Author: samanthacruzbooks

Dealing with Trauma and PTSD?.. 🙋‍♀️

samanthacruzbooks

I guess it is safe to say that I am not quite where I want to be as far as living with trauma and PTSD. There are 3 significant events in my life that have caused PTSD, two of them being medical. I am going to focus solely on the medical PTSD as far as context goes, but I think my list of DOs for managing my PTSD could apply to other types as well.

So what is medical PTSD, you ask? The answer is in the name. It’s any PTSD stemming from a medical event. When intense medical events are endured in our lives, whether a near death experience for yourself or that of someone close to you (or really any other intense medical event regardless of near death), there is the possibility of presenting with PTSD. I’ll take this time to say that I am no expert in this area, but I do know that I have significant emotional trauma from medical events, and I know that I can be triggered into that place of panic. It isn’t always severe, but triggers are almost always enough to get my adrenaline coursing and to impact my interactions with the world (most importantly, the people!) around me.

The first medical trauma stemmed from an ectopic pregnancy that nearly got me. Here’s an excerpt from that story which you can finish reading here.

I laid on the front porch with the moon overhead in late September 2019. I was drifting in and out, still on the phone with the dispatcher. When I was in, I was giving directions and updates on how I was feeling (it took an hour for an ambulance to reach me). When I was out, I was coming to terms with the final moments of my life. I remember looking up at the moon with bright Venus right beside and saying to myself with a smile, that this is ok. The breeze was blowing so sweetly in a way that I will never forget. The moon was crescent. Venus was humming a clear blue. I was ok with it ending like this, I knew and felt that so deeply. I closed my eyes to that and I distinctly remember breathing and cracking a smile, my eyes closed, as I breathed in the soft wind…

None of This is Your Business, But…, Indie Cruz Blog

PTSD from that event still lives in my mind, but its grip has been growing ever smaller as I put in the work to process it. And just when I thought I could possibly be done putting in effort to condition my mind, life throws another intense event my way.. or so it seems.

I am back at ground zero with the newest medical trauma and recently I have had a harder time coping with thoughts that cause me to relive scary medical events relating to the birth/NICU stay with my daughter.

Very long story short, Violet has a few craniofacial abnormalities, the most consequential being bilateral choanal atresia (the narrowing or complete occlusion of the nasal airway) which made it impossible for her to breathe unassisted (resulting in a traumatic birth) and for which she endured 4 repair procedures in the OR without success over the course of our 4 month NICU stay. The failed repair attempts eventually led us to a 5th surgery to place a Trach and G tube. Violet also has a very rare blood disorder called Diamond-Blackfan Anemia- a condition in which your body does not produce its own red blood cells. All in all, we were in the NICU 123 days, endured 5 surgeries, and 5 blood transfusions, an innumerable amount of traumatic deep suctions of her freshly drilled nasal passage, which happened every 3 hours for MONTHS, amongst your baseline NICU stay traumas. Not to mention, we made it home for about 2 weeks before Violet contracted a severe case of COVID-19 and we ended up back in the PICU for perhaps the scariest week of them all.

But we made it. I am so thankful that I am not on the path dealing with loss trauma, but is the PTSD still there and very real? Why yes. Yes, it is.

I feel as though my brain never rests. Even as I sit here and look at her peacefully sleeping (isn’t she CUTE), I can’t help but feel anxious. This little one has been through so much in her short time here and it is the most helpless feeling to know there is nothing more I can do to ease her journey. It’s her life, her cards, and her journey. The only thing I can do is support her the best way I know how, and even though that is a lot, it is never feels like enough to me.

So then, can one actually process through these traumas and PTSD of this kind? Well, again, I am not a professional in this area and I can’t speak for your experience, but I can speak to mine. I will say I have overcome panic attacks and dark stretches of time to the point where certain triggers have had less and less symptomatic presentation. This is what walking through the process of managing PTSD looked/looks like for me:

  1. Set a HARD boundary about how you will NOT cope with PTSD/anxiety. For me this is basically anything unhealthy, such as drinking. While I like to have a drink from time to time, for me it is NEVER OK to do this as a response to a triggering event (like as a means to drown it out). It is one thousand percent a NO NO for me. There are other destructive things that you could turn to, but drinking alcohol is really the only one that applied to me in terms of placing a boundary there. You could literally make a boundary with any other destructive behavior you may turn to to cope.
  2. Keep open communication about your emotions with SOMEONE. For me this is primarily my husband, although other family members play a role as well. This could also be anyone else, including a therapist, although for me I have triggers associated with therapy itself which I have yet to overcome and so I shy away. In any case, choose a pillar of a person who will hear you and VALIDATE you, but that will encourage you to not remain stagnant too long and to work through your traumas and triggers in healthy ways. Someone who will recognize unhealthy habits and hold you accountable while also holding space for all the tangled wires in your brain.
  3. Start with 1 way to focus your mind, intentionally, every day. Is it meditation? It is Yoga? A run? A sit on the porch while thinking/saying a set of positive mantras to start your day? Whatever it is, make it intentional and then be consistent with it. Don’t let it slip away even if all you have is 5 minutes. (Guess what, I am just getting to this part for myself. I recently realized I was presenting with PTSD symptoms again, so it was time to begin the healing work..)
  4. Infiltrate your whole self with good food for both your body and your mind. I mean literal and figurative food here. Seriously, eat less processed foods (good rule of thumb is to stay on the perimeter in the grocery store. The middle shelves are mostly processed!), cook a little bit.. its cathartic. Get enough sleep. Get your body moving.. even a walk around the block will do. Then, feed your brain helpful words.. READ. I’ll give you one book that may be the only one you need: From Poverty to Power, James Allen. (But I will say there are a TON out there that I have read that have added immense value and guidance for healing!)
  5. Self evaluate, but don’t beat yourself up if you find yourself lagging behind on your plan. Congratulate and encourage yourself when you’re keeping steady, but when you falter DO give yourself grace. Let yourself know that you understand how hard it is to face your traumas and work through them and its totally valid to struggle to manage it sometimes. But tomorrow is a new day and consistency is key NOT MOTIVATION. I mean.. don’t we all lack motivation when things are HARD. Motivation is a great word, but sometimes it helps when I replace it with consistency. It really puts you more on the path of “one foot in front of the other.” Remind yourself to revisit your plan and to return to it. YOU CAN DO THIS.
  6. VISUALIZE… Realize that managing trauma is a process that doesn’t happen overnight, but expect that you will wake up soon and know that you have come through. No matter how little the progress… any progress is good progress. Then visualize yourself on the other side. What does it look like to not live with your symptoms? Close your eyes and think on it. Make it feel like real life.. your brain can actually do that. If it’s not the reality right now that is OK. It does not hurt to fantasize about it and remind yourself that you can get there. While you’re at the whole visualizing thing, go ahead and visualize your body (or your child’s body) working to heal whatever it is that ails it. For my daughter, it’s her anemia. For now, I visualize her bone marrow working to produce red blood cells properly and hold that as my hope as we start down the path to managing her condition and hopefully getting it into remission through steroid therapy one day when she is old enough. It sounds hokey to visualize, but it’s OK. You aren’t alone. I am doing it, too. We can be hokey together.

That’s really all I got. While I am not always doing all of these things, the goal is to get there soon. I’m on the right track because I am not doing nothing. I am not going to let my mind run away with me, I’ll use it as a tool to improve myself. The mind is strong enough, don’t let it convince you otherwise. There is a lot I cannot control externally right now, but I can put in the work to control me. I can control what I eat. I can control what content I allow into my mind. I can meditate. I can do yoga. I can give myself grace. I can surround myself with support (I’ll be your support if you don’t have anyone!). I can filter my thoughts. I can control me.

Also, absolutely no shade if you aren’t here yet. I just want you to know you can be. Just start with intention and consistency.

-Namaste!

Sweet Streams in a Valley

Sweet Streams in a Valley

samanthacruzbooks

Is it appropriate to relate parts of this journey to a valley? Well, I suppose I get to decide. Please, let me explain.

The word valley is symbolic of two polar opposite ideas. One, it can be representative of fertility, life, abundance, new growth, etc. But two, having grown up in the church, valley has traditionally (in my life) been symbolic for a darker season that one must walk through.

My idea of valley is in a current state of evolution from the second idea into the first.

I am in a dark valley.

If you’re like me, you plan things out. Maybe you don’t always put physical things in place to carry out that plan, but you at least have an idea of “how” something is supposed to happen. I do that with almost everything, but I definitely did that with pregnancy, childbirth, and the first few months of my daughter’s life. I had already solidified my expectations well before Violet ever arrived. But, of course, most of those things never came to pass or looked very, very different from my plan.

I was supposed to have a rosey, uneventful pregnancy.

I was supposed to exercise regularly, eat healthy meals all the time, and take the requisite pictures as my bump grew.

I was supposed to have regular exams and to see clear 3D images of our baby.

I was supposed to have an unmedicated, natural, term birth.

I was supposed to bring home baby a few days after birth.

I was supposed to be able to hold my baby.

I was supposed to be able to breastfeed my baby.

I was supposed to be able to sleep while my baby sleeps.

My baby was supposed to be able to breathe.

My baby was supposed to be able to feed.

My baby was supposed to be able to hear my voice.

The list goes on.

I didn’t quickly learn to throw my expectations out the window, evolve, adapt, and go about my happy go lucky self. No. Instead, as my expectations were snatched from me, so went my feet right out from under me.

There was no choosing this. But this is where I find myself. On my bottom, in a valley and the sun is not here to light my way.

It all happened so fast.

I did not have a rosey, uneventful pregnancy.

I did not exercise regularly, eat healthy meals all the time, and take the requisite pictures as my bump grew.

I did not have regular exams or see clear 3D images of our baby.

I did not have an unmedicated, natural, term birth.

I did not bring home baby a few days after birth.

I did not hold my baby for a long time.

I do not breastfeed my baby.

I do not sleep while my baby sleeps.

My baby was unable to breathe.

My baby was unable to feed.

My baby is unable to hear my voice.

My baby has struggles.

My baby needed and will need more surgery.

I do not love Violet any less for these things, but I grieve what I thought motherhood would be like. Whether the notion of having expectations of motherhood is good, bad, or indifferent is irrelevant. I had expectations and this looks nothing like what I thought. And that begets grief. I repeat- this does not mean I love my child any less. It simply complicates the emotions.

I also grieve that Violet was dealt these cards in life. I grieve that she will have to navigate a different world amongst ours. I grieve that she will need more surgeries. I grieve that she will need chronic blood transfusions to stay alive.

I worry that I will fall short. I worry that I will not be able to communicate with her effectively. I worry that she will be in pain and not understand what is going on or why we have to go to the hospital so often. I worry that other kids will not accept her and her differences. I worry that she will feel less than. And then I grieve that these are even worries in the first place.

Worries and grief feel like dark valleys. They feel like dark emotions. Dark emotions are something I have been conditioned from a young age to run away from. There is so much unknown in the dark and like with any darkness, it is scary to not be able to see. What I can see, I can plan for (or at least I am under that illusion), so to not be able to see makes me feel out of control. If I can see in the dark, I can control how I feel and prepare for how to respond.

