I had a coming to Jesus moment last night. I’ve had it up to here lately with myself. Those who’ve been following my blog know the issues. I’ve been dealing with a facial rash/breakout, which I was told was caused by nursing my daughter. Talk about feeling like my body is working against me. However, after more research I believe I was misdiagnosed and need to see a dermatologist to help pinpoint the real issues.
Don’t even get me started on my foot. I wanted to believe it was better after the glass came out, but two runs in and I can barely walk again. I called multiple times pleading with my doctor to do something for the pain. I have a marathon less than three months away! A marathon I’ve been dreaming of completing since I signed up for my first half two years ago.
And I can’t eat away my problems because that adds another problem! So I fret and snack, and deny and eat. Then feel guilty, go to bed, and start all over again. The one thing that burns calories and clears my mind is off limits. So my frustration builds and builds, and there doesn’t seem a way out. I can’t even do PiYo, my other favorite workout. The pad of my foot feels like someone is stabbing it with a knife when I attempt down dog. So I hardly workout, and limp around, every now and again forgetting my foot hurts, then grimacing in pain and going weak in the knees when it I attempt to step on it regularly and pain shoots through my foot. I’m not a pansy, I gave birth to my daughter in our living room with no medication. But my foot freaking hurts. I’ve been told to find another workout or “hobby”. Is it selfish to not want to give up running? I don’t know anymore.
So tonight I did what any normal adult would do. I ran out to get McFlurries for Travis and I (I did this a few times while pregnant) and instead of going straight home also ordered a hot fudge Sunday (Yep, went all out), rolled down my windows in the cold night air, zipped up my jacket, put the hood over my head, blared my favorite song (Lucas Graham’s 7 Years) over and over while driving downtown singing my heart out, thinking deep thoughts about what I’m doing with life.
I’ve been told I’m “high strung and emotional”, thought I’m not opposed to these things all together. When I’m filled with passion I’m of one mind, accomplishing any task placed before me. But when I’m frustrated, sad, or angry I feel like my world is collapsing and I can barely hold my head above water. I live passionately. In everything I do. I’m not ashamed nor do I feel the need to apologize. I’ve become more aware of what I am and how I get, and have learned to control my feelings and place them towards projects and goals, knowing that eventually, they will pass.
While I was having my moment, Travis was waiting patiently at home to watch our Tuesday night show together while we snacked on forbidden ice cream. My sweet little boy played so long outside in the sun all day he fell asleep eating dinner and is snoring away in bed. Evelyn is sitting by dad, as always, extremely happy. All you have to do is look her way and she plants a smile between those kissable cheeks. And I take a bite of my hot fudge Sundae, and tell myself it will be okay. That in a year from now these problems I’m fretting about at the moment will be in the past, but I’ll still have my sweet family together, God willing.
And so we ate ice cream, I tucked Evelyn in bed, we watched our movie, and it was lights out. Today is better, and I’m ready to start again. Because if you don’t give up you can’t fail. And I am not giving up. Ever.
My tombstone will read “that annoyingly passionate girl who wouldn’t give up.” And I’ll be proud of that.