Crash Week.

After an amazing women's church retreat Fri/Sat I returned home at about 5pm.  Adam was at his mom's house with the kids and the weather was beautiful, so I decided to go for my first outdoor ride.  It felt amazing to be on the road again.  There was this one moment when I came to the top of a hill and all around me was wide open prairies, with the mountains in the distance.  So beautiful.  I took in a breath of fresh air and felt so happy. I was enjoying myself so much that I just kept cycling towards the mountains and before I knew it, almost 2 hours had passed and the sun was setting.  With my t-shirt and shorts, I knew that I was going to get cold as the temperatures dropped.  So I turned back for home and cycled as fast as I could.  My hands were numb, my toes were numb and I remembered why I have such a love/hate relationship with road rides.  I made it home in 1 hour and 15 minutes.

Sunday I didn't train.  I never do on Sundays.

Monday I worked the election all day long, so I wasn't able to train.

Tuesday I had some major catching up to do.  I ran for one hour, then swam for one hour at the gym.  Then Adam worked from home in the afternoon so I could ride outside again.  I was pretty tired from my morning session but grateful for another chance to ride outside.  It didn't go very well.  I headed East on the 22x this time, thinking I would enjoy a nice, flat ride.  But there's so much construction, virtually no shoulder and a lot of rude construction truck drivers.  As I went over a few bumps, my Ironman Cozumel water bottle fell out of it's cage and landed in the middle of the highway.  Before I could get to it, a truck ran over it.  Sad.  So the rest of the ride I mourned the loss of my bottle and tried my best to enjoy the ride, despite the bad road conditions.

Wednesday (today) I dropped Kyla off at my mom's and went for a 17 km run.  I LOVED IT!.  I realized as I ran that it really is my favorite of the three sports.  I enjoy the swim and the bike (for the most part) but I LOVE to run.  Hence, my poem.  In trying to prepare my body for the hills in Hawaii, I ran a hill in Fish Creek park 10 times.  My legs felt great.  I realized that I have built up a lot of muscle in my legs because hills used to be so hard for me.  My body feels ready to race.

Six weeks until Hawaii!

Almost time to crash...

I've loved blogging about beauty lately but with my race coming up soon, I need to give an update on my training.

Six weeks out from a race is CRASH WEEK (at least according to the training approach of our former coach).  We are self coaching for our races this year but using the same training style.  This style includes a pattern of 2 weeks on, 1 week recovery and a lot of time spent in the aerobic heart rate zone to build up a nice aerobic base.  The only thing we've changed is that we are doing more hill work (because the Hawaii race has hills).

Hawaii 70.3 is on June 2nd, so next week is crash week.  I'm HOPING that the weather will be nice because I still haven't been on my bike outside.  The weather has just been teasing us, flirting with the 11 degree minimum that we need to be able to ride without freezing any appendages.

Last Monday I ran 19.5 km.  The first half of my run I spent down in beautiful fish creek park running hills and the second half I spent with two great friends going for a run around Mckenzie Towne.  I have run that far in training already but it sure feels different when there's hills involved.  My legs have been achy and tender since then.

That being said, I am amazed and grateful for the fitness level that I have achieved.  A year ago a long run for me was 10km.  Now that's a short training run.  Yesterday I biked for 1.5 hours. Today I ran for an hour and then swam 2km.  Tomorrow I will bike for 2.5 hours (have to fit in my long ride before the church women's retreat I'm going on this weekend).  It's been amazing to see what my body is capable of doing.  The thing is, I'm not so different from most people and my experience proves that incredible fitness gains can be made in a relatively short period of time.  Not everyone wants to do an ironman but everyone has dreams.  I say, go for it!  You'll be surprised at what you are capable of doing!

Craving Creativity

I've been craving creativity lately.

So the result of these cravings is a painting and a poem.

I completed this painting last week.  I had seen similar paintings at the Ironman Cozumel Expo.  Adam suggested I just paint one up for us, rather than paying a bunch of money and trying to protect it on the airplane ride home.  Plus, I love having my own artwork up on our walls.
The idea for the poem came as I was doing my long run last weekend (19 km). I realized that my love of running started long ago (back in the university days) and I have only come to love it more recently.

I RUN

In the stillness of the morning air, I run. 