I can attribute (at least in part) this way of coping to a significant event in my life.

When I was a kid I was notably terrified of thunderstorms. My dad knew this well. After all, many nights during a storm I would rush into my parent’s bedroom, make a “pallet” on the floor, and sleep right next to their bed. One day, my dad decided to take me for a drive in the middle of the night, in the middle of an intense lightning storm. He tried explaining to me how amazing the weather was, how cool and exciting the lighting was. That night we even saw a bolt of lightning hit a transformer, exploding it into a cluster of sparks. Somehow in that scenario I learned to fear storms less if only I was able to see what was going on outside. It was OK that the lightning was doing its thing, as long as it wasn’t affecting me. And, if it came close to affecting me, because I could see the storm I felt that I could control the outcome for myself. I developed this false sense that I could predict what would happen in an otherwise unpredictable situation and therefore I could make decisions to keep myself safe.

This manifested throughout my adult years as well. I can specifically remember a time when I lived in Pennsylvania and there was a gnarly thunderstorm blowing through. Being from Florida, the storms in Pennsylvania didn’t really ever come close to the intensity, but this one was different. I was home alone and remember being so scared inside the house that I went out on the balcony and looked at the sky. I saw swirling, ominous clouds which terrified me further. I decided I did not want to stay in the house, so I got in my car and I drove (thinking back to that time when dad took me for a drive) to the most secure location I could think of. I drove to the parking garage at the mall where I worked. I found out later that night that a tornado had struck the area about 2-3 miles from my house which destroyed a number of homes. My method of handling situations like this was reinforced. If only I am able to see… I can find a way to be safe before the disaster unfolds. I can control the outcome.

This notion has somehow bled into my emotional life. If I can control the situation, I can control what emotions I feel. I can avoid destruction from emotional storms. Emotional storms for me are the dark, unpleasant emotions that arise from situations that I cannot control. When the uncontrollable happens in life, there is no going outside, no driving to the nearest parking garage for cover, no false illusion of safety that can be conjured or fabricated to insulate you from unpleasant emotions. I cannot see clearly. I cannot predict what emotions I will feel. In the middle of the emotional storm I feel so out of control and it is impossible to position myself to feel safe. I don’t like it. I want to make it stop. I want to avoid the emotional storms. If I can’t make myself feel safe in the middle of the emotional storm, well then, I suppose I must prevent the emotional storm in the first place. I must position myself and my life to avoid situations that will birth emotional storms.

Well, guess what self… it ain’t going to happen. Life is unpredictable and much of it you cannot control.

Here inlies another problem. I am so used to harboring the notion that I can control the uncontrollable things in my life that I start to blame myself for the uncontrollable. I wonder if it is a test that I need to pass and that if I do, I will stop being tested in these unpredictable and uncontrollable ways. If I could just grasp what the test is trying to teach me, then the test will be over. I beat myself up about the fact that I didn’t already know the answers to the test so that I could avoid the test altogether. I wonder how I could have acted differently to avoid the situation, the descending darkness.

I have to take a minute and introduce you to a book that puts words to this darkness in a way that I never understood until reading it. The book is called Learning to Walk in the Dark by NYT best selling author Barbara Brown Taylor. She explains:

When the dark night first falls, it is natural to spend some time wondering if it is a test or punishment for something you have done. This is often a sly way of staying in control of the situation, since the possibility that you have caused it comes with the hope that you can also put an end to it, either by passing the test or by enduring the punishment.

I had never looked at this feeling of being “tested” or “punished” as a way of grasping at control. And the reality is.. there is nothing, nothing I could have done to keep any of the hard parts of this season of life from happening. Nothing I could have done to make the universe deal a different hand to Violet. And so, here I am in an uncontrollable situation dealing with my unwanted, unpleasant dark emotions.

The situation is out of my control. It is out of my hands. All I can do is sit and learn. Learn about myself and the inner workings of my own heart. Learn about my relationship with my “dark” emotions and hopefully start to release what I cannot control. To realize that when I try to control the uncontrollable I miss out on small, beautiful moments in life, too. I want to learn to live in the moment regardless of the negativity and realize that darkness is the backdrop for some of the most intense transformations. Take a growing baby in the mother’s womb. Take a seed in the soil. Take the entirety of the universe. Darkness is transformative, but you have to stop trying to expel it by turning on all the lights. Just let it be. Feel. Cry. Surrender. Grow.

A stream still runs through a valley at night. It doesn’t stop because the sun ceases to shine and night falls. And by the way, you can’t make the sun come up any faster. You have to endure what you have to endure- the uncontrollable. And, like the darkness in a valley at night shares space with a life giving stream, you can find yourself shrouded in grief and worry about the unknown (darkness) while simultaneously experiencing the joys in life. I think the key is to stop trying to make darkness go away. Stop trying to control the uncontrollable.

It doesn’t make you ungrateful, regretful, or a negative person to acknowledge the “dark” (the uncontrollable, unwanted aspects) in the midst of the most profound times of your life. It makes you human.

I grieve my lost expectations, but I am learning to let go of the control that formed those expectations in the first place. I am learning to let go of my panic in the darkness and instead to sit, listen, and feel the sweet streams that still roam through the valley when night has fallen upon it.

Some call this looking for the silver lining. Whatever you want to call it, in looking for it, don’t run from the cloud.. or the dark.. or the uncomfortable. Don’t close your eyes and pretend that the cloud/dark/uncomfortable doesn’t exist. Don’t waste your time thinking you could have done anything to control it. As badly as you may not want the sun to set, it will set from time to time. You will find yourself in darkness and while you sit there in the uncomfortable unknown, listen for the sweet stream and know it is still working tirelessly under the cover of darkness to bring healing, growth, transformation, and relief. But you have to be still. You have to quiet your soul. You have to stop anxiously pacing and dwelling on how you can bring back the sun when this moment is meant to be experienced in darkness by the stream.

Close your eyes. Relax. Breathe. Acknowledge your grief and worry while resting by the sweet stream and the night will pass.

Namaste

Tribute to a Brand New Dad

Tribute to a Brand New Dad

samanthacruzbooks

The night was calm. We were 31 Weeks, 6 days into pregnancy.

I told you Wednesday night I would feel more comfortable if you went ahead and packed a bag before we went to sleep. I packed a bag earlier in the day.

You didn’t panic, but you didn’t hesitate. You trusted my instinct.

Around 8pm I lay in bed trying to calm my contractions which were starting to feel slightly different. While I rested there, I watched you pull clothes out of the closet and stuff them into your backpack.

You looked at me, chuckled, and said you didn’t know how much bigger my belly could get.

I looked back at you and said I didn’t know how to describe it, but I just felt different. I said maybe we should just lay here on the bed together, because this could be the very last night that it is just you and me. I told you that tomorrow our world could be different. You smiled at me with excitement and you said “I can’t believe it, babe.” You chuckled with palpable joy for what was to come.

A short hour later, as we lay there looking at each other and talking about this and that, I let out a sudden gasp. “My water just broke.”

You asked what was next and I simply said, “we go.” You kept chuckling and smiling. You calmly collected our bags. I got dressed appropriately for birth, should it happen on our long drive. We had known there was a possibility of early delivery. We had known we would need a NICU for some of the challenges our babe was sure to have.. so we promptly began the drive to Jacksonville.

On the way, you asked me how I was doing over and over, although I don’t think you quite remember how often. My contractions were tolerable. We would joke about how crazy it all was. You kept chuckling with disbelief. How quickly life was changing in those moments. We exchanged I love yous over and over.

We arrived and made the journey by wheelchair to labor and delivery. We joked with each other and with the nurses. It didn’t feel like it was midnight.

We endured 10 hours of little V’s dropping heart rate during my contractions. You remained calm and kept me calm when 5 or 6 people would rush in to try and locate our little girl’s dipping heart beat. You held my hand while I cried out in pain as they flipped me from left side, to right side, to all fours while I contracted. When they were gone, we would talk about what we both wanted to happen next, what we were comfortable with, and what we were not.

After a bad heart rate decel around 9am, we were both ready to get her out and know she was safe. The doctors came in shortly after with that same decision. It was time for the OR. They wheeled me back. They got you prepped.

You held my hand, encouraging me that I was doing so well and at 9:48am our little girl entered the world.

I looked at you and asked “Why isn’t she crying?”

I don’t know if the doctor heard me ask, or if you asked them, but someone told us she wasn’t in the room. They let you leave to go check on her and you brought back her very first picture. Quiet tears began to roll down my cheeks. I remember you looking at me, wiping them. “That’s our baby girl,” you said.

I have no way of knowing how much time had passed, but the doctors who were still in the OR offered to have you go back and see her again. The doctors in the other room turned you away because they were “working on her.”

You came back to the OR where I was impatiently waiting for information. Neither one of us knew what was happening, but we knew that we seemed to be waiting for a long time.

We would find out later that they attempted a number of interventions because she was not breathing well. Her heart rate dipped to the 40s. They initiated chest compressions. They needed to intubate, but she was a challenge. Two doctors tried to intubate her and failed. A third was successful. Her anatomy was just not ideal for easy intubation.

They wheeled Violet back into the OR and we saw her for the first time together. It was one of the most magical moments of my life, and also one of the most terrifying. She was covered with tubes and wires. I remember feeling relief and fear all at once. I can’t say what you felt in those moments, but knowing you, it was likely pure elation.

I don’t remember getting from the OR table back to my recovery room, but I remember you went to be with our baby girl in the NICU for a short time. Then, you came back and sat with me. It was hard while we waited.

Little by little we started to learn about her condition and her needs. We learned that she would have to be transferred to another NICU, one capable of surgery. We learned she was born without a nasal airway and that it would need to be surgically repaired.

A few long hours later, they wheeled her down to us in her transport. She was ready for the drive to the new hospital. You followed in the truck. You navigated the early stages of our NICU journey alone, enduring a bombardment of doctors and lists of her anomalies, as I lay in recovery at the hospital where she was born.

You FaceTimed me. You traveled back and forth between my hospital and hers many times, torn about where you wanted to be. You wanted your family together, but we simply couldn’t.

You were there for our girl in those early moments. The hospital I was in wouldn’t let anyone visit after 9pm and the NICU at Violet’s hospital didn’t let you fall asleep at the bedside. You wanted to be able to get some rest and then go back into the NICU overnight. And you did, only leaving if you absolutely couldn’t keep your eyes open. You slept a hour here…an hour there… in the truck parked outside the NICU.

You did everything you could to let Violet and I both know that you were there. I was so grateful. So, so grateful for the dad you already were.

The journey in the NICU proved to be a long and grueling one. You showed up for V every day. Every. Single. Day.

You handled me, my winding hormones, and my intense emotions with care and understanding. Every. Single. Day.

You made sure that I drank water and ate enough food. Every. Single. Day.

You made a career shift that allowed you to work fully remote and after only taking a week off, you continued to work Every. Single. Day. Right there at Violet’s bedside. The hospital staff first knew you as “laptop guy” because every day that you walked in, you had your laptop in hand. On the weekends they would routinely ask, “No laptop today?” which became welcome chatter in the mornings.

