Broken Bones + Skiing = Torture

My hatred of downhill sports started when I was eight years old. My parents had just dropped me off at my grandma’s house so they could get an anniversary weekend away. I sat on the porch of her canary yellow home, and strapped on my new rainbow-clad roller skates. The neighborhood kids had gathered at the top of the street’s steep hill, and I quickly struggled up the slope to meet them.

We were child adventure seekers. Each young soul would push off from the top to begin their block-long journey down a cracked and broken side walk, gaining speed each second, crashing into some unexpecting neighbor’s grassy yard with a fall. We screamed, wobbled, tripped, and mostly laughed.

We were addicted. Over and over again, we’d make the long trek uphill in skates to only crash down it again minutes later.

It was Fall in Missouri. The leaves had changed colors, locusts had left their hollow alien-looking cages on the trees, and then there were these:

They were everywhere. Sweetgum tree seeds.

As I started my tenth time down the hill, I was confident. The wind blew my pony tail behind me. I giggled as I flew over the ramp created by tree roots pushing up slats of cement in the sidewalk. Then, my skates encountered the deadly sweetgum balls in their wheels. I fell hard and straight onto my bent wrist.

Suddenly a crack. Scream. Crying. Kids rushed to my side as I rolled on the ground in pain. Grandma ran out of her white screendoor, and my forearm had a new ramp of its own—a broken bone trying to push its way out of my skin.

My parents were called back from their romantic trip. I was taken to an ER. I can still remember the moment of excruciating pain when the doc rebroke my arm into place and then made some weird jokes as he gave me narcotics- an attempt to make me forget it all.  I then returned to my grandmother's home.  She attempted to soothe me with a warm cup of cream of celery soup that mixed with cold orange juice, stress, and narcotics, only worsened the evening.

At least I thought my cast was cool, signed by friends. I experienced the childhood joys of a broken bone experience:  the inner cotton started to smell from exposure to moisture that had seeped in through the garbage bag's greatest attempts to keep shower water out. My elementary school pencil made a great utensil for scratching all the hidden parts of my hand- accessible through my thumb hole and unseen for weeks. Then came the day of removal. I remember the saw and the strange sensation of my arm floating as it was released from its six week chamber. The skin was white and flaky, the hair was dark, and my bone was healed.

I may have been healed, but that experience affected me. I didn’t want to roller skate any more. I didn’t want to do any downhill, speed sports ever again. When I was in university, I was determined to break my fear in order to be a part of Minneapolis’ trendy roller blading crowd. I took what little money I had, and bought some used skates. Nearly every weekend, Nick would take me out around the city and lakes so I could relearn the art of skating.

I am a determined girl, and I knew I could kick this fear out of my life. But then would come the concrete hill again. I would stand at the top as it stared me in my face. Nick would skate down and up, down and up, showing me how to brake and to enjoy the ride.

Ten minutes of excellent, encouraging step-by-step demonstration usually ended with Nick, standing at the bottom of the hill, laughing at me as I side-stepped it all the way down the hill and glided once again on to flat ground.

After a year of trying, I sold those stupid skates. Why torture myself? I would rub the bump still left under my forearm’s skin from the break, and assure myself it’s ok to not conquer everything.

Then I moved to Estonia. As my Norwegian friend says, “Kids in Scandinavia come out of the womb with skis on them.”  And we were invited to join their family for skiing during our children’s winter ski break from school.

Yesterday, I stood on top of the beautiful slopes with those wicked ski boots digging into my shins. I looked down the mountain, and when all of our Norwegian friends were out of sight, I whispered to Nick, “This is pure torture. Just torture.”

Of course, that was followed by my quick, reassuring smile to my kids ensuring them they were about to have the time of their lives learning to ski.

I would have been happy just standing at the top of the hill, observing my kids and Nick enjoy the slopes. But, then our Norwegian friend came and insisted he could teach me how to ski. I hesitantly followed him down the hill to resist public shame. And, to my disbelief, I never fell. I learned how to turn and stop. And, on the tenth time down, I think I actually caught myself relaxing and enjoying the blinding white and breeze as I hit the bottom.

Today, I sit alone in a cozy cabin on the slopes in Lillehammer, Norway (a part of my vacation deal with Nick- one day of skiing with him, one day for reading/ writing next to a fire place in the cabin for me). At breakfast this morning, our friend Oystein looked at me with smiling eyes, “Olivia. I can see it. You are made to be a great skier.”  We pretended to be serious for a split moment, then just laughed.

