Stop Resisting Your Dream Reality... Shift Reoccurring Nigtmares Overnight

Do you ever wonder if it's really possible to manifest miracles in your own life? Do you have reoccurring dreams at night that whisper important information to your subconscious but the lessons you are supposed to learn slip away with the light of day, leaving you stuck in a seemingly never ending pattern of reality?


Whether you're a master at manifesting or never played around with the Law of Attraction, Pam Grout's book "E-Squared" offers a fun place to start experimenting with drawing your dreams closer and altering the state of your current reality.  Before I share the exciting manifestations and gifts I created for myself in the first week of reading this book, I'd like to share a story about dreams....

Decades long reoccurring nightmares to be exact and how one tiny shift changed it all.  Amazing results!

 
I've had this same dream, a reoccurring nightmare for a majority of my adult life. Better part of 20 years at least.

 

The reoccurring theme is I’m standing on a beach, its usually sunset or getting dark out. The waters and sky are deep dark navy, blues, and purples. A huge tsunami wave is coming towards me. I always see the wave coming and there’s no stopping it.

In the early years of the dream, the wave hits and I’m drowning.  Lost underwater, rolling, tumbling. Can’t breathe.  Sometimes it’s so dark I cannot see anything.  I’m tossed around the sea over and over.

Often multiple waves hit.  Over and over and over again.  They just keep coming. I don’t know which way is up or down. I CAN’T BREATHE. I am going to die.

Eventually over the years I come to expect what’s going to happen in these dreams. I see the wave coming and I anticipate it and what’s going to happen. I brace myself for the blow. Eventually I learn to take a big huge breath of air right before the wave hits so I can withstand the tossing and turning under water.

Over the years I learn to hold my breath longer and longer. I don’t feel like I’m going to die anymore, but it’s still scary. Will it ever end? Will I ever make it back out of the water?

Another version of the dream evolves. The wave is coming, I hold my breath, and I make it! I pop back up… in just enough time for the next wave to hit. But I know what to do now. The millisecond before the wave hits I suck in another breath. I toss, turn, resurface… Then the next wave hits or is immediately coming.

But I know what to do. I am not going to die; I just have to withstand the hits.  Sometimes I can even breathe or swim underwater for long durations of times, like a video game.  Its dark, but I can see things and explore my surrounding a little before waking.  My chest is no longer on fire with fear withholding my breath.

This dream comes to me for many years. It gets routine, barely scary anymore. It’s just like a test, something I just must endure as I sleep.  I will survive.  I will wake up eventually and be OK, I just gotta hold my breath and wait for the hits to stop coming.

The other night something happened after reading E2 before bed. It was a typical beach dream, except this time I wasn’t alone. My family was there, my Dad, kids. We were playing in the bright daytime sunlight. It’s SO HOT and the kids are starting to get sunburned pink and its time to head in to wait out the heat of the day. I go in the water alone to cool off or get sand off my body. The rest of my family is on the shore. Then I see the wave coming. I am not scared, I know what to do.

Except this time, I turn my back to the wave (something I learned in Hawaii you are NEVER ‘supposed’ to do, turn you back on the ocean). I turn my back to the oncoming wave and wait. I brace myself for the second before the wave hits, preparing to draw in my biggest breath….

But the wave never hits.

I turn back and see the waves are breaking far off shore now, way out past the sandbar. Wow, the wave is not coming. That’s a first. I am relieved. I relax and begin floating in the water…. And that’s when the rip tide catches me and starts pulling me out to sea.

I can’t stop it, the force is so strong. Before long I cannot reach or feel my feet on the sandy ocean floor. The ocean is pulling me out to sea so fast.  The shore is further and further away. The people are getting smaller. I have to get back to that beach! MY KIDS ARE ON THAT BEACH! I am panicking, I can’t really swim…

Then I remember. I can FLOAT. I’ve always been great at floating! lol Other people sink like a rock, not me... I FLOAT! So I flip over onto my back and immediately stop resisting the current. I float effortlessly and am no longer in danger of being pulled away from the people I love or flailing myself to exhaustion and a sure drowning death.

It's so easy to float out there, I almost start laughing! All along I was fighting so hard and resisting when all I had to do was flip over and float! It’s comical. I begin kicking my legs and start zooming to shore, super-fast almost like a cartoon character with a motor propeller as legs.  No worries at all.
I reach the shore in no time.

SuperMom Crash and Burn

I have a cycle, a behavior pattern.

I go go go, give give give, push so hard I eventually break down.  Not just side of the road maintenance needed, I’m talking full head on collision with myself. Fiery explosion. End of story crash.

 I power through life, ignoring the service engine indicators blinking in my face, speed past yellow warning lights, blatantly block out the ‘DANGER! Curvy Road Ahead' signs.  I press the pedal to the metal even harder. 

Eventually I reach the point of no return, fly off the side of the cliff without any DeLorean powers and fall. Hard.  Crash and burn style. 

It’s hard to come back over and over again from a burning pile of ashes.  My white light is hot and bright, fast and fierce… until it’s not anymore.

One of the most annoying observations I hear repeatedly as a mom of three little ones is “Oh you’ve got your hand full!” You think!?  (And most ironically this hidden insult/judgment was often slung our way when we LITERALLY had our arms full double fisting 2-3 babies at a time or wiping poopy butt while simultaneously chasing a toddler.)  Most people just stare at our three ring circus in wonderment without offering help.  I’m cool with that, but don’t feel sorry for me. We’ve got this!

Another statement often uttered in genuine curiosity and wide-eyed amazement is ‘I don’t know how you do it!?” Well, me either but we do! 

My philosophy behind claiming the Super MOM persona is God chose ME for this job in life.  He blessed us with three babies in 15months.  He made my hands so full they were overflowing. And yes as this blog documents from the beginning, it was overwhelming.  And exciting.   And beyond scary. 

Something about me was ‘worthy enough’ to let the abundance flow and I allowed it.  I believed in myself enough to manifest this life and accept it.  So when times get hard I remember I was made for this.  I was anointed with this ‘burden’.  I was chosen for this greatness.  And all super hero lovers know with great power comes great responsibility or some Spiderman spin off.

Point is, I can handle it.  I handle it. Its handled, Olivia Pope style baby.  Hardcore, balls to the wall, get shit done.  I muster up the strength and energy even when I’m sick and tired.  I barrel through and push harder and get it all done. But at what cost?