You held my hand surgery after surgery. You reminded me to trust my instinct when advocating for our daughter. You encouraged me and you held me up when I felt like I was failing. You consoled me when I sobbed and wished that this was not the road that Violet had to walk. When I wished, with everything in my being, that I could take away her pain. You told me that for whatever reason, these were the cards that Violet was dealt and all we could do was the best we could to support her, love her, and help her get through. You reminded me that our paths were supposed to cross with all of the people we interacted with every day. You told me they were meant to make an impact on our lives and us on theirs and that as hard as all of it was, we were supposed to be living these moments. That the experiences we would have in the NICU would give us perspective and enrich our lives. And you were absolutely right.

I would never know what a truly amazing NICU dad looked like until you became one. Until I watched you, for 123 days, show up. Not just physically. You showed up emotionally, too. You were honest with me and I was honest with you. I had always figured we could weather anything, but experiencing this journey with you has shown me just how true it is. Walking through life with you, no matter how challenging the path in front of us, is simply one of the biggest blessings of my life.

I am so thankful to have such an amazing partner. Violet is beyond lucky to have a father like you.

I am out of words to describe my gratitude and words could never even touch the gravity of my appreciation, admiration, and love for you.

Cheers to the best NICU dad (and now post-NICU dad, who never realized he would double as a home nurse) there ever was, to the best partner in life there ever was.

There could never be another. (like that one country song that you know…….)

Thank you for continuing to give me the greatest gifts that life has to offer. I love you! xoxo.

Pregnancy Story Alert!

Pregnancy Story Alert!

samanthacruzbooks

It’s long, not polished, or complete..

Pregnancy brain has me foggy, but I wrote it anyway!

_____________________

I’ve learned throughout my life, especially in the last few years, that things don’t always go as planned! If you’ve read some of my writing in the past you may have caught wind of that… and the fact that somewhere along the line, in a single moment in time, something changed in me. My mindset changed from “why me” to “why not me.” 

The shift has been helpful in letting go of “my” plans and has allowed me to take things in stride more than I ever did before (definitely not something I have mastered, but I can handle “cones in my lane” much better I think!). 

So with that, I want to fill y’all in on this pregnancy journey. I’m the type that gains strength from reading stories of others lives, and so I like to tell them too. 

So, Turner Syndrome… you’ve probably never heard of it. I certainly hadn’t prior to this pregnancy. 

When I found out I was pregnant, I made an appointment right away due to the high risk classification that came about from my prior ectopic pregnancy. At 6 weeks, my doctors started scanning for the baby- they couldn’t find her for 3 weeks. On top of not being able to locate her, my HCG levels never measured as hoped or expected. These two scenarios combined, from week 6-9, raised concerns about a subsequent ectopic pregnancy, and my doctor continuously suggested termination to preserve my single Fallopian tube. Needless to say, I refused each time and explained that I had experienced a rupture before, knew what it felt like, and would promptly make my way to the ER if I experienced any unusual pain. I was scared by the possibility of another rupture, but I knew we simply couldn’t terminate and against the doctor’s wishes and advice I went “3 more days” and agreed that if by Monday there was no baby, then it was time to take action. The pain never came, and baby girl was found at 9 weeks on the Monday scan. Relief. Such relief. 

Around 12 weeks we had the option of a genetics test, which I think is fairly common practice nowadays in pregnancy. For a few reasons, we opted in. My prior ectopic pregnancy caused quite a bit of trauma and the grief of that loss was overwhelming. I wanted to do everything possible to make sure the pregnancy was progressing as it should. That included opting in to this screening. Confident that nothing would come of it, we were also thrilled to find out the gender of our babe a little earlier than on a scan.

But then the doctor called around 16 weeks and said the test came back abnormal, and that we would have to come in to discuss results with them. The feelings were overwhelming and my mind swirled with so many questions about what it could possibly be. We were in the office two days later to receive the news. He told us our baby has a high probability of having Turner Syndrome. In the two days between the call and the appointment, I had frantically learned everything I could about every syndrome tested for on this screening. I knew enough about Turner Syndrome to say to the doc “so your saying we’re having a girl?!” (Turners is present in girls only!) He nodded and proceeded to implore us to not terminate and that if she survived pregnancy, she had a strong chance of a normal life. 

That was never a thought for us. This baby was given to us to love and protect and we planned on doing just that for as long as we are blessed with her. We decided against any tests with even the slightest risks (such as an amniocentesis) because to us, a confirmation of this syndrome, prior to her entering the world, would not change our decision not to terminate. We wanted her to be as safe as possible. So we left that office visit worried about the unknown, with our first specialist visit scheduled in Jacksonville, and continued to learn everything we could about this new-to-us syndrome. 

We excitedly chose her name: Violet Elizabeth Cruz.

In the following days and weeks I read everything I could find about Turner Syndrome. We would be the best parents we could be, regardless of all that this syndrome entailed, that I knew for sure.

I learned that 99% of Turner girls don’t survive to birth. I learned as much as I could about all the complications associated with Turner Syndrome. Heart abnormalities and malformations, intrauterine growth restriction, fluid build up, micrognathia (small chin), infertility, small stature… 

I also learned that many people do choose to terminate with such news. By the time I had learned the harsh statistic (72% or so choose to terminate?!) I had already begun to feel her kicks. It was hard to fathom making a such a decision, and the thought of it was unimaginable.

Our first scan with the specialist was supposed to be the anatomy scan, but she was too small. They moved my due date 3 weeks because she was measuring 3 weeks earlier than originally thought. From what they could tell on this scan though, things looked OK so far. There was no unusual fluid buildup anywhere in her body. They said come back in a few weeks for the full anatomy scan- she would be big enough then. 

From what they could see at 22 weeks on the anatomy scan, things still looked OK. They just weren’t able to get a good read on her heart nor could they see her profile very well. They were suspicious of her chin, saying that it looked a little small but due to her positioning, they simply couldn’t see well enough to say for sure. We would need to come back.

The next scan was scheduled for a fetal heart echo and to hopefully check her little chin. The echo thankfully went very well, which was a major relief! The typical heart issues associated with Turner Syndrome were not present, but they still couldn’t see her chin. We also learned that I was starting to carry excess fluid and that she had dropped from the 45th percentile to 18th percentile for growth within the month between scans. This coupled with my excess amniotic fluid raised some concerns and we were  to come back in 3 weeks. 

We are 29 weeks today, and our follow up scan for fluid and growth check was yesterday. We learned that Violet has dropped to the 13th percentile and that my fluid has also increased. Thankfully, the fluid isn’t due to Gestational Diabetes- I passed that test last week! 

We will be seen again in 3 weeks with the hope that she will not drop below the 10th percentile. If she does, we will have a Doppler scan of her umbilical artery to see if there is an issue with blood flow to and from the placenta. That is going to be a big day- the outcome of that scan could cause a huge shift to what happens regarding giving birth to this little human! 

We are thankful she is still kicking all the time! Her heart rate has been consistently strong with every scan. The physical side of this pregnancy has been fairly easy, apart from fatigue. Chris is absolutely the most supportive and positive partner I could ask for and has kept me sane and comforted though the bouts of stress and worry.  

I’ve learned nothing goes as planned, but we do the best we can with the information we have! I’ve also learned that mom instinct is legit. We still do not have confirmation about her Turner Syndrome and we won’t until after birth. We continue to be closely monitored in case any interventions are needed in the coming weeks. 

I’m so thankful for our little Violet, the amazing support system that I have in Chris and the rest of my family/friends (including all the puppy cuddles!!) and we are hoping for good news about her growth at our next scan.

Be well,

Samantha!

None of This is Your Business, But…

None of This is Your Business, But…

samanthacruzbooks

First, I’d like to say that none of this is your business. No one reading this is entitled to knowing the truth of my life. No one reading this is obligated to believe it either. However, I am a writer. I like to tell stories both fact and fiction. Sometimes I like to turn the fact into fiction. After all, some of the experiences I have lived would make a great backdrop for a novel. 


I also like to share my experiences, good and bad, because I like to connect and identify with the people around me. I know that some of the things I have experienced have been experienced by others. And you know that about your own experiences as well. For a really long time I was obligated to remain hushed about the bad. However, it is not in my nature to remain silent and so my insides screamed. For a long time. 

See here’s the problem: 
Many of us only share the good experiences, openly and publicly while the bad are left to the anonymity of the google search. I thank God for the google search, because I spent many, many moons scouring the internet for stories of bad experiences to help me get through mine. Of course I had my family, and a few close friends, but none of them had been through what I was going through. Some had experiences that were closer than others, but I still wondered and I still longed for someone to understand- to get me. To know the visceral pain of all that I was going through. 


I didn’t want to find out that my experience was unique to me. Maybe because for a while I thought that it was my fault that this was happening. If I could just find people who were experiencing something like this, and if I could tell they were also good people, than I could perhaps begin to understand that bad things do happen to good people and that I didn’t do something to deserve what I was being dealt.  


But I remained silent. I had to maintain the reputation that people knew of me and my personal life for the sake of another, while I was deteriorating. And I continued to search google, to read books on understanding my own brain, and to try everything I could to learn how to change myself because I was clearly the reason why this was happening to me. Surely, I was the reason. I did something for this to happen. 


I’m sure you want to know what experience I am talking about. However, if you have been following along with my life at all, and if you can do a picture puzzle, you will have surmised that I am divorced and remarried. 


It’s true. Gasp. Sigh. Heads shaking back and forth. Tisk-Tisk. 


Whether these are the thoughts of the readers of these words or my projected thoughts onto the readers of these words is irrelevant. I’m sure I’ve hit the nail on the head for at least one of you. And again, none of this is your business anyway. This is my business and I am writing for 2 reasons. 


The first, which I have longed to do for a while, is to help another. To let you know that these things happen. That I have felt pain beyond what these words can convey just like many of you. The second, is to free myself.


My first marriage was not perfect, but I thought it was a staggering 99% there. I believed it was. Everyone commented that it was. Come to find out, it wasn’t. 


I had my fair share of troubling times throughout the marriage. I got married at 19 and moved away from home- far away. From FL to PA. My ex is a pilot (and was at the time too) so, I was alone a lot. I did not make friends in this place easily. It was lonely. We had little money, I was sick often, and I was unsure of how to finish college. 


The air force entered my life and things improved in a lot of ways. I made some of my best friends through the Air Force network, was afforded some amazing experiences, and I was able to see my ex more because training kept him home at night instead of flying airline trips. We made more money, I was able to finish college, we traveled a lot. Things were good in these ways. 


In other ways, I deeply longed for things that I couldn’t fix. I missed home for one, and we seemed to be getting further away from ever having a life near family. I wanted my own family, but things were too chaotic and hectic and it wasn’t the “right time.” There was always a this and that, that had to happen first.  I was ever so slowly slipping into a shadow of someone else’s life, someone else’s decisions, so subtly that it was hard to notice. Little by little my own effervescence was diminishing as the years went on. I was in constant support mode. I rarely said no. I was easily out negotiated. I would lay down, roll over, whatever.. because I knew I was the weaker force, the less smart of the two of us, less logical, typically governed by emotions. I was inferior. I wasn’t good at making decisions. These thoughts grew louder with time, along with other more harsh ones.


