Hug it Out

Since the first year that I starting writing this blog I haven't really kept up the frequency of posting that I did that first year. Surely not enough to hold the attention of any kind of following I may have feigned to have. But I know that when I do post here, or when I share bits of my story on other social media platforms, it resonates with people. They've told me so. I don't always get why my story and my struggles and my triumphs connect with others, but when I do get it, it makes me wish I opened up more or more often.

I was recently challenged by my new friend Ian to start writing again. To keep sharing my story and to tell even the unexciting parts. Because maybe, seeing how I'm getting through those moments that seem like a mundane, everyday struggle moment to me might help someone else who is stuck in a struggle of their own. 

So by way of jumping back in, I thought I'd share a little about a moment I had recently that revolves around meeting and getting to work with Ian. Ian Michael is a Marine Corps Veteran who founded the Human Hug Project with fellow Marine Veteran, Gino Greganti, and Gino's wife, Erin. All three are "using [their] own experience with post traumatic stress, isolation, anxiety and depression to help other people cope with theirs – all through the healing power of a simple hug." 

I first learned about Human Hug Project from a story that was submitted to me for publication in the national newsletter that I edit for VA Voluntary Service programs. The trio has traveled the country in the last year+ visiting VA hospitals to hug Veterans. As I'm also the national "data monkey" for our service, I know that we have literally tens of thousands of volunteers and visitors to VA hospitals every year that give millions of hours of service and millions of dollars in donations to help Veterans. But for some reason that I couldn't quite name, this story resonated with me. In the pictures that accompanied the story, the joy on the faces of the Veterans receiving hugs was evident, but it was also clear that the joy was shared by those giving out these free hugs. As I researched to flesh out the article I learned more about the back stories that launched the project and couldn't help but want to be a part of it. 

One of the coolest parts of my job is getting to work with groups like Human Hug Project and see first hand when someone makes a difference in the lives of our Veterans. When something as simple as a group of ladies bringing cookies and pizza to Veterans receiving treatment in a locked mental health unit, or three people giving out simple hugs, can cause a smile or bring grown men and women to tears, you know that what you do is worthwhile. If something so small clearly means so much, how can you not want to do more? 

Meeting Ian and getting my first hug in Albuquerque.

I got the opportunity to experience the power of hugs first hand when Ian, Gino, and Erin came to speak at our National meeting this past Spring. I got to accompany them to the Albuquerque VA and participate in a hug visit. It was such a powerful day, but what really moved me was hearing their stories the next day. To hear the deep, dark places that PTSD had led them to and how hugs had pulled them out was amazing. The joy they all have when hugging masks almost any trace that they do and have struggled. The hugs are truly helping the three of them heal as much as they are helping others. 

With Ian, Gino, and Erin after hugging at the Albuquerque VA.

I met up with my new friends again two weeks ago in Dallas. They were scheduled to speak at a conference for Public Affairs Officers and made a trip to the Dallas VA to give out hugs - I got to tag along again and meet another hugger, Jennifer. We had even more time to talk this trip and as they like to say, hugs unlock stories. As we all delved deeper into our stories, I started to realize why I had connected with the project. As they had all found connections through their struggles with PTSD, I knew that I shared that same connection and that we were all going through similar things around the same time 10 or so years ago. My experience with PTSD didn't come from war, and I'd never claim to know what that's like, but it manifests itself for me in the panic I feel when I'm not in control of a car and someone I don't trust is driving. In the fact that it took me years to drive past my accident site at night. Or in the way I would stop breathing and burst in tears when someone hit the brakes too suddenly or when I see an unexpected car accident on TV or in a movie. In the way I still recoil and flinch away from oncoming headlights at night. In the nightmares I had of being trapped when I was stuck in a hospital bed and unable to walk.

Even though I'm not a Veteran and didn't experience combat trauma, I know what being broken feels like. Trauma is trauma and pain is pain. It's universally understood when you see it in someone else's eyes. Having once felt broken I know that it feels unfixable. I know that it's a hopeless feeling. I know what it's like to be in a body that feels like it doesn't belong to you because you can't seem to control it. But I also know, like Ian, and Gino, and Erin, and now Jennifer have also learned - you don't have to stay broken. Broken things get fixed. With hugs. With encouragement. You find your way out of brokenness by knowing someone cares about and believes in you. By finding your strength and believing in yourself. 

