town, and lots of coordination; fit in a few exercise sessions a
week; do a Bible study; squeeze in errands; throw something
to eat on the table; and fall into bed exhausted every night. I
remember at lunchtime the five to ten minutes required to
make a healthy salad was too demanding, and I rarely sat down
to eat. I was an oxymoron. A stay-at-home mom on a grab and
go meal plan as I bounced from activity to responsibility to
When raising our sons, I lived this pace of life. There
were exceptions, but overall I believed I was juggling a lot
without dropping too many balls. Unacknowledged anxiety
was my ever-present companion, and I used busyness to drown
out its voice and warning signals. Mind-body connection was
a foreign concept. My physical body was in fact sending out
warning signs, but I was deaf to them. Looking back, I shake
my head, in an endearing sort of way, and stand amazed at the
level of unconsciousness around my choices. My supermom
complex was alive and well. Such a pace is sustainable for only
a short time. It was about to catch up with me.
As I took on the demands of five children, multiplied
by the special needs of our two daughters, my body began to
break down. In the winter of 2007, freshly recovered from
mononucleosis due to exhaustion, my back started to scream
out to me with excruciating pain. At that point in life, I had an
uncanny ability to ignore the early warning signs that my body
spoke. A forty-four year old mom to children aged 3, 4, 14, 17
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