Ariana Carruth's Blog, page 3

Table For One Please

The jazz elevator music plays over the chatter and clanking of plates and utensils. I sit alone, blissfully so, by the window with water in reach and hands on the keyboard. Today, I write. Today, I recover. Today, I take a step back into myself from a morning spent with an “emotionally fragile” cognitively delayed uncommunicative eight-year-old that if it weren’t for a confirmed blood test I would be convinced is experiencing a hormonal shift.
A little shaky and flustered with PTSD, I sit wondering if my child is bi-polar and how I will handle these outbursts when she is twenty-something years old and weighs over hundred pounds with still the mind of a toddler. The alternative is that she won’t live that long and it is there I stop thinking of everything altogether. There are a thousand hours in the future to worry, and I’m much too optimistic to get stuck in a place of negativity.

I am a warrior.


The secret of warriors though is that we do struggle. Bad things do happen to us too, but we press on— often to the resentment of others.
After dropping off the girls at school, I loaded up my youngest along with his nap mat, backpack and lunch tote into the jogging stroller and we ran to preschool.
I needed the run.
Scheduled for a routine group class at Orange Theory, I instead needed the peace, the open-air. I needed to pound out the stress, to escape my head, to feel the deep gratitude for life that running gives me.
I’m always in workout gear at school drop off and then showered, possibly on trend (in my head at least) and likely in heels at pick-up. With a daily workout schedule, the workout gear is necessary and the shower, nice clothes and even heels has no rhyme or reason other than it’s me. I wake early, I accomplish, and I armor myself— for a run or afterwards for the day.
Why? Because I am a special needs mom. Because I am a warrior.
I don’t have a future without a child, unless the worst happens but see paragraph two that we don’t talk about that. I can’t fantasize about “the day my children leave for college”. I am not allowed to table anything in my life— a workout, dressing in heels for no reason, stealing alone time (even now, stealing time to be a “table for one”).
Now is my time . It’s a gift, and at times possibly a social curse too in that sweeping judgements are easily made as I place that target on my back.

Looking in the mirror, I see a Lululemon stay-at-home mom heading to a workout. I know my 50 pound weight loss, the work it takes, but strangers don’t. To them as I head out after preschool drop off without children, I am “just” that mom--whatever that even really means.
I can’t wear a t-shirt that says, “I used to be fat”, “I push a wheelchair in my spare time”, “I have to workout to literally be strong enough to care for someone.” "Have you read my book? I think the heels are appropriate."
Likewise, when I’m dressed in my heels, showered, hair done with makeup I see the looks I get from other mothers.
No thought-bubble above my head could explain the reasons, the desire, the time it takes— the time that I make for myself because NOW is my time. Not in 15 years, not when the kids are out of diapers, off to school...
And although I can’t wear a t-shirt or have a speech bubble above my head, what I do experience is the shift when I’m pushing the wheelchair.
The looks and snarky comments I normally receive suddenly disappear and are replaced with—pity and awkwardness, at least I internalize it as such. In reality, most people are probably still processing how the ‘Lululemon mom’ or ‘dressed in heels mom’ of yesterday has a profoundly disabled child today. And if they aren’t processing, they are feeling uncomfortable, maybe a little curious or just perplexed how I can push a wheelchair wearing heels.
The shift in how I’m perceived is interesting, frustrating and enlightening. It is interesting in the fact, that unlike many, I have a direct comparison of how the world sees me from day-to-day (‘wheelchair pushing Lululemon mom’ vs ‘fit stay-at-home mom of privilege).It is frustrating for obvious reasons, but I think the statement of “I’m the same person” sums it up.
"Enlightened" is my takeaway because how often must I make the same judgments about people?
I am pushed to do more in life because my life isn’t easy, and the unknown warriors that cross my path daily are one-in-the-same. They are successful. Optimistic. Achieving. They are most likely the ones who wake early (or go to bed late) to have their house (figuratively and literally) in order before they start the day. They might be fit, or on the path there because they love the challenge, the infusion of life and the celebration of health. Maybe they rock heels “just because” or because their private life is full of past and current afflictions and well, heels make every day better— so does a shower, lipstick, taking and I do mean “taking” some me-time to look and in return feel our best.
As my state of nerves returns to normal “pre-psychotic meltdown” levels of Avery’s breakdown this morning, I’m reminded of so much. While our challenges are ongoing, they are fluid and while today might feel overwhelming I am a warrior, a warrior grateful for today because our tomorrow isn’t guaranteed. I am encouraged to rock my workouts, my ‘Lululemon fit mom look’ and my heels every damn day if I so desire, because I am a warrior.
In continuation from my last blog, find your fellow warriors. Trust me, your fellow warriors will always understand, never make you feel less than for being you— and they will rock the day right along with you!

Table For One Please

"Table For One Please"

The jazz elevator music plays over the chatter and clanking of plates and utensils. I sit alone, blissfully so, by the window with water in reach and hands on the keyboard. Today, I write. Today, I recover. Today, I take a step back into myself from a morning spent with an “emotionally fragile” cognitively delayed uncommunicative eight-year-old that if it weren’t for a confirmed blood test I would be convinced is experiencing a hormonal shift.