We all have those broken things from our past that show up and try to dictate our future. When we stand in front of a concrete hill of challenges, we rub our scars and remind ourselves that there is no way we can ever be truly healed. There is no way we can close our eyes and actually learn to enjoy the ride of something that has caused us so much pain.

There is nothing easy about it. Scars only remain from extremely hurtful experiences. Even our body was not strong enough to make its remnants completely disappear.

But, we make a choice to press on. We press on so our kids will not inherit our fears and missed opportunities.

We press on because we have friends by our side. They have enough courage for both of us, and they have a different vision of who we are supposed to be.

And although the first few hundred times may feel like torture, once we overcome the hurt and fear, we can finally relax and enjoy the ride. We can become like kids again – giggling, just feeling the breeze in our hair.

But, we’ll be better than the eight year old version of ourselves. We aren’t just wreckless; we know the pain and consequences of the journey well.

Instead, we become overcomers.

We can finally teach others the art of letting go of the past.

We drag them up the hills, with us, and watch them fly.

The Counseling Sessions Part 1: "Stop shoulding on yourself and quit..."

“Stop shoulding on yourself and quit musterbating.”

I have been in counseling four times during my 36 year life-span. But, I had never heard those words from a counselor’s mouth before.

Nick and I sat on the couch across from our counselor – her feet resting on a stool. Her room was decorated with all sorts of silk flowers and deeply wise sayings deemed worthy enough to frame and hang on the office walls.

We looked at each other and laughed as this petite Christian counselor gave us the sage advice we had flown half-way around the planet for.

“Seriously. Stop shoulding on yourself and quit musterbating. Remove the words ‘should’ and ‘must’ from your vocabulary.”

I guess I always saw "should" and "must" as good words. Words, that when repeated enough within our inner psyche, whip our lazy selves into shape and into some worthy action or discipline.

I’m sure there are times when these words have made me do something noble, but at what cost?

At the root of these words is a deep foundation of guilt and failure– that we are not good enough, that we should be different; that if we were the desired version of ourselves, these good deeds would flow from us automatically.

Although doing things out of guilt works for a while, eventually it leaves us gasping for some sort of freedom.

My entire life, I’ve had to fight hard to keep in a healthy weight range for my body. I have a lot of things going against me. Genetically, I am full and curvy. I have a slow thyroid. I have something called PCOS that has a side-effect of being overweight.

I’ve eaten healthy since I was 14. I’ve exercised, without fail, 3 – 6 times a week since I was a teenager. And all of that is barely enough to keep my weight within normal range. My life has been chocked full of inner voices that tell me what I should not eat or what I must do to get my weight under control.

The more I should on myself in regard to my eating, the more it produces the opposite of the desired reaction. I successfully finish 5 days of pure eating that I can be proud of, and then comes the binge day. All of the guilt and mental deprivation I have given myself eventually escapes in one wild fury of spoon to ice cream container – not even really enjoying or savoring the taste of each bite. Rather, I am drowning my guilt in an explosion of “freedom.”  A freedom that actually leaves me feeling horrible.

But, the opposite happens when I diet or exercise because I value the results. Rather than seeing it as a punishment I have to bear due to bad genetics, I eat healthy because I choose to believe that I am worth it, my future is worth it, and my kids are worth it. And miraculously, when I am motivated by this truth, I can approach the same container of ice cream with a small spoonful and the decision that my health is more than the temporary rush. I don’t feel like this is deprivation, but rather a gift to myself and future.

Dieting is an easy example. But, what happens when we should ourselves in the crucial areas of life?

I really should be this for my husband.

I must be a stay-at-home mom for my kids.

I should really try to be her good friend, even though we don’t click.

I should be further along in life by now – more influential, higher salary, more respected.

I must help them. If I don’t, no one else will.

True. There are some good statements listed above that are honorable – but only if done from a heart of true love and out of a well spring of who you were truly created to be.

Anything else is a fake. Just fake. Good works done out of a wretched heart.

People always sense fake.

People are always drawn to things done out of true love.

People run away from those they sense are not truly confident in who they are.

But, we are all drawn towards those who are completely secure in who they are and are not, and approach life with a humility and ease.