For a few years I lost me. ME, this awesome, vibrant ball of energy dried up and crusted over.  I spent several years just going through the motions, getting by, and not really living life.  Deep depression, so anxiety riddled I rarely left my house other than to shuffle kids around to and from pre-school or trudge through the grocery store.  I didn’t go dancing with my friends.  I stopped exercising and lifting weights which I loved.  I let injury and physical/mental illness riddle me to the couch and bed with crushing chest pain at 33 years old. My kids suffered missing their Mom. My husband wasn’t happy.  I was far from happy until I crawled out of the hole I dug for myself and decided to let ME out again.

LEAH: Expect Great Things :)

No ‘F’ that, it was time to FIND the real me. Let HER out!

So here I am.

Guess whose back revamped, revitalized and more ALIVE than ever. I’ll tell you how I did it step by step, crawl by crawl, layer shed by layer let go. Some people may not ‘like’ the “new” Leah or understand me, but that’s their issue to deal with not mine. I’m tired of carrying other people’s worries, thoughts and opinions on my back. 

It’s hard to fly with the weight of the world on your shoulders.

So I'm dropping the baggage from the past, emptying out the backpack full of stones on my back, cutting the cords of addiction, letting go of the cross body bag of mommy guilt burdens we all sometimes carry. Elsa style let it go, let it GO! 

Let's slice open our own hearts and heal from the inside out before we carry that shit around so long we’re old and heart diseased and a surgeon has to do it for us.  Feed our body fuel that’s going to enhance its natural ability, avoid the chemically laden matter they call ‘food’ these days.  Grow our minds and let our spirits BE the beautiful natural souls they were before the human world went and twisted them up with all our silliness and distractions.

We can all do it!    Find YOU, the perfectly flawed being you were designed to be.

You don’t have to be a ‘mom’ to be SUPER.

Death Trap

The ambulance ride was the worst.  I sit in the back with her where she’s strapped to the stretcher intermittently whimpering and then going silent.  Those are the worst moments.  I try to keep the panic out of my voice as I yell her name, demand her consciousness.  Shake her as if to jump start her breathing again. Her eyes eventually flutter open, unfocused, pinpoint pupils.  One eye appears to be going a different way than the other, she can’t focus them both on me at the same time. 

“That can’t be good….”

My relief at help appearing has vanished.  I am no longer comforted by the paramedic’s presence.   The fear she won’t make it to the hospital sets in.  What if I lose my baby in the back of this flying metal box?   It seems unfair for us to have made it this far in life and go out like this. 

 I can’t fault them for not being friendly because they have an important job to do and I doubt its to comfort scared parents or paitents.  The EMT barely says a word to me, he just shouts medical jargon to the front.  He seems as alarmed as me when her crying and breathing periodically stops.

 He jabs a needle into her arm to start an IV.   I welcome the shrill sound of pain she produces.  The needle is bigger than the ones they use at Kosair and as the bus rocks, he digs and digs for a vein.  I pray for blood flow and finally turn away when it doesn’t come. 

I remember the Grey’s Anatomy episode with the baby and ambulance crash.  Could God be so cruel in real life…..?  I know it happens.  How unfair for my family to lose both of us in the same night.  I feel clausterphobic in the back of this death trap, traveling at warp speed.   I am aware my mind is running away from me and I can’t allow my thoughts to start down the slippery slope of ‘What Ifs’.   Positive thoughts, prayers and pleas are imperitive right now.

 I glance out the window and see my friends and I favorite Mexican resterraunt.  We’re still on Bardstown road, not close enough to the hospital.  I send a mental message to my friend.

 “I’m so scared, Friend….”

I always call her during the worst of times.   Hospital breaks from testing or other traumatic events we’ve already endured are made more bearable just by my monotone reiteration to her of whatever crazy event has happened this time.  She never seems to worry when I call, no matter the severity of the situation, and maybe her comfort to me lies in the fact she’s not a mother yet, so she doesn’t fully understand the severity of my fears.   The heart stopping thought of the loss of a child, or the pain of their pain when there’s nothing you can do to make it go away.   

 Its too bright in the ambulance.  I can tell Alyssa’s scared too.  I hold her hand and continue my ramblings, explaining what’s going on, telling her stories, reminding her how strong and brave she is.

“We’re going to the hospital Baby, they’re gonna help you there.  Remember when we were there last time for all those kidney tests, how brave you were?  Mommy’s so proud of you.”

I am determined to keep it positive.

She utters one of the only two sentences I will hear in the next 10 hours.

“I wanna go home…” Before she falls silent again.

“Me too, Baby, me too…..”

“She’s my strong one, you know,” I talk to the paramedics.  Maybe if I brag on her she will get a boost of confidence and fight harder. 

“She was born blue,” I tell them, as if they care.  “She’s a twin, but she’s always been my fighter.  She’s the smaller one, but she’s such a strong girl.”

I remember the Kelly Clarkson song they like to sing to on the radio “Stronger”.  They say “Strong Girl” instead during the chorus and pump their fists in the air like they’re doing an overhead press.  It’s the cutest thing ever.  Alyssa prides herself in her Strong Girl persona.  She’s the most proud of her mini-Crush It workout shirt her Daddy designed and she begs to wear hers whenever she sees me sporting mine.

She’s fallen silent again.

“Alyssa baby, show Mommy how strong you are.  Squeeze my hand.  Its Ok baby, just squeeze my hand if you’re scared.   Mommy’s right here.”

And with that, she shows me just what a Strong Girl she is and locks her tiny hand in mine with the forceful  iron handshake grip of a grown business man. 

For the 1^st time I allow myself to believe she really is going to be OK. 

 

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The Never-Ending Pursuit of Teddy…..

It was a regular Sunday night, the Summer Olympics were on.  Women’s Gymnastics, their favorite.  I had just shelled out $350 bucks earlier in the day for fees and 10 weeks of gymnastics classes.  Alyssa in particular had become obsessed with gymnastics since we saw an ABC movie one night one TV.  She was gonna be a natural.

One month in, our new house was starting to feel more like home.   Before bedtime when Carly remembered Teddy was left downstairs in their basement playroom, Bryce announced, “I’ll go with her.”  They began their descent.  Alyssa flew out of my lap off the couch to follow and no sooner than she rounded the corner out of my sight, the sounds began.  The tumbling from the top of the stairs induced an immediate heart sinking feeling.  The nauseas pit in your stomach swallows your heart whole.