A little shaky and flustered with PTSD, I sit wondering if my child is bi-polar and how I will handle these outbursts when she is twenty-something years old and weighs over hundred pounds with still the mind of a toddler. The alternative is that she won’t live that long and it is there I stop thinking of everything altogether. There are a thousand hours in the future to worry, and I’m much too optimistic to get stuck in a place of negativity.

I am a warrior.

The secret of warriors though is that we do struggle. Bad things do happen to us too, but we press on— often to the resentment of others.

After dropping off the girls at school, I loaded up my youngest along with his nap mat, backpack and lunch tote into the jogging stroller and we ran to preschool.

I needed the run.

Scheduled for a routine group class at Orange Theory, I instead needed the peace, the open-air. I needed to pound out the stress, to escape my head, to feel the deep gratitude for life that running gives me.

I’m always in workout gear at school drop off and then showered, possibly on trend (in my head at least) and likely in heels at pick-up. With a daily workout schedule, the workout gear is necessary and the shower, nice clothes and even heels has no rhyme or reason other than it’s me. I wake early, I accomplish, and I armor myself— for a run or afterwards for the day.

Why? Because I am a special needs mom. Because I am a warrior.

I don’t have a future without a child, unless the worst happens but see paragraph two that we don’t talk about that. I can’t fantasize about “the day my children leave for college”. I am not allowed to table anything in my life— a workout, dressing in heels for no reason, stealing alone time (even now, stealing time to be a “table for one”).

Now is my time. It’s a gift, and at times possibly a social curse too in that sweeping judgements are easily made as I place that target on my back.

Looking in the mirror, I see a Lululemon stay-at-home mom heading to a workout. I know my 50 pound weight loss, the work it takes, but strangers don’t. To them as I head out after preschool drop off without children, I am “just” that mom--whatever that even really means.

I can’t wear a t-shirt that says, “I used to be fat”, “I push a wheelchair in my spare time”, “I have to workout to literally be strong enough to care for someone.” "Have you read my book? I think the heels are appropriate."

Likewise, when I’m dressed in my heels, showered, hair done with makeup I see the looks I get from other mothers.

No thought-bubble above my head could explain the reasons, the desire, the time it takes— the time that I make for myself because NOW is my time. Not in 15 years, not when the kids are out of diapers, off to school...

And although I can’t wear a t-shirt or have a speech bubble above my head, what I do experience is the shift when I’m pushing the wheelchair.

The looks and snarky comments I normally receive suddenly disappear and are replaced with—pity and awkwardness, at least I internalize it as such. In reality, most people are probably still processing how the ‘Lululemon mom’ or ‘dressed in heels mom’ of yesterday has a profoundly disabled child today. And if they aren’t processing, they are feeling uncomfortable, maybe a little curious or just perplexed how I can push a wheelchair wearing heels.

The shift in how I’m perceived is interesting, frustrating and enlightening. It is interesting in the fact, that unlike many, I have a direct comparison of how the world sees me from day-to-day (‘wheelchair pushing Lululemon mom’ vs ‘fit stay-at-home mom of privilege).

It is frustrating for obvious reasons, but I think the statement of “I’m the same person” sums it up.

"Enlightened" is my takeaway because how often must I make the same judgments about people?

I am pushed to do more in life because my life isn’t easy, and the unknown warriors that cross my path daily are one-in-the-same. They are successful. Optimistic. Achieving. They are most likely the ones who wake early (or go to bed late) to have their house (figuratively and literally) in order before they start the day. They might be fit, or on the path there because they love the challenge, the infusion of life and the celebration of health. Maybe they rock heels “just because” or because their private life is full of past and current afflictions and well, heels make every day better— so does a shower, lipstick, taking--and I do mean “taking”-- some 'me' time to look, and in return, feel our best.

As my state of nerves returns to normal “pre-psychotic meltdown” levels of Avery’s breakdown this morning, I’m reminded of so much. While our challenges are ongoing, they are fluid and while today might feel overwhelming I am a warrior, a warrior grateful for today because our tomorrow isn’t guaranteed. I am encouraged to rock my workouts, my ‘Lululemon fit mom look’ and my heels every damn day if I so desire, because I am a warrior.

In continuation from my last blog, find your fellow warriors. Trust me, your fellow warriors will always understand, never make you feel less than for being you— and they will rock the day right along with you!

 

Find Your Fellow Warriors

You are rocking life.

You set goals.

You dream.

And you dream big.

You see your inadequacies— not to wrap yourself up in despair but to overcome them. You find happiness from your core and from the life you’ve created by yourself, for yourself. When life pounds you with lemons as if you are at play with the universe in a game of dodgeball, you grab those lemons and make a hundred different variations of acceptance, contentment, courage and resolve.

You’ve quieted those thoughts of self-doubt knowing they are just passing thoughts because your actions of accomplishment resonate louder and more encouragingly.

The world is your oyster, not from born privilege, but because you will make the best of your path and because in your mind no matter the life you live, it is yours— full of unique opportunities only limited by your own willingness to succeed.

You wake with endless possibilities for the day. You are in control of your emotions, actions and determination. And in failure, you rise up from the ashes and run towards another day, another opportunity, another lesson.

