When Change Is Scary

 It all started with a tiny little 3 year old.

We signed her up for dance lessons out of someone's renovated garage-turned-dance-studio, mostly because I was a dancer and we thought it'd be a cute thing for her to try out.

And then she turned 4 and we found a studio that was recommended to us by some friends.

And that tiny little girl started taking two classes---one of those classes being a team prep class to prepare her for team tryouts the next year.

And then she turned 5 and made the SNS team where she danced 4 hours a week.

 And her second year of team, at age 6, she was asked to do a solo by one of her teachers and she STOLE that stage. She was beaming and I saw this fire in her eyes. That first solo experience really cemented her commitment and love for dancing. She had such a great experience on that stage and I'm so glad we chose that, even though she was a little young at the time.

Here is a video of that solo---adorable.

 When she turned 7, I was hired as an acro/stretch/tumbling instructor at a new studio and we moved her there.

Those people quickly became her family. I found myself teaching and assisting 6+ hours most weeks in the acro/technique/jazz/team classes and our family practically lived at the studio. She chose to take 10+ hours of classes each week and grew so much as a dancer.

 She competed another solo and it got better every time.
Every. Single. Time.
It was a lot more difficult and she spent a lot of extra time figuring out the counts and the acro tricks and making sure she was ready for the stage.
And each time she hit that stage, she was ready for it and you could see her enjoying those two minutes of "fame".

 And by the time she turned 8, most of her afternoons at home looked like this. {Seriously, those muscles...}

But sometimes hard things happen outside of our control and when the extremely difficult decision was made last week that I was quitting my job at our then-current studio, it caught this little girl in the crossfire and she got burned.

And she was not happy. I mean, why would she be happy about something like that? I wasn't even happy about it. It's been a week and I am already aching that I don't have the job title "dance instructor" anymore because teaching children to dance was quite possibly the most rewarding thing I've ever done (besides motherhood).

But this ache wasn't about me anymore because more than anything else in the world, I want to support her and find a way to let her do the things she loves.

And so I reached out to a friend and she suggested doing trial classes at her studio.

And for the very first time in Hayley's life, no tears were shed as she walked into this new place to take classes with children she didn't know.

Because I can remember the tears from her first studio class and how she cried both years she tried out for team. And I remember so vividly when she tried out for company a little over a year ago how she cried through the majority of it because new things overwhelm her sensitive little heart so much.

 Although she was a bit nervous, she walked in and joined the class and begged me to let her take every single class she could this past week.

And when a full hour of stretch class had her tired and sore and I told her she didn't have to take the next day's stretch class, she still wanted to and we went back the next day for another hour of stretching.

It isn't that Hayley is MORE amazing than other kids.
That's not the point of this post.

The point is that my sensitive, shy daughter has gone through a few hard things in her life and she is learning and growing and finding her own bravery in the process.

In fact, as we were eating dinner after her first night of classes, she said to me, "Mom, you can just drop me off at the studio tomorrow...because I'm already THAT brave." 

And she is THAT brave. 

She has now started her second week of classes at the new studio and this morning, we got an email inviting her to join the Micro Company team.

To say she is ecstatic would be an understatement. 

Change is hard for our family and it seems like we've seen a lot of huge changes over the past four years but through it all, it's been a really beautiful thing for me to see all of us learning and growing from the things we've been through.

More than anything, I just feel extremely lucky that I get to be the mom of this brave little girl.
I get a front row seat to watch her grow up and learn and be in new situations and when she has hard times, I get to be the one she comes to and cries with.
I'm so lucky I've been trusted with the job title "Mom" because that is more important and rewarding than being a dance teacher, a therapist, or any other job titles I might have.

I see great things in this girl's future and I am so proud to be her mom.

If It's Worth Doing

I had a dream once.

I had a dream that I was married---and I felt whole again, as if marriage is the only thing that could fix ALL of the other problems in my life.