“God damn it!” Is the first thing out of my mouth as I bound off the couch, throwing the remote.   Even then I already know I shouldn’t be damning God at that exact moment.  I had a feeling I was going to need him. I knew immediately it was a bad fall by the long duration of sickening thuds and bangs and muted whimpers.  I think it’s Carly who has lost her balance, but then I see her and Bryce standing at the bottom.   Lyssa is lying at the bottom like a pile of laundry.

Everything from here on out happens simultaneously, all at once, like watching a movie.  Bryce is crying out to me in his panic voice, “Momma Lyssa fell!  Momma Lyssa fell!” as I’m crying out, “Don’t touch her!  Don’t touch her, I’m coming, back away!”

The mother in me is already multi-tasking because I know I need to remove them from the scene.  I expect blood to be everywhere, but as I reach her, she’s face down.   I’m aware I’m not supposed to move her, but I also know I need to see her face.

I pick her up to turn her flat on her back and she gives me one, wide-eyed, gaping mouth glance that is the image burned into my mind.  Like a fish out of water her mouth moves to breathe but no oxygen is circulating anywhere, her chest is still.  It’s the most horrifying gaze, the recognition in her eyes that she’s hurt, can’t breathe, the shock of the fall, it’s all there in a millisecond stare….  I think maybe the air has just been knocked out of her until she slumps backwards, body totally going limp as her eyes roll back in her head. 

I make my second irrational plea with God and think, “I don’t care if she never walks again, God please just let her breathe.”

“Call 911!” I order Kenny who magically appeared at the bottom of the stairs somehow.  We discover later in the night he has practically broken a toe getting down there so fast.

The seizure begins, her tiny body jerking softly as she curls to her side on the concrete.  She seems so fragile at that moment, her 32lbs frame infantile in her duress.  I usher the other two kids upstairs with my voice, as I block their view of her body.  Bryce keeps repeating over and over Alyssa fell, flipped over twice and then rolled and flipped over again.  I realize he witnessed the fall.  Carly is laughing.  A nervous, ill-placed giggle and I wonder if she’s gonna be like how I cry at totally inappropriate times.  Maybe she’s one of those people who laughs at funerals.  I push the disturbing, random thought out of my mind and continue calling Alyssa’s name as if my voice alone can bring her back from wherever she’s gone.

Kenny is yelling frantically, searching for the phone upstairs.  I know his cell is on the kitchen counter and there is a landline at my desk, but he’s frantically hunting down the cordless receiver.  I suddenly remember there’s one two feet away from me in the basement and grab it. 

My lifelong reoccurring nightmare doesn’t present itself.  For 15 years or so I’ve always had this series reoccurring dreams where under different scenarios I’m required to call 911 and when I pick up the phone to dial, I am riddled with panic and fear and fumble the numbers.  Then the phone won’t hang up or the line goes dead or I can’t dial the right digits and the panic rises as the need to call for help isn’t met.

In real life there is no room for panic, but plenty for fear.  I am the most scared I have ever been in my life, but it doesn’t paralyze me and I feel everything might just be alright when I hear, “911 what is your emergency?”

Kenny is back and I follow the directions of the really calm lady (What throws a 911 operator if it’s not a baby who isn’t breathing?)  Roll her to the side (she already is) don’t stick anything in her mouth, she won’t swallow her tongue.  She is whimpering now, the best, most pitiful whimper I’ve ever heard, even better than her 1^st cry that came too long after she was delivered. 

The seizer is over, lasting maybe 20-30 seconds in this dreamlike world I have been thrust into.  My mind still works.  I instruct Kenny to stay with her and not move her while I run upstairs.  Bryce & Carly sit on the couch in the living room and now he’s pleading for Alyssa to not go to the hospital.  He asks if her eyes are going to pop out of her head.  He has heard me say her eyes rolled back in her head and his 4 year old interpretation is her eyes are going to pop out.

The dispatcher releases me from the line and assures me the ambulance will be there soon.  I start dialing my parents, thankful they are just across the street.

“I don’t want Alyssa to go to the hospital!” Bryce pleads.  I usher them down the hallway into his room.

“Buddy, she’s hurt and they’re gonna help her there.  Remember when we talked about emergencies and how it’s important to listen to Mama?  An ambulance is gonna come and me & Alyssa get to ride real fast to the hospital.  I need you and CarCar to stay in here and watch TV until GaGa & PaPa get here.”  They listen.  I want to spare him anymore scary images, like the paramedics carrying his sister out on a stretcher.  My mind is already evaluating what’s coming next and what needs to be done.

I reach my parents on the phone as I grab the 1^st available garments off my bedroom floor.  I am in a gown and know I need clothes and shoes for the hospital run.  In record time I am dressed and back downstairs.  It is me who needs to be by her side.  I send Kenny off to wait outside to guide the ambulance to the right house.  I remember at one of my birthday parties as a kid my cousin flipped over a rail and fell headfirst onto the concrete at the bottom of those basement steps outside.  A crowd of family members ran down the street chasing the ambulance that apparently got lost.

Her eyes are not open, but I am assured by her shallow cries.  And thankful for the lack of blood, but I also know this can be a bad thing if she has head trauma and her brain is swelling with no place to go.  My parents arrive and are peeking over the steps with Bryce and Carly again and I shoo them away with orders to distract the other kids.  I send my Mom outside to get my purse from the car, I know I will need my wallet and maybe money for vending machines depending on how long we are stuck at the hospital.  I’ve had enough hospital adventures in my 4 short years as a parent than I cared to remember.

My Dad is coming down the steps and I stop him.  Panicked a little now because I don’t want anybody else to see her like this.  I am afraid she’s going to have another seizure or even worse stop breathing again, and that seems like my burden to bear, no one else’s.  I think another seizure is happening as her small body shakes, but then I realize she cold lying on the basement floor and I grab a blanket conveniently nearby and wrap it on top of her.

Finally EMS is there, it seemed like a short amount of time and I am grateful.  They take too long getting the neck brace on and securing her to the all boards.  I wince when he tapes her hair with reckless abandon around the board because I know how she will scream when I have to remove it.  But I assume they are not worried about ripping out little girl’s hair when they  are trying to save her life.