You are an optimist.

You are successful.

You are strong.

You are resolved.

You are in a loop— a good loop of positivity.

As your world keeps spinning and begins to wobble off it's axis from affliction, you still loop in the mindset that you will overcome adversity.

It is your way of thinking, a proven mindset, that continues to shape your outlook in life and in affliction. With every success after failure, with every overcome challenge- your optimism continues.

But what if…..

What if, instead of looping with optimism, you were stuck spiraling in negativity?

What if instead of dismissing those harmful thoughts of self-doubt, discouragement, laziness, you let them manifest— letting them become your mantra. What if as they grew, your focus on your failure, your pain, your afflictions became your entire world that you could no longer see beyond yourself?

If life is a merry-go-round, what roundabout do we want to ride? And if some of us are looping in positivity and others in negativity, with whom do we want to ride the merry-go-round?

Find your fellow warriors.

Find those that wake up knowing the possibilities for the day are endless. Find your warriors that greet a challenge with an extended hand, knowing they will wrestle and win.

Find those that inspire, those that are looping with the mentality of “I can” instead of “I can’t”.

Find your warrior that will hobble to the finish line instead of the person that will never make it to the start line. The future you will thank you.

To my fellow warriors, my good friends, especially my running partners— thank you! You are my warriors, my inspiration and my stronghold to keep looping in the positive.

 

Find Your Fellow Warriors

You are rocking life. You set goals. You dream. And you dream big. You see your inadequacies— not to wrap yourself up in despair but to overcome them. You find happiness from your core and from the life you’ve created by yourself, for yourself. When life pounds you with lemons as if you are at play with the universe in a game of dodgeball, you grab those lemons and make a hundred different variations of acceptance, contentment, courage and resolve. 
You’ve quieted those thoughts of self-doubt knowing they are just passing thoughts because your actions of accomplishment resonate louder and more encouragingly. 

The world is your oyster, not from born privilege, but because you will make the best of your path and because in your mind no matter the life you live, it is yours— full of unique opportunities only limited by your own willingness to succeed. 

You wake with endless possibilities for the day. You are in control of your emotions, actions and determination. And in failure, you rise up from the ashes and run towards another day, another opportunity, another lesson. 
You are an optimist. 
You are successful. 
You are strong. 
You are resolved. 
You are in a loop— a good loop of positivity. 
As your world keeps spinning and begins to wobble off it's axis from affliction, you still loop in the mindset that you will overcome adversity. 
It is your way of thinking, a proven mindset, that continues to shape your outlook in life and in affliction. With every success after failure, with every overcome challenge- your optimism continues. 
But what if….. 

What if, instead of looping with optimism, you were stuck spiraling in negativity? 
What if instead of dismissing those harmful thoughts of self-doubt, discouragement, laziness, you let them manifest— letting them become your mantra. What if as they grew, your focus on your failure, your pain, your afflictions became your entire world that you could no longer see beyond yourself?
If life is a merry-go-round, what roundabout do we want to ride? And if some of us are looping in positivity and others in negativity, with whom do we want to ride the merry-go-round? 
Find your fellow warriors. 
Find those that wake up knowing the possibilities for the day are endless. Find your warriors that greet a challenge with an extended hand, knowing they will wrestle and win. 
Find those that inspire, those that are looping with the mentality of “I can” instead of “I can’t”. 
Find your warrior that will hobble to the finish line instead of the person that will never make it to the start line. 
The future you will thank you.
To my fellow warriors, my good friends, especially my running partners— thank you! You are my warriors, my inspiration and my stronghold to keep looping in the positive. 

A Jump Into More Truth & Advocacy

I can still taste the Kahlua in my coffee. I can still feel the touch of his tiny hand on my own. I can still feel the rush of adrenaline, the intense heat, the fear and then the silence, calm and peace as my body took on the fight to survive.
It’s been five years, one month and four days.

I’m asked often, “how did you cope?”

“How were you able to get out of bed?”

As honestly as I wrote in my book, what I didn’t follow up with is that years later it is still difficult.Those moments are so much a part of me and my cellular memory that it only takes a brief sensory reminder to bring those emotions to the forefront.

That is the truth of surviving affliction. You conquer, you put one foot in front of the other, but the wounds, memories and even the grief is forever a part of you. It’s the beauty of survival. For we have seen the darkest, outlived it, and can now see the glimmering stars within it.

I move the little white egg a few times a week— just over a nudge to make room for my coffee (without Kahlua these days). I touch it as if it’s decorative, but as I do so there is a slight tingle in my hand. I know what’s inside, I remember the day. I know the sacredness of the egg, it’s contents, the memories and the loss.

I sit down, coffee near, thinking of the Kahlua that was my crutch, thinking of my own survival, the boy that I couldn’t keep— and then I look over and see my Zev, my sweet sweet boy that did survive.
This is what life after affliction represents— a mostly present and successful existence in the now with a fingertip extended to the past.

Two feet in the present with a fingertip reaching back to another life is okay. Those of us that have survived the worst days of someone’s imagination are the ones that have truly lived, loved, risked, embraced, celebrated.