I had a dream that I co-parented well and that my kids never had to feel split between their parents.

I had a dream that I never got upset with my ex-husband and that forgiving him is something I'm NOT still working on.

But in reality, I'm not married and I don't always co-parent well and I often get upset with my ex-husband. 

And I've been told on countless occasions by numerous different people that I need to forgive him and move on. In fact, over and over, I've convinced myself that I have fully forgiven him.

But I don't know if that's always true. 

I can remember when my husband first left me and I begged and pleaded with my family and friends to love and support him, to talk positively about him so that this would all be easier.
And I remember when I got to a point where I begged and pleaded with them to stop liking him so much, to focus on supporting me and my kids so that this would all be easier. 

'So that this would all be easier'

I guess I don't know what makes this all easier because it isn't easy. It's messy no matter what. And I'm still trying to figure out my relationships and boundaries and how to navigate a relationship with not only my ex-husband but also our shared relationships.

I get insecure about my divorce because of the little details, the memories from those first few traumatic months where I was literally just surviving day to day.

And I get triggered by the memories from my marriage, the memories where I look back and think, "I should've done something differently. I should've said more. I should've said less. I should've loved more. I should've cared less. I should've..." And I could go on and on with SO MANY things I should've done to change the circumstances of my life but I don't believe that actually would've changed anything.

I go through periods where I like my ex-husband and frankly, I go through periods where I don't like him.

And I'm not good at being an ex-wife. Oh my goodness, I'm not. In fact, I'm horrible at it. I am overly protective of my kids and I am not always patient and I let old memories dictate present situations.

I'm trying to work on it. 
I am working on it. 

But it's hard because I feel like if I can't step up to the plate as an ex-wife, maybe I wasn't a good enough wife. And when I start to think that, I have to remind myself that I'm doing the best I can. I'm trying to be a good person who sees others through Jesus' eyes and understands that we all act crappy sometimes and make mistakes.

But. It. Is. Still. Hard.

None of this is easy to explain. It isn't necessarily hard to talk about---I'm ok with admitting that I fail at being a co-parent or an ex-wife sometimes---it's just hard to explain in a way that dictates the things that I'm feeling.

The truth is that I still struggle with resenting my ex-husband for the choices that were made that got us where we are---and although I don't think about them often, I still find myself spiraling when I miss something in my children's lives because of the co-parenting situation we are in. I still get angry that I have to 'share' my children instead of us just being a family.

But that doesn't mean I don't love the life we are living.
My children are so blessed. I am so blessed.
We have SO MUCH.
We are thriving and for the most part, life is really happy. It's just that when it is hard, it is usually really hard.

But we are resilient.
I am resilient.

And someday, probably when I'm 80, I'm going to have this 'ex-wife' thing figured out.

But in the meantime, I am going to have to learn that it's ok to fail sometimes. 

I can remember back to two years ago, almost exactly, and sitting in a new therapists office (which I was really unhappy about because I didn't want to have to start all over) and telling her how fighting my eating disorder wasn't worth it because every single day, I failed. At that point, it had been MONTHS without even ONE day of success.
And she said to me, "Suzanne, is it worth fighting your eating disorder? Is your life worth the fight?" And I replied, "Yes." 

And she said, "If it's worth doing, it's worth doing poorly." 


I kept that motto close to my heart as I struggled to pull myself out of the hole I had dug. When I'd fail, I'd give myself grace and remember that if it was worth doing, I wasn't going to give up just because I was fighting poorly.

I was still fighting. And that HAD to count for something. 

So now that I'm here, in a completely different life than two years ago, fighting similar things but also some very different things, I have to remind myself that this fight is worth it---no matter how I fight it.

So maybe I suck as an ex-wife but it's worth it to me that I keep trying, that when I fail and I get angry or selfish, I take some time, pick myself back up, and try again the next time.