Free yourself. If you’re not the one who was meant to do, or be something that you “should” or “must” be, God created someone else in this world who is.

You were made to be you. They were made to be them. We are most valuable to others, to the world, and to God’s overall plan when we finally lay aside the heavy burden of guilt we have carried for so long, and just be ourselves.

Imperfect but accepting. Confident yet humble.

Others, who surround you and even love you, will also try to “should” on you. They may even have their own grown-up version of a crying, crazy-haired, feet-stamping tantrum; demanding that you become something they need or want. And in love, always in a spirit of love, we have to kindly turn, walk away, and be true to ourselves- the person God created us to be.  That is all He ever asked of us.  

Every night, I read a few books to my kids and watch them fall asleep. As I take one last chance to kiss their warm, calm cheeks I whisper a prayer.

God, help them to grow up to be confident, completely humble, and in love with You.

I don’t want them to live lives filled with shame,

or doubt,

or obligations.

Children, just be the complete beauty you were created to be. But be careful! Never find yourself staring in the mirror and admiring your own creation. May you always know where your true gifts originated. Love God, and He will teach you how to truly love others and the plan He made for you.

Big O and Little A, you were never made to remain seated in a messy pool of your own stinky “shoulds” and “musts.” 

And neither were you.

***This is the first post in a series of posts entitled "The Counseling Sessions."  I have learned so many excellent life lessons and skills through my times in a therapist's office that have changed me.  In my opinion, acknowledging the need for help is always a badge of courage; a hope that we truly are meant to be better.  Perhaps something I've learned along the way can help spur you on as well.***

Seven Steps to Overcoming Regret?

There is nothing like the pit you feel in your stomach when you barely miss something.

There was the time when I ran from one corner of the enormous Chicago O’Hare airport to the other. My heavy carry-on bag bruised my side, as it bounced repeatedly against my ribs for my nearly mile-long jaunt to catch my next plane. As I ran, I pulled off my coat and striped scarf that were collecting a pool of sweat- not the companion I wanted for my upcoming transatlantic flight. At least I hoped my heavy breathing and disheveled hair would gain me some sort of sympathy from the airline’s gate agent.

“Sorry. The aircraft door was just closed.”  The agent spoke matter-of-factly; all of her sympathy had disappeared years ago. She did not even attempt to be kind.

“But…but I can see the plane sitting right there. My other flight arrived late. Is there any way I can still get on?” I soon learned that once an aircraft’s door is closed, it is bound by an oath to remain shut until it reaches its next destination. And I was left- alone, sweaty and completely disappointed.

I just felt that same disappointment a few days ago. Nick and I were invited to a weekend get-away for Estonian pastors on the island of Saaremaa. We had looked at the ferry timetable, and thought we were arriving 20 minutes early. Our hearts sank when we approached the terminal to see the ferry just pull away from the dock. So, I sat in our car and waited for an hour with the icy sea and island firmly in view. And, with nothing left to once again fill the pit in my stomach, I decided to take my computer out, sit in my heated seat, and write a blog about something we all experience.

Regret.

There are the small regrets. For instance, I regret that I never took dance lessons when I was young. And since I love dancing so much, I regret that we did not have a nice meal and dance at our wedding. I would have loved a final tear-filled dance with my dad, dressed in his tuxedo. I could have treasured the memory of leaning my forehead against Nick’s, as we swayed amidst the onlookers, and started our new life together.   

The small regrets are disappointing yet easy to let go - like the missing of a ferry, plane, or a dance in white.  But the looming large regrets truly haunt you. These are the regrets that you never imagined possible as you embarked on your adult life as a hopeful, energetic  teenager.

The last week has not been my best. Despite my greatest attempts (and all my usual remedies), I’ve been pretty low as I’ve been letting regret and hopelessness fill my thoughts. There is nothing more lonely or miserable than recognizing your problem and, at the same instant, realizing you truly have no understanding on how to overcome it. So, I thought and remained silent. My sleep has been broken. I’ve prayed for God to somehow take all the regret away. I’ve pleaded for a change of heart – that I can be grateful heart for everything I have. But, with each passing day, the regret deepened.