These were the ramblings of an inner self that was emerging from a toxic relationship. I tell myself now that I should have noticed sooner. 
There is a lot of detail that I will not go into, but know that while sometimes the breakdown of a relationship happens over night, sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes it withers away over some time. Mine started to erode (at least as far as my perspective shows) in 2018. 

I was really ready to start a little family. In July, on a trip, we talked about it and we agreed that we would start trying soon (as in around January of 2019). Wonderful! I was ecstatic. Until I was told that before that could happen I needed to attend therapy/counseling. Admittedly, I had struggled with depression early on in our marriage, but at this point in time I did not take this ultimatum of counseling well. It wasn’t that I had anything against therapy or counseling (if you really know me you know I am all for it), but instead it was logged as another data point on this imaginary tally sheet of mine. A data point that told me I was not good enough on my own. That I needed to be better than I was in order to qualify to have children. 


Ultimately, I agreed to go and set up my first appointments. This was in October of 2018 after protesting for a little bit. By January we would start down the path to a family. Then, we had an argument just at the end of December about careers and just like that we were putting off kids “indefinitely” from that point on. I continued to go to counseling. That sudden shift from kids to no kids jolted me to say the least. I had done what was requested of me and yet the chance at a family slipped away again. Months went by without lengthy conversation about the subject. I’d bring it up (which is very much like me, I’m a talk-er and a get-to-the-bottom-of-it-er) but the conversation didn’t want to be had, to put it lightly. Then, in May, the barrier was lifted. 


I ended up getting pregnant right away. It was the most exciting day of my life. That very first positive pregnancy test. Many of you probably know the feeling. Two weeks later I was sitting at an appointment that was meant for simple blood work, but instead I was told that I was in the middle of a miscarriage. I was alone at that appointment and my ex-in-laws were in town that weekend. That was the weekend we were going to tell them the news. Instead I was returning home with news of pain. I pulled in the driveway, after a long sobbing hour drive, thankful that no one was home. One visitor had gone for coffee. The other was up flying with my ex. It was a perfect window of time to rush inside to the bathroom, to wash my face, reapply make-up and talk myself out of my relentless sobbing. Another 3 months kept running through my mind. That’s what the doctor said. Wait 3 months. But to me, it felt like the window of opportunity had passed. Kids were already so on and off again in the relationship. When everyone returned, I was back to my perky self, I was asked with a pleasant smile how the appointment went and through my own forced smile I whispered “we need to talk.” 

We all went inside to get ready for lunch and that was my chance to share the bad news with my ex. We couldn’t have been in the room for more than 5 minutes before we were walking out of the house and onto lunch with our guests. I will never forget the pain of that secret and knowing that I had to struggle so hard to keep it together for someone else while my heart ached so deeply. I wanted to curl up in a ball and stay there and sob, but I had to smile. I kept thinking that family is there for the good times yes, but also for these hard times. I didn’t understand the need to hush and to hide the painful reality. But I did and I don’t think many know to this day about that pregnancy. 


Three months went by and it was time to try again. And again, I got pregnant right away. I was again thrilled to share the news! However, this news of the second pregnancy was not met with the same enthusiasm as the first. There was a lot of frustration associated with this one which was due to an argument that took place 3 weeks prior. I didn’t realize the friction that still lingered from that fight until the moment I revealed the pregnancy. I found out I was pregnant for the second time right on schedule at about 4 weeks and called the doctor and scheduled the appointment for week 8. I was bummed to need to wait until 8 weeks to have the first appointment because I was anxious after the first miscarriage. I wanted immediately to know everything was ok, but this is what the doctor wanted. So I waited. 


There was a scheduled TDY with the squadron over the next 3 weeks and a friends baby shower I was helping to plan during that time. Things were alright. I was anxious but excited. I was unsure of the state of our relationship but we were “committed.” Things were coasting. And then about a week before my first appointment I began to experience some pains in my lower left abdomen. They weren’t crazy at first, but noticeable enough. To be honest, I didn’t think it was anything more than what a little gas-x could handle. I never went to get any, though, because the pain came and went and when I was good, I was really good and when I wasn’t good, I was merely uncomfortable. But then, 2 days later, I was jolted awake by the most excruciating pain I have ever experienced. I tried to get out of bed and instead rolled onto the floor. I still thought it was gas. I crawled my way to the bathroom, blinded by the pain, and muscled my way onto the toilet. I was in so much pain and so tired I don’t even know at what point I realized it was something way more serious. It was so early in the morning that I couldn’t get ahold of anyone nearby and I was home alone. I decided to call 911. 


As I was on the phone with the dispatcher giving details of my condition and where I lived, I crawled my way through the house through the front door. I told the dispatcher that I would be out on the porch because my dog is really scared of sirens and I didn’t want her to run away if they were going to come through the door with the stretcher. Never mind if she bit anyone. She is very protective of me, especially when I am alone. 


I laid on the front porch with the moon overhead in late September 2019. I was drifting in and out, still on the phone with the dispatcher. When I was in, I was giving directions and updates on how I was feeling (it took an hour for an ambulance to reach me). When I was out, I was coming to terms with the final moments of my life. I remember looking up at the moon with bright Venus right beside and saying to myself with a smile, that this is ok. The breeze was blowing so sweetly in a way that I will never forget. The moon was crescent. Venus was humming a clear blue. I was ok with it ending like this, I knew and felt that so deeply. I closed my eyes to that and I distinctly remember breathing and cracking a smile, my eyes closed, as I breathed in the soft wind. Then, I came to once again as the dispatcher was telling me help is at the gate but they can’t get it to open. I then directed them, through the dispatcher, to another way to get to the house and the next thing I know I hear the sirens. It’s the fire department. I was happy for the company, but there was nothing they could do. They set up their half of the IV to be connected once the ambulance got there. They gave me a bag in case I needed to vomit. But most of all they kept me company. They kept me alert. Then the ambulance came an agonizing 15 minutes later, and I rode the painful, bouncy thirty minutes to the nearest hospital. 


After undergoing an even more painful ultrasound, and a half hour with no answers, I was abruptly told I needed emergency surgery, and I needed it right now. My pregnancy was ectopic and my fallopian tube had ruptured. I was bleeding internally. But worst of all it was another painful loss and I was alone. I had about 2 minutes to make a phone call to my ex, to tell him what was happening. My mother in law at the time arrived right before surgery. My dad was already making the 5 hr drive. My ex was making a way to fly home by that night. 


I spent the night in the hospital with a ton of pain and mental fog, but I was alive and I was not alone anymore. I had support. I had my ex for that night and then he returned to the TDY the next morning. I told myself this was ok. I needed to be supportive of what was required of him, to forget what I needed. I’m a Tilton. I could do this. 


I’d like to say that it didn’t get worse from there, but it did. The months after this loss were the worst of my life. I was made to believe that this had happened because of me. That I didn’t do all I could to protect the baby, and even that I was directly responsible for her death. I struggled enough with my own thoughts of inadequacy, anger towards my body, and grief. I didn’t need help to feel like shit. 


The isolation increased. The marriage separation abruptly began after being told I don’t know if I want to be married anymore merely a week after the loss. I drove myself 5 hrs north to my childhood home on the farm against doctors orders. I was distraught, to say the least. I needed help and the help I had (my parents) already left once my ex got home at the end of that first week post surgery. Once my medical leave was over (2 weeks later) and I returned south, I tried to be present for my students, but would have frequent panic attacks while at school. Multiple times I got quick coverage and rushed to the bathroom only to sob on the bathroom floor, trying to catch my breath. I was suffering from PTSD from the ambulance event and surgery, grief of the loss, trauma from a lack of support, isolation, disconnection- whatever. I got into a car accident a month after surgery. More panic attacks. Active shooter drills at school in the mix of that all. I even was so stressed at one point that I suffered from incontinence a time or two. I lost 25 pounds off of my 145lb healthy body. 


The separation continued for 5 months, all the while living in the same house as two passing shadows with little to no emotional support. Vows were irretrievably broken in more ways than one. 


After many more excruciating exchanges and discoveries, by May the marriage counseling began, the tension grew worse and I knew then, that it was not going to work. But damn it I tried. All in all I had made the 5 hr drive to my parents roughly 9 times in the course of that school year. Every time I came back to no change, little to no shift towards reconciliation, more hurtful words, and isolation. In the summer, I spent 6 weeks away from that relationship, asking often during that time if it was ok for me to come home only to be told no over and over again. I returned at the beginning of the 2020 school year in an attempt to fulfill my contract that was previously signed in the wake of the pandemic and to give this relationship one last shot, but I told myself I needed evidence- hard proof that it was worth the work to him. After all I had already been told, in short, that if anyone knew what I was really like, no man in their right mind would marry me. But I am loyal. I said vows. I loved this man for a long time. But in the end my mental, emotional, and physical health mattered more and I was already reduced to ashes. I couldn’t escape the pain of that place, or my broken relationship. And  I was constantly hiding it.

Everyone who knew me outside of my own job had no idea. No idea that I was pregnant and lost babies, no idea my marriage was separated (we still played nice and attended functions together, putting on happy faces, only to later sulk back into my own room alone), no idea I was back and forth so often from my parents up north. I’m certain that had they known, I would have had support locally. But I had to keep quiet. I had to hide. And I felt like a puppet. Pretending all the time to the outside world that I was fine. 


After the last 6 weeks spent up north in the summer of that year, I was back for the first 3 weeks of the school year (August) before I said that if I was going to leave again that it was going to be for the last time. I was asked to stay until the TDY (same time frame as the previous one-September) was over. I didn’t want to be alone during that time and nothing had changed for the better so I was going to leave. Not to mention that I would be alone for the anniversary of my atypically traumatic second loss. I was already so lonely as it was. But I stayed anyway because he asked. He said we would sort things when he got back.  Things didn’t improve long distance. I was still suffering from PTSD of the events that transpired the previous year as well as the hurtful exchanges in the times thereafter. Then, he returned, we talked, he said that he couldn’t see a way forward, and I made the decision to make that 5 hr drive north for the last time. 


The weekend he returned went by and on Monday I put a weeks notice in at work. I told my kids, who the previous year had gone through multiple teacher changes. I told my amazing coworkers who I wish I could have brought with me to my new job. I sobbed in front of my principal, apologizing for the short notice and with all pride abandoned, admitted that I was simply at the end of my rope and hanging on by a thread- that I needed family. The situation was so volatile and my health so poor that it had to be an immediate change. I felt guilty to leave my students most of all. 


By Tuesday I had an interview with my home elementary school to take place that following Monday. 


By Friday my half of the house was entirely packed. (Thankfully I’m a minimalist)


By Saturday morning I was gone. I didn’t say goodbye to anyone outside of work, because no one else knew. I just disappeared from my life in Miami. 


I cried tears of relief as I left. Some may think this is cold hearted, but if you knew how many times I had driven out of that driveway in tears of anguish, you may have a better understanding of what it felt like to drive away from toxicity. To know that healing  from so many things could begin. To look towards forging a path for myself that isn’t in the shadow of another. To begin to heal my mind of all the harsh things I heard that came from places of pain, anger, frustration, and fear. To once again be near my support system. To once again be in the place I call home. To be the one on the receiving end of the support, finally. 