As I remind myself that I was only in my twenties when life tossed me so many curve balls of affliction— of loss, I can’t help but feel fortunate. I was shaped, painfully molded into a better more, well rounded person with a deeper sense of life, love, conflict, resolution and empathy.

In turning thirty-five this week, I find myself reminiscing of my thirtieth birthday, the party, and the breakout it was for a new life post the traumatic loss the month before. I wonder who was that girl. I wonder how she did survive, both physically and mentally. She seems so young to me now— so vulnerable, and even with affliction, still so naive.
I imagine in another five years I will look back to who I am today with the same perplexity. For I know I will grow, take on more in life and my threshold for normal, achievable and survivable will have changed many times over.
There will still be our little white egg, a fingertip reaching back to the past, deep memories of affliction and new challenges. What I hope continues to exist is our optimism— which at times has seemed inexplicable and even certifiable.
I hope there is truth and honesty within myself over the years to come as well. As much as we survive, our successes in life are not achieved with ease, so we must stop pretending they are.
Being a special needs parent isn’t effortless, and as it may indeed be a gift, it’s a mixed bag of blessings and undeniable losses.

As I move into another age category, I think it might be time to blog as honestly as I wrote in my book. It might be time to shake up old viewpoints, rock the boat for advocacy and bring special needs children and their parents out of the dark hallways. It might be time to readdress old stigmas, old players and reinvent the game a little—- or better yet, stop playing games.
Embracing and surviving afflictions is the work, and the responsibility afterwards is ours to not just keep surviving the day but to advocate, express and awaken. Our afflictions lie within us just beneath the surface as a reminder, but possibly as a push to create the change that is needed so that we can all walk out from the shadows of affliction.
Here's to another year of literal survival, to growth and to more honesty and advocacy.

A Jump Into More Truth & Advocacy

I can still taste the Kahlua in my coffee. I can still feel the touch of his tiny hand on my own. I can still feel the rush of adrenaline, the intense heat, the fear and then the silence, calm and peace as my body took on the fight to survive.

It’s been five years, one month and four days.

I’m asked often, “how did you cope?”

“How were you able to get out of bed?”  

As honestly as I wrote in my book, what I didn’t follow up with is that years later it is still difficult.

Those moments are so much a part of me and my cellular memory that it only takes a brief sensory reminder to bring those emotions to the forefront.

That is the truth of surviving affliction. You conquer, you put one foot in front of the other, but the wounds, memories and even the grief is forever a part of you. It’s the beauty of survival. For we have seen the darkest, outlived it, and can now see the glimmering stars within it.

I move the little white egg a few times a week— just over a nudge to make room for my coffee (without Kahlua these days). I touch it as if it’s decorative, but as I do so there is a slight tingle in my hand. I know what’s inside, I remember the day. I know the sacredness of the egg, it’s contents, the memories and the loss.

I sit down, coffee near, thinking of the Kahlua that was my crutch, thinking of my own survival, the boy that I couldn’t keep— and then I look over and see my Zev, my sweet sweet boy that did survive.

This is what life after affliction represents— a mostly present and successful existence in the now with a fingertip extended to the past.

Two feet in the present with a fingertip reaching back to another life is okay. Those of us that have survived the worst days of someone’s imagination are the ones that have truly lived, loved, risked, embraced, celebrated.

As I remind myself that I was only in my twenties when life tossed me so many curve balls of affliction— of loss, I can’t help but feel fortunate. I was shaped, painfully molded into a better more, well rounded person with a deeper sense of life, love, conflict, resolution and empathy.

In turning thirty-five this week, I find myself reminiscing of my thirtieth birthday, the party, and the breakout it was for a new life post the traumatic loss the month before. I wonder who was that girl. I wonder how she did survive, both physically and mentally. She seems so young to me now— so vulnerable, and even with affliction, still so naive.

I imagine in another five years I will look back to who I am today with the same perplexity. For I know I will grow, take on more in life and my threshold for normal, achievable and survivable will have changed many times over.

There will still be our little white egg, a fingertip reaching back to the past, deep memories of affliction and new challenges. What I hope continues to exist is our optimism— which at times has seemed inexplicable and even certifiable.

I hope there is truth and honesty within myself over the years to come as well. As much as we survive, our successes in life are not achieved with ease, so we must stop pretending they are.

Being a special needs parent isn’t effortless, and as it may indeed be a gift, it’s a mixed bag of blessings and undeniable losses.

As I move into another age category, I think it might be time to blog as honestly as I wrote in my book. It might be time to shake up old viewpoints, rock the boat for advocacy and bring special needs children and their parents out of the dark hallways. It might be time to readdress old stigmas, old players and reinvent the game a little—- or better yet, stop playing games.

Embracing and surviving afflictions is the work, and the responsibility afterwards is ours to not just keep surviving the day but to advocate, express and awaken. Our afflictions lie within us just beneath the surface as a reminder, but possibly as a push to create the change that is needed so that we can all walk out from the shadows of affliction.

Here's to another year of literal survival, to growth and to more honesty and advocacy.

My Letter to Every Middle School Student

She walks the halls, head hung low and eyes on her shuffling feet below. She is a million things and yet self-defined by one: the impression of others. She is ripe with insecurity and unsure, even repulsed, in her own skin. Afraid to look up, afraid for anyone to see her, she carries her head low hoping to navigate as invisibly as she feels.