I was 17 years old when I finished high school, and my parents held a party on my graduation day. I remember sitting on the porch of their Victorian home as I said goodbye to those who had loved me all my life. Tonight I was reminded of that day and my teenage, starry-eyed self. As a part of our nightly routine, I grabbed a book off the bookshelf to read to Ava and found a forgotten one that I had not read in years. It was a gift I received on that graduation day- May 26, 1996. I opened the cover to find my dad’s secretary’s writing as she reminded me of the great future I had ahead of me.

Dr. Seuss’ Oh, the Places You’ll Go – a book vibrant in color and rhyme.

The book begins: 

“Congratulations!

Today is your day.

You’re off to Great Places!

You’re off and away!

You have brains in your head.

You have feet in your shoes.

You can steer yourself

Any direction you choose.

You’re on your own. And you know what you know.

And You are the guy who’ll decide where to go.

You’ll look up and down streets,

Look ‘em over with care.

About some you will say, ‘I don’t choose to go there.’

With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet,

You’re too smart to go down any not-so-good street.”

But what happens when we realize we were too scared to travel the road that was meant for us? 

How do we reconcile the fact that we were too young to truly know ourselves and we chose the road we “should” have gone down instead of the road we “dreamed” of walking?

I am well acquainted with depression. I’ve seen it in my family and I’ve seen it in myself. It is an uninvited companion that likes to stay around. It changes every aspect of your life. You wake up with the wish you could disappear rather than roll out of your warm bed and into a dreaded day. Every color suddenly takes on a pale hue. You dream of doing the unimaginable – just leaving it all.

A wise counselor once told me that many people fall into depression when they never allow themselves to truly mourn the loss of a dream. The regret festers inside until it spills out in despondent sadness.

I have done that. I have allowed that. I am tired of having someone comment every single year about a sadness in my eyes.

I wish I could get up on my blogosphere pedestal and give you seven succinct steps on how to let go of those deep-seeded regrets.

I just can’t. I don’t have the answers, but I know that I am determined to try:

•     To be thankful for everything I have. There is character, beauty and strength to be found in the wrong turns of life. I will spend a few moments, laying in bed each night, recounting all the good (and I have a lot to be thankful for).
•     To let myself mourn the opportunities lost. I can spend a few nights listening to a dramatic song, praying and soaking my pillow case with a few tears. There is something truly sad about unmet dreams. There is a loss – time and opportunities we cannot get back. But then…
•     I focus on the dreams and the opportunities of the future. No matter how bleak and few our options may be, there is always a way to pursue a vision of who we are meant to be.
•     I will allow no room for excuses. There is only room for hope, discipline, hard work, and the joy of seeing a dream materialize ever so slowly; brick by brick.
•     And when I undoubtedly have a low day in the midst of the process, I will return to my God who says:

“I have it all planned out—plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for. When you call on me, when you come and pray to me, I’ll listen. When you come looking for me, you’ll find me. Yes, when you get serious about finding me and want it more than anything else, I’ll make sure you won’t be disappointed. God’s Decree. I’ll turn things around for you.” Jeremiah 29 – The Bible

Different, new, slightly altered (and possibly slightly better) dreams lie ahead of us after we emerge from the valley of regret. And there is no better way to summarize the journey than to finish with the words of the brilliant Dr. Seuss:

“Oh the places you’ll go!  There is fun to be done!

There are points to be scored. There are games to be won.

And the magical things you can do with that ball

Will make you the winning-est winner of all.

Fame! You’ll be famous as famous can be,

With the whole wide world watching you win on TV.

Except when they don’t.

Because, sometimes, they won’t.

I’m afraid that some times

You’ll play lonely games too.

Games you can’t win

‘cause you’ll play against you. […]

But on you will go

Though the weather be foul.

On you will go

Though your enemies prowl.

On you will go

Though the Hakken Kraks howl.

Onward up many

A frightening creek,

Though your arms may get sore

And your sneakers may leak.

On and on you will hike.

And I know you’ll hike far

And face up to your problems

Whatever they are. […]

And will you succeed?

Yes!  You will, indeed!

(98 and ¾ percent guaranteed.)

So…

Be your name Buxbaum or Bixby or Bray

Or Mordecai Ali Van Allen O’Shea,

You’re off to great places!

Today is your day!

Your mountain is waiting.

So…get on your way!”

            ****

I would love to hear your stories and tips of how you overcome regret!  Comment or e-mail me at nopuccini2(at)gmail.com.