My thoughts blur in the rhythm of the music and I feel invisible, free. 

As if I’ve somehow been carried to a different sphere where the runner’s reside.

We nod to one another as we pass, strangers but not.

I grow lighter as life’s weights scatter on the ground behind.

The runner’s spell heals my mind.

Between songs I hear my feet on the pavement and I remember…

A younger girl, so fresh and bright

Eager to learn, to live, to love.

Her future before her, calling with hopeful expectation.

Life’s confusing ebbs and flows, forcing growth.

“Just run” was the call and a runner was born.

The years have passed and I’m a runner still.

Like a loyal friend, we’ve passed the years together.

Even now, we’ve grown closer.  

Less pain with newfound ease, as if I’ve learned to fly.

The air turns warmer as minutes pass by.

I take in a full breath, filling my lungs with a small piece of eternity.

The rhythm of the pavement comforts me.

The effort reminds me I am strong.

I run.

Thank you.

To all those who have read, commented on, and learned from these stories.  Perhaps you have been able to relate to some of these women.  Hopefully you feel that you are not alone when you struggle.  Hopefully you see beauty when you look in the mirror and when you look within your soul.  If you ever forget, or have a hard time seeing it, ask God to help you because He sees it and He will help you see it.

To all you women who have shared your stories (and there might be a few more to come).  I hope that you have found healing through your honest sharing.  I have cried as I've read your stories.  I have also found inspiration and healing for myself. For this, I thank you.

EVERY PERSON HAS A STORY.  Let's try to stop judging and comparing.  Let's try to stop being so hard on ourselves.  Let's try to embrace our own unique beauty.  You ARE BEAUTIFUL (yes, I mean YOU reading this!).

The woman behind the picture - Part 9: Melissa Manville

In my life I have always struggled with feeling beautiful, inside and out.

It’s been a constant battle in my mind. I know my father in heaven thinks I am beautiful, I know my husband does. My family does too! I don’t have it figured out yet, no one does. I am going to tell you a couple of stories in hopes that you will understand where I am coming from and see how I am trying to see my beauty inside and out.

I loved school in elementary. I had lots of friends, always had someone to play with and felt good about myself. Grade 6 is the first time it happened. A boy much much bigger then me stopped me in the playground on the way home from school and told me I was ugly and had no friends and then proceeded to push me to the ground then chase me as I ran home! Then in grade 7 there were a few kids who would tell me I was ugly and that I had a big nose…. I started to retreat and slowly had fewer and fewer friends because I didn’t try to make new ones. If these kids thought it, then everyone else did too… right?…. I hated school. But eventually tried so so hard to make friends but they weren’t always the best friends. They would say nasty things behind my back. Then my parents (for reasons unknown to me) decided to move out of the city to a small town. This was the best thing to ever happen. The community was 90% Christian and they were so welcoming and I loved it! No one cared what you looked like or what you believed.

So here I am having fun with all my friends. But I still didn’t consider myself loved or beautiful. What was wrong with me? Nothing… I had a church leader very close to me. I talked to her about it, she told me to pray and talk to my father heaven about it…. Well duh why hadn’t I thought of that.

After high school I moved out to Calgary, I was excited to start a new chapter in my life. I soon realized that I didn’t have a plan, no dreams or goals. I just dated any shmuck that gave me a little bit of attention. I thought I was loved by these guys. I had one boyfriend who was manipulative and angry.  We dated off and on for about a year. I had friends who told me to not see him but the attention that he gave me always sucked me back in. I finally ended it after one night when we were “hanging out” he tried to force me to have sex with him. Things started going in that direction and then something clicked in my mind and I ran out of his house and made him drive me home. I stopped seeing him after that at least not alone. I told him that I didn’t feel good inside when we were together. My best friend at the time started taking me to the gym with her. We would work out together and do positive up lifting things. I remembered what I learned in high school; that I am beautiful and that I don’t need negative influences or negative attention to make me feel beautiful. I began to do things that I enjoyed, I learned how to long board, I rode my bike. I made a choice that I would only date guys that made me feel beautiful.

I still look in the mirror some days and look at my nose and think, “why can’t you just shrink?” and I get the same unhappy and self destructive thoughts that I had.  But then stop I lean on the knowledge that He loves me and that I am beautiful. To this day I have to remind my self of this and re learn that fact.

