“The doctor says you’ll never run again.” Those were the first words I remember my (ex)husband telling me when I gained consciousness from surgery four years ago. I woke up disoriented, as one does after being put under, looked down, and saw a monstrosity on my leg, the leg brace I lovingly called The Beast, which I would wear for 10 long weeks. This news took me mostly by disbelief – I had gone into surgery for the purpose of fixing my knee so that I could run again. As I processed this news, which was reiterated by my surgeon later that day, I didn’t realize the impact those words really had made on me. I spent my days rehabbing my leg, spending 2 hours a day in a cooling machine, 2 hours a day on a movement machine and 1 hour a day in PT, trying to just lift my leg an inch off the ground. I spent my nights dreaming about running and waking up in grief. I got a very soft clearance from my PT after months of work that I could try to jog for 5 second intervals. The most I could hope for was one 5k a year, but I was happy with that – it felt like a victory after my surgeon had said my knee was so bad it warranted a full replacement when I was a little older.
And while this should have felt like beating the odds, it
had the opposite effect. I felt defeated by the limitation. I hadn’t realized
how much I had identified as a runner, probably because I hate running. I hated
running for as long as I can remember. I remember feeling like I wasn’t the
type of kid who could be athletic. As anorexia took over my late teens, running
became a way to punish my body for living. Later I used running as a way to
hustle for approval and recognition from others – I beat my body up in the
hopes that if I just ran long enough, someone would be proud of me, of who I
was. And now all of this had been taken away from me. It was devastating. But what
I learned was that while running had started as punishment, it had turned into
something I identified with, something that made me feel alive and proud of
myself.
Fast forward a few years from that surgery day and so much
of my life had changed. I went from a wife to a single mom. I felt like damaged
goods in my faith and by society. I attended the mandatory coparenting training
where I got to hear about how my failure to keep my husband happy would lead to
my children being at risk for drugs and depression. I felt defined by my
divorce - my new identity. I felt constantly judged. Walking into my son’s game
by myself for the first time took more courage than I knew I had – thank
goodness I had friends that asked me to sit with them so I didn’t feel alone.
Changing my last name felt like a leap because it would announce to everyone
that I was single and my kids would have to acknowledge their parents had
separated. The shame was so strong. But slowly, slowly I started to think about
what my identity is now. I had lost myself for so many years – I went from a
wife to a mom to a divorcee and lost a Jenny in the process. I honestly didn’t
even remember what I liked to do.
It’s been hard to reclaim Jenny. I started dating and felt
judgment that I would spend any time doing anything that wasn’t related to
being a mom. In full disclosure, I sobbed after my first post-divorce kiss
because I felt so much guilt that I was cheating on my family – I had taken
Catholic vows to be faithful for life. Catholics don’t divorce. I’m burning in
hell right now as we speak. (At least it’s warmer than Iowa in November.) But at
the same time, I didn’t feel like pining away for my kids when they were at
their dad’s was healthy – it only made me sad and reminded me of their absence.
I got advice that I should save all of the housework and shopping for when the
kids were gone – not only would it fill the time my kids were away but it would
also allow me to focus on them when they were home. And I tried that but soon
realized that all that did was teach my kids that women will do all the heavy
lifting when they aren’t there to spare them the reality of running a house and
it also took away from me too – I truly am more than a mom.
It’s funny how we forget who we are. Recently I started a
list of 100 dreams. One of the casualties of divorce is it takes away the
dreams you had for the future. It was time for me to start a new list of things
I wanted to do. And as I brainstormed, I slowly started to remember Jenny. She
likes to read, write, teach, move her body, help others, be outside, create and
experience life to the fullest with her kids. I wrote down goals I’ve never
considered before – visit every National Park, play the drums again, learn how
to play the banjo, learn how to knit, write a book, get a PhD, learn how to
decorate a cake. There are no dreams too big or too small for this list.
I dusted off one of those old dreams I thought was gone.
Running. It was time to shake off those first post-surgery words that haunted
me for so long. I forgot that I am a runner. Just simply remembering who I am
was so empowering – it completely changed my mindset and I started running
consistently again. It isn’t pretty and I have to give myself a lot of grace –
and some days ice and Advil. But that’s okay. When I started running 20 years
ago, it wasn’t pretty either and I took plenty of “Vitamin I” back then also. Sounds like I am right on track (is that a running pun?)
The days of allowing other people to define me and tell me
who I am are over. What else had I forgotten about myself? It was time to stop
letting the guilt and shame of divorce hold me back. I forgot that I am lovable
and as soon as I remembered that fact, I fell in love again. What could I do if I stopped listening to the static? Who was I before I was a mom?
It was time to live for that girl again.
I am so excited to rediscover all of those other things I
forgot about myself. I am an artist, a friend, a passionate person, a writer, a
teacher. I am all of those things and more. It’s time my children learn more
about Jenny and it’s time I remember her too. I can’t wait to be the person that
I forgot I was. Truthfully, she never left. She has been waiting for me this
whole time. I think my kids are going to like her. I know I do.
Dream big Friends and don't forget who you are. You are the only one who knows for sure.
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