In the years since losing my mother, I developed unhealthy coping mechanisms, ones that included, hanging on to my grief. My grief became the armor I wore for protection from getting hurt any further, afraid of letting love in. I felt unworthy of love, of peace. That I had failed as a daughter, and I deserved to sit in my misery, and so… I did.
Outwardly, I appeared positive, strong and present. All while inwardly, I was anything but. What I showed on the outside, was far from what I was battling on the inside.
I was available for everyone in my life. Coaching a very successful running program, helping others through their tough times. I continued on as a personal trainer and fitness instructor and professionally, my business was booming. Most people in any service-based industry will admit there are times that they feel as though they are a therapist. This was also true of my profession. To me, it was a tremendous honor to be able to help someone overcome a physical hurdle, which almost always tied back to some sort of emotional burden they had been carrying around. Overcompensating, just as my own mother did, became my way, too. If you asked me how I was, I would likely answer the same each time, “everything is fine.” History was starting to repeat itself, and slowly I began to become more aware of what I was allowing in my life, and what I was pushing away.