The Sage and The Stork

My “story” is not very different from those of others. I’ve experienced happiness, heartache, and pain throughout my life. Fortunately, I’ve had more happy times and fond memories throughout my 38 years.


I am an only child and have been fortunate to have a large, loving family around me my entire life. My childhood prior to 11 was pretty typical, aside from the fact that my parents always argued in front of me. My father was more of a “buddy” than a father figure, leaving all of the discipline to my mother. My parents divorced when I was 11, the summer before I started sixth grade. My life changed forever at that point.

After the divorce I would see my father occasionally, and I remember him living at a different place at each visit – always living with a friend or girlfriend. When I was in eighth grade, I began asking my mother more and more questions about the divorce and my father. I believe at this time my eyes were merely beginning to open to the situation before me. I came to learn that my father was verbally abusive to my mother from early-on in their marriage constantly belittling and yelling at her. Until this point, my mother never talked negatively about my father to me. The more I learned of his affairs, drug usage, and abuse, the more troubled I became. Shortly after I learned of the “truth” of his behaviors, he called me on my 13th birthday. I told him that I never wanted to speak to him again. These were literally my last words to him.

You can imagine that middle school was quite difficult for me. Not only was I an emotional wreck, but I was an “early developer”. Unfortunately as I developed my figure early, my body also reacted to the hormone surges and I was overweight. I was teased quite a bit by others, primarily girls, which only compounded my emotional issues. I began getting involved in sports in the seventh grade, which helped me to slowly lose weight; however, I was not able to ever be as thin as I wanted to be. It took me years to realize that I will never be a size 6, merely due to the fact that I have a large frame.

I have always been a very outgoing, friendly personality, and for this reason, I have always had a lot of friends. Most of my friends were always older than me in high school. I attribute this to the fact that I was more mature than most people my age because of my experiences. I did not date much in high school because of two reasons: 1) I was consumed by sports, which took up the majority of my free time 2) I saw how all of my male friends talked about the girls they dated and slept with – which was rarely positive. So, as I got further along in high school, my closest friends kept graduating, which ultimately left me alone my senior year.

My first serious boyfriend was my senior year of high school, when I was 17. The boy was the cousin of one of my closest childhood friends. The relationship was a textbook case of codependency for both of us, which was interesting given that fact that he was in college and lived an hour away from me. Despite living in a separate town, we spent every weekend together and often saw each other during the week as well. A month into the relationship he told me that he suffered from bi-polar disorder. At the time I had a vague understanding of mental illness, but soon learned that I was going to get a crash-course in dealing with the disease directly. Our relationship was very intense for several months, but ended at the end of my senior year right before my senior prom. I learned recently that he came out of the closet in the last few years, after he divorced he wife.

In college, I dated often and truly came out of my “shell”. I chose to go to a top-rated private liberal arts university that was known for the diverse nature of its student body. My grades were less than stellar my first year as, like others, I partied too much. I joined a sorority (which I am still actively involved in at the alumni level) my sophomore year and held numerous offices in the three years of membership.

My exposure to the world and others heightened in college, as I learned of other cultures, religions, etc. This is when I became very liberal in my stance on social issues such as gay rights, pro choice and other controversial social issues. Never once, however, did I lose my belief in Christianity. I just believe that I became more tolerant, sympathetic, understanding and a less judgmental individual. These are values that I will hold for the rest of my life.

My last semester of college was quite difficult for me. My grandmother, a dear friend, passed away suddenly three months prior to graduation. Her death shattered me to the core. In middle school and high school, I would spend significant time with her and my grandfather during the summers while my mother attended graduate school or worked. My grandmother became one of the few people I would turn to about my troubles regarding my father. She was an amazing woman, and even 16 years later, I still think of and miss her almost daily.

The months succeeding her death were very difficult for me. I fell further and further into a depressive state. Shortly after graduation, I began seeing a psychiatrist in search of treatment for the depression. After just a few weeks of treatment, I was diagnosed with severe clinical depression and began a combination of treatment with medication and twice a week counseling sessions. After a year of treatment, we finally were able to begin addressing my pain and resentment toward my father and how it affected every relationship with a man that I had ever attempted to have. Psychiatric treatment was the most difficult thing I have ever experienced in my life because it was a sort of “death and rebirth” process. I have been under psychiatric care or monitoring for over 15 years now.

Needless to say, my time in therapy was very confusing at many points. I actually experienced some of my most self-destructive behavior during those first five years. I was quite promiscuous, used drugs and often kept friends at an arm’s length distance. Finally, a breakthrough occurred when I was 26 and everything began turning around for me. Within a year of my turnaround, I met my husband. I know now that we were meant to meet at the exact moment we did, which is why my turnaround happened when it did.