October 29th 2010… was the worst day of my life. I felt that my body had failed me, failed Steve, failed Gods plan. I remember feeling like the ugliest person in the world when I got the news that I was pregnant, but that it was an ectopic pregnancy. How could this happen?  How could my body do this to me? It wasn’t until I got pregnant again with Porter that next January did I really realize that it wasn’t my body that had failed. God had a plan for me. I think about it almost daily and think “wow” Heavenly father has control, and he knows what I need. I see the beauty in that, the beauty in his creations. I look at the scars from the surgery and think these are marks from heaven. You may think I am weird for thinking this but it’s like they are there to remind me how precious life is, how beautiful God is, How beautiful I am. These marks make me who I am.

Beauty is a hard subject, even after these experiences that I have had I still struggle with feeling beautiful. Just recently I have decided that I want to become the best I can be physically and spiritually. I find beauty in the fact that our bodies can do so many things. Why not see what mine can do. I am trying to find new talents and develop my spirituality by reading good things. I am pushing myself, growing into the best me possible. I always feel good when I push myself and that makes me feel beautiful.

The woman behind the picture - Part 8: Moka Allen

Finding My Inner Beauty

As a victim of a sex crime at a young age, I grew up hating myself. I thought I was useless, ugly, embarrassed and ashamed of myself. I thought everything that had happened was my fault. I remember when my parents had found out about the attack. The house was very somber and my parents didn’t say much. It was an event in our lives that nobody was prepared for. I sat on the couch watching Nickelodeon and crocheting a Tweety Bird rug. A detective showed up at my house later that night to interview me. I was terrified to sit in my own living room with this man and recall the events to him and to make matters worse he was such a jerk and very insensitive, again making me feel like everything was my fault. My parents were in complete denial and couldn’t sit in the room with us. I’m not even sure that they talked about it to each other. I realize now since I am a parent what they must’ve been feeling but at the time in my 11 yr old mind, blame needed to be placed, and I placed it on myself. The next several months consisted of court dates and interviews with very matter of fact men who scared me to death. The charges were dropped against the man that had done this to me, and I would spend years of my life now trapped in jail inside of my own body while he would walk away with not even a slap on the hand. I didn’t know at the time but I had quickly developed an eating disorder as a way to cope and try to control something in my life. I didn’t even know what an eating disorder was until a couple years later.

I switched schools and was bullied quite a bit. I’d come home sobbing and put towels over the mirrors in my bedroom and bathroom so I wouldn’t have to look at myself. My grades were failing and I couldn’t concentrate on anything except what I ate last and what I was going to eat and not eat. I would spend my time at school pinching myself and trying to figure out how long it would take me to lose the “fat” on my elbow. I learned that year what anorexia was and that I had it. “Ana” (anorexia) had become my only friend. She made me feel better about myself. This disease had become a person to me. I was quickly getting sicker and sicker and nobody seemed to notice. I started researching anorexia and discovered “pro ana” websites dedicated to promoting and supporting people with eating disorders. These websites talked about punishing yourselves for eating and suicide. So, I started cutting myself after I’d eat and the meals got fewer and fewer apart, the suicide attempts and cutting got more and more frequent, it obviously never worked. I remember one day while I was home by myself, I took a handful of Tylenol trying to overdose and walked to my favorite spot as child and lied down on the ground waiting to die. An hour later I sobbed wondering why it didn’t work staring at the sky pleading with God to let me die.

I somehow managed to survive middle school and my freshman year in high school things started to work themselves out. I was happy. I had a 4.0 GPA, I was a star volleyball player and cheerleader. I had a good group of friends, the teachers were great, I was dating junior and senior “popular” boys and I had put on a little weight. There was a place for me in high school and the past seemed to be the past. The summer before my sophomore year in high school my family moved to Utah and I was spending the summer still in Maryland with my friends. I became a victim for the second time of a sexual crime. I never reported it or told my family. I thought they’d hate me or be so ashamed. I was afraid I’d be abandoned. None of which is true, but the shame that a victim goes through is unreal. I come from an extremely loving family and my momma is my best friend, but hard topics weren’t talked about much in my family and were moved on from quickly. I went through anger, grief, denial and I didn’t reach acceptance for a long time. I held this inside and was a big secret literally eating every ounce of fat off of my body. I relapsed and went down hard. I started losing weight again, and trying to fit into a new high school in a small town was torture. I was completely invisible, except to the snake with blue eyes. He was the ultimate loser in a big truck, but he paid attention to me which was what I desperately needed at the time and something I would do anything for even if it would end up hurting me in the long run. He kept pressuring me to have sex with him and after some time of refusing he threatened to leave me. Well that abandoned feeling started to return and I gave in to pressure. I didn’t want to be alone and it turns out I wouldn’t be, because the first time we had sex I got pregnant. I was 15, pregnant, and the snake with blue eyes left me and I was now the laughing stock of the school in a small town. 