The rise and fall of her day rests on her social network. Will she have a friend today?

Her face, her body— normal, yet she feels if she looks up and someone meets her gaze they will be as sickened by her as she is of herself. Looking down, swiftly and quietly navigating the crowd is her only saving grace.

She is a middle-schooler in the throes of pubescent adolescence. Years from now she will be a fulfilled well adjusted adult, mother of an adolescent, but today she is only twelve. Today, she is alone. Alone to navigate the mine filled fields of the sixth grade social scene. The haves, the have-nots, the popular, the unpopular. The defining lines are quickly being drawn all around her. Friends of the summer, friends from kinder are suddenly friends no more. Without warning, without reason there stands the self-proclaimed “popular” kids, and you find yourself for the first time looking in from the outside.

You are now defined in a new way. The lines are drawn. The reflection in the mirror is only more difficult to like. The social hierarchy has now consumed your existence as it has consumed everyone before you. It’s hungry for more, hungry for every bit of your confidence and self-assuredness. It’s hungry for more definition even within your group of “popular” or “less than” popular friends. Everyone is struggling, scrambling desperately to the top. To the top of what and for what no one really knows. Insecurities are abound, growing and manifesting daily. Your friend of yesterday becomes your foe today and often for no other reason than their own loss of self.

The chaotic redistribution of the social hierarchy is fueling the desperation for ownership— ownership of friendships, “this my seat, not yours” at the lunch table, party invitations and even the desperation for a following of friendship groupies. Who is in and who is out— no longer the produced reality of “Survivor” or “Project Runway” but the reality of your own life…. the life of a middle schooler.

I was that girl. I was that girl with her head hung as low as humanly possible as she walked the halls to class, and I’m here— not to say it magically gets better— but to say that “you’ve got this!”

You are strong, more beautiful than you can imagine, smarter than you give yourself credit for and not at all alone. You see, the most insecure around you are often the ones hurting others the most. The “popular” kids are having all of the same self-doubt and awkwardness of adolescence. In many ways, they are the ones struggling the most. They are feeling the social desperations so badly that they are doing whatever it takes to hang onto friends (even if that means playing unfairly, being cruelly selective and painfully critical).

Closer within your own group of friends, the ones that seem to be “changing” the most are often dealing with the same issues. They are scrambling to the top, desperate to hold on to their status within the group or within the school. They are trying to define themselves and their friendships so exhaustively and desperately that they lash out at the slightest “threat”. And at times you are that “threat”.

Confidence, likability, beauty, athleticism, intelligence, kindness—- these attributes are all “threats”. Subconsciously or consciously.

Sixth grade is a social battle field, but the dust will clear. Hold your head high. Be kind. Befriend someone. Scoot over at the lunch table and enjoy the company of new friends. Be a friend to everyone— be bold enough to redefine the group and the boundaries. Be aware— of you as the problem and as the solution. Be confident enough to friend a foe. Be strong enough to look in the mirror and like what you see.

And if all else fails, remember this— over a life time we will all experience moments where we peak in life (socially and beyond)…. trust me, you don’t want to peak in middle school or high school. There is a whole world and life waiting for you.

Routine Moments with an Incredible Subterranean Set of Circumstances

In the breakfast nook I sit. Laptop on the kid smeared breakfast table with coffee near. Avery sways to the tunes of Taylor Swift to my right, intermediately taking breaks to shove fists of cheerios into her mouth. My little Zev has excitedly bounced up the stairs to waken his tween sister, Audry.

“Wildest Dreams” is momentarily interrupted by an outburst of screams and thrashing from Avery. No rhythm or reason, not discernible to me at least.

Another song cued up and Avery returns to devouring her breakfast— what is left on the table after throwing most of it on the floor.

Zev has yet to return from his sister’s room, however I haven’t heard any tween screams of frustrations so I don’t intervene.

School drop off will commence in just twenty minutes.

Avery makes her routine move from the chair and rolls into the living room—as my first alarm of many sounds with the reminder it is time to pack backpacks and corral the children into shoes, jackets.

My day, my month, my year will be filled with replicated moments. Most mornings, I will glide thru the routine in a fog— a robotic version of myself so accustomed to the procedure that I am barely thinking, barely feeling the experience.

The coffee tastes the same, the screams of Avery’s morning outburst at the breakfast table are expected, the tween annoyance of her little brother will be played out with anticipation as every day before.

We will rush to get out the door because all the time we felt we had will suddenly diminish as we make a mad dash to the car.

And there is where I will begin— in the time we feel we will always have and in the moments we experience daily without acknowledging the underpinnings of their circumstance. 

I sit at my breakfast table, a table new to me from a move 20 months ago. A move resulted from a series of events that led us to jump off a cliff of uncertainty and choose a simple life in a simple neighborhood instead of a move to England—an expat move that I was sure was the only key to my genuine happiness.

To my right is Avery, a frustrated screaming eight-year-old in the moment, but overall a miracle of corrupted chromosome lines with an undeniable will to live and a spirit full of answers with a body unable to share them.