We have been married for over ten years now, and have experienced many trials during that period. The largest test of our marriage and of my sanity in the ten years has been infertility on my part. After numerous years of extensive infertility treatment and surgeries, we learned in 2007 that I would never be able to conceive a child. During the years of treatment, I battled with my depression off and on, despite still being under treatment for the disease.

In late 2007, we received a telephone call about an unborn little girl needing an adoptive family. We dove into the adoption process hearts first, and let our heads never fall from the sky. After three months of doctor visits with the birthmother, planning a nursery and getting ready for the delivery, the birthmother vanished. I learned of the birthmother’s change of mind when her doctor told me that she was no longer interested in putting the child up for adoption. We never received word from the birthmother, nor did the attorney that we were working with. We – especially me – were devastated. I slipped into a deep depressive state, starting drinking a lot, having affairs and doing everything I could to escape the pain. The months afterward I began looking for jobs out of state and also told my husband I wanted to leave him many times. I had officially hit rock-bottom by the end of the year.

I began therapy on a more intensive level again in 2008 after the adoption fell through. It was helping me some, but I was never quite able to move forward. My psychiatrist changed my medication again, and we started to finally see improvement. In early 2009, I was still trying to figure out where my life and marriage were going. The pain of not having a child had consumed me to a point that I didn’t know what to do with my life, except for dive into my career. All I could do was ask for a sign from God or whom/whatever on what I was supposed to with my life. Within weeks of essentially throwing my arms in the air in “giving up”, we received a call to adopt an unborn boy.

My husband and I discussed for hours the possibility of adoption and the state of our marriage, and if adoption was even a decision we needed to make at that point. In the end, we decided to pursue the adoption. The boy was born five weeks after we received the call, and the adoption was finalized with no difficulties in the summer of 2009. I can admit that this child has essentially saved my life, and there is nothing I wouldn’t do for him. We love him as if he were biologically our own, and our marriage has never been better.

I thank God every day of my life for my husband, my son, and most importantly, all of my experiences. My experiences, whether they were happy or sad, have made me the amazing individual that I am today – and I am THANKFUL for them all.

be thankful for the experience

This Track

From my earliest recollection, I was running. Mind racing, blood pumping, gazing the horizon for something different, something better, something worth running to. I literally ran out of the womb. It didn’t matter that it was ten weeks early. At 3.5 pounds I was restless. And ready to move.

My mother was restless too. At the impulsive age of 18, she clung to my father like a life raft. He would get her out of the misery of living with a French speaking - war scarred- mother, and an equally wounded vet of a father who sought solace in the bottle.

But as I said, mom was restless. Dad with his bell bottomed jeans, kind heart and willingness to please couldn’t keep her. She ran. Ran to the interesting, brooding man who also liked the bottle. He also liked to hit. We ran from him. Ran in the middle of the night, hitched a ride and relied on the kindness of acquaintances. She then found another man. He liked the bottle too.

By the time I was nine, I was living with my aunt and uncle. It was hard to breathe in that house; stifling with rigidity and forced smiles. I was to be seen and not heard. I understood that. After almost a decade, I knew how to play the game.

I didn’t fit in so well in my new school. Most of the students were fairly privileged. I knew more, understood more, had seen more. Looking back I can see that to children’s eyes, this didn’t make me interesting. It made me strange, and perhaps a little frightening.

When I was in seventh grade, a PE teacher reached out to me. In a moment that was likely insignificant to her, she said “you are a pretty good little athlete.” Oh how that simple sentence of praise and encouragement made me glow from my insides. Perhaps, despite it all, I had value in something. I was soon running my first track race; the 1200 meter run. Three full laps where I had the undivided attention of my coach, my teammates and the spectators. Though the other girls were much more experienced, I had to beat them. This was my one shot at significance. I won that race, and no one but my coach knew that to achieve it, I pushed so hard that I urinated on myself. That is desire.

Running became a rebirth for me. I was no longer the girl with crappy lineage, uneven teeth and discount jeans. I was a runner. I continued on; I ran myself to newspaper articles, to state championships, to a college scholarship 300 miles away.

Circumstance and a predilection for interesting, brooding men threw my running off course. While I had always been running toward something, I found myself running away. Running away from abuse, abandonment and rejection through promiscuity, bars and sleep.

But my mom didn’t raise a quitter. I found a life raft in two friends whom I will never let go. I found a husband with the kindness of my father. I found strength in a career that lets me reach out to kids who know more, understand more, and have seen more.

I still run. I step out my door and run for pleasure, for health and to decompress. I find myself racing around the globe, trying to learn more, experience more, impact more. Still running. Always running. Forever running.

ready to move

The Accidental Accomplishments

I was almost thirty years old when I took my first really good picture. My oldest son had been born about six months before, and I had taken him to a photographer to do newborn portraits. I was sorely disappointed with the proofs she showed me. I kept thinking, "this baby is so beautiful, how hard is it to take a beautiful picture of a beautiful baby?!?" I decided to find out.