The same week that I found out I was pregnant my volleyball coach and biology teacher both pulled me into their office to confront me about my eating disorder. I completely shut down and was back in the denial phase all over again. Talk about self-hatred. I wanted to run away and never be found again. I explored adoption because that’s what I thought I was supposed to do and felt pressured to do because nobody was very supportive and it only seemed to cause tension in my house. So I decided I was going to keep her, which also caused problems in my house and other relationships.  No matter what I did nobody was happy. I was a failure. My life at home was chaotic, my OBGYN was not very kind and my family was mum or my brother was yelling at me about how selfish I was. I spent my time at home hiding in my room or working for my Dad, who at times had to defend me to some of his customers.

My labor and delivery was extremely hard and I was not given proper medical treatment. I was alone most of the time with my daughter in the hospital and it was an awkward situation that most people tried to avoid. I cried myself to sleep every night and questioned myself as to what the hell I was doing. I was at my rock bottom but finally ready to tackle the world as a 15 year old single mom. I had a reason to live, to fight. I wasn’t able to live for myself but this little girl loved me and needed me and would never hurt me or do me wrong. I didn’t want to fail her.

A few months later after I had lost 80 lbs, I went to my momma for help. I needed a therapist. So, I started going. I can’t say it did more good than harm but it was a step in the right direction. The suicide attempts were in the past but I was still anorexic and bulimic, and slowly starving myself to death. I often fought with my daughter’s birth dad, which usually ended up being quite violent, trying to create an ideal life which would never be. One night after a fight as I lay in my bed crying, feeling fat and out of control with no more stomach acid to throw up, I decided I needed to go running.

That night, a runner was born. The road quickly became a good listener and I was a religious about it. I still had anorexic tendencies but I began to eat to run. I couldn’t run fueled on diet pills, diuretics and laxatives. Although I wasn’t eating much it was certainly a start. All those long hours spent alone really forced me to get inside of my own head, to recall unwanted events in my life and sort them out, I would run to get the anger out, the sadness out,  and the demons inside of me that told me lies that I would never amount to anything.

I can’t tell you an exact moment that I found strength to overcome obstacles in my life or what caused me to fight; it’s been a long and ongoing process. I can’t tell you exactly what inner beauty is, since everybody’s definition is different, or that it’s something that I’ve got. But I absolutely am continuing in my quest to become more beautiful each day. I have come full circle in the past 3 years, I’m happy with a drive and passion for life. I welcome challenges now and never shy away easily. I am still a normal person and have dark moments in my life. I still tend to struggle with food and have plenty of moments doubting my self worth and wanting something that I don’t have, but the moments are fewer and farther between. I try not to let anyone control my life but myself, and I have found that I am much stronger than I ever thought I was. “You never know how strong you are until being strong is the only choice you have.” ~Unknown

 Lots of terrible things happen to great people. It’s how you deal with those situations that define you as a person. I was given lemons and in time I made lemonade.

The woman behind the picture - Part 7: Sandra Harding

  Never Admit De-Feet


  I clearly remember  one October afternoon, sitting in the rocker in our living room, feeding our  one month-old son, having sent the three older  children off to school for the afternoon, and feeling so peaceful, grateful and content --- life was not just good, it was Great!  I felt contentment right through to my very soul, and was recovering quickly from this fourth c-section-  then life took  a right hand turn and a long, hard struggle  began for me.