I follow them up and out, talking to her constantly and trying to reassure her I am still there even though we’ve lost contact.  I point out the moon when we walk outside, remind her how much she loves the moon, tell her we’re about to ride in an ambulance.  I look back at the house as I step off the porch and see the lights of the rig reflecting off Bryce’s face on his top bunk peeking out the window.  He doesn’t make eye contact with me, but I see his panic has kind of shifted to curiosity and admiration at all the commotion.  A police car suddenly pulls up as I notice Teddy fall from the blanket I carried  from the basement.  I give him the crazy mom instructions to take the Teddy back inside to the other twin, she doesn’t sleep without him.

Off we go into the night.

 

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Alyssa’s Fall

How do you ever get the image of your daughter lying crumpled at the bottom of the basement stairs, not breathing, out of your head?  How do you delete the mental playback of those wide eyed, terror filled blue eyes rolling back into oblivion before the seizure began?  Ban the thought of blood trickling out of her mouth from biting or injuring her tongue in the fall?

I’ve been haunted by the images and horror of the experience since my 3 year old fell down an entire flight of basement steps landing on a lightly carpeted concrete floor.  She came out of the hospital 3 days later with no physical ramifications from the event, but the mental and emotional impact on our entire family is evident today and probably will be forever a part of our psyche. 

I will never forget the terror of the reality that my daughter’s life was in danger, real, physical, immediate danger.   I am not an overbearing Mom and some people even called me paranoid before this happened, but my children are just so precious to me I will go above and beyond to protect them. But accidents are called accidents for a reason.  I have also come to believe that to some extent they can be prevented.  The purpose of this post is not to criticize anyone’s parenting styles or decisions, but to just raise awareness about accidents that can possibly be prevented. 

My main lesson has been just because they can do something on their own, doesn’t mean they should. 

Sure, my three year olds are not babies anymore who have to be followed each move they make.  We do not have to hover over step by step as they go up and down stairs.  Sure, they can do it alone, but if I had better safe guards in place, maybe this whole ordeal could have been prevented.

I also wrote the following documentation of a near death tragedy because I want Alyssa to know one day what a fighter she is and all she has overcome, but mainly so others will hopefully read the heart wrenching words and remember them.  Remember what we went through and maybe do an inventory of your own house and habits and put in place a few new safety measures to prevent simple accidents such as falls and head trauma from happening. 

I just saw a story come on TV about a mother who’s 5 year old died from falling through a screen in their 2^nd story house and I just cried and cried.  A spilt second accident can take away the most precious things in our lives, so if there’s anything I can do to prevent that from happening in mine, I will do it.  Whether it be installing a hand rail on the steps, putting back up a baby gate so they don’t have free reign access to the steps, not allowing them to ride bikes or scooters without helmets, no playing in the street, not even checking the mail alone (there was a 12yearold boy in the trauma room next to us that night who went out to check the mail and was hit by a truck and his entire face was smashed in).  There are simple things we take for granted that we let our children do that can just be modified a little to provide them more safety.  I don’t think it makes me a bitch to tell my kids no to some things, or watch over them more closely even though they are growing bigger and more independent. 

Just because they can do more things on their own doesn’t mean they should.

So many people expressed concern over what happened and wanted to hear all about it, for the first time understood what it was like to suffer Post Traumatic Stress.  Especially right after it happened, ‘Alyssa’s fall’ was all anyone wanted to talk or ask questions about.  I avoided talking about it much on Facebook and began avoiding social situations because I knew it was going to be the 1^st and sometimes only thing people wanted to talk about. 

Most people were just genuinely concerned, but others, the blood hounds, were like the rubberneckers on the expressway about causing another wreck to see the damage of the mangled cars on the side of the road.  People asked specific questions about her not breathing, the seizure.  And every time I was forced to re-encounter the event, my heart felt squeezed with pain and that  image of her lifeless, limp body on some plain of consciousness in between our world and another was all I could see and I just wanted to crumple in the middle of the party or grocery store and cry.  Sure she was OK, but all the ‘What Ifs’ or alternate endings is what got me.  I came so close to losing my baby and it was the last thing I wanted to talk about.

My life has forever been changed by what happened, and it’s not all bad.  I hug my children tighter, I have more patience with their toddler ways, and I love them even more, if that’s possible.  I know how frail they are even though they seem so grown, such Big Boys and Big Girls who will always be my babies.  I am more scared, life is viewed through a rose colored glass of danger.  It’s hard for me to go to the playground because all I see is a deathtrap.  Actually everywhere I go; every situation we encounter is quickly evaluated through my jaded eyes for potential danger, and let me tell you, potential danger is everywhere.  But I must still let me kids be kids and have fun and be independent, but not at the cost of their lives or safety.

So without further ado, here’s the first installment of our ordeal in all its gory details.  Some of these experiences I have never even told my closest friends or family members, but it’s my hope this story will prevent another family from losing a child, or at the least prevent an accident from happening.

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Cracking the Egg

I’ve been inspired by two of the random things I saw recently on daytime TV.  DVR’d shows and movies to be enjoyed in peace and commercial free when the kids are at Parents Out and this parent’s trying to chill out.  Get some daunting domestic shit done like sorting, folding & putting away the family of 5’s dirty-again-too-soon drawers.  I’ve been enjoying the mental distraction of TV and hey, wouldn’t you know something inspiring came out of the tube wasteland.

First favorite new viewing habit is the MTV adolescent series ‘Awkward’ about the modern day trials and tribulations of the classic American teen girl.  I am totally a 15 year old girl on the inside.  Mainly it’s about her ‘blog’, such a 21^st century phenomenon in itself, freedom of the press to the fullest.  No censors, no filters, the freedom to announce and express any ‘ol thing to the world without suffering consequences of saying it to their face.  Beautiful.

The other movie muse I stumbled upon was the B flick ‘Julie & Julia’ a cheesy fake-umentary about another once upon a time washed out wanna be blogger getting rich off some stupid shit.  Presenting Julia Childs’ recipes from her famous cookbook as a challenge and writing about it daily.  I could do that.

The cooking part was intriguing to me; I can barely follow a recipe.  I just don’t think certain things are really important when cooking like which order to add in certain ingredients, or stuff like timing and temperature.  So to watch a master (Meryl Streep) playing the role of a master, not bad… and it gave me an idea.

I can do that shit.  Write and blog and inspire the masses.  I already have a blog, even if all of …. ummm let me check..... 13 people following it might possibly be reading my rants and ramblings.  But I needed to do that, follow through with something, especially if it involved doing something for me!  What becomes of the writer who doesn’t write??? 