There are many details left untold, because at the end of it all I still believe that we are not the sum of our mistakes and that people can change and become stronger from pain. Words once spoken, can’t be unspoken. Pain once felt, can’t always be forgotten. Some scars are too deep to forget the pain that caused them. I am not perfect. He is not perfect. It was time to leave the relationship and rebuild. I hope healing comes for everyone in our lives who felt the pain of this severance. (If you are one of the people who will read this and think more could be done to save this marriage: trust me when I say you don’t know the extent of this situation, and also.. again, it’s really none of your business anyway). 


My ex is still a person who does good in the world, a person with feelings, with family, with pain, and as we all do, deserves happiness. Our path together ended and as painful as it was, it is ok. Everyone I met along the way, family included, I still value and cherish the same as before, only my interactions with those relationships needed, sadly, to adjust. Telling it all would cause more pain for some than it would cause healing for me, so some things will remain untold. 


Yes, I left and felt relief. 


Once I left Miami and my marriage my world burst into c o l o r. I arrived home on a Saturday. The following Monday I interviewed and received a job at my home elementary school, the place where I would later decide to end my traditional teaching career surrounded by new friends, colleagues, and even those who taught me when I was a kid. 


Taking this job was seriously overwhelming. It marked a true shift in my path. Taking this job meant I had a tie here now. My leaving my marriage began to solidify and freak me out. There wasn’t regret, but there was a lot of fear about what would happen. It had been 10 years after all. There were no plans of moving forward with the divorce until after an upcoming deployment and there was no need to rush, but things changed after some miscommunication between my ex and I (it seemed the only way we were communicating anymore was through miscommunication). The divorce process sped up rapidly and things got very frantic and ugly. 


I got on a dating app as a distraction. The men were awful, but it was entertaining to look into the dating world. If you are a woman and have ever been on a dating app to meet a guy, I’m sure you know how crude the men can be. It was unbelievably yucky and laughable to some extent. 


I wasn’t looking for love, I wasn’t even divorced yet. I had a lot of baggage. I just wanted to see what was going on in the cyber dating world. But then I met Chris and we talked enough for me to think it would be fine to go eat some food together. 


He texted me the day we were going to meet saying that Jujitsu class ran late and he asked me if I would rather him be late, but clean after showering, or early and sweaty. I told him he could decide. 
He showed up early and sweaty (I now know how hard this was considering he takes 3 showers a day). If you know me, you know this was a good choice on his part- and honestly a shocking one. 


I sat at the bar with him and ordered a beer and gestured to him asking what he was going to get. He said, “I don’t drink.” I felt very embarrassed for a moment thinking maybe I should have ordered a margarita at this Mexican joint, but quickly the thought bubble gave way to this is me, take it or leave it.


He explained to me how he just likes to be his best self and he is at his best when he isn’t drinking. Not sure if I believed him at that point, but I liked his self reflection. 


It felt so normal, so natural. So much so that it was bizarre. I told him right away about my aspirations to be an author. He was and to this day is my biggest support in that endeavor. I let him know I was still in a marriage, although separated and heading into divorce. I grabbed a 6 pack of beer from Publix liquor, he put the tailgate of his truck down, and we sat and talked about ourselves and Neil DeGrasse Tyson in the Publix parking lot while staring at Mars. 


We met for dinner again the next night. Talked some more. He told me he wasn’t sure, after taking a few years for himself after an 8 year relationship, if I was ready so quickly to jump back in. I told him I understood that perspective. I wasn’t sure either, but I knew I was lacking connection in my life for a while already. And I knew I enjoyed talking to him. 


And then we jumped in. Without letting myself be stopped by all the random opinions that would no doubt be out there, I moved in with Chris. I followed my intuition. I did so quietly because even though I was ready to live my life full tilt and my way, I still didn’t want to cause pain for others. I spent every day of the last 9 months with this man. In my whole life I have never laughed so hard, smiled so big, or ate as many pork chops as I have in the last few months. We share the same interests of self discovery, learning, laughing, and being outdoors. He has seen me through bouts of PTSD, thwarted panic attacks, and held me as I cried for the babies I lost. He has talked to me about his aspirations and supported me in mine. He told me he never got married because it was never right, and then he proposed to me- the one no one in their right mind would marry if they knew how I really was.

You may have been confused by the quick succession of events playing out in my life. You may have muttered under your breath your dissatisfaction with how my journey was unfolding. You may have said that I moved too fast, that all my pain was too fresh to make clear decisions. 


Please hear me when I say that you never know what someone is going through. You never know how bad and for how long. You never know if that person you see on social media is even allowed to expose the struggles in their life. But then, it’s is really none of your business anyway. (yes, I realize that by writing this I am giving you a window in.. but you still, respectfully, aren’t entitled to knowing details of my life.)

Social media is a funny thing. I try to stick with the original intent of the platforms.. to connect and be in community.

So here is what I want people to know: 
I want people to know that life isn’t perfect and that is ok.

I want people to know that your journey is allowed to look different.

I want people to know that no one is better than another.

I want people to know that your perspective changes when you move from a school of thought of “why me?” to “why not me?”

I want people to know that an elitist and entitled mindset is toxic. 


I want people to know it is ok to be a creative.

I want people to know it is ok to be an accountant.

I want people to know it is ok to be “just a mom.”

I want people to know it is ok to be going through hell and that nothing is wrong with you just because you can’t see a way out right now.

I want people to know that they aren’t alone in their pain.

I want people to know that they don’t have a roadmap for anyone else’s life.

I want people to know that someone always has it worse, but that that realization doesn’t diminish your own pain.

I want people to know that they can be themselves and still be loved. 


I have never been happier in my entire life. I have never felt more at peace with where I have chosen to walk my path. 
Admit it though, it does feel good to connect. Whatever you are going through or portraying (or not) on social platforms, I hope you find connection in all aspects of your life. 


I have said it in previous writings and I’ll say it again. We need community to survive. 


Namaste

~Samantha

Norway and a Hike that Changed My Life

Norway and a Hike that Changed My Life

samanthacruzbooks

Original Post • May 24, 2019

Norway has been on my mind for quite a while now. 

If you haven’t already gathered by now, I love to travel and I love the wild. If at any point the two of those things coincide, I am literally in heaven. Norway was not the first foreign soil I stepped onto, nor is it in any way the last. It was, however, the first trip that fully introduced me to the world of extreme sports, like BASE jumping. 

Now, if you don’t have any idea what BASE jumping is, you aren’t alone. And, if you come to think that it is crazy, I am right there with ya. B.A.S.E. is an acronym that stands for Building, Antenna, Span, and Earth… and people go jump off of them. Of course they have a parachute, but still. Crazy. More on that later. 

The Journey

Our ultimate destination was a small fjord village called Lysebotn which is home to the Stavenger Base Klub (SBK). It was May 21, 2013 when we boarded our flight across the pond toward Amsterdam and it was here that we would switch airlines and continue our journey into Norway. Now, at this point, we were seasoned travelers. We packed light and never checked bags. This time around was different. Norway was and is expensive… too expensive for a professional and a half (me, I was the half.. anddd I was still siphoning money for college). 

Early on in the planning stages it was clear that renting a room at a Bed and Breakfast (really the only option for a room in the village) was out of the question. If we were going to make this trip work financially, we were going to have to camp and honestly, that was quite alright with me. Aaron, my husband at the time, notably hated camping, and after spending a few years in Pennsylvania with some pretty decent hiking/camping opportunities that were never even discussed, I saw this as a chance for the tide to turn. So, in the cheapest expandable duffle bag (yes, everything had to fit in one) that Walmart could offer, and with all the force that my body could muster, I happily finagled and stuffed and squashed all of our camping gear down and got that zipper to close. 

That zipper though… it was tighter than a cow’s bumhole in fly season and ready to rip at any moment. 

The airline change in Amsterdam was fairly uneventful. We confirmed that our checked bag (the temporary living quarters) was going to be forwarded to our final destination, grabbed a small bite to eat, and boarded the next leg of our journey to Stavenger, Norway. It was now the next day, May 22, 2013, which happened to be our 3 year anniversary, and we were living large! 

We waited around the baggage carousel, for our tent, for quite a while until we realized that everyone was gone with their bags. Ours wasn’t there. The one and only time we checked a bag internationally, it was lost. After an hour or so talking it over with the baggage operators, they had located our bag and it was set to arrive on the next flight- the next day. OK, no problem. We just need to grab the rental car and work on finding a room for the night…

Nope. It was high season and although we acquired a rental car just fine, every hotel in Stavenger was either sold out or $500 USD per night. Aaron at one point was willing to splurge. Being our anniversary, he tried everything he could to find us a room. We drove around in our rental car making phone calls for hours. I was finally able to convince him that it really was OK if we slept in the car, even if it was our anniversary (I kind of liked the idea to be honest- you know, in the spirit of adventure). He finally agreed to end the search and we made our way out to a fairly secluded spot, put sheets up in the windows (OK so not everything ended up fitting in the duffle), and called it a night. 

(Can I just say I am recapping this trip from 6 years ago while on a bus to Disney Gradventure with a bunch of 5th graders… all screaming SO AND SO LIKES SO AND SO in chant.)

Anyway, the next morning went off without a hitch. We showed up at the airport, quickly swiped our bag, then made a quick stop off at a local grocery store before beginning the 3 hour drive to Lysbotn. We knew that groceries were going to be the most challenging part of this adventure. There is no grocery store in Lysebotn, so we were sure to get enough supplies to last us the 7 days. We did get a few fruits (that lasted maybe into day two), but to last the whole trip we knew we had to load up on a lot of dry foods- cookies, flatbread, peanut butter, and… no, that was pretty much it. Oh, a loaf of bread (how could I forget?)… We did not pack any type of cooking apparatus, which in hindsight may have made things a bit easier. Actually looking back on it now, it seems rather foolish not to have a way to cook warm meals, but I’ll let it slide considering it was really our first low key camping trip. Hey, in the end we did survive! There were times however, when I thought our chances for survival were as skinny as a hipster’s jeans. The drive was one of them. 

Lysebotn is a village that can be accessed either by ferry or by car and since the car was the cheapest mode, it was the obvious choice for this budget trip. And, that drive was an experience all of its own, to say the least. 

 I will say most of it was uneventful albeit b e a u t i f u l. There was a haze set on the landscape and the air smelled crisp through the slight gap in the window. It was cold enough outside to have the heat running, but hot enough inside to need to strike that balance by cracking the window just a smidge. The landscape was simply breathtaking. Then came the part that actually did the breath-taking. For about the last hour of the drive we were forced to brave highly precarious roads. They were narrow, snowy, and snakey. Very snakey. Actually, I’m not sure that you could characterize me as brave in those moments. Aaron seemed OK from what I could see through the slits between the fingers covering my eyes.