And goodness sakes, I am not the best at co-parenting. It's hard work! But when I fail, I am going to give myself grace and remember that I will have many opportunities to figure this thing out.

And maybe I go back and forth between forgiveness of the past and letting it trigger feelings inside of me in the present but that's ok because I am working on this every day of my life.

And this fight to understand others who have hurt me and feel compassion toward them? It's worth it. It will always be worth it.

And if it's worth doing, it's worth doing poorly. 

Child Dedication + An 8 Year Old

 This is another one of those vulnerable-ish posts that I'm still a little unsure of how to explain but I'd like to try explaining...sound good?

When I left the LDS church last year, it wasn't abrupt and it wasn't out of hate and I feel like I need to express that second part over and over again when in reality, I don't actually have to explain myself---I choose to.

Hayley was 7.5 at the time and I was super panicky about her baptism age approaching and how this change would affect her. I wanted her to have her normal routine---and so I kept going to LDS church on the Sundays I had my kids. And then when I stopped going altogether, she went with my best friend's family for a while.

But she was 7 and her testimony was more cemented in her parents faith than her own---as it is with the majority of our children.

I left the baptism choice up to her and she went back and forth with it.

She came to the conclusion a few months ago that she wasn't ready but asked if I'd buy her a big white dress as a birthday present because she didn't want to miss out on that present.
Done.

I spent the majority of my nights in April praying over and over that she would be able to feel loved and included and special when it came time for her big 8th birthday. I asked God what I could do to take the pressure of baptism off of her shoulders and I firmly believe that He followed through and answered that prayer because shortly after, my church advertised child dedications that would be happening on Mother's Day 2016.

I felt very strongly that this was a gift from God to us because instead of putting the pressure on Hayley, the dedication puts a healthy amount of pressure on me.

If you're not familiar with dedications in a Christian church:
"Child dedication is not a sacrament like baptism or communion—you won’t find instructions for it anywhere in the New Testament. There’s nothing magical about it—it doesn’t save your child or guarantee that they will eventually come to trust Jesus as Savior and Lord. However, child dedication can serve as a powerful moment, for both family and church, as both parties commit to working together to raise the child in a way that honors God." source

So on May 8th, 2016, I made a promise to raise Hayley and Andersen with a knowledge of who their Heavenly Father is. All of the vows had meaning and were important but my favorite was #4:

"Do you dedicate yourself to raise your children with biblical love, instruction and discipline? Will you take every opportunity that life gives you to diligently teach your children to love the Lord Jesus and observe all that he commanded, knowing that your primary responsibility as a parent is to train your child to be Jesus’ disciple?"

Friends, it was a beautiful day and we were so thankful to the people in our lives who came and supported Hayley and Andersen. In fact, I'm just so grateful for everyone who supports and loves Hayley and Andersen! 

And with that explanation out of the way, I need to acknowledge the fact that I HAVE AN EIGHT YEAR OLD CHILD!!!!!!!!! 

From the time she was little, Hayley always had this huge heart. She was this tiny little girl who would feel compassion toward others. Often times, when she'd hurt her brother or someone else, she would end up in tears because she felt bad for the choice she had made.

Hayley was also born with a lot of sass. She pulls off the duck face better than anyone I know and likes to snap her finger and raise her eyebrows at me---and usually it isn't when she's arguing, she just thinks it's funny.

Hayley is so very, very bright. She loves to read and does really well in school. (Besides homework...homework is another story but she promises me 3rd grade is going to be different.)

Hayley is not only a talented dancer, she is a dedicated dancer. If you ask her, she'll tell you that, yes, she is quitting dance and trying a new sport---when she turns 18. She says up until that point, she won't be quitting dance. :) She works hard to get new tricks and has grown leaps and bounds on RMDC's dance company this past year.

This last picture is of Hayley on her birthday at ages 6, 7, and 8. My goodness, this girl brightens my life.

She is very responsible and gorgeous and happy and compassionate, among SO MANY OTHER amazing qualities.