Upstairs is my toddler, a child who against all odds survived a pregnancy that was believed to be unsurvivable. He had survived. I had survived my entryway. Layers upon layers of circumstance, choices, perseverance, faith, and an unwavering stubbornness are just beneath the surface of these routine moments of our day.

A rushed Audry tramples down the stairs. She’s overslept. She’s now eleven-years-old and in the sixth grade. A first born. Our pride and joy. A part of us and our sixteen years together.

Where we are headed is a series of routine moments with an incredible subterranean set of circumstances that led us there. We are jarred from the routine by affliction— moving us on another path and/or to a place of enlightenment and appreciation. And then those survived afflictions become new layers beneath a new routine.

Awareness is my struggle.

I think of cancer-- the boogey man of my today. I have seen too many friends and neighbors affected by the devastating misfortune for it not to be the most terrifying, yet realistically possible, affliction I can imagine.

Lost in my routine, forgetting my own past, I must often jolt myself into a place of awareness that the time I am spoiled with today— the time that I so freely take for granted— isn’t guaranteed and it isn’t fairly distributed to everyone.

Being a mother of a child with a shorter life expectancy should serve as a daily reminder of the gift of time, yet part of surviving today is forgetting the unpleasantries of the future.

I am but a constant addict of preoccupation trying to earn a chip. I made promises to God and to myself—bargained shamefully to survive when death was at my door. As death moved on for someone else, I fell back into routine. I fell back into the lies to myself that I will always have time— my loved ones will always be with me, my children, my husband, my health and my future.

If we could all just live like we do when we are threatened with the end—- recklessly open with our feelings, our gratitude and selfish with our time savoring it, relishing in it with only those that are dearest to us.

And then our alarm sounds—it’s time to get up, go to work, get the kids to school, do laundry, pay bills and live our day of distractions.

Ah, the struggle of an almost unachievable balance of living a fulfilling life with gratitude and fulfilled responsibilities while cherishing time.

Waking with opened eyes, a beating heart and a life to live should be our first thought of gratitude each morning. Without cancer lingering, without afflictions reminding us of our mortality. There is a special prayer for this in Judaism (as I’m sure there is in other religions) for this very moment. The first prayer of the day before even fully waking. I adore this. I adore the idea, but admittedly I rarely live it.

 

Perhaps, that is my secret to why I love running so much. Running fills me with a deep sense of gratitude for my health, the moment, the weather, God, family, soul, body and for being alive. I feel all of it and more as my feet hit the pavement, I breathe in the air, and experience what my mind, body and spirit can achieve. Being able to run feels like a blessing and in that I am really feeling the moment, gratitude for life and for time.

We all need more of those soul fulfilling moments in our daily lives to counter balance the rush and despondency of routine.

What is your moment? What is your standstill in time where life makes sense, you are filled with appreciation and for at least those minutes-- you are really living.

If you can’t answer, go find your reminder….

That "One" Decision

Often, I write about our afflictions and how they shape our lives, but I have also recently written about those “one” decisions that we make that set us on a new course— a course of empowerment over our own destinies.

These “one” decisions are often a result of a larger course correction of several decisions that keep narrowing our path towards where we need to be in our next chapter.

Is it our higher sense of self leading us? God? The universe? A guardian angel? Or is it just coincidence?

Whatever you may believe the end result is the same. We can make empowering decisions in our lives that forever change our course— shaping who we are, what we will become and sending a butterfly effect of change into the universe.

In one of my recent blog posts, I discussed how my “one” decision to call a personal trainer from a flyer placed me on a radically different path in life regarding my health, fitness, confidence, and so much more.

That one decision keeps playing out in my life in larger ways. It has placed me on a path of health with a new love of fitness (specifically running), it has altered my existence, my appearance, my mind, soul, my travel plans.

Now on this path, opportunities that weren’t visible before suddenly appear in my range of sight. Relationships develop.

This is where some of my readers might be sighing in frustration that this is another “running” blog, but hang on for just a moment more….

It’s not about running, fitness, weight loss, a new look, etc.

It is about empowerment.

It is about change. It is about all of the incredible dominoes that begin to fall in sync as we make just “one” bold decision.

We decided to move. Hating where we lived, destined (in our minds) to be expats again, we were dreadfully out of sync where we lived. Our restless souls needed so much more than the area could provide.

So we moved.

New friends were made. We joined a club nearby. The personal trainer flyer presented itself. I found a new me, a new life.

The path of the past is now so far away with so many past intersections of choice that we could never go back, even if that was our wish.

Enter today.

Today, I’m on the precipice of more decision making— more empowerment.

What one may see as several random choices, events, interactions; I see as a guide leading me down a narrowing path towards the next chapter I need to write.

And write about boobs, I will?

After taking another risk, largely involving in letting go of insecurities, doubt and feelings of inadequacy (is that not a theme or what?), this afternoon I sat down and discussed a new business opportunity.

I’ve blogged about my struggle with an outside identity from motherhood. When I ask myself, who am I, the answer of “mom” is often first. Before, woman, wife, runner, friend; I think of myself first as a mother. I am a mother 24/7 for the rest of my life. That is a fact, but does “mother” have to be my first identifier every hour of every day? Can I wear another hat, too?