 

We were driving along Lysevegen (FV500), the road that takes you down into Lysebotn. This road has a 9.4% average road grade and 32 sharp bends across its 18 miles with 27 of them being in quick succession, and it is  s i n g l e – l a n e d.  It is considered one of the most dangerous roads in the world. I mean, of course we were on it. I think I faintly remember having stomach cramps as a result of the stress of that drive. I think the onset was about the time we entered that single lane tunnel (Lysetunnelen) which has 3 hairpin turns throughout. Tunnels are dark. I hate tunnels. Especially single-lane death trap ones. And when I thought my anxiety could not possibly get any worse, mere minutes after surviving Lysetunnelen, longboarders whizzed by, jolly as could be, as if death wasn’t looming beyond every hairpin curve. Unbelievable. We had a very memorable chat with them later. 

THE TUNNELL

It was as if the heavens had opened when the road straightened out towards Lysefjord (the flooded glacial valley of Lysebotn with 3000ft towering cliffs on each side). My senses quickly became overloaded. The view was a complete fairytale. In the sky remained that mystical haze against a brilliant cool blue, the cliffs disappearing some unrealized distance into the fog. The grass was as green as Elphaba, and the sheep were… not as white as snow, but not to worry, I would take all the sheep in the world, any color. Nothing could change the feeling that I had at that moment. The quaint village town with no grocery store (and sheep for days) was rapidly nestling into one of the most barren corners of my heart. The spot carved out by what the Germans call “fernweh” which means homesick for a place you’ve never been to. This place was hitting that spot. 

The Settlement

We drove around for a short time looking for a spot to nestle our “house” for the next little while. There were quite a few areas in this town that had higher concentrations of campers which we sought to avoid if possible. I suspect anywhere from 0 to 1 people reading this have ever been around BASE jumpers, so you couldn’t possibly know this, but you don’t really want to camp near any of them if you want to get any sleep at all. So, after a little searching we finally found it. It was decent ground, not too hole-y (you know, the “full of holes” kind of hole-y, although this place was probably more sacred than most churches), not too sloped, and not too crowded. We even got our own personal bubbling brook and cascading waterfalls with the place! It was simply amazing. 

We spent the next little while pitching our tent and organizing everything in the most efficient way possible. Our tent wasn’t very big, so much of our stuff was destined to stay inside the car. The trunk of the car became the staging area for everything. Our sleeping bags came in green cases which now served a dual purpose. One was now a trash can, and the other was a dirty laundry bin. That tighter-than-life duffle bag was now free to air out and held all of our clean clothes. Food (what little we had of it) was arranged neatly in the back seat. Even though it was approaching the end of May, there was no need to worry about the outside temperature getting so high that the food would spoil. 

Once everything was settled, we ventured out into the tiny village. There was a single road (the same bazillion-hairpin-turn one that led down into the valley) that followed our “bubbling brook” down to Lysefjord. We became very familiar with this scenic road and the few houses and many sheep that peppered it. Every day for 6 days we would walk and talk up and down this road and there were 4 really great reasons for doing so. 

One

To take in the overwhelming beauty of this place. 

There really isn’t a whole lot I can say that will adequately describe it. The natural landscape down in the valley always seemed to have a mystical blue hue cast over it and there was very little going on. There is no hustle-bustle in Lysebotn during the day. The quickest movement we came across was the lazy meandering of bell adorned sheep. And, the sheep easily outnumbered us human-folk. It was utterly peaceful (<- I want to take a moment to identify that this could have been a funny pun if the sheep were actually cows). I couldn’t help but become a participant in the calm. The stillness around me simply didn’t allow for anything else. From the moment we arrived here, my mind began to undergo some sort of subconscious cleansing. The walks that began down this road often found us wandering up cliff sides in pursuit of the highest waterfall access we could manage. We walked and hiked in this serene landscape a lot.

Two 

To head down to the SBK building to see what was going on in the BASE world. 

Afterall, this entire trip was embarked upon in pursuit of BASE jumping shenanigans. SBK building was small, but lively and situated right where the fjord began. This end of the valley held an array of adventuring types from longboarders and slackliners, to, of course, BASE jumpers. I have never encountered a group more devoted to squeezing all they can out of life than this category of people. They amaze me. They are insane risk takers, but they truly, truly amaze me. The funniest (funny like interesting, not like haha) thing I think I took away from this trip was how personal the perception of risk is. As we sat talking to a trio of longboarders one day (the ones that broke chocolate with us), the conversation began with one question asked by each party to the other: “What brings you guys here?” When we replied with “BASE jumping” they replied with “you’re crazy.” When they replied with “longboarding” we replied with “no, you’re crazy.” We laughed, ate chocolate, and carried on with everyone somehow thinking that their sport of choice was less crazy than the other. It was fabulous. 

We also met at SBK so Aaron could catch the BASE bus up to the trailhead that would lead him to the jump. I opted to take the boat out to the landing area in the middle of the fjord to photograph the landings. It was insane. I had never seen anyone purposely fling their bodies off of cliffs before.

Another night down near the fjord there was an epic furniture burning episode which made for a great bonfire in the middle of the night. People from around the world hung around and had a great time telling some of the most epic adventure-type stories. 

Three

To eat that shared hamburger and fries that one day. 

Somewhere around day 4 we broke down. It was time. The bellies were rumbling and the epic hike was happening soon (the one I opted out of so that I could be at the landing area). Protein was essential and the peanut butter and flatbread had gotten really old, really fast. 

We had no money. Like, none. Especially for a place like Norway. In 2013, the Norwegian Krone was 6:1 against the US Dollar. What that means in terms of a hamburger is.. I don’t know. But, we ate said hamburger at Olav’s Pub and it was SO expensive that we could only buy one with fries to share. That was it. That was the only cooked meal across 7 days. 

The. most. satisfying. 

We had a major ongoing caloric deficit happening the whole trip and this moment was just magical. The kind of moment when your teeth sink into something so savory that your eyes slip into involuntary slow-blink bliss.

And four 

To take the one shower of the trip. 

After all was said and done we were gross. We didn’t shower at all until the night before our flight (day 6) because it cost money each time it was turned on. Not only that, but this was a timed shower (< 5 minutes) and it utilized FJORD water. Fjord water is frigid. 

It was the best, worst shower of my life. The shower alone had me looking like I had been on one of those before-and-after makeover shows. I had never gone that long without a shower and to this day still have not- thus the shower is a luxury I learned to not take for granted. Huge shout-out to modern-day plumbing. 

_______

The Hike Up

I realize that this section has us backtracking a little bit, but this hike deserves its own subheading. 

This was the day we came for. We were up early, like every other day (since the sun was up at 4:00am), and gathered all of our necessary gear. While all the BASE related gear was prepared, I was sure to grab my camera and the two-way radios. These were essential for communicating as I made my way back alone, after the jump. 

We walked down to the SBK building and loaded into the van that would take us up FV500 (bazillion hairpin turn road) to the start of the hike (you already know this was scary). There were two vans that went up with about 15-20 people in total, almost all with the same intent- hike to Kjerag and jump. The only exception to that was me. I was the only person from that caravan who would hike back down, including the hiking guide- he was a BASE jumper, too. 

The hike was 3 hours and contained constant uphill trekking over a semi-snowy, rocky landscape. Some early parts of the hike had chains or ropes to grip onto during really steep parts. I notably took up the rear of this long line of people, often stopping to catch my breath. It wasn’t easy.

My shoes at one point had become saturated due to the occasional ice/snow patches we traversed, and I remember taking them off at one point to get some relief and to let them air out a bit. This trip was pre-awesome-hiking-shoes, unfortunately (again, NO money). 

Despite the patches of snow that we came across, the hike was intense enough to generate a significant amount of body heat. The once dreaded cold air quickly became a welcomed feeling on my bare skin, and I finished the majority of the hike with my ski jacket tied around my waist. 

Most everyone seemed unphased by this hike. While they may have been running on adrenaline and excitement for the anticipated jump, I knew my fate. I was going to have to back track those 3 strenuous hours without a guide. 

(You’re probably wondering why I would subject myself to an unguided, unmarked 3 hour hike back through this unforgiving landscape. Well, BASE pictures of course!)

After making it past those 3 really crazy inclines, one of which the local group referred to as “Hell’s Hill,” we reached the exit point area. There was a huge number of people about to go careening off of this cliff side and their combined adrenaline was palpable. It was time to temporarily sever the mental ties between Aaron and myself to allow room for complete focus on the task at hand. Had there been any shadows over the landscape to recede into, I certainly would have. We exchanged a “be careful” before I could no longer (if only for a few moments) exist. 

As jumper after jumper walked over to the exit point, I situated myself on a small rock near the cliff edge to set up with the camera. My jacket was tied around my waist and splayed out around me, cushioning my two-way radio. Although I was very close to the edge, I had chosen a rock that supported me in a backwards lean, which put my mind at ease as I began to view my immediate world through the disorienting soda straw that is a camera’s viewfinder. 

This was my first time watching anyone BASE jump from an exit. It was terrifying. Some of them took a running start while others jumped from a more fixed position on the very edge of the cliff. And within a split second, after each “1…2…3…see ya,” they disappeared one-by-one below the 3,200ft cliff and completely out of sight. After each jump, all was still and silent, save for the thumping heartbeat that let me know how terrible of an idea this actually was. And then- whack. The cracking sound of a single parachute would echo through Lysefjorden and back up the cliff side, letting me know that the jumper had made it.

I was able to practice timing each action shot with the guys who jumped before Aaron as he stood behind, practicing reaching for his pilot chute (a small chute, probably about 2ft in diameter that creates enough force to pull the main out of the bag). It was extremely important to get this right because missing it could delay the chute deployment while attempting to grab it again, and when jumping off a cliff like this, extra time is not a luxury.  There are mere seconds to get that life-saving apparatus out of its bag before ground impact. (I know this is pretty blunt, but that’s the long and short of it.)

And then it was time. This was not an easy thing for me to process then, and for a long time after as we continued to take BASE trips. It was hard in that moment to accept the risk that was being taken. He had always been one to take extreme caution in regards to risk and that much was comforting, but the bottom line is, the risk in this sport can never be completely snuffed out. Sometimes, shit just happens. I knew that. Yet, here we were. 

With my camera pointed as he set up for his jump from the edge, I stopped breathing. I held the camera steady as he bent his knees, then launched off the side- back arched and arms out. And, just like all the other jumpers, I followed him in the viewfinder until he fell below the edge of the cliff and out of sight. 

The sound of that crack came. 

The Return

Relieved, I quickly returned the camera back to its case, zipped it up, and slung it onto my back. Then, as I stood to begin the hike back, I immediately heard something smack into the ground. I watched in disbelief as my radio noisily fumbled its way toward the cliff’s edge, and then all at once plunged into a silent free fall. It was gone. The relief I had just felt, was gone with it. 

(As I type this my body is undergoing the same stress responses as that day, which is pretty gnarly.)

I hadn’t known just how much comfort the idea of having that radio gave me-until it was gone. The return hike that was already lonely and treacherous, that seemed to be a distinctly better option over BASE jumping, didn’t seem that way anymore. At this moment, I wished I would have just jumped. 

I began the return hike scared. 

It wasn’t so bad at first. I came across a few groups early on that were hanging around the cliff side doing their own thing. The most notable were the slack liners who somehow fixed a slackline to two edges of a semi-circle shaped cut-out in the cliff, suspended 3000ft high. It had to have been at least 30 feet from edge to edge, and these crazies balanced their way across the open air, defying death, wearing no gear whatsoever. No harnesses, no parachutes…nothing. Stopping to watch them for a minute probably didn’t help my mounting anxiety. 