I am so lucky that God blessed me as the mother of this darling girl forever and ever. She is one of a kind and anyone that knows her knows it.

Andersen Swallowed A Magnet

Oh, Andersen...

I love you. 
I really, truly do. 

Even on the days when I want to hide in a corner because you're not listening to me.

And because I love you, I'd do anything for you. 
Anything. 

Even if that means spending my morning off of work getting abdominal x-rays with you because you swallowed a magnet.

A magnet, dude? I'm trying to picture a scenario where you would've thought to put a magnet in your mouth. And even though I can't, you did indeed swallow a magnet.

And your first thought wasn't to tell mom. Nope, your first thought was whether I'd be upset so you kept it a secret.

Weeks went by and you didn't tell me there could be a magnet inside of your little tummy.

Until last night. 
Last night, you came over to me with those huge puppy dog eyes and said, "Mom. I have to tell you something..." and then you told me how you had swallowed a magnet a few weeks ago and now you were scared because your stomach was hurting really bad and you thought it was the magnet.

Little dude, I just love you. I love how worried you get and how compassionate you are. I love how you make me laugh and comfort me when I cry.

So because I love you and would do anything for you, I don't mind spending the morning getting x-rays with you. In fact, I loved our morning together while sister was at school. I loved listening to you tell me story after story after story with some of the greatest details.

I love you a billion trillion infinity and I'll always be here for you. On your good days and your bad days, I'll always be near.

I love you, Andersen. So very, very much, I do.

Who I Am

Being raised not only in an LDS family but in a predominately LDS community, I grew up knowing who created me and who I was---a child of God.

I grew up singing the song, "I am a child of God".

I am the daughter of a King, of a God who loves me unconditionally. No. Matter. What.

I don't think this concept sunk in very well until I became a mother. I can remember back to when I first stared into those bright blue eyes of my daughter and felt this surge of love for her, far different than any love I had experienced up until that point.

Did God really love me more than I loved this baby girl? Was that even possible?

It was. It is. 
He does. 

I've been thinking about what my beliefs mean to me and how I came to the conclusions that I did. I've stumbled to try and explain the past few years to my closest friends and family members but it never comes out quite right.

It's hard to leave something you've been so connected to for your whole life. 
Like achingly, confusingly hard. It isn't easy on your people.

*In my second to last post, where I stated, "Would I change...the religious beliefs I was raised with versus my religious beliefs now or any of the other things that have brought immense pain and confusion into my life?", I wasn't trying to state that I regretted the way I was raised or that religion alone had caused immense pain and confusion into my life. I meant to state that my religious changes have been confusing and they've caused pain for myself and also for some of my people who love me so deeply.* 

I wouldn't have done it if I didn't wholeheartedly feel like it was the right decision for my family.
I wouldn't have done it if I hadn't prayed about it. 

I often tip toe around talking too deeply about my religious beliefs and changes because I love my LDS people so very much and I know how sacred the temple and the priesthood and The Book of Mormon are to them. It's often hard for me to feel like I can speak up about my beliefs because I hate thinking that doing so could make another person feel bad.

I've tried so hard to transition smoothly, without anger or resentment following me through my journey. Because the thing is, I'm not angry or resentful. I don't hate the religion I was raised it. It isn't painful that I was raised in the church.

*And I almost typed out "It isn't painful that I was married in the temple." but then I realized that would be a lie. But not because I hate the temple or resent the fact that I was married there---quite the opposite. I have had many peaceful feelings inside those walls and try so hard not to take those memories for granted. It's painful because I tried so hard to keep my marriage together and continue going to church and doing everything right and it didn't help. It still fell apart.*

And you guys, that's ok. Life is messy sometimes. Things fall apart.

My failed marriage is not the reason I no longer attend the LDS church anymore.
In fact, none of my trials have been my reasons for leaving.