  My husband was laid off before Christmas , and began searching for new  employment – a difficult process at mid-life.  He worked hard to find work and it took time. He eventually found work, and then decided he needed to go back to school part-time and get his MBA while working full-time with a courier company and serving as a Scout Master.   We talked as a family about how money was going to be tight now, and the two older girls started  doing a flyer route. I would help them get the flyers ready, then walk around our neighborhood  with them to do the deliveries.   After a few weeks, my feet started to hurt --  I rested them, iced them, and wore better runners, but it persisted.  This began a 19 year long struggle with sore feet that continues to this day and has changed my life.

 I developed Plantar fasciitis in both heels, and because of the shape of my feet, a very high arch, it took  a LONG time to settle down. -  years!    I was not used to having an injury that would not respond within a reasonable time to care and treatment, so I tried just “pushing through” and  only made it  worse.  Subconsciously, I began to put more weight on the front of my feet, to spare the heels, and  over time, developed neuromas, or inflamed nerves, in-between several of the joints on the forefoot, as well as dropped met – heads –   joints that just dropped out of position and also became inflamed. The fat pad on the front part of my feet shifted, leaving the joints without padding., It was like walking with marbles in your shoes on the front and sharp pain in the heels. 

  I started going to see podiatrists, seeking relief from the daily pain in my feet ---  it was a very difficult case to deal with.  I tried night-splints, anti-inflammatories, orthotics,  physio, chiro., you name it --- I tried it!!   I had four children at home, a husband  who was crazy busy, and  trying to help at home, but gone a Lot. I got so tired of just sitting and looking at all the things that  needed to be done, I started cleaning the house on my hands and knees!   I would watch the clock and wait for the  older girls to come home, and ask them to run downstairs and change the laundry for me , or do other things around the house - I  needed their help to do  things that I had previously taken care of myself.  This may not seem like a big deal to some – you may think “Well of course the kids can pitch in and help,” but it is not easy to be the mom who is used to doing all of this and now having to rely on her kids more and more, not just for a short time, but for years.     Not easy for the kids either --- God sent me Angel children!

I struggled to  take care of my family, serve in the community and church the way I had all of my life and the daily pain was grinding!  I was unable to exercise regularly as I had done before, I started to gain weight, I could not go and Hang out and play volleyball with my friends any more,  or even just go for a walk/hike  --    what was happening to my body???   This was not ME  ---  I began to feel discouraged as the years went by. I would have some periods when my feet would settle down somewhat and I could do more, but then I  would then develop some new “Thing”and it would start again.  It affected every aspect of my life---  it changed how I felt about myself.       I saw “Life” passing me by.

  I  eventually went to a foot surgeon  who said that he had 98% success treating plantar fasciitis and he felt he could improve the situation in my heels at least, so  I choose this route --- four surgeries later, my hopes were again dashed. The surgeon then  admitted he had never seen feet as difficult as mine , but he had  thought he could handle it ---Crumm!!

  We invested in a wheel chair so that I could go out and shop once in a while and I hated that thing --- did not like to be sitting in it, did not like to be stared at, etc.,  BUT at least I could get out of the house and do stuff. So I learned to be patient with those who stared (mostly!), and not worry about it (again, mostly!).  One day, while I was venting about my “necessary evil”, the Said wheelchair, to my older sister, she encouraged me to just decorate the thing with balloons and ride it in style ---- I thought to myself “Why don’t YOU ride it in style!”  I had yet to learn what SHE had learned after spending years in and out of the AB Childrens Hospital with a daughter who had two kidney transplants – life is what you make of it!

  We took this Said Wheel chair on our trip to Europe recently --- it was a choice between being able to go and see all that we wanted to or being restricted because of my feet .Did you know that cobblestones roads provide a free  “Mexican Massage” if you are sitting in a wheelchair!   Interesting ---it was also handy for hanging wet clothes on in the Hotel room and I much preferred this use of the  Said Chair.

     So, the long and short of it  is this ----------  I have had to accept the fact that my feet  will not EVER be what they were  and I have had to make a lot of adjustments.  I do things that I would not have done had my feet been healthy – like Family History, swimming classes, and art classes. Yet these things have become blessings in my life.  I take my hat off to my children and husband  who  even now will step up and ask how they can help me and encourage me to let them do things rather than be on my feet too much, and to a husband who rubs my feet every night  and gets groceries as often as he can. I could not have mentally and emotionally survived without my families help --- I hope that I give back to them what I have been given, maybe not in “Foot-reliant” things , but hopefully  in Life’s Lessons learned!