Perhaps, I wake as “woman” or even more spiritual “a soul”. Perhaps, I am just there to be for a small moment before my eyes open. As the first child cries out, I am “mother”. As I make my husband his morning coffee, I am “wife”. Later in the morning, I am “runner” and perhaps I can even be “author” in the same day.

Woman, wife, mother, runner, author— it’s time to add another meaningful identifier to my life; to this chapter.

After all, I am the author to my own story— and a self-identified cliff jumper.

The free fall into this new opportunity probably began much longer ago than I realize, but one of the most difficult first steps was just picking up the phone to make an appointment.

In losing 50 pounds, I needed a new wardrobe— all layers from top-to-bottom. I wanted quality. I wanted to embrace this new person that I saw in the mirror yet hadn’t fully recognized or accepted. I wanted to feel good in what I wore. I wanted to exude confidence and own this new body of mine.

Still, when the stylist rang the door, my heart skipped a beat with anxiety. I wasn’t sure I was ready for a bra fitting, 50 pounds lighter or not. Overwhelmingly insecure, I knew I still needed well fitting undergarments for my changing body and disappearing boobs. I knew I needed a proper foundation to conquer my outfit, to conquer my day.

The experience was—- well, I don’t want to say “surprising” because that word seems unfair as if I shouldn’t have expected the stylist to be professional, knowledgeable and kind— yet, it was a surprising experience for me.

The stylist made me feel comfortable in a way that I didn’t think possible. She made me feel confident and beautiful. As I tried on bras that fit perfectly (because they were measured on this incredible 10-pt measuring system I had never before experienced), I could feel myself straighten in confidence with strength, empowerment, and beauty. I loved the feeling! It was addicting. I didn’t really want to take off the sample bra and return it as I awaited my own order fulfillment.

How can a bra change my demeanor and my outlook? Throughout affliction, I’ve had some dark days where circumstance striped my sense of self. I’ve been utterly lost. All confidence gone in who I was, what I could offer, what I looked like.

Would a great bra have changed any of my circumstances? No.

But there is symbolism in a great bra. It is not just the foundation for our outfit, but it can be the foundation for empowerment.

My new bras soon arrived in the post— much to my delight, I might add. They were soft, perfectly fitting, a little indulgence to anything I had previously done for myself. I soon moved out all of my ill fitting bras, and found myself feeling as if I was dressing in symbolic armor when I put on my Peach bra each day.

And that is why I decided to take this leap.

Those feelings of empowerment, beauty, confidence all stemming from a perfectly fit bra is something I desperately want to pass onto others. Never owning such a proper set of foundations before, I hadn’t realized their importance or the simple symbolism of a bra in where my day could go. It sounds ridiculous yet it has become so true in my own daily routine.

We can’t avoid our afflictions, but I am determined to armor women with a perfectly fitting bra and clothing so that in the very least we can all look and feel amazing as life throws us for another loop.

Life will change. Great days will follow bad days and vice versa. It’s the same adage that I always try to live by—- we can’t control the affliction but we can control how we feel about it and how we react. We can control our outlook and part of that outlook, I contend, is faking it until you make it.

We put on a smile, we focus on the positive (while editing out the negative), we mold our worst days into better ones with sheer stubbornness and willpower—— and, if you take this journey with me, a really amazingly soft and perfectly fit bra that armors you with confidence for the day while still allowing you to be YOU— a mom, a runner, an author, a wife, a friend, a business woman—- whomever you want to be— because you are still writing your new chapter as much as anyone.

The Cost of Empowerment

Woohoo! Hands up in the air… the breeze blowing thru our hair… we are in the first free fall of the plunge to greater empowerment! 

After blogging about my new endeavor with the young intimates company, Peach, and my continued journey and mission to help women, I received many touching messages of encouragement. 
I could feel the rallied forces of womanhood. We were standing tall and confident as we reached out to grasp our new beginnings. 
Bras, or more to the point, the freedom and empowerment of a really great fitting bra (for the first time ever) was symbolic for taking on anything in our lives. The foundation to not just our outfit for the day, but our armor in life! 
Taking this step with Peach had become the next incredibly organic and authentic step in my journey to inspire others as I have been inspired, and to continue to learn and grow with every person and from every experience. 

We often, however, learn the most from the friction to our own ideas, experiences and beliefs; so when I received my first message of dissent to my new journey, I welcomed it into my heart and mind. Every voice needs to be heard, and its those voices of rebuttal that really need to sit and resonate. 
The message began…. 

“I find myself asking all of those same questions as a woman, but the thing that I keep coming up against is money...and the lack of it. I can not afford a personal trainer.  I can not afford the gym and club membership.  I can not afford a whole new wardrobe much less the LuLulemon gear that everyone these days seems to need.  I don't have time during the day to do all of these 'me' things because I have a full time job.  And I can't afford a stylist or a custom bra...I'm lucky if I get to Target.  So, as someone who has gone the course of empowerment, can you translate how to make these things come to be for folks who can't afford to go the route that you have gone?”

As I paused to take in this powerful rebuttal to my blog post, immediately I thought of three words “perspective”, “anger”, “blame”. Followed by these admittedly harsh words, I thought “this is something I really needed to hear, rebut and explain.” 