Sure, I have questioned my faith numerous times in the past few years. Sure, I've felt like I was a foreign object at church before. I have felt pain there---but not necessarily doctrinal pain. Although I've had messy experiences at church and haven't always felt like I belonged there, I didn't leave as a result of those experiences.

My pain isn't the reason I left. It was real and valid at the time but I tried so hard and fought through it.

I left because it was right, because I had some pretty spiritual experiences elsewhere that shook me to my core and had me questioning my whole life of faith up until that point.

And I am so thankful for those experiences. They have shaped me and brought me to a place that I didn't know existed.

I don't advocate for others to leave the LDS church. I advocate for people to follow their hearts. And for the majority of my people, that means staying true to their LDS beliefs.

I've found such beauty in knowing that my people love me regardless of my religion. That is how it should be and for me, that is how it has been.

I have found that if you're willing to be vulnerable and open, the right people will listen and love you. They might not understand but they'll be there for you.

That has been my experience this past year. 

The truth is that Christianity in general can be hard sometimes. I don't attend Mission or Redemption or any of the other churches I've attended this past year and feel like life is just going to be easy from here on out. {But if there's a church that can make me feel this way, sign me up...just kidding.} I still have to question and ponder on the things I learn, just as I'd be doing at ANY church I attend.

I didn't make the easy choice for us. 
I made the choice that I believe is right for us. 

Right now, today, this very minute, I have an enormous amount of faith that we are right where we are supposed to be.

And that conviction alone is the reason I continue to try and help my people understand me as best they can.
Because I love them and they love me and however messy my past has been, they continue to support me.

And really, is there anything more beautiful than that? 

My Reality

I can remember back to when my eating disorder was at it's worst a couple years ago.
I can see the patterns, recognize the spiral, and remember how it felt to be SO in control and SO out of control at the very same time.

I can remember the things I used to hear inside my brain so vividly.
You are worthless. No, I'm not. Yes, you are. Ok.
You are lazy. But I exercise all the time. You're still lazy. Ok.
You are not worthy of another relationship. Any man worth my time would love me as I am. No, he wouldn't. Ok.
You don't deserve food. Yes, I do. No, you don't. Ok.

I used to fight with myself daily, constantly. 

And as I was sitting on the couch tonight, watching a movie with my kids, I felt those same words come into my head. They were so loud tonight. And I couldn't just fight them off with a positive thought. Sometimes, when they're so intensely loud, it's extremely hard to fight them.

It's been hard lately. It's been hard to differentiate between the truths and the lies in my head. It's such a nasty cycle and I hate it.

I hate eating disorders. 

Hate. Them.

I got up from the couch halfway through movie night and told the kids to grab their cups of ice cream and meet me in the garage.
I needed to get out of the house. 
 

I hopped on my bike and the kids climbed in the trailer and we started riding. I rode up and down streets, past so many houses I've spent the last eight years driving past.
I ached and felt lonely.
I smiled and felt free.

Because that's about where I'm at right now---somewhere in the middle, somewhere in a confused state where sometimes I feel good about myself and sometimes I hate myself.

And as vulnerable as this is, it's honest.

It's real. 

And it's really hard. 
A. Lot. Of. The. Time.

I can look back on so many memories from the past two years where I've hopped on that same bike in very similar moments of confusion and pedaled far away from my house to find a park where I could sit and think and write in my journal and cry and dance around in the grass.

Sometimes I'm hit with anger that this is my life and these are my demons to fight. I wonder why. I think about how inadequate I feel when it comes to opening up or helping others or fighting for myself---mainly because I'm overweight and I worry that people will think I'm making this all up---and then I remember that if I'm not opening up or helping others, none of this would be worth it and my anger would never subside.

I can blame the media or God or my childhood or my divorce or probably a million other things but really, this is mine.
However it started. However it continued.
It is mine. 

Nobody can fight my battle for me. I get that.

