Heavy Boots.

This is going to be a different post. I wrote this a while ago when I was having a rough time and it’s been sitting in my Drafts collecting dust, never really thinking it would make it out of that folder since it didn’t really fit with the rest of this blog. But the last few weeks I’ve talked to so many different people; friends, coworkers, clients, that are going through or helping someone go through some heavy and difficult stuff. I figured it would be an okay time to revisit this post and put it out into the world.

It’s okay to feel sad. Or empty. Or so lonely in a room full of people that you feel like you could scream and no one would even look your way. That kind of sadness is suffocating. I feel and have felt that kind of sadness off and on for a large majority of my life. It’s like I feel everything too much. It’s exhausting and anxiety filled and it sucks really bad. But it’s not all the time. It rarely ever lingers more than a few days, sometimes weeks at the most. And I can honestly say the older I’ve gotten the better I am at keeping those feelings at bay.

I had my first complete breakdown when I was 24. It was a Saturday night in October. You can call it a nervous breakdown, a mental breakdown, whatever it was, it happened. And it was scary. For Matt, my parents, I’m assuming probably for my animals sitting in the room at the time. But something happened that October that set into motion a way of thinking and dealing with my heavy boots.

*Side note: “heavy boots” is from my all time favorite book “Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close” The main character, Oskar, calls his sadness he gets his heavy boots and since reading that back in 2010 I’ve referred to mine as the same.

You see, before that night in October I never talked about these feelings with people. I didn’t want to be a burden on anyone. So I just let it build up and up and like a pressure cooker with a blocked valve, I exploded all over our family room. We have this weird thing in our culture where girls are always seen as too sensitive. And boys don’t cry. Well, at least they aren’t supposed to, right? And both of those things are so skewed and twisted. It makes it hard to talk about your feelings without people already passing judgment before hearing you out. But after that night I started talking. Now I tell Matt when I have heavy boots, or when I start feeling even the slightest way that I did leading up to that night in October. And 99.9% of the time that helps me. And it is so damn important to find something that helps you. Because you are not alone. Ever. Let someone help you pick up your feet when your boots are too heavy for you to move on your own.

Whatever you’re going through, just know it will get better. Close your eyes. Breathe. Cry.  Call a friend. See a doctor. Do whatever you need to do.

Find something or someone to help you lighten your heavy boots.

Right now I can close my eyes and hear birds chirping and feel the warm sun on my face.

I can put my hand on my chest and feel my lungs fill up with oxygen and my heart pumping blood all the way from my temples to my toes.

 

And I know everything is and will be okay.

Home.

Greetings!

Long time no… post? I had so many plans to update this thing on a regular basis, but life happens. Instead I have half filled journals, notebooks, and scrap pieces of paper scattered throughout my house and salon whenever I feel like I need to get my thoughts out. Why do I find it so hard to log on and post on here? I think some of it has to do with what this blog started out as and where I am in my life at this current moment. I started a blog to initially talk about our van. Then we sold our van. Then I wrote about trips and traveling. Until I realized we tend to travel to the same places/do the same types of things on our travels so it makes coming up with new content seem very forced. And that’s just no fun. So here I am now. Just a girl with a Word Press domain wondering where to take this thing.

One thing I’ve been pondering quite a bit lately (especially since we just got back from warm and sunny California) is where I want to be. Matt and I talk so much about moving to the west coast. I’m talking discuss into the ground, beating a dead horse kind of talks. But in all honesty, I strangely love living in Ohio. I love seasons. I love that my family is here. Mostly I love that we can live so cheaply in our little brick ranch that we can afford to travel as much as we want pretty frequently. But then I think about Colorado. Or California. Or Utah. And how it physically hurts my soul every time we sit down in our seats on a Southwest flight and start flying back east. Back home.

But what is home? Is it a physical structure? Your safe place? Somewhere that you know you can always go when the going gets tough? If taking off on a runway in Denver or driving away from a random little town in the middle of nowhere Utah can make me feel so sad, maybe that’s because I feel like I’m home. Maybe home isn’t an exact place. Maybe it’s just an overwhelming feeling of knowing where you are in the moment is exactly where you’re supposed to be with the person or people you’re with. Maybe home really is where you make it.

To any of my family and friends or more realistically the many clients of mine that have threatened me to never move away (you know who you are) I don’t think our home will change anytime soon. But one day, I think the call of the mountains and deserts and alpine lakes and giant sequoias will take over and our home may be a little farther west.