Three Little Words
Updated: Dec 20, 2019
In the past decade I’ve shared some things on social media, y’all—LOL—Probably too much. But I’m a storyteller by nature it’s who I was created to be and so I document life’s moments—big, small and everything in between in pictures and captions and inappropriate memes and then post them on social media to share with my family, my friends, even some strangers. Why? Because I want to be seen. Because I want to be heard. Because I want to be known.
Some of you probably scroll past my updates in your feed with an eye roll thinking “Great. She’s teaching another fitness class. Whoopdie Friggin Doo!”
Others might scroll through photos of my husband, my boys, moments of laughter captured with girlfriends and think “Man, she’s got it all going for her.”
Whether you’ve secretly FB stalked me in the past or blocked me from your newsfeed because you can’t stomach another Studio Barre promo post, if you’re reading this now, I would ask you to continue. Nothing I’ve shared before is more real or more important.
In February of 2018, at the age of 38, I suffered a total mental, emotional, psychological breakdown which led to me being admitted to a treatment facility in Florida over 1,000 miles away from my husband, my three sons, my family and friends. It was the worst thing that ever happened to me and it saved my life. I fought through years of pain and shame and secrets and fear and finally found it in me to say three little words out loud, “I.Need.Help.”
On that cold winter day I was so lost and so hopeless I truly didn’t think there was any possibility for my life to change from the dark prison of pain and isolation it had become and I did not have the will or the energy to even know where to begin but something deep in my spirit cried out in spite of me and spoke those three little words, “I need help.”
On February 11, 2018 I boarded a plane at Chicago’s O’Hare International Airport all alone. When I touched down in Ft Lauderdale, FL my first thought was to run. That innate human instinct, “fight or flight.” I wanted to run and run and run until I came to the ocean. I planned to dive in and swim until my arms gave out. I had no will to live. I wanted to be done, to be dead, for the pain to stop. I had no hope and I did not see a way out. Instead I picked up my phone and sent a text, “I don’t know if I want to do this. I need you.” “I’m here and I love you and I believe in you.” was the response and that response was enough. It kept me going. It saved my life. Someone else held hope for me when mine had long run out. And that hope is the purpose of this blog. This is where I will share my story with you.
I am sharing all of these things not to promote myself. Not for attention or for “likes” or to gain followers or hear an “atta girl!” I am sharing these things because we have to make them speakeable. I suffered in sickness and silence and pain and desperation and shame for years and years because I did not have the courage to tell the truth about the magnitude of what I was struggling with. It almost cost me my life more than once. I am grateful to be here today sharing my story. I share it in the hopes that someone reading it might see themselves in it and that it might give them the boost of courage it takes to say “Me too. I need help.” If that’s you please, please, please reach out. If not to me, then to someone close to you, whom you trust because I promise you there is hope, there is help, there can be healing, and you are so worth loving.