  One side note --- I have to wear these UGLY but very supportive and comfy dress shoes with all of my dresses/skirts .   My vanity  has had to learn that  “What I wear on my Feet does Not Determine who I am.”       And if people stare or make comments, then that is just because they do not understand.

    I have more to do in this life yet, and I am excited about that.  My feet have taught me a terrible lesson in patience, tenacity, depression,  relying on others, and never quitting. 

   Part of how I used to see myself was someone who was   Fit, Active, Slim, and Capable --  well, after many years of reduced activity,  I  have  put on several pounds, so “Slim” is out the window,  but I am still Capable and I try to be as Fit as I can.   My Body –image has had to change --- how I see myself,  how I feel about my body and especially my Feet ---  I have sometimes looked at my feet and  been embarrassed because of my crooked little toes  and scars from surgery,  or been upset that these feet are not carrying me through life the way I want them to --- until one doctor said he was surprised I had not given up and just sat in a wheel chair !  Now, I am thankful for these little feet of mine and I take care of them ---sometimes I look at others feet with a touch of envy, but these are what I have to work with and you know what, they are doing well, in spite of everything!

When I see someone else who is in a Wheelchair, or who has a Body  with Physical limitations, I really try to see past what is on the Outside and look into their eyes and see the Person , and talk to them, not over or around them.

 It is coming into Spring --- I have wept a few tears in writing this ---  BUT I want to say that I am content with my life, and I am grateful for what I have.  No doubt, Life will throw a few more curves my way --- it already has --  I will not be afraid of that(mostly!).  I will take what I have learned, trust in God and go on. The following lines have become some of my favorite poetry:   

“I am wounded, But I am not slain.

I think I’ll lay here and Bleed a while, Then rise to Fight Again.”

The woman behind the picture - Part 6: Teddi Lee

This post will not be so much about a struggle with Body Image. My story is about a struggle with Internal Beauty. Outward beauty really doesn’t mean anything if you don’t feel beautiful inside. I’m thankful to Kim for allowing me this opportunity to be vulnerable and honest and I hope others can gain insight for themselves.

Growing up through my adolescent and teenage years, I was blessed to have no major trials. My parents were divorced when I was very young, but all things considered I had it pretty good. My Mom raised me in the LDS Church as a single parent and made sure I kept in touch with and fostered a relationship with my Dad. My mom raised me to have as much confidence in myself as possible. She put me into every lesson imaginable to develop my talents: dance, singing, sports, art, you name it, I did it! Since she was a high school teacher, she always instilled the importance of education, and I excelled in school and went on to graduate with a Degree in Nursing straight out of highschool. I think it’s pretty safe to say that I had an unshakeable confidence.

Fast forward a few years….marriage, real life, responsibility! Once high school sweethearts, we were now happy newlyweds.  Daniel and I ventured out of Calgary, away from our families, excited to start our own little life together. Life was great! I worked full time as a Registered Nurse at the local hospital while Daniel took a few classes in school. We started getting into Real Estate. We loved the idea that we could create passive income through obtaining Revenue properties and worked together on obtaining deal after deal (moving about every six months). Somewhere in the mix of all the moves, we added two puppies and decided to start a family. I got pregnant right away and we were ecstatic! Then life got tough.

I had a position and worked on the Psychiatric Unit in the Hospital when I become pregnant. Daniel was already apprehensive about me working in such an unpredictable environment, but became even more so once the news of my pregnancy came. I assured him that no pregnant lady (or anyone for that fact) had ever been assaulted on this Unit and I had even spoken to my managers who also laid that fear to rest. Two weeks later, Daniel’s fear became a reality.

I was the Nurse in Charge on that shift.   Not even an hour into my shift while I was admitting a new patient onto the unit, one of my patients began acting out, yelling at her family members that were visiting, destroying her room and was making her way out to the common area, which would be putting the other patients at risk. One of my male coworkers was already trying to deal with the situation. In hindsight, I should have let him and stayed out of it. Thinking that since I was the one who had established a rapport with this volatile patient, I cautiously intervened, keeping my distance. I simply asked her to go back to her room and we could talk about things. It was kind of a blur after that. I remember her turning toward me without hesitation and punching me square in the nose, reeling me back into a chalkboard ledge of some sort. My back hit it hard.  I was bleeding, fumbling to get up off the floor, trying to call Security, and I could hear my coworker (who had now put the patient in an arm hold) yell to some of my other coworkers to take me to Emergency because my nose was broken. I was in complete shock. I was 8 weeks pregnant.