I have a voice other than one that yells “Bryce!  Carly!  Alyssa!”  and she needs to be heard!

My blog hasn’t been updated lately, but there have been occasional writings I never posted or published.  I got all caught up in the public ‘blog’ idea sharing thing again.  It kind of turned me off.  I began writing more journal-like entries I never quite felt comfortable sharing with the world.  But what’s the point of having a blog then; I might as well just ‘Dear Diary’ it up and leave massive amounts of chicken-scratch filled spiral notebooks for my kids to decipher someday when I’m dead.

But else something was also missing from my life, the public forum of sharing my thoughts, the regular rush of writing for a deadline, the idea what I have to say matters.  For most of my adult life I’ve had a public forum, my own column in the high school newspaper “Leah’s Lines” (how creative).  I commented on the likes of Princess Diana’s death and the intrusive paparazzi years before it was a trending topic.  I paid tribute to my friend on the anniversary of her death.  At UL, I was the editor of the whole Features section of our college newspaper and had a weekly outlet for my expressions.

Lately, nothing.  It’s like I don’t exist to the world outside my 3 kids and a few friends and family members.  I still have shit to say and I have been reminded that my story matters, my insights are valuable and my experiences still help people.  So I’m getting over my fear of blogging bullshit and challenging myself to a new writing regimen.  This is actually just one step of many in my new lifestyle overhaul, but more on that to come. J

On the writing front I am committing to a 90 Day Challenge to write AND PUBLISH one new blog entry daily.  Can you handle that much Leah!?  It doesn’t have to be a new blog entry, I would love to go back and actually publish online some of what I have written in the past, and quit over analyzing and editing to death my other blog entries that never saw the light of day. 

I learned through some work with a Life Coach last year that in order to be authentic to Leah and in turn others, I need to stop hiding behind myself and crack myself wide open.  So here it goes, me in all my honest essence, like it or not.  Would love to hear comments.

Let’s crack this egg wide open.

 

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Wow, my last blog post was kind of depressing, huh? And so last year. Literally.

Cancer sucks. We got it.

Has it really been so long since I last posted!? People are panting for an update, I'm sure.
Let me tell you, there is SO MUCH positive change and awesome vibes flowing through our family right now I can barely contain the excitement!

Here's a few quick updates....

A simple idea spawned from the minds of some of the most badass chicks I know has turned into an exciting new adventure! From the requests for a CrossFit-meets-Charlie's-Angels themed shirt to an entire line of workout clothing and apparel, I introduce to you, "Crush It"!

Our first printing almost SOLD OUT on the first day! New designs and shipment coming soon, visit our fan page in FaceBook and place your order!

In other news on the homefront, Alyssa and Carly are potty trained!!! This statement can't have enough exclamation marks. Parents of toddlers know the daunting task of getting your little person to shit and piss on the pot can be daunting. From three kids in diapers down to one... almost seemed too good to be true. But it wasn't. We were so close to being RICH.

Little Miss Independent woke up the day before Thanksgiving and simply stated, "I don't wanna wear diapers anymore." Alrighty then!


Sans a few accidents here and there and an occasional bedwetting incident, Alyssa was declared.

Carly, in traditional Carly fashion, took a while longer. She has always done things at her own pace. Rolling over, crawling, walking.... Carly takes her sweet time. She COULD do all of those things before she actually did, I know it, she just opted to do things on her own time.


After a few months of her claiming, "I'm a baby!" she got on board and its been two weeks since I purchases a pull up! Whoohoo!

And in the spirit of the day, here's some pics of my girls and our family celebrating Valentine's Day.

Tommorow I Lift...

Cancer sucks.

Tomorrow I will be lifting in a fundraiser WOD called “Grace” (30 clean & jerks) in honor of all the people who have been changed by the effects cancer and loss. Tomorrow, 30 times as fast as I can, I will lift a 32 lb barbell with 10 lbs on each side from the ground to chest level then push the weight at a rapid pace up over my head and land in a very strong, victorious stance, all for the ones we loved and lost.

October gets a lot of attention as the official Breast Cancer Awareness month, but in many families everyday is a reminder of the pain and devastation cancer reeks on their life and hearts.

Cancer sucks. Cancer defies sense. It rearranges what we perceive as should be the natural order of things by ruthlessly robbing family and friends of their future time together. It randomly reduces years we will have here to dreams of what once might have been. It just plain isn’t fair. Cancer and disease suck.

Tomorrow I will be lifting in honor of one Aunt who just completed her last round of radiation treatment for breast cancer and is finally feeling better. She is cancer free and her hair is growing back. She is beautiful and as strong as ever.

My other Aunt is 7+ years going on cancer free after a rare, aggressive type of breast cancer resulted in the removal of both her breasts and a long, painful fight for life. You’d never know by seeing her attitude and spunk for like the battle she went through, or the fact she lost her husband just two years ago to brain cancer.

Bootcamp helped me deal with the pain of his loss, my Uncle Garry, who was diagnosed and gone in less than a year. I remember many sadder than words can describe incidents around the time of his passing where I’d leave his house or hear a heartbreaking story and cry all the way to Mt. Washington. Then I’d sweat my sorrow away for 45 minutes, kicking my own ass into shape at an outdoor summer Bootcamp. I remember cussing cancer many times in my head as I pounded a medicine ball into the ground, or lifted my knees higher, of pushed harder in honor of them, all the ones before me who didn’t make it to the next family vacation.

My best friend still cannot celebrate a birthday, holiday or special moment without becoming sad because her father died of bladder cancer when we were 23. Around the same time my grandmother was basically dying from Alzheimer’s. I dealt with that trauma in a less productive way, partying my way through the pain. At this point in my life I simply wasn’t eating and weight has a way of magically disappearing when you ingest more calories a day in alcohol than food. Partner that diet with a regimen of many hours night after night shaking your ass in the club and you’ve got a very sad, sick girl.

My first major cancer loss happened when I was 15 and my Papa died from prostate cancer. That era is still one of the most painful periods of my life, watching someone you couldn’t imagine living without, die a slow, painful death. My Grandfather never saw me wear a prom dress, get married, have children, be really happy or drive the Ford red Ranger I bought from him. He never lived to see me turn 16. I dealt with his loss by consuming lots of Oreo’s, fried food and young drug experimentation. In any combination of the a fore mentioned vices, anything to escape a reality too painful to face.

