Monday, May 7th.  Our first morning without our Whiskers.  I went to get the food out of the fridge, out of habit.  Then started bawling.  I took the can and emptied in the trash and banged it against the side to get it to come out with the spoon, just like I did every morning with the leftover food that was not eaten.  He had always been finicky about food and a very light eater.  The bang on the trash made my heart burst in my chest.

I walked out to read and write on the patio.  His little body would meet me at the door to go outside.  The vet said not to let him out because he already had leukemia when we got him and we didn't want to infect other cats.  Having indoor/outdoor cats my whole life, I did let him into our backyard every day.  He would chatter at the birds.  He was too weak to actually attack but he sure would pretend.  Every morning I'd pick him up, rub noses, mugger him and put him down to go out before I would go out.  His fur was so soft.  Such a huge difference from when we found him.

We came home from our thrice annual visit to California and found him behind our patio couch.  He was matted and tiny.  We thought he was a kitten because he was so small.  His eyes were almost shut and when he went to meow, nothing came out.  His teeth were missing and he had a limp.  I was in the middle of recovering from Post Partum Depression and could barely manage caring intentionally for my kids so I was afraid to bring him in, making him ours.  My oldest had been praying and begging us for a cat so indeed, I did.

We took him in and the vet didn't think he would last long.  I knew it would be me caring for him.  2 kids, post partum, my husband at work all day, another living being.  I didn't think I could.  But, I didn't want to let him die.  And sure enough, I was the one who cuddled and fed him.  He won me over.  Someone said yesterday "you loved him, you just didn't show it".  That caused me so much pain.  I certainly could have shown him more.  Always.  But I cuddled him daily.  I picked him up at least 10xs a day.  If he seemed uncomfortable, I put him on my chest and looked into his eyes to communicate I loved him. Most cats don't keep eye contact long, but he sure did.

It was exactly as I feared.  He was more needy than I could give.  I needed to love fully on my kids.  I needed to be present with my human being children. He yowled a lot.  Not just a "give me some attention" meow, but long yowling.  I'd feed him, more yowling.  I'd cuddle him, he would still yowl.  I would play with him, too weak I guess.  Yowl.  But, I did my best.

Of course, I miss that yowl the most.  I beat myself for being annoyed that he pooped on the carpet by the piano for the 20th time when my 1 year old had just exploded poop all over her clothes, crib and self.  He couldn't help it.  I didn't know that.  I wasn't even mad at him.  I was mad that I couldn't handle it.  I should have been able to.  I was given a gift and could only get annoyed at his voice and poop.  And now he's gone and I can't ever get that back.

Love your family.  Love the beings brought into your life, fully.

Today, I finally was able to do this workout all the way through.  The entire video.  To say this, seems silly because I used to teach this format at least twice a week for several years.  I was a full-time fitness instructor.

When I first started, I really believed that you should push through discomfort when working out.  Until I started working with seniors and one of them hurt themselves following that advice.  I still believed it for those who weren't seniors.  That is, until I had complete adrenal fatigue because I continued to push myself and not only could not work out hard, but could not get out of bed.

When I was a Bible believing, committed Christian, I believed that people who got divorced just didn't try enough, or didn't have enough hope in God to restore their marriage.  I believed taking medication for mental illness was a lack of faith.  I had other ideas as well.  Until I was divorced without choosing to be.  I didn't want to divorce and would have stayed married until death. Until I could not manage my own life and had to be on medication temporarily to not want to die or be raging for no reason.

Most of my life, I have believed "If I can do it, so can you."  That is not always untrue.  It is not always true though.  I think most of us have that judgment if we're honest with ourselves.  I had a highly religious leader proudly declare that they don't use birth control and made snide comments about other moms who did stating that they (the one person) "trust God fully" with their bodies.  This person never had a miscarriage that threatened their very life.  Of course that's what they'd believe the way they do.  Meanwhile, they are shut down and avoidant emotionally but by golly, they would NEVER use birth control, or send their kids to school.  Applause please.

I broke my back falling off a cliff years ago.  I was told I would have trouble giving birth, would lose 30% hip mobility, not be able to run full speed and not be able to bend and touch my toes.  I was like "watch me!" (In my head, not out loud).  A few years later, I had a true spiritual and bodily healing and combined with my refusal to give up, none of those predictions are true.  So, I figured I had a right to push people harder in their life and workouts.  I overcame long term addiction (may it continue Blessed Be His Name), so I figured anyone can and not only that, they shouldn't complain about what I considered trivial things.

But, who am I to decide what's trivial and what people's bodies are telling them? I know this is not just me. I had a fitness instructor, on the heels of my Post Partum Depression, and finding out I had hypothyroidism (among many other ailments that hit me after the birth of our youngest and 3 miscarriages after), proudly state that she "also has hypothyroid issues and she gets right out there and keeps going."  Um, you didn't birth a baby at 41, (she's in her 30s), you have never dealt with PPD or had a miscarriage, so be quiet.  But we don't.  Some of you do.  My gosh, I love you.  I need to be more like you.  You show tact and grace and understanding and you keep your mouth shut when it's best to do so.  You are a breath of fresh air and we all love you.

I can't believe I have been so harsh in my judgments but guess what? I'm that harsh with myself.  When I had my youngest, I was utterly shocked that I had PPD.  I assumed it was random and related to circumstance.  Here I was in a fabulous marriage, new home, new car, good community, and still depressed and unable to make myself feel better.  I know Scripture.  I know God.  I have heard all the damn cliches.  So, I was really hard on myself and made it worse by "shoulding" all over myself.  I was suicidal and ashamed that I would even go there.  Harsh.  Judging.

Then, I had a miscarriage and within 3 months, lost my entire community.  Gone.  No reason.  My oldest daughter lost her best friend.  Just like that.  I blamed myself.  If only I did more, said more, was less convicted so I wouldn't be labeled legalistic.  I made my anxiety worse.  I didn't grieve the miscarriage either because I was too busy grieving the community loss.

Then, I miscarried again. Twins.  I don't even have words.  It's so debilitating, losing a child.  The other loss came rushing back and thankfully, we grieved this time.  But, I kept shaming myself for it taking so long.  Shaming myself for not working out more.  Shaming myself for gaining so much weight while simultaneously not being able to gain my sanity.  Shame. Shame. Shame.  Should. Should. Should.  If only I were more...fill in the blank.  Maybe I had been sinful or disobedient somehow, maybe this was all punishment.  More of the same shame and judgment. 

But today, I celebrated what would be to some, a small insignificant victory.  To some, it may seem like going backwards.  To me, today, I am not shaming or should-ing.  Just rejoicing.  Rejoicing to have energy.  Rejoicing to have thoughts back.  Rejoicing to be strong again.  I chose to continue to try.  I chose to let people have their own process without judging.  I chose to continue to be vulnerable even when rejected.  It may take a whole lot more smack downs, but the choice is mine.