Seasons

Walking out into the darkness, I inhaled the purity of early morning. My heart sighed and I wished the stars good morning. I began my run and could feel the slightest bite to the air. It was beautiful hovering in the 50s, but a nip definitely rode the breeze. Summer was creeping back and the change of seasons would inevitably come. When my feet kissed the street, I felt pure love course through my body. I had missed this feeling!

Almost two years ago I left a job that severly damaged me mentally and emotionally. I haven't really talked about it and have carried the pain and wounds internally. The true impact of that season on my life was hidden, even to me, until recently  as I began to fully emerge from the other side. Entering the position positivity was as natural to me as breathing air and though not 100% confident I celebrated and loved the strong, smart, compassionate and unique woman God created. I exuded confidence, joy, expectation and a belief in people. That changed. It wasn't overnight, but gradual like a river cuts through a mountain. In the moment I never realized it was happening; the belittling, lying, constant personal attacks wore me down to a shell. After 6 years the woman who was, was no longer.

When I left recovery was necessary. Logically I knew the toll it had taken on me, but emotionally, knowing I allowed the damage and admitting to needing recovery time seemed yet another weakness. The season of recovery was difficult, more difficult as I felt I couldn't burden others. People often turned to me for solace and stability. I couldn't imagine heaping my pain on anybody's already full life. As this season ended I began the next season fearful, jaded, and angry.

Intial recovery was behind me and I needed to heal. I doubted people. I doubted me. Internally I saw and spoke only demeaning thoughts and negativity. The few logical brain cells remaining understood how deep the poison had entered my system prompting me to withdraw. I didn't want to infect anyone with what had overtaken me.

As the healing process began I battled. Logic spoke self worth, love, joy and happiness. It reminded me I deserved success and the things I worked for, but after six years of errosion it was a seemingly futile process. I had been conditioned; nobody could be trusted, I had no self worth and no matter how hard I worked I did not deserve anything. Happily ever after happened only in Disney movies. I pulled away from people terrified anything positive was a trap. I entered the depths of despair. On the outside I maintained a modicum of normalcy while internally the war was staggering. I don't share; I don't burden, nor did I want to exude my poisonous thoughts on anyone, so I turned in. As I fought in my heart and the deep recesses of my mind, I prayed as best I could, hoping for a window to open and lighten my blackened and bitter soul. Depression cast it's oppresive blanket over me celebrating and encouraging damaging thoughts. I was overwhelmed and felt as if I was suffocating.

Discipline and routine kept me afloat. I ran because it was part of my normal routine and the discipline would not let me quit. Unfortunately the venom tainted even this aspect of my life. Running was simply going through the motions. I mourned the loss of love and joy that was such an integral part of my run. My times got slower and I cut out most races. Races held very little joy and opened additional avenues of critique as I faced not competing at my normal level.  I berated myself for not running as fast, not racing as hard, not creating the mountain top moments in my business, for not editing, writing or creating. Deep inside I knew, though, that if I didn't hit the pavement I would be lost. I fought harder during a run and could see small glimpses of who I was.

As the year progressed I worked to reprogram my mind. Through the bleakness I reached, almost half starved, for the smallest crumb of joy and hope. Like the river that courses through the mountains year after year, it is almost impossible to change course overnight.  I needed to give myself permission to heal. It was difficult. I kept seeing weakness; withdrawal was a weakness, admitting to damage was a weakness, the perceived missteps in life were a weakness. I struggled. I couldn't share because all would see how terribly I had failed. I gave myself permission to heal and the process became easier. The year is difficult to remember outside of the despair. I am thankful for the routine, the pictures and the stories prompted by the pictures. Without each I would have missed so much and been even more lost.

The rhythm of my run soothed me as these thoughts circled. Every aspect of life has a season. This season has finally begun to retreat for me. The past week was spent in the presence of strong and powerful women, a time, place and company I desperately needed. My thoughts were infused with belief, and I was encircled in love and strength. I am not completely healed, but I have made progress. As I savor the final miles of my run I embrace the crispness and slight hint of the shifting season. I know there are seasons in our life when we must heal, when we must withdraw, when we must forgive ourselves and remind ourselves of the amazing people we are.

The final push is like water on an incredibly hot day, hydrating my parched soul. I am stretching for the 7 minute mile and as my music ends I glance around; the sky is brighter and the birds twitter. The run was good and I am good.