I miss my grandparents terribly to this day.

My own Dad discovered he had Stage II Melanoma when I was a senior in high school and he was fine after a surgery, so our worry over him was blessedly short lived but it was still once of the most scared I have ever been in my life.

My heart breaks still for my good friend who misses mother’s presence at her wedding dress fittings. She passed away from Breast Cancer way too young. My other good friend’s family has been battling their mother’s colon and liver cancer for two years, holding on to hope they can squeeze out a little more time. Our 1999 class Valedictorian and voted ‘Most Likely to Succeed’ left this world at 20 years old from a redcurrant kind of Leukemia that came back and took the life of a brilliant, beautiful young woman. My favorite teacher, mentor and friend fought and won her own battle with breast cancer.

So not fair. None of it. Cancer and death suck.

It makes me want to cry as I recount all these painful emotions, but I am proud now to funnel those feelings of sadness and loss into action. All the listed above instances and experiences fuel my passion for fitness and overall improved health. I am passionate about my Paleo recipes and excessive exercising because I believe I am improving mine and my family’s odds at survival!

I want to be around when my children grow up and have children. I want to be active and mobile. I want to be pain and disease FREE! I want to give my kids the best shot available at being healthy. I want to feed them and myself food that is natural and avoid as many man made mystery foods filled with fake nutrition and dyes and chemicals as possible.

Many times in my life I have not taken the best care of my body or listened to a thing it was trying to tell me. In most cases it was too late before I was forced address a health related problem and ended up suffering more because of it!

Often I have felt doomed by my genetic make-up. I thought maybe my mix of DNA meant inevitable destruction by disease. Cancer, Alzheimer’s, diabetes, obesity, blood disorders, heart disease, you name it, we got it in my family, on either side.

Heart disease, that’s a good one. My Dad’s father died when I was 8 years old from a heart attack he suffered on the beach while we were on vacation in St. Petersburg, FL. I watched them perform CPR on his body lying on the beach in his Bermuda shorts. That shit sticks with you and I am so happy and overjoyed to come to this point in my life where I have not just given in to my fate, but realized I am the one largely responsible for maintaining control of it and influencing the final outcome!

We are all going to die. I know that is the inevitable part. But what I do with the time I have here is what matters most. Not wasting time fearing what may or may not unfold or succumbing to a blanket fear of the worst. There are things I can do right now, here today, to favor my own survival. Like eat cleaner and move my body more! How amazing to take that control!

I am not lulled into believing a fantasy that if I do _____, _______, and ______ I will live a long, healthy life free from pain or illness. Eat right, exercise, die anyways, right? You hear the stories all the time about the health nut that falls over dead from a heart attack. I know we are really not in charge and the randomness of death happens in an instant. The month after my grandfather died when I was a sophomore in high school I said goodbye to my good friend Angie and watched as she got in a car that drove away into her untimely death. I will never forget the fragility of life because of her.

She was a great athlete and often when I am totally sucking at a workout and I want to give up or God forbid quit, I think of her. She has been with me at every physically enduring event in my life from the tattoo of her name on my leg to the birth of my children. I embrace the suffering and suck it up, because whatever pain I am in means I am still alive. I sacrifice my pain, push harder, run faster, laugh harder, for her.

I do it for all who can’t because they are no longer on this earth. I do it for the ones who can’t because they are physically weak from fighting some disease, so they can stay around a little longer to be with the ones they love.

I fight because I can. Because I am still here and able to move, jump, pull up.

Tomorrow I lift.

Today, I live.

Fight or Flight….

FIGHT!

I felt like the last kid at school to get picked for the dodge ball team. The Saturday morning Seneca Park Partner WOD included a ‘Farmer’s Carry’ where you pick up your partner and run 360 meters transporting their weight on your shoulders or back. Nobody wanted to lift my ass on their shoulders and I worried that someone strong enough to do it definitely wasn’t going on my back!

Thankfully Coach Sean spotted my dilemma and instructed me to carry two weights the prescribed distance with the visiting Coach Kellie as my partner. Lucky me, some people are scared to have a coach as a partner, but I saw her demonstrations of the backwards overhead medicine ball squat/throw and we kicked ass as a team! Our 100 sit-ups as the closer was completed with a 20lb medicine ball even the guys weren’t using, so take that!

Point is this is yet another reason I love the sport of CrossFit. I wonder if other athletes on game day feel the same way I do headed into a WOD. It usually follows the same pattern of anxiety followed by hard work then triumph.

On the way to the gym and in the moments before a WOD begins, especially if I allow myself too much time to think about or examine what I am about to do, my stomach is tight and sometime nauseas. I am nervous. Usually about the time the Coach is explaining the movements that little voice tries to pipe up in the back of my mind.

“You can’t do this….”

“What the hell are you thinking!?”

“Just quit now!”

But there is no quitting in CrossFit, so I shut that doubtful drone down and get to work.

By the end of my workout, no matter how hard I struggled or how far behind in time or rounds I come in on the board, I DID IT. I succeed. I love CrossFit all the more because everyday I give myself the chance to overcome self doubt. Face fears and WIN. The confidence that builds cannot be bought in a store, book, online or with any other method of weight loss in my opinion.

Everyday at some point during my workout, usually before I even begin, I want to quit. But I don’t. I fight my instinct to run and I try. I forge ahead even though sometimes I still feel defeated by my numbers on the stupid scale or a food slip up over the weekend. I attempt weight I’ve never lifted before, I strive to beat my previous time, and I push myself to finish before the person ahead of me.

I fight and everyday I win.

The Grass Only LOOKS Greener....

I was a complete bitch over missing CrossFit tonight.

At 6:16pm, when my husband stated his location as ‘crossing over Eastern Parkway on my way home’, it became obvious I wasn’t going to make it to 7:00 Hybrid CrossFit class. The hands on the clock passed the point of no return and I basically bitched him out over sink full of sudsy dishes, balancing the cell phone between my shoulder and ear not really caring at the moment if it fell in the water or not. I wasn’t going to get in my daily release of pent up aggression and anger, so now what the hell was I going to do with myself!?