After my maternity leave ended, I wanted to stay home with my baby rather than return to work full time. At the time I was the Political Action Committee (PAC) Manager for a wireless telecom company. This meant I lobbied legislation, held political fundraisers, managed the PAC funds and most importantly, was responsible for accurate PAC reports filed with the Federal Election Commission. What it really meant was, due to the upcoming election year it would be pretty difficult for the company to replace me immediately, so instead they hired me as a consultant doing my same job, but working from home rather than my office. At first this seemed like the most brilliant idea ever. Conference calls in my pajamas! Reading legislation while rocking my baby! Fighting Washington DC traffic once a week to attend a fundraiser rather than twice a day commuting to the office! And all the while I was getting paid more money than when I was as an employee since they didn't have to pay my insurance or benefits. What could possibly be wrong with this scenario?!?

I missed interacting with people on a regular basis. As much as I loved that little baby- and boy did I love him- mentally stimulating conversations just weren't happening with a six month old. I felt my brain turning to mush and I wanted something, anything, that allowed me to use my brain. The contract I signed as a consultant was for a one year period and I had about seven months left.

I decided to use the time I had to do something for myself since I may never have this gift of time again. I enrolled in the Smithsonian's Joy of Photography class. It was a ten week course that taught a different element of photography each class. One week we learned about composition and then had an assignment to shoot a specifically composed image to bring to class the following week. The next week, shutter speed, the next aperture and so on.

At first I looked forward to the class for the little break it gave me in the week to get out of the house, an excuse to get out of my pajamas even and interact with other adults. But as it continued, I found myself more and more eager to learn something new that I found exciting and anxiously awaited the new assignment each week.

I still have the framed picture that I presented as my assignment for lighting. It is of my son (my favorite subject at the time) with his head laying on his daddy's belly. I thought it was a beautiful image of my son, with a sweet little content face, being so close to his father. The professor flipping through my slides (that's the way we shot the assignments so all in class could see and critique) stopped at this particular image and said, "now this is a perfect example of light used not only properly, but beautifully. And your composition is spot on too." I floated out of class that day.

I decided that day to enroll in the next level photography class offered by the Smithsonian and then the next. Initially I thought this will be a nice creative outlet for me. But by the time my company came to renew my consulting contract for the fourth year, I knew my lobbying days were behind me.

This is how I became an "accidental photographer" Now that little beautiful baby boy is ten years old and joined by a younger brother 8 and a little sister 4. Since then, I only attend fundraisers I want to attend. I traded in my dry clean only dress suit wardrobe for jeans and tennis shoes since I spend a lot of time on the ground to get eye to eye with my subjects and I own my own baby & children's boutique photography studio.

If you had told me ten years ago this would be my life today, I would have laughed. I had zero aspirations to own my own business and to my knowledge at the time, zero talent. I thought I knew myself pretty well at that point, but not well enough to know the God-given talent that lay dormant within me.

I think sometimes we become okay with mediocrity in our lives, our jobs and ourselves rather than expecting more for ourselves. We always do what we've always done so we always get what we've always got. We don't recognize within us the power to change. It doesn't have to be a change in career to be life changing.

"Most folks are about as happy as they make their minds up to be" - Abraham Lincoln. This is one of my favorite quotes and all the more powerful knowing that he struggled with severe depression. Changing your attitude from begrudging to grateful is truly powerful, Being grateful for what you have keeps you from fixating on what you don't have- and may not even need.

This past summer some really hard things were going on in my life. I tried my best to deal with them, but there are things that are beyond our control and all we can do is choose how we will respond and react in these situations.

My response to these things was to go running. I am not a runner and I don't enjoy running. But as I ran away from my problems I felt a relief, albeit temporary, from what was going on at home. Eventually I would return home, the endorphins would wear off and my problems were still there. I would get up the next day and go run some more. Six weeks ago, one of my best friends asked me to run a half-marathon with her. At first I said no. I'd never even run a 5k race and I had no desire to run 13 miles (I thought it was 10 miles at the time and I still had no desire to run it). But while looking through the weekly training session and knowing that fall is my crazy busy time of year with work, I thought, it might be helpful to have a daily release through running to keep me sane.

I'll let you in on a little secret- I had no intentions of running the half marathon. I wanted to train for it, but to actually run it, no thanks. But the more I trained for the race, the more the thought crept into my mind, " you can do this!" Yesterday, I became a runner completing 13.1 miles. I may only be a runner for that one day, but I did something that six weeks ago I never would have thought possible. Just because you've never done something before doesn't mean you can't do it now.

Probably the best thing to come from training for the half-marathon, besides some seriously toned calves and thighs is the list of things I've always wanted to do that I'm now working on accomplishing. Because the only thing holding any of us back from accomplishing what we want in life is ourselves.

you can do this