us, that moment inspired us to go on a life expedition to identify “our person”.  The unapologetic, unrelenting, unending relationship with someone who understands you to your core.  The person that makes you, as a person, feel seen.  Your “go to”.

I’m not big on the idea of soulmates.  But the above description I get.   To pursue finding someone that sees the you that you love and adore, and who appreciates the strengths and baggage that you bring to the table.  The pursuit of this “mate” seems to be a very typical life search: “the norm”, shall we say.  That’s a big goal of our lives, right?  To find someone who sees us for who we really are, and loves us infinitely and indefinitely?

I’ll be getting married very soon to someone who I refer to as “my person”.  But every time I say that, I have to admit: that is a lie.  I am not marrying “my person”.

I am not marrying “my person” because I have a very hard but all-too-necessary truth to share.  One that was shared with me one very dark, dark night several years ago.  During a time when I was knee deep in tears, and pain, and unrelenting loneliness.

You. Are. Your. Person.

You read that correctly.  You are your person.  There is no one that you will spend more time with, more time talking to, more time thinking about, fretting about, working on, and being alone with, than yourself.

This is a tough pill to swallow for some.  I get that.  As a 3w4 on the Enneagram chart, I probably get the difficulty of this as well as any.  I am The Performer (also called The Achiever).  My natural motivation is achievement (shocker).  But to do so, I often tend to perform to who ever is front of me.  I am not fake.  But rather I tend to play up different components of my personality to match the people I am with.  I assume that’s why I’m told I have great rapport with others.  But also why I have a very limited number of close friends – I don’t let most people all the way in.

So when one, such as myself, finds themselves suddenly alone, and in a path of rediscovering themselves…well, this particular “performer” personality of mine puts a few additional roadblocks in the way.  And particularly, it makes dating a precarious adventure of mishaps, to put it lightly.

So, yes, I get how difficult it is to be even marginally okay with accepting yourself as your person first.  Particularly when you’re not sure who and/or what you truly is.

Disclaimer to Grammar Nerds: if you read that last sentence the way I intended, it won’t sound so terrible.   Do it.  I believe in you.

In that search of figuring out you, we sometimes feel like we should find someone else who relates to us first.  Someone to be in a relationship with first.  Then, we’ll figure out who we are.

This is why break-up’s and divorces are so common.

We get caught up in pumpkin-spice hand-holding, and cozy cuddled matching hoodies, and the “peace” of having a +1.  And we skip right over the bigger but drastically more important relationship…with ourselves.  The one where we take time to understand who we are, in silence, in crowds, as a friend, alone, our own motivations, our own goals, our own desires, how we react under stress, and how we act when we are at peace.  We skip all of this understanding and acceptance of ourselves, so we can be understood and accepted by someone else, and vice versa.

Seems pretty backwards, huh?

Very, very soon, I will be legally betrothed to someone.  And that someone does understand me, accept me, and love me to my core.  The broken pieces, the healing pieces, the strong pieces, and the faltering pieces.

But that did not happen by chance.

Before that was ever possible, I had to know the parts of me I loved, the parts of me I would not negotiate, and the parts of me that gave me peace.  I had to understand where I was broken, strong, and healing.  When that happened, finding someone to love me to my core became much, much easier.

In my 36 short years, I have been blessed with more love than I could ever deserve, by more than one life partner.  That is a blessing I could never be grateful enough for.

But at the end of the day, when I think of all the love that has built me, the love that I hold most dear, and the love that fills me with the most joy, I have to admit that one earthly love beats it all.

I love being loved, and I love being in love.  But the greatest peace comes when I just love myself.

I am so excited to have found someone that I can call “my person”.  But when I’m honest, I have to admit…

I found her a long time ago.

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In Her Shoes

Posted on May 12, 2019 by kwall0223

I wish I loved Mother’s Day.  But for reasons I rarely discuss, it continues to be a less than joyous holiday.  Today’s not that day I discuss it either, but it is a day worth spending some time on the weights we hold as women.  The following was written on a random week day not too long ago.

Do you ever have one of those days where the weight of the world comes sweeping onto your shoulders?  Where the realness of life becomes so raw and clear, you just have to sit down to process it all?

That was today.

It started out like any other day, with me hitting the snooze button more than once.  Followed by a clumsy cup of coffee, then a second.  A few minutes with the dogs, checking of email, followed by an unnecessary amount of time debating the day’s outfit options.  And finally, after realizing I was running predictably late, I hit the road.