Soon, I carried on. I had made a point of looking at the scenery behind me every 20 minutes or so on the way up since the trail didn’t follow the cliff’s edge. I knew I was going to need some reference points to use on the return and it seemed to be working. Until it didn’t anymore.

Somewhere along the way, I fixated on the wrong reference. I thought I remembered it clearly. I had remembered it as a patch of snow on a hill face that was shaped like a giraffe and when I saw it, I happily carried on in that direction. After about 30 minutes of making my way down the steep terrain, I noticed something different about the area. The ground that was once snowy with jagged rocks had somehow transitioned, unnoticed, to an almost impossible steep incline of smooth rock and slick moss. The reference point I had chosen wasn’t right and I immediately knew I was lost. And then I cried. The amount of fear that had coursed through my mind in the last few hours was becoming too much.

I sat down near some moss in an area where I wouldn’t slip down the slick rock and I broke. All the worry and anxiety completely consumed me. Fortunately, the self-pity didn’t last too long due to an important thought that developed in my mind. No one knows I am lost, but me. It had only been 2 hours into what should have been a 3 hour hike, so no one had reason to be alarmed yet. Not to mention there was only one more van of jumpers being dropped off at the trailhead for the rest of the day. I had to be there to catch that van back down the FV500. 

Then, my brain kicked over into fight mode. I realized self-pity wasn’t going to get me out of this. 

The landscape was so vast, that I had no true way of knowing which direction I needed to head in. A 360 degree survey of the area proved that everything looked the same.

Except for the moss. 

I decided I had to make a decision based on my gut and a survival tip that I probably learned from a show on Nickelodeon when I was a kid. I knew that moss grows in areas that receive little sun. As I sat on the hill, the sun was at my back. It didn’t matter which way north was, I just knew I needed to determine which direction the fjord was, relative to me. I remembered that, down in the valley, the sun was always in front of us as we walked from our tent to the fjord, and always behind us as we walked back. Remembering this, and knowing the sun was behind me at this moment, I determined that if I turned 90 degrees to my left and started walking, I would eventually come to the cliffside that overlooks the fjord. 

I don’t know how much time passed before I found the trail again, but the journey there was completely life changing. Finding my way back was both scary and lonely for the first little while, but then something began to change in me. I had never been in such a position with raw earth. There was no way I could have escaped the spirituality of my situation because there were no distractions. In this moment of being completely lost, knowing that the cold alone was going to threaten me if I didn’t get back before dark, I realized for the first time, just how insignificant I am in the universe. I can’t fully put into words the impact this whole ordeal had on me, but it certainly made me realize the selfishness and self-importance that existed in my life. 

I never made it far enough to see the fjord again, because I eventually came across the guiding ropes of the trail that had been set up in some parts along the way. I knew I could make it back from this point, although the physical challenge was far from over. After a few more hours I finally conquered the last hill that revealed the FV500 waiting for me on the other side. Within 2 minutes (no lie) of sitting on the guardrail and letting out a huge laugh of pure relief, the BASE van appeared from around a hairpin curve. The jumpers funneled out, and in the van I went. 

We rode the van back down to the valley on the FV500, which no longer seemed so scary, and I shared the crazy pictures I had taken of the day. 

This was the last day of our trip and therefore shower day. As I said before, it was the best, worst shower of my life and it goes without saying that I slept really well that night. 

——————-

The next morning we began the return journey back to the states. We were tired, but clean and  on the flight back I realized that Norway will always reside in the epic category of heart.

My Love-Hate Relationship with Writing

My Love-Hate Relationship with Writing

samanthacruzbooks

Original Post • September 11, 2020 • 4:00pm

I have a love-hate relationship with writing. 

I love it most of the time… when nothing else is going on in my life. But since I just finished my first week back in school ( living that 5th grade life again this year) and spent hours upon hours giving of myself, even thinking about writing at this moment feels like work. 

I am exhausted both physically and mentally, but more mentally to be honest. Lots of new faces this year, each with their own strengths and challenges. It takes a lot of mental energy for a teacher to control the circus in their room, while always maintaining their cool. 

Kudos to us, guys. 

Phew. Now that I got that off my chest and did my thoughts-to-words warm-up, I think I am ready to write some other things!

____________________________________________________________________________

And that my friends, is all it takes. Now, just like that, I want to continue writing… like 2.5 seconds after I was dreading it. 

Here’s why:

Sometimes, you just have to get the mental roadblock (whatever thought is streaming through the mind saying “I don’t want to do (something you enjoy) because (insert feeling)”) off. your. chest. 

Acknowledge it. Give it the time of day. This is a healthy practice. Don’t try to pretend that the thought/feeling doesn’t exist. 

If you are feeling the funk today (like I was only a few minutes ago), you have to give light to it. Say it out loud.. Type it out.. Whatever.  Then, let it pass. 

We have to start giving our minds our attention. And I am not talking about subjecting someone else to your whining (sorry, it was blunt, but I am guilty of it!). Sit with yourself for a moment and figure it out. 

Think about your thoughts, because acknowledgement is key. 

I am exhausted mentally from worrying about everyone else, but I know I have to reserve some of that mental space for me. Writing is how I do that. And, if I don’t forget about myself and just go ahead and do my #mindthing, despite the laziness I feel, I quickly begin to recharge. 

You should find your #mindthing, acknowledge why you don’t feel like doing it, but recognize that if you push through and give yourself the time you deserve, you will come out on the other side feeling refueled and ready to give of yourself again.

You have to refill the rain barrel before you can adequately water all the little plants in your life.  

So, find your #mindthing, then go do it. 

~Namaste

Live in the Moment…

Live in the Moment…

samanthacruzbooks

Original Post • April 26, 2020 • 4:00pm

We’ve all heard it: “Live in the moment,” “Live like you were dying,” “Let tomorrow worry about itself,” “No one is promised tomorrow,” and so on. I can’t think of a single person who would disagree with these words (please raise your hand if you do- I would love to hear a fresh perspective). 

The truth that we all know and believe, no matter what background we come from, and especially because as human beings we experience life’s traumas in all shapes and forms, is that we are not guaranteed any single breath beyond the one we just took. And this one. And this one. I know, I know- stating it so plainly sort of comes off as morbid, but if we pause and think, coming to terms with our own mortality is really vital to discovering the most meaningful rendition of our existence. An even more enticing thought is that “most meaningful” means different things to different people. It’s up to each individual to discover what that is for themselves. 

One individual’s life can take innumerable paths. Any single one of those paths can be meandered down, aimlessly, our footsteps traversing the ground from one path to another through random intersections that we traipse as we wander. Wandering can be excruciatingly difficult and produce a myriad of negative feelings: fear, anxiety, skepticism, stress, indifference, helplessness, worry, numbness, hesitance, shame, powerlessness, fragility, isolation, abandonment, etc. 

But Sam…. “Not all who wander are lost.” 

I know, I know, but hear me out. I am not saying that all wandering is bad, however, I do think it is important to recognize that sometimes it is. The difference between good wandering and bad wandering is wrapped up in one word: intention. 

I can intentionally set out on a journey of discovery through wandering. I can “wander” physically through the earth just to see what I find. I can “wander” mentally through my mind just to see what I find. Both of these activities are enticing to me personally, and produce a lot of natural learning about myself and the world around me, and that is good (and rather enjoyable). 

However, I can also unintentionally find my mind wandering simultaneously with the forward flow of time. This is the one. This is the one that can get ugly. 

As it applies to my mind, I can choose to wander intentionally or find myself wandering unintentionally. One of them will happen whether I like it or not, and unintentionally wandering can be dangerous. 

Now, please hear me when I say, I am not an expert on this at all. I am a nobody. However, I do want to simply share my thoughts on the dangers of letting your mind unintentionally wander with the forward flow of time and how that relates to this phrase “live in the moment.” 

I had, for a while, mostly understood “live in the moment” to be mutually exclusive of goal setting, but I have since discovered (through reading things from really smart, studied people) that this can’t be correct. Actually, these two actions can only be conducted fruitfully if they work in tandem with one another. We have always heard people, who are really great goal grabbers, say something to the effect: lay down a path of smaller goals that will lead to the ultimate goal. In other words, eat your elephant one bite at a time. So true. I mean, my books will never get published (ultimate goal) until I take every prerequisite step to the next (the path). It’s not brain surgery, or rocket science, or what have you. We know this. We all do. 

But what happens when you, like me, have a hard time stepping on each smaller stone along your path?

Well, I found that this is the place where intention resides. This is where you have to apply “live in the moment.” Before simply getting to the point in the day when it is time to “meet your small goal” and hopefully make the right decision, there is an underlying work within yourself that needs to take place. If the internal work, which I will expand on in a moment, is not done, chances are you will not make that right decision to meet that small step to your goal when you meet it on your “path.” 

It’s at this point in my questioning process that I realized what “living in the moment” actually means. It means, quite literally, “live in the moment.” 

I know. I just blew your minds . Mic drop…

Seriously though, it doesn’t stop there. My next question was, “How do I take an abstract concept and make it concrete in my day to day? What does the act of “living in the moment,” of intention, look like in real life?” 

Ever heard of “take every thought captive?”  I have, and I continue to hear that phrase spoken by any number of people, quite often. It’s something I grew up hearing. It’s like hearing “eat your vegetables,” but still many, many people opt to eat something else (usually after making some awful number of excuses). This pillar of our lives (which I have come to see it as) has been here and spoken to me all this time, albeit going in one ear and out the other. It’s only when I came to realize that there is a you (hereafter referred to as Your Little Ball of Light), one layer deeper than what we normally access in our minds, who judges you (hereafter referred to as, simply, you). 

Something really odd happened when I realized that you can have a conversation with Your Little Ball of Light about you.The only word I can really use to characterize the feeling I had at the moment I came across this realization is confusion. That inner dialogue sounded something like.. “wait, what? You mean I can go a layer deeper into myself than what I am typically aware of?” So. Weird. 

I found that sparking a conversation with Your Little Ball of Light will lead you down a “live in the moment” rabbit hole. Basically, that conversation affords you awareness. When you realize there is another layer of you there… you start to think about your thoughts. Woah. You start to realize that your thoughts are just things that pass in and out of your consciousness. 

I want to tell you that you have a  .r e s p o n s i b i l i t y.  to yourself and to your “sphere of influence” (the community that you directly impact, including your most cherished relationships) to start a dialogue with Your Little Ball of Light about what is going on with you. 

This is the place where you can start “living in the moment.” Start with your thoughts. Think about your thoughts. You have time now. Do not let your thoughts wander aimlessly with the forward movement of time. Think about them, and let Your Little Ball of Light hold you accountable for the thoughts you let control you when you aren’t controlling them. Be mindful of your next “step.” Be intentional. Start a gratitude practice, or meditate on positive mantras. 

Take control. I am capable of it (a truth that I didn’t always believe), and you are capable of it (It is science btw). I am not going to get into the inner workings of neuroplasticity, because I am not even close to an expert, but there are some amazing things you can find when you … intentionally wander down that road of discovery. (See what I did there?) 

