I surrender.

My hand is outstretched high above my head, my palm wrapped around the solid wood handle fully aware of its weight; the flag gently waving in the breeze feels top-heavy and the white, square shaped material appears brilliant against the blue sky.  

I surrender.

I throw up the white flag.  My life has been cancelled until further notice.

I have always been a planner and prior to June 23rd, I had big plans.   In July, I would attend two separate fitness competition events.  Attaining my dream physique has been a goal of mine for years and what better motivation is there than being held accountable in a bikini on stage?  My training began January 25th and every month I lost body fat and gained lean muscle.  The sacrifices I made were paying off.  By June, I looked and felt amazing.  The competition was so close I could taste it.  

In August, my company’s flagship event (Celebration) would take place in Vegas.  My $200 ticket was purchased months ago. I couldn’t wait to once again dance in the aisles with my friends and watch as Mario Lopez hosted our formal Gala event.  Even Maroon 5 would be there as our very own private after party entertainment!  Our company goes big. It was sure to be epic.

Sounds great right?  

It was.  But, only against the backdrop of my perfect, happy life.  When Aaron’s heart stopped, so too did my life.

Yet, I still clung to a false sense of normalcy.  When my dogs were boarded on the morning of June 23rd,  I was adamant I’d pick them up “in just a few days”; the expression on everyone’s faces in the room telling me otherwise.  Despite spending the night at other houses the first week after Aaron passed, I always returned back to my house in the day time, as if trying to reclaim my territory.  The minute my therapist gave me the "ok" to return home at night,  I did so without hesitation.  When I turned the lights off those first few nights, restlessness and panic set in yet I held onto being home.  I gripped my room so tightly, not wanting to lose it into some abyss.

For the days that followed, I found myself clinging more and more to the life I had with Aaron.  I got myself back into the gym where the weights were symbolic of how heavy my heart felt. But, I was proud to be seen.  Look at me!  I’m kind of a bad ass!  Sure, I missed my July show but come September, it's a go!   I’m okay.

But, I wasn’t okay and I’m still not okay.  Instead, I’m grieving and in mourning. And, I just need to accept that.

Little by little I’ve started to let go.  After much thought, I made the bitter sweet decision to cancel my plans to attend Celebration.  It’s a fun event but not when all I feel is pain and loss. The enormous crowds that brought energy and excitement in 2015 will ubdoubtedly prove overwhelming this time around.  Through the tears, I got on Face Book and made a post that my ticket was up for grabs.  On social media, I see the excitement of my team members posting about Celebration.  In those moments, I want to throw my computer out the window of a moving vehicle.

The fitness competition is also off the table.  I was physically present in the gym but my mind and heart were elsewhere.  Since Aaron died, I haven’t been able to follow my meal plan.  Eating chicken every day feels much like trying to force cockroaches down my throat.  I’m always sad and I'm pretty sure chicken makes me sadder.  I’m not saying a huge tub of mashed potatoes would cheer me up; I certainly don’t want to backslide but if I’m craving a Greek yogurt, I want to be able to enjoy one without feeling like a failure.  Training and prepping for a competition was challenging even when I was healthy in mind, body and soul.  Training while being broken...well, if anyone figures out how to do that, let me know.  I’m all ears.

Clinging to my previous life was evidence that I wasn’t honoring the cold hard fact that everything has changed.  I was trying to move on as a symbol of strength and perseverance.  But, real strength lies in acknowledging and accepting that life is different right now. And, that requires pause.  It begs for some breathing space.  I need time to grieve, mourn and eventually heal and reinvent myself.  So, with that, I'm surrendering my old life and giving it to God.  That doesn’t mean I’ll stop experiencing or living life.  It just means I’m taking a sabbatical; I’m creating some breathing room.  The weeds have to go to make room for flowers to bloom. Like my friend Jill said “Sometimes putting things off is okay.  Sometimes God needs you to focus on other things like yourself.”   And, my friend Debbie from the gym reminded me that dreams don’t have expiration dates.  She’s right.  They don't.  

So for now, I just surrender and allow God to restore me in a way that only He can.  I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel like quitter.  I so badly want to continue to run my Isagenix business and go to Celebration and all the other mini-events that I've been missing.  I so badly want to prove myself on a fitness competition stage.  But that's all ego and non-acceptance of my current state.  Times like these require that I listen to my higher self - that small, soft whisper that implores me to just sit with the winds of change. Sit with the sadness, the loneliness and with with void that demands my attention at every waking moment.  It's time to pause.  It's time grieve.  That's where the healing lives.

Matthew 16:24-25 ~ Then Jesus said to His disciples, "If anyone wishes to come after Me, he must deny himself, and take up his cross and follow Me. "For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it; but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it.