I know you might read this and think I'm crazy or weak or dramatic but the truth is, I am the opposite of those things.
I am strong and brave and resilient. 

I can remember back to a time a few years ago in therapy when my counselor had me acknowledging the different parts of me that make me into who I am. The sensitive me who wants everyone to feel loved and happy, the self-abusive me who gets so angry with herself for the tiniest mistakes, the fearful me who is afraid of so much more than I could ever type here.
At first, I felt a little schizophrenic for acknowledging that there are different components of who I am but as I was leaving that day, I felt this surge of energy to study each piece of myself and learn from that part of me.

That therapy session has opened my eyes and helped me not feel so crazy when I go from being super happy to angry with myself to lonely and sad. All of these feelings are valid. They are all me. And they don't make me crazy. They just make me human.

So today hasn't been the best for my recovery. I don't like saying that. I don't like the stigma of 'weak' or 'shameful' or 'unstable' that I feel often goes with knowing a person has an eating disorder.
Because when I open up, I feel like my people will start staring every time I eat or exercise or maybe that they'll wonder if I'm going to throw up later---and you guys, I just want to feel like me. And throughout this process the past few years of opening up, I've learned that MY people, the ones who really care and try to understand me, they aren't hovering over me and viewing me as unstable. They check in every once in a while but the rest of the time, they let me figure this stuff out on my own.

They treat me like their friend and I love that. 

I love how beautiful it is to know that someone is struggling and to be able to treat them as equally as you'd treat a person who seemed to have it all together.

It takes an incredible person to be able to do that. And I have so many of those incredible people in my life.

How did we get here?

Sometimes I just stare at old pictures of my kids and think to myself, "How did we get to this place in our lives so quickly? How did you both grow up from babies into children who are independent and kind and busy and intelligent and sassy?"

How did we get here?

That question has been on my mind with many things lately.

How did I get to this particular place in my life, living in this home, going to school full time, with friends who love me and people who really dislike me, working at a dance studio, single?

Each of those pieces of my life have their own story, their own patchwork of tiny stories that make up what brought me to that particular spot at that particular time.

And I've often wondered what would've happened if I had made different choices, said different words, reacted differently---would I still be where I am right now?

Would the same people still love me and the same people still dislike me? Would I be pursuing a degree in Counseling? Would I be a mother of two children? Would I be single?

And then I tell myself, "Well, Suzanne, hindsight is always 20/20." 

For all of the mistakes I've made that have brought me here, I actually couldn't have done any differently than I did in those moments---because I didn't know better.

And now that I know better, would I change it? Would I change my divorce or my failed friendships or my eating disorder or the religion I was raised in vs. my religious beliefs now or any of the other things that have brought immense pain or confusion into my life?
No. I don't think I would. 
Because I was forced pushed to grow from each of those experiences.

I look back on who I was a year ago, back to the days where I thought I was going to die or maybe even that I wanted to die, and I am so glad I didn't give the people who disliked me enough power over my thoughts to control my choices.
Even the anger I experienced and the bullying I experienced---I wouldn't change it. None of it. Because although it was painful, I managed to hold my head up high and love the people who loved me a little better.

I learned what to do and what not to do. I learned who I want to be and who I don't want to be. 

So as I look at my kids and how much they've grown, I think about what life was like when they were little and my bubble felt so much safer---and today? Today I'm ok with the fact that my bubble isn't as safe.

I may have to fight harder. I may have to struggle with my eating disorder every single day right now. I may have to work through anxiety when I'm trying to open up and trust someone.

But I'd rather be this girl than be wrapped up in a bubble where I'm not able to empathize or love as deeply as I've learned how to do. I'd rather be this girl who knows what she wants and who she is and why she's here.

Because although my life isn't perfect, I can tell you my response to each of those statements.
I know who I am. I know what I want. And I know why I'm here.
{And maybe in another post, I'll write down my responses to those statements.}

And I am so grateful that I am me.