When I finally got home and plopped on the couch around 8:30 that evening, I took a moment to mentally take inventory of the conversations I had that day.  Of all the stories I’d come across that day, and all the friends who had blessed me with sharing a struggle or a triumph with me that day.  And as I reflected, I realized that this day was worth recording.  Because today, life was real, and raw, and maybe even a little ironic for more than a few women.

Today…

Today, a friend spent the day in the waiting room of a hospital, anticipating whether her husband’s tumor would come back malignant.  All the while, grading papers and debating how many times she should call to “check in” on her classroom.

Today, a friend very quietly, discreetly, and uneventfully got married.  And she may have had even more joy for the the post-nuptial hike than the actual nuptials.

Today, one friend sat frustrated over a post-baby “bulge”, while another tried to accept the lack thereof.  One struggled to accept a change in her post-baby body, while the other seethed a failed attempt at IVF.

Today, one friend found enough courage to finally take a mental health day.

Today, one friend worked yet another 12-hour day for a job that may not even exist in a year.

Today, one friend spent the day consoling her little girls as she explained what “grandpa’s gone” meant.

Today, a friend spent Day #1,042 hiding the real reason her marriage ended, as she continued to keep evidence and pictures and comments off of social media.  Another worked hours just to get to one more like and share, as she built her online business.

Today, one friend celebrated new debt, as it represented some long overdue answers.

Today, one friend allowed her own inner voice to speak louder than the nay-sayers from years before, while another beat herself up internally for not living up to her own expectations.

Today, one friend celebrated lifting a physical weight heavier than she had ever lifted before, while another just celebrated another day she could physically get out of bed.

All the while, going about their duties as mothers, wives, daughters, sisters, working professionals, and reasonably sane humans.

Today…

Today, I toured a community outreach program for women, helping them get back on their feet, either from homelessness, imprisonment, or both.

Today, I heard women celebrate getting their first full-time job, completing certificates, getting degrees, and paying for their first cars.

Today, I heard women ask, “Is saving $50 per month too high of a goal?”

Today, I heard a teenage girl tearfully proclaim, “My goal is to be true to myself.  To overcome what everyone else wants me to be, and be okay instead with just being who I am.”

That was all today.

Sometimes, we like to escape from our own whirlwind lives.  And sometimes we do so by peeking into the lives of others.  But rather than just look into a world that is not our own, we take it step further… we judge.  We give opinions no one asked for, and make up stories of which we have little evidence.  We take a break from our own inner battles so we can judge the struggles of others.  And sometimes, we even take a little pleasure in the perceived pain of someone else, in hopes we can hide our own.

If you’re like me, you’re a little uncomfortable right now reading and realizing the truth in this.

I’ve caught myself in this downward spiral more than once.  Hearing myself impose opinions of others which I have no right.  Hearing myself provide judgments for which I am not qualified.  Hearing myself take seemingly innocent pleasure in the “What was she thinking’s” and “Bless her heart’s”.

But today, I remembered.

I remembered that everyone fights struggles for which no one knows anything about.  Everyone has chapters they never read aloud.  Everyone has inner battles they fight daily.  And everyone is just doing the absolute best damn job they can.

We all have struggles we do not share, and triumphs we keep to ourselves.  We all have components of our lives we are willing to promote, and other components we keep with the skeletons.  In this social media world that goes above and beyond to tell us all the ways we could be doing it better, all the expectations we have not met, all the better ways to accomplish the same goal, I have to wonder… what happened to all the cheerleaders?

We’re all just doing the best we can.  So maybe, just for a day, we recognize our progress.  We recognize our humanness.  We recognize that we really don’t know how to live anyone else’s life but our own.  We leave judgement at home, and we take a handful of courage to cheer others on instead.

The world is heavy enough.  Maybe a little overdue applause can make it just a little lighter on all of us.

Today was a long day.  Tomorrow could be the same.  But tomorrow, when I see a woman with bags under her eyes, I will compliment her perseverance.  If I see a woman trip over an invisible crack in the sidewalk, I will applaud her sense of style.  If I see a woman running frantically towards a wayward toddler, I will cheer on her athleticism.  If I see a woman daunting a bright yellow mini-skirt, I will admire her confidence.  If I see a suited woman handing her children over to her nanny, I will embrace her ability to seek help.

I don’t know her story; I only know what I see.  So rather than sharing opinions and judgments no one requested, making life heavier than it already is on her shoulders, I’ll find a way to lighten the load.

We are all taking the hands we are dealt and playing the best we know how.  We are all just seeking the courage to just put our best foot forward.

So when I see a woman publicly and outrageously living her best life, I will just try to keep up.

 

 

 

 

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