"Steptember," or 300,000 Steps for TWLOHA

This September, I entered a challenge I found on Facebook--300,000 steps to raise funds for To Write Love on Her Arms.  That's an average of 10,000 steps per day for the month, or for me, about 150 miles.  As someone who generally averages about half that, this was a pretty daunting challenge, but since I'm trying to lose weight, and September is Suicide Awareness Month, I thought it would be a good way to combine two things I care about.  I had no idea when the month began how much I would learn through taking on this challenge.

To keep me motivated, I decided to walk each day in memory or in honor of a person or group.  I had a few people in mind:  a cousin who took his own life a few years ago; a friend who struggles with alternating anxiety and depression; celebrities whose suicides are well-known.  Some were people I'd never met:  in 1992 I traveled with Continental Singers for the first time.  The night of our first concert, I stayed with a family who warned us when we walked in the door that their teenaged daughter had just lost a friend that day, and apologized for the somber tone of the household.  We hadn't even met the daughter yet, when she burst into the house, sobbing, and cried out, "She hung herself!"  That phrase will haunt me until the day I die.  I googled "reasons for suicide," and found reasons I hadn't even thought of:  PTSD, having no one to turn to, chronic illness, feeling alone.  And then there were the t-shirts:  "The world is not better off without you"--people actually think it is; "You are loved"--people think they aren't; "You matter"--people think they don't.  It turns out that walking for these people gave me an even better reason to keep putting one foot in front of the other than just weight loss.  It was as if they were walking alongside me, spurring me on, giving me a reason to keep going even after they ran out of reasons themselves.

I also learned a little about myself.  Cory had a meeting at the church the first weekend of the challenge, so I went with him, intending to walk from the church to a nearby park and take their greenway as far out as I could, and then return to the church.  So, I walked.  And walked.  And walked.  Then I got lost.  Then I started following a woman, thinking at least if I collapsed "the sisterhood" would save me.  Then she went a direction I knew was the wrong way, and I kept walking until I finally came to a spot I recognized, and ended up back at the church.  Six miles, mostly unintentional, but I learned I can walk six miles, I can get lost and find my way back, and that greenway is pretty awesome.  I learned that I love walking outdoors, with a specific destination in mind, and not so much on an indoor track or treadmill (around and around and around . . .), and that I prefer to walk alone, but that walking is a pretty cool way to connect with my girls without the distraction of screens.  I learned that I hear God's voice a lot more clearly when I'm walking.  (This morning, I heard the lyrics of Whiteheart's "Over Me" in a completely different way: 

    And I feel His love pouring down over me 

    Warm, healing waters that set me free

    Safe in the arms of eternity

    Held by the wonder and mystery

    Over me, over me, over me.)

And I learned a little about To Write Love on Her Arms, the organization I'm supporting through this walk.  The director of Congregational Care at our church loaned me a copy of If You Feel Too Much, by the founder of TWLOHA, Jamie Tworkowski.  Jamie was inspired by Renee, an addict who also was a cutter.  Renee would cut horrific things into her arms with a razor blade, a reflection of the horrors she was experiencing in her life, in her psyche, and in her soul. To Write Love on Her Arms is about "flipping the script"--taking that horror that we've allowed to define us, and transforming our mindset into believing we have worth, and are necessary in the world.

We all, literally or figuratively, write on our arms every day. Sometimes it's literally a Sharpie reminder to pick up milk after work. It may be literally a carving with a razor blade, reminding ourselves of our perceived worthlessness. It may be negative self-talk every time we step on the scale or fail to live up to the impossible standards we set for ourselves. Those scars go deep and last for years. When I started with my eating habit coach this year, I got in the habit of writing positive things about myself "on my arm" every day (ok, it was actually on a post-it that I stuck next to the touchpad on my laptop). Weight loss became more about uncovering the real me, and recognition of who I had always been under those extra pounds. About the recognition of my worth. About seeing my beauty, at 225 lb or 150 lb. About loving myself.

What if we all wrote love on our arms? What if we all reminded ourselves every day when we look in the mirror that we're beautiful, that we're loved, that we're worthy of dignity? And what if we actually believed it? If you're reading this, I want you to know that you ARE loved. You ARE beautiful, inside and out. You ARE valuable. You BELONG in this world. You ARE needed. You DO matter. The world IS better with you in it. Say these things to yourself every day. You may not believe them at first, but say them anyway, because they're true. Eventually, you will start to believe them. Eventually, you'll even be able to look in the mirror and say them with a smile on your face. I know because I can.