Never represented with a disclaimer, my posts have always been a record of how my story unfolded. My perspective was never meant to be an exact roadmap to achieve your own goals, but an account of my past so I could maybe inspire someone else on their journey.
Truthfully, there are a hundred different avenues one person can journey towards the same goal. We each have our own unique story, situation, path and limitations. 



Additionally, as open as I am, all facets, events, circumstances of my life are not shared. 

This, is where I want us all to pause with an open mind and heart as we look under those scary bandages hiding our own flaws. 

Too often, we put ourselves into boxes of categories, and as we place ourselves into these narratives, we create a narrative for everyone else. 
Seeing someone is often seeing what we want to see. The woman standing in the flattering Lululemon gear before us becomes an easy target in our rationale for her perceived success over our own. Maybe we feel envious of her figure or envious of what we perceive her income to be to afford that branded clothing. In split seconds, we assume a dozen things about this one person, while ignoring any truth that doesn’t fit into the narrative that we’ve just created in our minds. 
Perhaps, her Lululemon gear was a gift? Perhaps she is a store employee working for the employee discount? Perhaps she purchased it all second-hand from her neighborhood garage site on Facebook? Perhaps, the fit frame you see today is a fraction of the person she once was before she changed her life? 
Maybe she's a great person whom you would love getting to know? Maybe she has a story, like we all do, that is her very own with her very specific path to that moment? 
Or maybe she’s that dreadful human being with all the riches, luck, genetics and closet full of Lululemon gear you’ve imagined her to be. 
The latter is most unlikely though… 
And there is where our scapegoat for our own failures is debunked. 
If the Lululemon wearing fit woman before us is everything we’ve imagined them to be in our narrative, we can attribute all of their success to their fortune in life while scapegoating our failures on everything we don’t have. 
Putting them into a box is the only way we feel better. 
But, if we continue to cloud our path with worry over everyone else, we are robbing ourselves of the obtainable successes we can achieve if we dig deep and admit what is really holding us back in life. 
No one should have to wear their battle scars on their sleeves so that they receive the benefit of the doubt. Everyone has a story and each of us is our own creator of our journey. 
The harsh and uncomfortable take-away is that YOU are in charge of YOUR path. The only roadblock is YOURSELF. 
Not money, not the lack-of, not the personal trainer, the athletic gear, etc. We each have tools that we use, but it's the creativity in the use of those tools that matters. 
It’s the dedication. 

Although, I had a personal trainer, the secret to fitness success is accountability. My personal trainer held me accountable no matter what. Find a friend, a spouse, a family member that will hold you accountable to your new routine, whether to your new workout regime and/or eating habits. 
Secondly, google body weight exercises and circuit training plans online. The raw ugly truth of the matter is that all you need is your own body weight, free plans from the internet, self-perseverance and someone to hold you accountable. 
It isn’t about a large investment, the gear, the trainer, the gym, or any other fitness marketing hype. We can utilize those tools, but we don’t need them. 
We need to want it bad enough! We need to be strong enough to embrace difficult change that takes work. 

And change takes time. Time that you don’t feel you have, but time that exists if you are willing to gift it to yourself. With a full time job, a spouse, children, friends, volunteering, etc.,— I promise, if you want it badly enough there is 30 minutes to an hour that you can take for yourself. It isn’t about having copious about of “ME” time, but it is about having the dedication to create time in your schedule in spite of the inconvenience. It might mean waking up at 4am which stinks. I know, I have done it. But if 4am is your only time in the day to workout, you wake at 4am. 

The cost of empowerment is your own dedication. The cost of empowerment is ripping the ugly bandages off to the truths of your failures to identify them and creatively approach a new way towards your dream. 

A perfectly fitting bra is only the symbolism, a tool, for such empowerment. If you have boobs, you need a great fitting bra, and with that foundation/tool there is a physical shift in confidence that happens. The nitty gritty monetary cost of such symbolic empowerment starts at $30 with an average cost around $60 for the more structured. 
The comfort, fit, beauty and confidence of a bra using an algorithm of ten measurements to size you just right starts in a very obtainable price range for every woman. It will be a bra that outlasts discount ill fitting bras, and it will soon replace everything you once purchased. It will become your treat for yourself that you look forward to wearing as it truly empowers you in the way you feel because Peach is all about YOU and YOUR beauty. Just as your journey is yours, your beauty is yours. Embrace it. Embrace your differences. Embrace what you see as imperfections. Embrace your change. Embrace your empowerment—- whatever that means for you and in whichever way gets you there. 

Just remember, YOU are the key. And as you are on your journey, that Lululemon wearing woman before you is also on hers— as tortured, secret, difficult as it might surprisingly be of a journey. 


If you want to talk to me about your own armor fitting of a beautifully fit bra, or your journey to become a runner, lose weight, the difficulties of parenting a special needs child, or anything else I’ve written about in my book or blogs; my door, my heart, my mind and my phone is always open/on. Please message me. And if you are interested in joining me as a stylist with Peach, message me too! It's never too late to switch professional gears. 
With warm regards & well wishes for your very own empowerment and change, Ariana Carruth