Over a year ago, I *accidently* published my blog for the whole world to see. As it turned out, I was glad I did. My story has been able to help others on similar journeys, and it was a beautiful way for me to process my own journey through faith, brokenness, healing and rediscovering hope.
This week I turned 40. I had a whole lot of goals to accomplish by this date: write a book, run a half-marathon, lose weight, be healthy and working again, be back involved in ministry, and more goals I’ll leave for the privacy of my journal.
I was tracking really well. Over 100 blog posts, and a short e-book was avaialable on my blog. It counts. I signed up for the Manitoba Half Marathon, a week after my birthday and was faithfully training for it. In February, I started working half-time at a job I could succeed at, as well as choose my own level of commitment. I’ve preached once in our church and while I wasn’t a “regular” in any volunteer capacity, I was able to pitch in where needed often enough to feel useful. I have to say, in March I was celebrating.
I celebrated my birthday with family and friends, but was reminded of my age when gifts were a dishwasher, and the morning was spent in follow-up appointments with a physiotherapist. “Runner’s Knee” (I don’t know if I should be proud to carry the glory of a running injury for this non-runner or embarrassed!). The half-marathon run will now be a half-marathon walk.
My website crashed, went awol, and all the backups are corrupted. I’ve been intermittently working on it for weeks, but between my bare-bones site hosting Helpdesk and my limited tech savvy, I have to assume all that work is just gone. If I want a website, it’ll start from scratch.
I dragged the scale out for my annual physical… and I’ve gained another 10 pounds this year, despite taking up running and 6 months of strict dieting.
Give up or start over?
You know the feeling, right? It comes to us in many ways: some silly and some deep and painful. This falls somewhere in between: they’re only goals, and they don’t matter in the grand scheme of things. I hear my friend’s voice reminding me there’s room for self-compassion. Yet I see those who let self-compassion be an excuse for not trying, and I don’t want that either. But it takes so much effort to start all over again.
So my self-compassion tells me to stop beating myself up and go slowly, gently.
My determination tells me to get up again and even if it’s slow, start moving. One step at a time can get you far.
One more try
So here’s my new blog: not as shiny, not as pretty and with absolutely no archives of my favourite posts or comments or invitations to sign up. But it’s a “get up on your feet” again.
I’ll take my anti-inflammatory pills for my knee, do those stretches, and try for a 2km run tomorrow: it’s 1/10th of where I’d like to be, but it’s a gentle start. The full marathon has moved from a “maybe in fall” to a “maybe in a decade… or never” category, and I’m okay with that. My goal was never to conquer the track, just to get moving.
I’ll sign up for the community clean-up our church is putting on – a one-off event I can handle, and I’ll show up to teach in the early mornings again this week, half-time – maybe a little less – but I’ll show up.
Let’s try this again.