It wasn’t really his fault, the man whose day began at 3:30am and included a 7:00 am WOD followed by a full day of cleaning other people’s crap out of their carpets. Somebody has to work to pay the bills around here and the amount of work I do slaving over household duties doesn’t put a paycheck in the bank. I remind myself to be thankful for enough work to sustain our existence. Its not easy running a 5 person family on the income of 1, but we sacrifice because our babies are only little once and this is such an important time for us to be blessed with their constant presence, regardless how much that constant presence drives us crazy.

But I was PISSED not to get my workout in. All day I mentally prepared for an ass kicking that was not coming, so now what’s a girl to do? It may not sound that serious to some, but perhaps fellow CrossFitters understand the need to sweat, the desire to positively redirect daily anger and pain into a WOD.

Plus there’s always the feeling of missing out on something. At 7:15, I imagine what my friends are doing. The warm up is over; they are starting in on their first skill set practice… Magic happens at a CrossFit ‘gym’ and who doesn’t want to be where the magic happens?

I understand the human tendency to always want what we can’t or don’t have. Lusting after an image in our head of how we perceive things to be for others. My single friends with no husband or kids sometimes seem to have it all. They can go workout twice a day or hop on their bike and ride up to the gym just to stretch and roll out whenever they want. I envy their freedom, ability to do whatever the hell they want, when they want. It seems as if my life has never been that way. I have never been alone.

And yet I also have friends with the same afore mentioned freedom that would trade sleeping in and nights out on the town for a hectic family schedule like mine. The grass is always greener….

Hell has been described as wanting to be any place other than where you are at the moment. I remind myself of this and take in deep breaths of the cool Kentucky late September evening air.

What is so wrong with exactly where you are right now?

Fresh aromas of homemade chicken stock fill my nostrils. I listen. I calm my thoughts and feelings. So what I don’t get to work out today? I am exactly where I need to be at this moment and fighting that will only lead to misery.

My children’s squeals, screams, and laughter filter in through the open kitchen window. I turn off the drone of the evening news in the living room and even though I wasn’t paying much attention, I would much rather focus on the sounds of what I love most vs. the infiltration of horror stories seeping into my subconscious.

I watch them out the window while I chop... therapy at its cheapest. They aimlessly chase each other, run in circles around our backyard, tackle, tickle, hug, push, play. I always smile inadvertently no matter how angry or upset I am when I see or think of them.
What a wonderful life we all have when you take the time to appreciate it, as is.

Dropping 110lb weighted bar on my head wasn’t near the worst or most painful thing that happened to me yesterday.

Some days my stress level is so high, losing myself in an hour of CrossFit is the only RX to bring me back to normal again. Better than normal. My need for sweat and total emotional annihilation via completing a kick ass WOD is beyond obsession. The word ‘addiction’ has too many negative connotations attached to. Some days I just simply need it, hence the complete bitch behavior the following day when I was forced to miss my workout due to childcare switch off issues.

Pushing myself so hard physically is rewarding because of how great I feel after completing what I wasn’t sure I could do in the first place.

The board looked like this upon walking into DCCF…

Tuesday 9/27/11
September 26, 2011
WODPush Jerk – 3, 3, 3, 1, 1, 1+Max Rep Pullups x 4+15min AMRAP6 Shoulder to Overhead12 Turkish Situp12 One Leg Squat
I needed that workout.

My day had already consisted of rising at 5:00am, not to workout (which is how I would prefer my day to begin if I am up that early) but to take my daughter in for outpatient surgery on her ears. It’s been a long 6 weeks for Carly & I, battling an ear infection that wouldn’t go away no matter how aggressive our treatment. Thank you, MRSA. Look that shit up on the internet and you’ll feel like funeral planning is in your future.

A staph infection resistant to antibiotics is scary stuff, especially when the infection has decided to take up residence in your 2 year old’s ear. No fun for anyone involved. I just wanted my daughter back to her normal self, a full night’s sleep for both of us, for her to be better and 100% infection free. Hence the surgical removal of her ear tubes. Apparently the nasty MRSA likes to set up shop around foreign objects in the body, such as the plastic the tubes are made out of. Sigh.

Time to sweat out my fears and frustrations.

I like the push jerk. Ever since nailing the overhead squat over the weekend (just days before I couldn’t even get the BAR, and there I was Saturday adding weight and banging them out in good form!) I was itching to throw some heavy iron over my head. My confidence was up. I knew I was capable of more than I had given myself credit for and I was ready to raise the bar. Literally and figuratively.

I progressed each set by adding more and more weight each time. By my last set I was up to 50lbs + a 32lb women’s bar. 82lbs I was dip-drive-dipping over my head.

Awesome. It felt great.

So as I’m racking my weights, I notice the lady in front of me is adding two more 10’s.

“I’m going to try that when you’re finished,” I tell her.

I’ve seen her around the 3:45 class before and I remember a Death by Row day where I tried to keep her pace even though she’s way taller and has longer arms than me. I always try to pick someone out of each class to keep up with. Even if I don’t ‘beat’ them, it gives me and extra motivation to keep a kick ass pace. And if I do beat their time or weight, well hot damn, I feel like a real bad ass that day!

“You know this is a man bar, right?” She replies, smirking with doubt.

This means the weight has jumped over 30lbs compared to the weight on my final rep and that last one didn’t go up easily.

“I only gotta do it once!” Is my reply.

She attempts her final rep and doesn’t make it up. I am a little nervous at this point, but what the hell? I’ve already verbally committed myself, I wasn’t going to back down from the challenge not.

It’s only once, right?

I step up to the bar and can tell a difference, but at this point I still think I can do it.

I dip, drive…..

BAM!

Before I even know what happened, there is a pain in my head and I realize the bar didn’t make it over my head, but actually ended up on my head! I didn’t drop the bar but recovered enough to rack 'em.

I was more embarrassed than anything. At least Coach Ryan didn’t laugh out loud as I’ve seen him do before. He mainly just looked a little concerned. I’ve seen the very same thing, and worse, happen to other people, but I never knew how quickly or easily accidents in the gym could happen.

All I could think about was my son’s three Frankenstein stitches to the forehead. He fell out of bed last week resulting with a gash on his beautiful face, all in the middle of dealing with Carly hospital drama and trips to the infectious disease doctor. Nobody wants to make a trip to that doctor’s office, trust me. Scary place.

We went on with the WOD and halfway through I changed position because the glare of the sun off the front glass was making me dizzy. I finished and lay on the floor, almost complaining that the WOD made me dizzy, before I remembered the 100+ pounds to the dome was probably the culprit.

