From Runner To Fighter
Learning To stand My Ground
It has been said by many that the road to trauma recovery is a long and arduous one. It wasn’t until I began my own journey that I realized the real truth behind the theory. There is no one size fits all way to begin the journey, as everyone’s situation is unique. I didn’t even feel comfortable using the word trauma when I first sought help. Surely, so many people had “real” struggles to overcome that were much more difficult than mine. (Spoiler alert, this type of thinking IS a trauma response). Trauma can manifest itself in so many different ways in our lives. Self destructive coping mechanisms, relationship struggles, and addiction to seek comfort or escape are just a few of the ways our underlying issues can creep into our lives. While these examples can vary from person to person, there are some responses that are more universal and primitive.
The four F’s, otherwise known as fight, flight, freeze, and fawn, are responses fairly well known by many of us. Examples from the animal world often come to mind such as a rabbit freezing when cornered or herd animals running when threatened. If we think of the people in our lives, or maybe even ourselves, we can see evidence of these patterns as well. The serial dater that can’t not be in a relationship. The friend that’s guaranteed to start a bar fight every time. The “yes” man or woman that can’t stand to go against the grain. The extreme procrastinator. The person who changes jobs or moves several times in a short period of time. The alcoholic or addict that seeks escape at the cost of their health and relationships. These tendencies were all born from a perceived need for survival, just like our animal friends. Somewhere in the timeline of our lives, we develop these traits to keep soldering on through repeated or accute stressful periods in our lives. The younger the person when traumatic events happen, the deeper ingrained the trauma response resides.
I was a master of flight, a runner in every way. I moved frequently growing up and often stayed with my aunt and grandma. My mom was young and a single parent, and I knew from early on that I was a burden. I didn’t have a relationship with my dad in my early years My independence was my greatest asset for survival. I was 10 the first time I ran away. Since positive attention rarely came my way, even being academically gifted, I started making a lot of poor choices in order to escape my life. Temporary friends never stayed as I switched schools, and I learned people will always let you down. I landed myself in alternative school which suited me perfectly. I desperately wanted to be on my own, even looking into emancipation. I got my wish when I moved out at 17.
With no strong family ties at this time, I found myself in my first real relationship that would soon turn into a nightmare to escape. I had no idea what a healthy relationship should look like and failed to see the warning signs until the abuse and control enveloped me. Right around this time, my business partner and mentor in the equine world died several feet away from me in a freak horse accident. I fled from all this sadness bankrupt and divorced. I lost horses from my life which had been the only place I felt genuinely at home. In my opinion, animals loved unconditionally, people did not.
I made a decent living as a bartender, and it was the perfect environment to keep myself nice and busy, partying away the pain. I met an amazing man, and even though I wasn’t looking to jump into another relationship, he was kind and safe, and not scared off by my trainwreck of a past. We’re still together 12 years later, even though I spent the first six trying to highlight every one of my flaws so I could get to the part where he too would find me unlovable and leave. I’m so grateful he weathered that storm! We have a beautiful eight year old daughter and a life I love and am proud to call mine.
In 2020, all the years escaping with alcohol and anything else I could get my hands on had taken a toll. I had always considered myself healthy, eating clean foods and working out religiously. As I look back, even that was an escape. During my heaviest drinking years, I trained for and ran marathons. Drink a bottle of Irish whiskey at work, log a 15 mile training run the next day. My mindset was something along the lines of, you can’t cry while you’re running or putting more plates on the bar. I put so much pressure on myself to have the “perfect” body and competed in bikini competitions, believing that no one in my life would accept me if I were anything short of the elusive perfection I was always chasing. None of this was self care, it was downright self flagellation.
Time to face the music
At 34 years old, I was tired. Tired of destroying my body and tired of my own bullshit. I was terrified at the though of seeking professional help due to being forceibly medicated and even committed as a teen in an attempt to control my behavior. I didn’t want to run anymore. I owed it to myself, my partner, and my daughter to face and fix the dysfunctional parts of my life. They weren’t going anywhere and neither was I. I began working with a wonderful therapist who didn’t think I was an awful person who should be pumped full of meds. It was more of an issue of (self)medicating less and facing life, even where it hurt.
I contemplated sobriety for a long time before I was able to implement it for myself. I spent about a year immersed in addiction lit, and feeling inspired by other people’s stories. That’s one of the biggest reasons I write and share. I desperately wanted to be brave like them. Moderation was clearly not a possibility for me, and trying to make it work and failing over and over left me feeling ashamed and awful. July 3, 2020, I drank for the last time. I’m an intense person to begin with, and the emotional rollercoaster that I felt in the first month of sobriety was rough. Weird crying jags, terrible sleep, and flashbacks weren’t enough to overcome my sense of pride at climbing the biggest mountain of my life. I was gonna make it, but I would need an outlet besides therapy and lifting.
The phone call that changed my life
Just before my two month sober mark, I made a phone call to an MMA gym I was interested in training with. I had done some training with my dad in the past and always really enjoyed it. His gym was far for me, and my daughter too young to make it consistent, but this seemed like the right time to start back up. The owner (soon to be coach Dan) called me back within minutes and I was all set to start. From day one, I was welcomed into what would become my second family. When people ask how much I train, I joke that I’m there as much as my family allows me to be. But its true. Because I’m fortunate enough to work part time, I spend hours on the mats on my days off. Even more when my daughter began training with me!
Being competitively wired to set and meet goals, it wasn’t long before I wanted to start competing with my team in JiuJitsu tournaments. Putting myself out there for the first time with a little over four months of training had me doing more learning than winning. But I survived and absolutely wanted to do it again (after more hours on the mat of course). When the next tournament came around, my daughter was ready to step up and go for it too. We compete together and that makes me so proud that I can lead by example and show her how to be strong and persevere.
Becoming a fighter
Recently, I had the opportunity to take a pankration fight at a local gym. All the feel of an MMA fight without the risk of head injury. I’m tough, but the thought of getting concussed or losing my vision isn’t super appealing at this point in my life. My coaches and teammates supported me through all the training and put in the work right along with me to get me in that cage. It ended in a draw after three hard fought rounds. I was so proud just to be there! Although it feels great to get your arm raised, there are a few things that feel even better. The support I received on that night blew me away. My daughter that made me a sigh with out gym logo and cheering her heart out. Ryan listening to me talk about this event forever and keeping me organized in the weeks leading up to it. My coaches that wrapped my hands, made sure I was warmed up, and advised me from the corner. My teammates that showed up, took pics and video, and cheered louder than any other gym. My cousin Jamie who not only trains with me, but listened to me vent about getting on weight and balancing mom and work life every single day. My dad, who stood there to watch me fight a girl from the gym he trains at while rooting for me. My friends that I’ve gotten close to through bartending that showed up that night and plenty more who followed my journey on social media.
I saw everyone who was in my corner that night, not for any superficial reasons, but because they care. And people who care show up for those they care about. Win, lose, or draw, they were there either way. And I’m finally realizing they’re not going anywhere soon. People don’t always leave you, in fact they never cease to amaze me these days. I don’t have to push them away or run first before I’m left. As it turns out, I don’t run much at all anymore. I don’t need to unless its for conditioning or fun runs with my rescue dog Capone. Plenty of cardio happens on the mats, where I feel at home, standing my ground and fighting.
