Sharing the really messy stuff

This is messy stuff, and it's not easy to share. But our stories are important and I want to share mine with you.

In April 2013, six weeks after we moved from Iowa to Oregon, and two days before my 27th birthday, I was t-boned by a left-turn driver as I was driving through an intersection on my way home from Saturday morning grocery shopping. That day changed my entire life. I had a sassy four-year-old and twin two-year-olds at home, one of whom was medically fragile at the time. I suffered a multitude of physical injuries that required surgery about four months later, and resulted in the limited use of my left arm/shoulder for quite some time. We were just learning that our son's heart condition was going to require open heart surgery sooner than later. My husband was working 60+ hours a week trying to make a future for us. When you put all that together, it created a perfect storm. And that storm was my battle with alcohol, depression, anxiety, PTSD, and panic attacks. Yikes. Numb the nightly pain, both physical and mental, with wine? It seemed like the perfect solution ... until it wasn't.

I hit rock bottom the night I scrounged up eight quarters (yes, quarters,) and drove myself to Trader Joe's and purchased one bottle of their "two buck chuck". I proceeded to drink this in one sitting ... while my husband was working away at the kitchen table until midnight.

Later that week I found myself sobbing on a couch in a therapist's office trying to deal with the pain of "why me" from this awful car accident. I had a perfect little cookie cutter life prior to this. Then a line was drawn in the sand and I was never going to be able to cross back over that line and get that pre-car accident life back. I liked that life. It was easy. I hid from the pain and the hard stuff in that life and put a smile on my face and everything was peachy on the outside ... because that's what the world likes to see/hear, right? Well, I wanted all of that back. It wasn't coming back. I. Couldn't. Handle. That. Or so I thought. Why me? WHY ME? WHY did that person have to t-bone ME, turn my life upside down, shake everything out, rearrange it, and throw me back in, fearful and unprepared? About two weeks after I had my first-ever panic attack (scary as hell, by the way) I found Glennon Doyle's book, Carry On, Warrior. I read it in two days. It spoke to me. I couldn't believe that someone else ACTUALLY talked about the hard stuff! That hard stuff that I SO desperately wanted to talk to someone about.

I started to realize that there would come a day when another line was drawn in the sand, and I wouldn't be able to go back behind that one either. That line would signify that the awful car accident days were behind me. And that, THAT was going to be a beautiful day. THAT meant my new life had begun and I could feel free again. I had no idea what that would feel like or when I would get there, but I was going to get there if it was the last thing I did.

Acceptance is easier than resistance. I kept telling myself that every single day. And, eventually, I began to accept this new life and stop resisting the pain. I stopped drinking for a whole year. I started talking to a friend about my messy truth. Some days I would talk to her on the phone for four hours straight because I didn't want to be alone. Because when I was alone I wanted to drink wine and then I would have more panic attacks. I KNEW after reading Glennon's book that those things were not the ways I was going to find the next line drawn in the sand. That beautiful new line that I desperately wanted to discover. I kept going to therapy, I kept crying. A LOT of crying. I kept reading Glennon's book, over and over again.

Then I started getting brave.

I decided that more friends needed to know my truth and if they couldn't handle it then that would be okay and we would all move on.

So I called them up. I said, "Hi, I was in a car accident a few months ago, had surgery, had lots of fights with Drew, drank way too much alcohol, started having panic attacks, and don't like being alone anymore, but I'm trying to get better and it helps when I talk to people about it ... do you want to talk about it and still be my friend?" Guess what? They did. Every single one of them. And then, the most amazing thing happened. THEY started telling ME about their messy, dark, taboo truth that they didn't think they were supposed to talk about. It was the most beautiful thing I've ever witnessed and I can honestly say all of those friendships are the strongest ones I have today. I told every single one of them about Carry On, Warrior, and bought them each a copy. Then they bought copies for their friends and sisters, and so on and so forth. One of them even went to meet her in Des Moines! That's when I knew that finding the tiniest ounce of bravery to face my pain a few weeks prior was the right thing to do. That's when I knew that the healing had begun. That's when I went to my first-ever yoga class and cried silently in the back row because I was exposed and vulnerable and I had MADE it to the healing. I still had pain, lots of pain, but I was getting there. And Glennon was helping me along the way. The final healing began when I realized that I had to let go of it all. I HAD to let go of everything I wanted back before the accident or I would never be able to move forward.

Like in the book, I pictured an exhausted woman at the bottom of a steep mountain, carrying a heavy back pack and a suit case in each hand with things spilling out the top. How in the world would that exhausted woman carry all of that baggage up to the top of her mountain? Well, she wouldn't. She had to leave it at the bottom and trek up the mountain all by herself. Exposed, unknown, walking into the fear and the pain in search of something better. Because there HAD to be something better.

That was life changing

I still think about that picture in my mind and it moves me to tears. I was determined to let go of all that baggage and make it to the top of my mountain again. Through the pain and the fear and the unknown, I was going to stand on the top and embrace my new life. The life I didn't know I was supposed to be living, but the life I later discovered was the most beautiful and freeing thing I have ever experienced. It was worth it. One day, 10 months later, it dawned on me that I no longer remembered the name of the man who t-boned me. The name that I once obsessed over and cursed day and night. It was that exact moment, when I realized I no longer remember his name, that I knew I had reached the top of my mountain. I called up that friend who used to talk me through my darkest days and told her I couldn't remember his name anymore. We both celebrated and cried happy tears. She knew what I knew. We both knew I had made it to the other side and that beautiful line was finally drawn in the sand again. It was amazing.

I made it through the pain and the fear and the unknown and I was standing on top again because that's what I wanted to do. It was hard as hell, and there's still some days I can't believe I made it through that scary, dark year of my life. But I did. There were days I could only make it through one minute without having a panic attack. Or wanting to cry. But those 60 seconds sans panic attacks, little by little, gave me the confidence I needed to start climbing again. One minute turned into five, turned into 15, turned into hours, and finally days. Finally, the following Christmas, I felt safe enough to have a glass of wine again. And I was ok. I'm still ok. There are days when wine scares me a little (it was always wine), but those are the days I crawl in bed a little bit earlier and snuggle up with Glennon's book. I know those pages contain the answers that I need to get through my hard days. They contain the comforting words of another warrior who left her baggage at the bottom of her mountain and embarked on her painful, fearful climb into the unknown.

I am stronger than yesterday and I can keep going. This part is a little embarrassing, (and, quite frankly, I can't believe I've written this much already!) but on the three year anniversary of the car accident I sat down and wrote a letter to Glennon. I laid it all out there. The messy details after that first line was drawn in the sand, but most importantly how reading her book, HER messy life, helped save/transform/redeem mine.

I put it in the mailbox and closed the door on that chapter of my life. That was the final goodbye that I needed to finally move on from the day of that car accident.

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Elly is currently going through a divorce and choosing happiness and her best self every day.

#messyperfectlife