For the past week, it’s felt like my whole body has been shot up with Novacaine. I’ve been numb, but not in the whee-it’s-go-time way I should’ve been.

When I wrote my essay in Tales From Another Mother Runner last August, this March felt so far off. Kind of like it wouldn’t ever really come. But the clock kept marching forward, and here we are.

The words that I wrote in the bright light and long days of  last summer are now in the grey light of this winter day.

And right now, the words feel like a smelly, scary elephant lurking around everything I do and think with AMR. That’s not how I want to feel around these parts.

So I just will put this out there: I was suicidal last winter. As I said in my essay, I’m not entirely sure I wanted to die, but for months,  my mind was completely preoccupied with the thought of just not having to do this depleting, exhausting, whirring life thing anymore. The essay doesn’t end with a neatly-tied bow, but I’m (gratefully and thankfully) still here, and I’m happy to report I’m a better place than I was last year at this time.

I sent my essay to my immediate family and a couple of close friends prior to publication, and the response was warm. A few, “I’ve been theres” and other insightful comments made me know I’d made the right choice to be honest and vulnerable. Last night, I warned a couple friends that my essay was dark and that I wasn’t going to read it out loud, but if they wanted to talk or email about it at another point, I’d be game.

Greeting me this morning was an email from a good friend with the subject, “Dark? No, it is BRAVE.” Her email went on to chronicle some of the mental battles she has fought—and continues to fight. I received a handful of similar emails throughout the day, and my mental load lightened a bit.

I’m not sure my essay is brave, but ultimately, I made the choice to put it out there in the same way I’ve guided all my decisions with AMR: Is it the authentic story of what my life looks like as a mother runner? And hence, is it a story of how the lives of other mother runners could likely look? Because as much as we all want to be unique individuals, the communal connection wins 90% of the races.

I realize now in hindsight, the hardest part of last winter wasn’t actually feeling suicidal. The hardest part was feeling totally alone.

I’m writing this post because so that when I meet or connect again with some of you this year, I don’t have an elephant so large sitting on me that you can’t even see my cute AMR. tee under its gray wrinkles. I just want to let you know that you can talk to me about it, if that’s interesting or helpful to you, but you obviously don’t have to. (You may want to have a Kleenex handy though.)

More than anything, I want you to know that when I sign a copy of the book, “Many more happy miles,” I truly mean that.

Both for you and for me.
xo