When I was 10 years old, my world went from sunshine and roses to scary and dark overnight- that late summer day when my mom almost died from complications to childbirth. It was so scary to think that I could've lost a parent. After that, I would worry anytime my mom or dad would go anywhere. (and I mean anywhere, like even down the street to the grocery store) I would wait by the front window, or sit on the porch, and wait for them to return home safely. I'd start to get stomach aches on a regular, daily basis. If my mom wouldn't get home when she said she would, I'd start to imagine all the terrible things that could be wrong. I'd imagine a police car pulling in our driveway to tell us the bad news. Every time the phone rang-it was probably the hospital to say my mom was in an accident, you name it- I imagined it. I would start to get anxiety attacks and have to sit on the front porch and do my best to suck in whatever air I could until I could breath again. It was always the worst when the sun would go down. Notice I used the word "imagine" a lot? A good friend and mentor taught me that "anxiety is a misuse of the imagination." I have always felt I was creative and had a good imagination, and that it is a gift that was given to me, but we are all given strengths and weakness's. For me, I used my imagination in the wrong way, and so it became a weakness... called anxiety. And I used my compassion and love for others in the wrong way... excessive worrying. My world was so scary and the future was so unpredictable. I felt I had no control, and I began to sink into a deep depression.
The next spring, while still going through this dark time, I was watching my little 2 year old sister while my parents were across the street watching my older sister play softball. I was feeding my little brother dinner while she was playing in the backyard, when I heard a faint cry. I went to see what had happened, when I found a trail of dark red that led to my little sister lying in a pool of blood surrounding her head. I couldn't even see her face, and I just knew she was going to die. The scene is still so crystal clear in my memory and still haunts me when I think about it.What do I do?? This wasn't happening!! I was panicked!! I scooped her up, and ran across the street to my parents as fast as I could run. By the time I got to them, my shirt was completely soaked in blood. We rushed her to the ER and found out that our lab dog had bitten her face, which was a huge shock for us all. They did plastic surgery on her face, and she was going to be ok. She is a beautiful young woman today and has minimal scars. But the trauma of it all for me was life changing, and the scars I carried from this went deep. Really deep.
So after my sister's accident, I was not only anxious and depressed, but paranoid as well. I wouldn't let my sister out of my sight! At 11 years old I would look at a situation and see all the things that could go wrong or how my sister could get hurt. Yeah, I was a mess. To call me a "worrier" was an understatement. Panic attacks would plague me often. I was so afraid of death, and anyone I loved dying, that I had to close my eyes and look away whenever we'd pass a cemetery, I couldn't smell flowers because it reminded me of a funeral, and I didn't like church music because it made me think of heaven-because that's where you go when you die. Words can't describe the darkness that I felt and the despairing feeling that it would never go away. Depression is REAL. Anxiety is REAL. I wished with all my heart that I could fix myself and just be happy- but I didn't know how, and the darkness was too thick to navigate.
Then a miracle happened. I went to Southern Utah to watch my dad run the St. George Marathon, like he did every year, and this time when I watched runners cross the finish line, I noticed how happy they were! They were sweaty, tired, and looked awful, but they were so happy! As I watched them, standing on the inside of the orange plastic fence, I yearned to be on the other side with them, feeling the joy that they were feeling, body odor and all! So at 11 years old, I signed up to train for my first marathon, along with my older sister Toniann, who was 16 at the time. I'll never forget that first mile when we started our training! I couldn't breathe, my lungs were screaming, there was a stabbing pain in my chest, my legs felt like jello- and that was just walking from my house to the park across the street! Just kidding, but seriously, that first mile was so hard! What had I gotten myself into? My very wise dad had us pay the registration fee, so that we knew it was our money we lost if we backed out, and I wasn't going to lose $40!! (prices have significantly increased over the last 20 years) So there was no turning back now. We trained for 7 long, hard months until the marathon, gradually increasing our distance each month. The more I trained, the more comfortable it began to be, and before I knew it, I really enjoyed it.
I believe everyone has a "home" a person, place, thing, or activity that you go to where you just feel free and at peace. A place that's safe and makes you feel alive. I had found my "home" and it was running. I realized that when I ran, I felt the darkness start to thin. I was beginning to see light again, and I was getting stronger not just physically, but mentally and emotionally.
The big day finally came for the marathon, and I don't think I slept a minute that night before. I was so nervous! I had never done anything like this, what if I can't do it? My dad, and sister, and I got up early and took the bus up to the start line, and it was something else! Everyone was so pumped up and excited, it was impossible not to feel the energy (or the freezing temperature on the top of a canyon at 5am!) I can still feel the cold ripple of shivers, hear the loud pumpup jams, and smell the icy hot (and portapotties)! The marathon course was lined with shiny silver balloons at each mile marker, so you could see the next mile coming up. When the gun went off to start the race, I think my adrenaline carried me the first 7 miles, because they flew by! But it quickly wore off, and when it did, I began to wonder if I could really go 19 more. Vans would pass us on the side of the road with runners inside that couldn't make it or were injured. I was not going to let that be me, I was not going to quit! But at the time, it was just too overwhelming for my young mind to think of running 19 more miles. BUT I knew I could run ONE mile, so decided "I'm not going to run 26 miles- I'm going to run ONE mile 26 times." That seemed way more attainable. Just ONE mile at a time. If I could just make it to the next shiny silver balloon... And I had to really keep that in mind when my body hit the wall at mile 18. One more mile, and then again, just one more mile.... that's all I could do to keep going and with each silver balloon I passed, the more confident I became, and the more I believed in myself, that I could do this! When we finally approached the finish line, we linked hands and waived them up as we crossed over the line. It was one of the. happiest. moments. of my life. The pride I had in myself was unlike anything I'd ever felt before. I was literally a new person. I had just conquered something extremely difficult. I realized that I really could do hard things!! I'm not weak, I'm strong! I'm not a worrier- I'm a WARRIOR! I had made it. I was on the other side of the orange fence, and the price I paid was SO worth it.
After my marathon and training, I was so blessed that depression no longer plagued me, and I could be a kid again and start to enjoy life. I was still not the same as before, but who is after a trauma? I still was on the cautious side, and caught myself worrying here or there, but it didn't consume me anymore. The darkness was gone, and the panic attacks had ceased. I'll forever be grateful for running, for finding my "home" and the healing that it provided me, and for the marathon, and the person it gave birth to at the end. I ran the marathon for the next consecutive 10 years and became a part of the 10 Year Club at the age of 22. I still love to run marathons and it will always be a part of me for the rest of my life. :)
Whatever trial you might be facing, I promise you that there is HOPE! You can conquer that monster and become a warrior. It's inside YOU. It might take time, work, sacrifice, pain, getting out of your comfort zone, or even talking to a professional to get help, but I know that we weren't put on this earth to suffer and be miserable our whole lives. There is a light at the end of the tunnel! Don't get overwhelmed with solving your problem(s) overnight. Just focus on ONE mile at a time, and I promise if you do it long enough- you will cross the finish line.
Here is a pic of me when I was 19 running the marathon
with my little sister (10) who was bit by the dog, the brother (8)
that my mom almost died giving birth to, and my dad.
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