How could this happen to me, especially in those fragile early weeks of pregnancy ? Why me? I was convinced that my baby had been harmed. My Doctor didn’t see any need to monitor or schedule an ultrasound. Not knowing the state of my baby was too much to bear. I developed Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I had constant nightmares, and was nervous to go out in public. I wouldn’t step foot in that Psych Unit! My confidence took a nose dive.

After switching Doctors I was finally able to get that long awaited ultrasound that put my greatest fear to rest. I had one short scare of preterm labour, I had a long 40 hour labour followed by a PAINFUL C-Section because the epidural had slipped. OUCH is an understatement. Not even a broken nose with no pain meds could touch this! Nonetheless, I gave birth to my perfectly healthy daughter, though I quietly mourned that my body had rejected the normal progression of a natural labour. I felt broken.

I got a job offer that was a perfect fit for me working as a Nursing Education Assistant for a privatized Homecare company. I loved the atmosphere and the job. My confidence was beginning to return until my husband got a job offer he couldn’t refuse and within weeks and after much hesitation on my part, we were headed back toward Calgary.

In and around this last move, I had been dealing with countless other trials: Financial transitions. A personal illness that resulted in Surgery (and the joyous recovery).  The heartache of unsuccessful attempts of getting pregnant again. The stresses of moving-packing, unpacking, knowing no one and trying to make friends over again. To top it off, we were having some major family struggles.  I usually pride myself on being strong in the face of adversity, but dealing with all of this at the same time was too much to handle.  Any confidence I had left from my early years was gone, along with any belief in myself. I felt that I had no friends I could turn to because we moved so constantly. When we moved, people moved on, it’s just what happened. I felt so alone. How could trials just keeping coming like this? I just needed a break for some normalcy! Was that too much to ask?

Throughout all of this, I’m sure I seemed “beautiful” and “put together”.   I was still my happy, friendly, outgoing self, but inside, I was not beautiful anymore. I was negative, felt sorry for myself and wondered why things wouldn’t just get better so I could catch a break. I felt that I was lacking as a mother, a daughter, a wife and a friend. Most of my family and loved ones didn’t even realize all I was facing or how I was feeling inside. How could they? I didn’t want to bother anyone with my problems…everyone has their own to deal with!

I realized things had to change. Outward beauty means nothing when you didn’t feel beautiful on the inside. There was no point in waiting for the trials to stop, because they don’t! That’s life! So, I made a choice. I was going to change my belief in ME and gain my confidence back. I was going to focus on controlling the only thing I could-myself! Figuratively drew a line in the sand and told myself “I used to feel sorry for myself, depressed and alone, but now I’m getting better at realizing that trials allow me the privilege to grow into the person I want to become”.

I immersed myself in positivity. I began writing a gratitude Journal again, and dove into Personal Development books and audios. Through my current work, I began working with Bob Proctor who constantly teaches that positive thinking creates positive results. I quickly realized that my attitude toward life determines life’s attitude toward me! I prayed like I never prayed before. I read tons of books. I strengthened my testimony of the Enabling Power of the Atonement of Christ. For the first time, I realized that my Saviour had already suffered for not only for my sins, but also for my pains, trials and struggles. I did not need to feel that hurt and heartache! I only needed to humble myself enough to allow Him to release those burdens from me so that I could move forward.

With God, all things are possible. I will continue to act as if I am the person I want to become. The difference is that now, I believe it! Inside of me is a greater ME! I’ve retrained my mind, my thoughts and my beliefs and try not to look back. All I needed was for one person to believe in me…and that person HAD to be ME.  I live in the present, not in the past, or anxious for the future. I’m grateful for my trials; they force me to grow and develop into that person I am becoming. Chris Powell once said “A transformation [of your thoughts, beliefs, your life or your body image] means that you will fall and get back up. It’s who you become in the process”.

 Despite what this life may bring, I am grateful, I am blessed. I am beautiful!