This blog post was written on April 6, 2016. I am not editing it (I want to though). Read below.
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I can't remember the last time I went this long without blogging.
It's not that I haven't "thought" about blogging. It's that I just didn't want to talk. Honestly, I've just wanted to sleep. I've been having trouble finding order, finding purpose, finding motivation, finding my keys, finding the correct way to put on my pants. My thoughts have been just like my life lately; all over the place. I have no new workouts to share. I haven't been any place interesting to write a recap (well, I did attend the IDEA Personal Trainer Institute in DC but I hardly took any pictures and didn't think anyone would be interested in what I did) and other than the white chicken chili I made for my family on Monday, I haven't cooked in months. I haven't even eaten dinner in days. Last night, I did a random Periscope about "just showing up" and how much strength it takes to do so. I realized that even in my stress, in what feels like the beginning of depression, in my absent mindedness, in my embarrassment, in my shame, in my hurt, in my despair, in my confusion, in my pain, in my emptiness, I want to show up.
And I'm so thankful that the grace of God, lip gloss and headbands keep me from looking like what I've been through.
It's been almost five months since I sped down Balch Road with my heart lying on the
front seat after getting a call from the Sheriff's department that my son had been shot. Even now, even knowing that he is somewhere laughing and running this very minute, that sentence chokes the hell out of me and draws
an emotion I still have not faced. My life has not been the same. While it would seem simple to be "cured" by knowing my son is alive, NONE of us are "o.k." Our lives have changed so much and every day brings a new pain. I wish I could explain how this is NOT "cut and dry" and since he is alive, life is fixed. One thing affects another thing. Right now, I'm feeling an effect I didn't expect to have to face....ever.
Sigh. Right now, as I type this, I am considering giving up my fitness career. Forever. It's a stress I have been privately carrying with me for weeks. Exhale. I just need to breathe for a minute. I've already cried on the phone with the Verizon representative today so I sort of want to refrain from crying in this Starbucks. It's not t
hat my career means everything to me. It's not that exercise means everything. It's that the people I have encountered on this journey and the ministry God has allowed me to have through fitness means everything to me. The idea of leaving it is like the final blow. The idea of leaving it sends me to bed at 7:30 p.m. It makes me ignore phone calls and emails and text messages (sorry, friends). It wakes me up in the wee hours of the morning and brings me to my knees praying to the Lord for clarity.
Fitness, wellness, health, community, changing our lives, together, to be better, helping each other, that's what makes Tasha glow with joy and fulfillment and peace.
Attorney and medical fees, school fees, the unsteady nature of personal training and the inability to teach fifty classes a week tell me I need to make another choice. My son is headed to college in August and my daughter is headed to middle school. Yoga is good for the soul but it just doesn't buy books. I cannot tell you how many times I've been told to give up this "gym thing" and go use my Master's degree to get a good "government job." That sounds like a great idea for the new car I kind of want but I don't just do a "gym thing" and I'd be miserable in an office (besides, if they don't let me wear workout clothes, I'd have to spend my first four paychecks buying presentable office attire). I was made to do what I do. I know it. The stress of my life (public and private) is just pulling me all over the place. I'm super glad no one asks me "paper or plastic?" these days because all decisions are just too hard. They all feel complicated. They all feel stressful. But I'm showing up. I can't check out of life even though I have no idea where my life is going from one moment to the next. Isn't that what faith is though?
I'm struggling but I'm back. Being real with myself and getting real with my life is the only real way to go.
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The above picture is of my son and I as he was leaving for senior prom which was the weekend before I wrote the blog. Six years later, here is my daughter and son and grandson at her prom last weekend.
I want you to know life goes on.
I want you to know that the phrase "time heals all wounds" doesn't always feel true.
I want you to know that some years ask questions and some years offer answers.
I want you to know that the reason I reposted this was because questioning my career has been on my heart again. And, well, this showed up in my Facebook memories.
The pandemic has been hard on everyone. For me, personally, for all the wins you've seen, please believe I've taken A LOT of L's; low blow losses, inconceivable losses, inevitable losses. And, on days like today, when I am contemplating the "good government job" again, I am grateful that I got another six years with my family and another six years to do what I love to do; even if I've had to do it in different ways....and I don't just mean Zoom.
I stopped teaching my favorite class ever less than six months after this original post and other things started to fall like dominoes. The last few years have felt like a "fight" 90% of the time. Perhaps where I am in 2022 isn't the "struggle" but me struggling with the changes like I did that first night I didn't have to be at the gym Monday night at 5:30 p.m. It just means it's time for me to be some place else.
In the words of the great philosopher Mystikal, "HERE I GO!!!!!"