Even though we all have different experiences, we've all struggled. Time and time again I've been reminded that I'm not alone - not just in life, but in struggling too. I learned how to not get stuck in a victim mentality because everybody has tough stuff they're going through. My struggle is mine, but it's not what makes me special. It doesn't define me. It's always been my choice to let it control my life, or to take control myself - and I've chosen the latter. I've chosen to fight.

Hugging in Dallas

I got a little more involved in giving out hugs in Dallas and as we debriefed the experience that night, it hit me what a big deal that was for me. Four years ago, I wouldn't have been able to participate. The thought of doing something like that would have been paralyzing. I would have sooner hugged a wall than I would a total stranger. I would have been too scared and insecure to approach a Veteran and start a conversation, to confidently smile with my arms outstretched and ask for hugs. Not everyone is ready for hugs and even the seasoned huggers get turned down. That kind of rejection would have crushed the old me. I honestly would have believed it was because they didn't want to hug the fat girl and would have been too devastated by that thought to have been any help or comfort to anyone else. A few years ago, I honestly didn't like anyone touching or getting close to me at all. I love hugs now. They make me feel comfortable and that's been a little weird at times. 

I realized that by working my way back from broken, I am at a place now where I can help others. I can share my story, my struggles, my triumphs, and even my hugs to help those that need someone like I did. That's a pretty powerful feeling that I might never have realized I was capable of, had it not been for a simple hug. 

Macaroni and Cheesin' it with Human Hug Project, my boss, and the staff from the Dallas VA

Just an Athlete

Over the last four years, I've started thinking of myself as an athlete. I'm not a professional athlete, or a competitive athlete (at the moment), but pretty much everything that I do - from the way I eat to the way I rest and recover - is focused toward helping me be the best athlete I can be. On becoming the fittest person I can be.

Four years ago I wasn't athletic, I was morbidly obese. Twelve years ago I was stuck in a hospital bed thinking I may never get the chance to be athletic again. And in the time between then and now, in my head, I've always carried both of those facts as qualifiers to any athletic accomplishment. My very own "good, for a girl" tag on the end of each one. 

Most of the time, I do impress the hell out of myself with what I'm capable of doing and I'm perfectly fine to have that perspective as an ever present reminder of how far I've come and how much progress I've made. But sometimes I've wondered if as an athlete a time would come when I would just be good at what I do. No qualifier. Just, "wow, that was a great lift" without the "for someone who used to weigh over 300 pounds" hanging in the air. 

The thing that I've realized is that I'm the one assuming that is how everyone sees me because it's how I see myself. For the people that have been along with me for this whole journey that's probably a fair assumption though. We have that shared perspective because they saw me at the beginning of this journey and know my whole back story. They can appreciate the small victories with me knowing what I know about where I started. That's actually a pretty cool connection to have.

I've gotten much more comfortable sharing my story with others and embracing the fact that I can inspire people by doing so. Over the last few years I've been open about so many of the things that I've struggled with and let people in on my triumphs. I got the opportunity to share the story of how I lost 100 pounds for our gym blog and to speak on the same topic in front of a group of 70 or so of my coworkers at a conference and the response has been both incredible and overwhelming. I'm truly touched by the number of people that reached out to thank me for sharing, who have congratulated me and wished me well, and who have said that I've inspired them to make a change in their life. Those moments make me not care that so many people see everything I do with the same filter as me. 

A small piece of me though still clings to the little bits of normalcy I'm starting to experience. To days when there's nothing especially extraordinary about me just showing up and knocking out a workout and not finishing 10 or more minutes behind the rest of the class. To the times when I look around at the starting line of a race and I'm not the biggest person there. And to a time when someone I've known for over a year had no clue that I'd been in an accident until I brought it up. 

The further I get down this road I realize that more and more people that I encounter won't know the me that was over 350 pounds or the me that broke both legs. Those are very important parts of my story, I'm not ashamed of either, but I know that they aren't the only things that define me. I'm not a victim. The scars of both will always be with me, but like any scar, I know more about them and am more acutely aware of them than anyone else. 

Last month I ran in a 5K Color Run and internally I was stoked about how much I was able to run and thought a few times about how it wasn't long ago that I had to learn how to run again and couldn't make it around the gym parking lot. The cool moment for me though was not feeling like everyone else was looking at me as "fat girl running." And the even bigger win was not thinking of myself that way. Letting go of the victim mentality. I wasn't the fastest or the slowest. I was right there with everyone else, not really struggling, not in pain, just running. I was just another runner. Just an athlete.