National Best Friends Day

I had a best friend growing up. At the age of 3, I found my person. Who gets to say that, really? I had a best friend for my entire childhood, and into my teen years. A good majority of my childhood memories involve her. Sleep overs where we struggled to stay awake until the paper boy dropped off the paper. Giggling and gossiping at Oakdale Park. Millions of conversations about the big things and the tiny, meaningless things. All those moments that are woven into the tapestry of that bond you hold with your best friend.

And then the end of our junior year of high school. My friend met a guy. Not a boy, because he was well into adulthood. And my friend started doing drugs. And then. One day September of our senior year, I called her house. And her mom didn't know where she was or when/if she would be back. I remember so clearly that feeling of disbelief and numbness. We had drifted apart to some degree over the last few months because of her relationship, both with that man and drugs. But still I had a best friend. Until that day in September, when it became apparent that I did not.

It really gutted me. I can remember going to my youth pastor to talk and just crying and crying. He really gave great tools to cope, but a loss is still a loss. Grief is still a journey, and it's an even rougher journey when you are 17. Time was really the greatest factor in my healing. I did see my friend from time to time but the bond of that best friendship was broken. We kept in touch intermittently through the coming years, but she was still on a path that was not one I could travel with her. Even after I got married we still kept in touch occasionally. But when I got pregnant, I cut the contact completely. The nostalgia of our childhood friendship had convinced me to return her calls and hang out with her from time to time. But her lifestyle was not one that I would allow around my children. And by then, the sting of the original loss at 17 had faded.

I've wondered over the years if you only get one shot at a best friend, and I used up my opportunity at age 3. Simplistic, but truly, I did wonder it. I've had close friends since her. A college roommate. A coworker. And then semi-close friends that I chat with and hang with from time to time. But that deep, bare your soul, best friendship? I just thought my time was up. And perhaps that hard wall that I've put up to avoid being ignored and left out kept out the opportunity for another best friendship? Perhaps.

And then. New friends. Invitations to hang out. A Facebook messenger chat where I had not one, but two best friends to bare my soul and to see their true selves in return. Talk of tribe and making your own family and forever friendships. And oh my softening heart. I went ahead and allowed my heart to soften, and in the process heal. Heal from the hurt that I had suffered at the hands of people in church. Hurt from never being enough to people. Never being remembered. Here were my people. They wanted me. They would never leave me out.

But things change. Forever is a very strong word to use, and I think that maybe it should not be used in context of friendships. Because sometime in the shift from summer to fall, something broke. Something changed. And we tried to patch it, but the dam broke again. Another reprieve, and then another shift. And my heart said, no more. But this time was different. Different from my childhood best friend. Different from the first break between two of the three friends. This time, I walked away. I knew it was the best thing for me, but that didn't make the pain any less.

I said that grief is even harder when you are 17 and trying to navigate it, but I don't know that it is any easier to do at 33. As someone who likes to charge towards my goal, the two steps forward one step back nature of grief is hard for me to swallow. I know the things that trigger my pain, and I avoid them now. I've stopped touching the wound, but I can't prevent the unknown triggers from ripping the scab off.

Today I celebrate National Best Friends Day without a best friend. I've got friends. Some great friends to hang with and laugh with. A handful of people that I know will be there for me in a heartbeat. And two that will pick me up when I fall, and hold me as a cry. But no best friend. And in light of how recently I lost what I thought were forever friendships, it is hard. What is today really? A holiday made up by who? Facebook? The greeting card industry? Who knows. Either way, my feelings are real and valid. And tomorrow will be a new day to work on the healing process. I may be frustrated with the process, and the slowness, but I will heal. I look back on my childhood best friend and how now that loss is just a small scar. It's a part of my makeup but it no longer defines me. Some day, the events of this last year will just be a small scar and a tiny part of who I am, instead of something that defines me so much. The pain already defines me less than it did 6 weeks ago. And so continues to journey. We can't hide from pain. I have great memories from the last two years. But I can't let the pain define who I am. I'm learning how to spend a moment in my grief, and then move on. So here's to the process.

Body positivity

Having a positive body image is something that I have struggled with since age eleven. Eleven years old. As the mother of two young girls, that horrifies me. I don't want that for my daughters. I want them to love their bodies, to see their bodies as strong and capable and beautiful. Something that has taken me 33 years to do. Hopefully I will do things "right" and they will find body positivity a lot sooner than I did.

Right before I got pregnant with Ava, I lost a lot of weight. I weighed a little less than I did on my wedding day. I look back on pictures from that summer and think how thin I looked. And I distinctly remember back during those days thinking I had 5-10 lbs more to lose. Well, instead I got pregnant, gained 35 pounds, and lost 12 of it once I had Ava. In fact, this last winter I went on to gain 18 more pounds. At the beginning of 2016, I decided I needed to make some changes. I've lost 8 of those 10 lbs, and I started lifting. So yes, I am overweight. Yes, there are lumps and bumps and ripples where there weren't in the past, but I can also see muscles starting to show up under that fat. And honestly, I'm too busy raising my girls to care very much. I've got a haircut I love, and I think I've gotten pretty skilled with makeup. More days than not, I think I look quite alright.

Today when I put on my swimsuit, Raegan came in the room and told me how pretty it was. Then she asked me why there was those fat parts, and pointed to my love handles. Once upon a time, that would have gutted me. I would have gotten upset. I would have told her that it's not okay to call people fat. But today, it didn't bother me. It truly did not bother me. I asked her what was wrong with having fat parts. I told her that's how God made my body and that I had two babies and that stretches your stomach out.

My hope is that the girls will learn that all body types are okay. That life should be enjoyed no matter what you look like or how you are shaped. Today at the pool I spared not a single thought to any fat parts that I have.  I was too busy enjoying a fun time with my daughters and making sure I didn't lose them. Keeping an eye on my toddler that is prone to running away was a lot higher on my list than keeping my stomach sucked in. I would have never thought I would get to this point. Eleven year old me would have been horrified. But oh, is life so much sweeter without that constant voice in my head.

So all my lumps and fat parts will be at the pool, along with the muscles that I'm starting to build. Maybe I'll lose the ten pounds I want to. Maybe I won't. But my worth as a mom and a person does not depend on those ten pounds. It took me 33 years to get to that point, but at least I made it. Time to enjoy it.