I said last week that running is the cheapest therapy around.

I believe that.

It’s been my go-to coping mechanism for as long as I can remember, and there’s nothing I’d rather do than “run away” when life hits. 

Unfortunately, neither my schedule or my body will allow me to get in as many miles as I’d need to sort through the last several years of stuff–big stuff and little stuff made bigger by the big stuff. 

I rattled it off the other day to a therapist and it’s been a lot.

Yep, a therapist.

I finally sucked it up and admitted talking to someone wouldn’t kill me. In fact, it turns out, it’ll probably be the thing that saves me. Or, to be far less dramatic, the thing that makes me happier and a slightly smaller pain in the ass. 

I say this here, in a public format, not for attention or advice or comment (seriously), but simply because this is how I share much of my life, and I pride myself on telling the good and the bad and this is just a little bit of both. 

If reading it benefits someone else, that’s a bonus. (For that reason alone, while, yes, some things are sacred, this can’t be.)

Life, under the best of circumstances, isn’t easy. I’ve made the mistake of convincing myself at times that it should be, that I must be doing it wrong because it’s seemed like such a struggle. 

But it is, at its core, good. And, as unexpected responsibilities piled on top of expected responsibilities piled on top of loss piled on top of stress, I started to lose that perspective. 

So, now begins the process of getting it back.

I owe a thank you to two friends in particular who, years apart and under very different circumstances, each suggested I talk to somebody. I had to get there myself, but the prodding helped.

I owe a thank you to the small circle that has listened, on a daily basis in some circumstances, and tried to navigate these last five or so years alongside me. Patience is a virtue, and I’m blessed to know some incredibly virtuous people.

And I owe the biggest thank you imaginable to my five kids and their dad. Because without them, being happy wouldn’t really matter. 

And, well, there ya go. My conscience is clear.

Tomorrow, it’s back to the funny posts, I promise. With any luck, “finding the funny” is going to keep getting easier and easier…

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