Look, all I’m saying is… when you start living in the moment (taking your thoughts captive as it’s told), Your Little Ball of Light has a say. You give her a little opportunity to choose to accept or reject each thought, in turn allowing her to order your next “step.” And, when you can do that, you can stop wandering aimlessly through time, be intentional, and hit that next “stepping stone” on the path to your ultimate goal- whatever it is and however many there may be.

IF YOU DO NOT keep this dialogue open with Your Little Ball of Light… you will wander aimlessly, and you will find yourself in a dangerous situation. This is because we are constantly bombarded with thoughts that originate from a myriad of external voices, voices telling us how to dress, what to do, who to be, etc…as it relates to our social construct. But guess what. Our social construct misses the mark often. By not taking control of your narrative, allowing thoughts to move through you unchecked, you will lose control of where your steps lead and you will look back and ask yourself “how did I get here? I don’t look or sound like me anymore.” 

And the rabbit hole actually continues…

Where this leads is to, perhaps, the most important question: “What is right and what is wrong, and how do I know?”

That, I cannot answer for you. In my opinion, the answer lies somewhere in whatever relationship with your spirituality you have. From where do you derive your morals/values? What is your inner compass? Who is your mirror? The answer is super important because it’s what Your Little Ball of Light orbits around. It is super important and… only you can answer that.

Answer it.

Set goals.

Lay the path.

And live in the moment.

Only you can control your narrative.

You.

~Namaste

“Your beliefs become your thoughts,

Your thoughts become your words,

Your words become your actions,

Your actions become your habits,

Your habits become your values,

Your values become your destiny.”

― Gandhi

Trigger Warning

Trigger Warning

samanthacruzbooks

I am supposed to be writing more of Allison the Alliteration Ant right now. Instead I’m sitting on the couch, my butt burning from the “booty cream” I just put on, eating a mint chocolate chip yogurt popsicle. And before that, I did a whole bunch of other things that were not writing Allison the Alliteration Ant. I even went on a run. 

And now I am writing this…

Why?

A Trigger. 

Which then led to a breakdown..

Which then led to avoidance of the things I love most… 

Which then led to attempting to tackle that avoidance by staring it in the face.

This morning I tripped through a wire that wasn’t supposed to be there. I was enjoying a nice walk with Chris and the girls (we always refer to our dogs as “the girls”) and there was no indication that anything was off this morning in my soul.. in my mind. And perhaps there really wasn’t. Perhaps I did wake up happy. Perhaps I did wake up ready to tackle the day. Heck, I probably planned to do too many things today, because the whole “when you do what you love, you love what you do” thing perhaps took over my disorganized mind this morning. 

And even still, with all of today’s exciting work things just on the other side of that walk, I completely face planted. 

Many know already that I had been dreaming about becoming a writer for quite some time. I would scritch- scratch a line or two here and there, write a story, then another, but there was always this nagging “can’t” in the background. It was a negativity and a doubt in myself that I couldn’t shake for a very long time. 

Cue the past… 

Someone very close to me, whose opinion mattered a whole lot, would often provide commentary on other people’s lives, lives that were lived in ways similar to what was sleeping inside of me. A creative’s life. And, if you are anything like me, we do what I like to call collecting data.

For years, I had been collecting data (their opinions) about my dream career, trying to figure out where I landed on his scatter plot of what was considered reasonable and worthy. I was secretly looking for validation that the way I wanted to spend my time and the career that I wanted to build was perfectly acceptable, and I was going to get that by collecting and storing positive reactions that this person had kindly bestowed upon others who liked to spend their time similarly to me- creating. However, those positive opinions and reactions rarely came, if at all. They were the opposite, and they were ever so slight. 

With each one I deflated. 

While these sentences were never actually spoken in this way, these represent the ways that I internalized snide remarks, a scoff, an eye roll, a snickering laugh. 

And, you know, that just became the norm. I would still discuss my aspirations to be an author from time to time, until one day, once the lack of support that I was met with had become so unbearable, I stopped talking about it. I had been waiting for enough support and validation to run full fledged into the fold. I had many stories already written and ready to go, but they needed my time and attention.. and of course money. Money was the biggest hurdle and not because the money wasn’t materially available. It wasn’t idealistically available. The money was unwilling to support the mission, you could say, because the mission wasn’t proven worthy. The mission didn’t yet have a business plan. It didn’t yet check all the boxes it was supposed to. The mission’s success had to be highly likely, provable, and backed by evidence. It wasn’t enough that supporting this mission would mean supporting my dream. The thing that made me tick (nevermind the fact that the same money was spent in other random ways that were less important..). And don’t forget the ever present data collecting that my own mind constantly participated in throughout every day interactions. That part of it simply never stopped. 

Eventually, one day I was told how annoying it was to hear me talk about writing, wanting to write.. wanting to publish. And that was it. I stopped shedding light on my dream after that. I started to tell myself that it would still be a part of my life, but likely just as a hobby. That every once in a while, when I could prove that I hadn’t spent that much money over the course of a few months, I could commission some illustrations. Then slowly work through to publishing when I had time between my real job. Working every once in a while behind the scenes, in secret, until one day my dream could prove its worth without me having to be its mouthpiece. It was psychologically troubling for a long time to imagine my dream was unworthy. A dream so close to the essence of who I am that to deem it unworthy is almost to do the same to me.

Fast forward to now, a time when this highly influential opinion is no longer a part of my life and hasn’t been for a while, and we get back to today’s trigger. 

With the unending encouragement from my incredible support structure, I ran full force back into the arms of Samantha, Author. But ever since I began creating my children’s books and writing more regularly, freely, and most recently full-time, I have struggled with that decades-worth of sneaky negativity and contempt towards my dream. It creeps up often, like muscle memory, although less so these days. Today just happened to be one of the “less so” days.

Today, while walking and discussing plans (near-term and far) for this writer’s journey, Chris offered his input. 

And I got defensive. 

Even though his (usually welcomed) input was valid, sensical, and supportive, today it mysteriously was unwelcomed. Today it propelled me back into a world where I was withering, unsupported and invalidated in who I was. His advice was a “consider this” type of approach that my mind met with..

you don’t think I am capable 

Which led to…

his support will run out one day

And a myriad of others…

This is all too good to be true

This is fake support

This is lip service

All is well while all is well, but when this falters, the support will disappear with it

I don’t really add value to our lives

There will come a time when I am no longer good enough

… and just like that, the original thing was no longer the “thing” that had my mind spinning. I began to spiral. It wasn’t really about a threat to my dream. This was about abandonment. 

Then came the next part, one that I used to dread: explaining the feelings. 

Yeah, you guessed it, I had been here before. I had previously experienced those negative thoughts in situations that were really happening and those same negative thoughts were validated through scoffs, eye rolls, and other little things that reminded me just how annoying I was. And just because, in this moment, the negativity and the lack of support wasn’t really there, it didn’t mean that my mind and my body weren’t going to propel me into a past life where it was really there. The thing is, if the phrase, action, or look is even remotely familiar to a trauma in the past.. WHAM- forget it. The trigger has been pulled and now I have to deal with the aftermath. 

But what if in dealing with that aftermath you have a swath of other triggers to dodge?

Yeah, winning. 

In the past I was well aware that I was “too emotional” and there wasn’t even a way to escape that label due to constant head-shakes and fingers pointed in my direction. Even still, my emotions had to be discussed to aid in the other’s understanding, so I would. I would try to explain why I was upset which inevitably would lead to more of an issue. Which would then lead to 1-3 weeks of emotional neglect depending on the severity of the emotions I was trying to explain and their involvement in the circumstances that developed them. 

So now, way outside of those past circumstances, Chris and I talked, and he was kind, understanding, and patient. He was exactly the way he always is when I trip through a wire that someone else laid there. It continues to blow my mind and help me heal wounds that are so deep and unique to me that only I can understand the intricacies. But that’s not all that happened. It would have been nice to end it there with the butterflies and rainbows of this love of mine that has shown me what a healthy relationship looks like. 

But it didn’t end that way because it just so happened that it was promptly Chris’ gym time (he is a creature of habit) at the conclusion of my “emotional explanation” and he made a joke that “it was OK” that it was time for him to leave for the gym because “you need some alone time anyway” as he smiled and hugged me tight (the jokester). Little did he know that it used to be the norm for me to be left alone immediately following a situation like this and that often I would be invalidated in some way or another and then consequently neglected, pushed out, or walked away from. 

I broke down into sobs in his arms as he hoped to understand what in the world just happened. 

What happened?

What did I say?

Sob. sob. 

Is it what I just said? 

I’m sorry… What happened, my love?  

Sob. [Holding my shoulders, he pushed me away slightly and looked into my eyes, inquisitively..]

I admitted.. Yes, it was what you said. 

And then I had to explain that trigger to him. Oh boy. At this point I felt like panicking, because it had now been 30 minutes of this whatever the heck is happening and for sure he was going to think that I am just a crazy person. 

But I proceeded to explain that I would usually be left alone after an emotional event, which is something that my body still has not forgotten… as evidenced by being in his arms, sobbing, shaking, and unconsciously moving into some assortment of breathing exercises that I had learned some months ago to stave off panic attacks.

And that is the thing with triggers. Even when I can rationalize with them, sometimes my body can’t meet my mind in that space. Sometimes the muscle memory of a trauma is too strong for the rationale to be able to override it. Sometimes triggers beget triggers beget triggers. 

I cannot explain to you how this works, but our minds have an incredible way of flashing past moments into the now, in the middle of an entirely different, present reality. I see the same faces, hear the same harsh words, the same eye rolls and scoffs and exasperated sighs. It tricks my mind into believing there is a real threat, right now. Then, I have the fight, flight, or freeze reaction just as I would have had then. I have become more of the “freezing” type as of late, sometimes feeling stunned and crippled as if I am incapable of continuing to handle this same trauma event popping up. It gets exhausting. It’s like a Furby that eventually you just take the battery out of. Can’t.. handle.. this.. anymore. Shlump. Wilt. Power-off. Hide.

The good news is, it can and does get better. No one’s journey looks the same, and the solutions don’t always look the same either.

I realized that I had to drastically change my circumstances in order to start healing my traumas. It is hard to heal wounds when new ones are consistently thrashed upon you so I knew I had to remove myself from the space that was creating the wounds. 

I also realized that the support system that I surround myself with is vital in helping me create (and train my brain to remember) my new, healthier normal. They remind me of who I am and that my unpleasant experiences help me to be stronger and more resilient. 

And lastly, I realized that I am not the only one who has experienced trauma, who deals with triggers and their aftermath, or who has loved ones swallowed up by it from time to time while trying to help navigate the murky waters.  

This is just one minor, triggering event.. in one day, about one past norm, but there is so much trauma out there relating to SO many different things. 

I open up about mine for others who can’t or aren’t ready to do so yet. I open up because people need to be reminded that we all struggle and that they aren’t the only one. I open up because the support network is vital for helping each other to heal.

So…I have said it before, and I’ll say it again. 

To my #IIIs. 

Cheers, 

Samantha