Lessons learned: There is a difference between confidence and cockiness. Also, get the hell out of the way when you attempt and fail a heavy lift!!!

To avoid eating the scraps of food off my kid's plates (OR THE FLOOR!!!) while cleaning up, I began to tell myself, "You are NOT a garbage disposal."

Working for the Presbyterian Hunger Program for so many years raised my awarness of many issues, including the lack of food for so many around the world. I mean, people are dying from malnutrition and starvation, so I always thought of this when throwing food away. It was almost painful to waste food. So, usually, I just ate it. Even if I really didn't want it or like it.

Then I read "Women, Food & God" by Geneen Roth and my relationship with food changed forever. I became free from the constant battle raging inside for the majority of my life. One of the lessons I benefited from learning was the theory that food will be converted to waste whether it goes into your body or the trash.

Throw that shit away. Don't reward yourself with food. You (and your body) deserve better.

What crazy things have YOU done to lose weight?

Try something REALLY revolutional....

The Student Becomes the Teacher....

I love it when you've rounded a corner and didn't even know it, a sudden shift in the tide so subtle you don't even notice a change until its already taken place.

A fresh crop of CrossFitters have infiltrated class, unfamiliar faces unsure and asking for advice.... from me.

ME, just another rookie, but not as much of a newbie compared to them. Its HILARIOUS to me others are suddenly asking ME for advice and looking at me like I'm a beast on the barbells. How funny because I still feel like 'the new girl'.

"Don't watch me!" I want to say sometimes. "I still don't know what the hell I'm doing!"

But I realize that's not true because I do. Almost 4 months of CrossFit has ingrained some muscle memory that was never there before. In a class if a coach asks if someone can demonstrate certain movements, I can. When stepping up to the 100lb+ stone balls in the back I don't hesitate to give it a try because I know I can lift it. I've done it before!

Only once before, but to a scared shitless first-timer, I resemble an old pro. AWESOME.

Wearing High Heels is Like Working Out....

It may hurt, but DAMN your legs, butt, & posture look so much better! :)

Embrace the pain.

CrossFit Cheerleaders

Today I heard the loudest cheers yet at Derby City CrossFit, so distracting and attention demanding a few of the other coaches who were lifting some serious shit on the other side of the wall stuck their heads around a corner to see what the commotion was all about.

One of the awesome things about CrossFit you hear so much about is the community of it all. When the most elite of the athletes forging to be elite finish, they often cheer on the ones who are struggling or bringing up the rear. Countless articles, videos, and testimonials are out there hyping the whole 'CrossFit Community' thing.

I'm often not always the slowest one in the class anymore, but today I was the final one on the floor as the others recovered. I didn't feel I was, per se, struggling to finish the WOD that didn't look too bad on the board....

WOD

Push Press – 80% of Press – 6 x 2
+
10 Power Cleans
10 Box Jumps
10 Power Cleans
20 Box Jumps
10 Power Cleans
30 Box Jumps
10 Power Cleans
40 Box Jumps

.....until about the time I got to the 30 Box Jumps set.

Often it’s the workouts that don't look hard or intimidating that are the worst.
I felt good about myself considering it was only about a year ago I overcame my fear of jumping over or onto anything and began hopping up on a box for fun. Even more badass is the 'small' box I jump on now is even bigger than the one I was used to practicing on. AND, not to compare but sometimes its hard not to, there were others in the class who weren't jumping at all, simply stepping up on the box one leg at a time, which I did for a long time when I first started out and would definitely still do if I moved the box up a size.

So here I am, working on my form and focusing on landing in the middle of the box. Trying not to stomp my feet so loudly when I land by pretending I am an Indian sneaking around in the woods with a light step. (I know, my mental visualizations are silly sometimes but whatever it takes to make it through, right?)

My newest improvement comes from some instructional advice from Coach Sean who tells me to stand all the way up at the top when I land. Every time I land now I think 'Erect!' and it already improves my form and feels better immediately to take the time straighten out my hunched over physique before hopping back down and powering through the set.

Someone before class announced we would be doing 100 box jumps and DAMN that's an intimidating number to have stuck in my head! So I just go one at a time, mentally envisioning the complete, correct motion a split second before I command my body to move and I plug away at each set.

Mainly during any box jump I am just trying to keep a positive, clear focused mind. Not let a fearful thought creep in to be planted of busting my shin and disrupt my flow with any seeds of doubt.

I got this and I know it.

Plus, I know my 3 year son is going to walk through that door any second with his Dad to pick me up, my special escorts of the day. I am wearing down from those damn Box Jumps and when I see them enter my smile alone is enough to send me sailing through to the end.

I wave them over and as he hesitantly looks around wide-eyed at the curious surroundings, as he works his way around the various bodies littering the floor. I see him eyeball the big dudes with the large weights.

"Mommy has 12 more to go, Buddy, come on help me count!"

He's into it now. I am fired up. The end is right there to be stomped into history, nothing but a page in my workout log.

There's no messing up now.

He is focused too, waving his arm down at his side with each count like a ref in a wrestling ring.

"1.......2......3......."

And that's when the real noise begins.

The other CrossFitters start clapping their hands and hollering. Bryce seems a little taken aback at the sudden commotion, but my smile turns into laughter and for a second it gets harder to land my jumps in the correct form I have been practicing. More smiles and applause permeate the room.

My husband is lingering off to the side, embarrassed probably at the sudden attention on us. He has our camera in hand and is attempting to catch this moment on film following my strict instructions that if they got there while I was still working out I wanted ACTION shots for my fitness scrapbook! (No, that book doesn't exist yet, but will one day and I need some real documentation besides my words of my transformation and growth!)

Everyone is still carrying on and I might have been a little embarrassed at all the attention myself if it had been focused squarely on me, but they are watching him. Encouraging him to 'Cheer Mommy on!' and 'Count for Mommy!'

"Two more Bryce!" I say to let him know the madness is almost over.

My heart swells and I pat his shoulder for assurance, just in case he is getting scared of all the people starring at him, wondering if they were crazy.

And maybe we are all a little crazy for what we put ourselves through on a regular basis in the name of fitness, but today I loved the sport of CrossFit more than ever.

And it wasn't because I finished a tougher than anticipated WOD.
It wasn't because I improved my Box Jump skills.
It wasn't even because I had people cheering me on till the end; it was because they were cheering him on, cheering me on.