Tag: mental health

Grief

Kristine Binder

Grief is a strange, relentless companion. It comes in waves, some so powerful they knock me off my feet, while others gently lap at my ankles before receding into the background. Lately, though, the waves feel more like a storm. The world is so heavy right now, and I can feel that weight pressing down on my chest. Everywhere I turn, there seems to be another loss, another heartbreak, another reason to grieve.
Losing my dad has been a pain I can hardly describe. It’s not just the absence of his voice or his laugh—it’s the absence of his presence in my life, the anchor he provided, the memories we’ll never create. On top of that, dear friends of mine are mourning loved ones. A young person I cherished as if they were my own has left this world far too soon. Each loss feels like another stone added to the pile I carry, threatening to bury me.There are moments when it all feels so overwhelming that I want to crawl into bed, pull the covers over my head, and disappear. The thought of facing another day, carrying another burden, is sometimes too much to bear. But then there are other moments—moments when that grief fuels a fire in me to fight. To show up for my children, my students, my community. To prove that love and resilience can be louder than hate and despair.
Being my mother’s emergency contact now is a new weight I hadn’t prepared for. It’s a role that feels heavy with responsibility and the reminder of how fragile life is. Sometimes, the pressure of it all feels like it might crush me. But then I remember: forward is my pace. Even if it’s just baby steps, I keep moving. One foot in front of the other. One moment at a time.
Grief, I’ve learned, doesn’t go away. It shifts, it changes, and it continues to wash over me in unexpected moments. Some days, I feel like I’m barely keeping my head above water. Other days, I find glimmers of peace when the waves recede. But within those waves, I try to find the strength to swim. To reach out to others. To remind myself that while the world feels heavy, we don’t have to carry it alone.
Peace is not always easy to find, but it is there—waiting in the moments when the waves recede, offering us the chance to catch our breath. Let’s take those baby steps together, reminding ourselves that we don’t have to face it alone. In the moments when the storm calms, we can find breath, and maybe even hope, together.
If you’re reading this and you’re feeling the weight of your own grief, know that you’re not alone. Take those baby steps, no matter how small. Cry if you need to. Rest if you can. Fight when you’re ready. And remember: forward is always a pace.
Peace,
#tutulady
#forwardisapace

Peace

Kristine Binder

This morning, I woke up in my happy place. Yet, something felt different. As I sipped my coffee, gazing at the water and listening to the birds, it struck me: today is Independence Day, a day we celebrate freedom. But today, it wasn’t just about national freedom; it was about my personal freedom. For the first time in what feels like forever, I am at peace. For over half my life, I lived in fear, always bracing for the next shoe to drop, tirelessly trying to maintain peace around me. The anxiety of keeping everything and everyone in balance was a heavy burden. But now, that chapter is closed. The peace I feel now is so profound, so tangible, that it’s almost overwhelming. To anyone who has spent years wondering when the turmoil will end, take heart: it does end. There is peace after the storm. When you finally reach that moment when the world allows you to truly exhale for what feels like the first time in your adult life, it’s like a weight is lifted. The constant feeling of impending doom dissipates, and what remains is pure, unadulterated peace. Even though our country may feel scary and uncertain right now, peace is still possible. The hope for that peace is what drives us forward. Our nation’s current challenges can make it hard to believe in a peaceful future, but it’s crucial to hold onto that hope. It is hope that sustains us, fuels our resilience, and lights the way to a brighter, more peaceful tomorrow. I share my journey, the good, bad and inbetween to give others hope. Hope that things do get better. Hope that there is a way forward. Hope that a future filled with peace is possible. On this Independence Day, I celebrate not just the freedom of our nation, but the profound personal freedom that has finally brought me real peace. Peace is out there, waiting for you. Keep moving forward, and I promise that you will find it.

Peace, #tutulady #forwardisapace

Fractured

Kristine Binder

Fractured means broken; damaged in a sudden or violent way. That is a perfect description of how I currently feel.
This week I took a tumble. I was standing on the high back of a chair to reach a 7 foot shelf. I lost my balance and fell to the ground from about 4 feet in the air. It was not pretty and I knew I hurt myself the minute it happened. I was trying to do to much and declined an offer of help which led to this fall.
I drove myself to the IBJI immediate care and was told that my wrist was, in fact fractured. The Dr. that diagnosed the injury(a man that appeared older than me) gave me a pity look and said, “accidents happen…especially to older women….” He continued to talk, making me feel like a feeble old lady. He failed to grasp that this could very well have happened to him if he had fallen from the same height. He was in the room for all of 10 minutes and laughed as he left. I was so stunned, and still in shock, that I failed to ask questions. I was fitted for a brace and still had questions. The PT did not feel comfortable answering some of those questions so I had to return to the Drs office to meet with his PA in order to ask vital questions (pain relief, activity level, cautions, follow up, etc).
I went home feeling really depressed and overwhelmed. Well wishes, and offers to help were many. I responded as expected of me….”I am fine.” “It is just a small thing.” “It is a speed bump….a reminder to slow down and ask for help.” “Its ok…just glad it is not worse.” But I was not fine. I am not fine. I am sad. I am angry. I am depressed. I am getting older and that scares the hell out of me.
I am angry that a Dr. minimized my injury and blamed early onset menopause for the fact that I was injured. Why? I am an older woman. Has he seen my other medical charts? Does he know my overall health history and know when I started menopause or did he make an assumption based on face value? What does he know about menopause as a MALE orthopedic Dr.? He did not even ask for details as to how I was injured. He just made assumptions. The way he spoke to me made me feel far less intelligent than I am. That is infuriating!
I arrived home and resumed life as normal, responding to messages and laughing about my fate….all while falling apart inside.
I am being transparent about my struggles not for pity but in the hope that others will do the same. We say to ‘check on our happy friends” and that is hitting home for me in a very real way. I am always the strong one, the one that doesn’t need help, thus vulnerability is not in my wheelhouse. In this moment I am beating myself up for my stupidity and brazen lack of safety. I am mad at myself for not advocating for myself in a better way with medical staff. I am sad that I had to deal with not only this injury for 4 weeks, but the rehab and pain that is sure to follow. I am sad that I have, once again, been confronted with aging and the limitations of my physical body. I am frustrated that I can not do the things I had planned for the remainder of my break, nor in the upcoming weeks and probably have to make other lifestyle changes for a while.
Is this just a speed bump, a reminder to slow down, ask for help and advocate for myself more often? Yes. In my rational mind I know this, however, past trauma and C-PTSD rears its ugly head at any opportunity possible in my life. And these past 2 days have been very difficult. I fight to diminish my anxiety and the negative self talk that fills my head. I struggle to find ways to rest and quiet the negative noise. I am working to find the compassion and understanding for myself that I so often offer others…which it is no easy task. I am really hard on myself every day but in times like this? I go above and beyond!
My motto in running and life is #forwardisapace, thus I take this day, and every day, one step at a time…..even if that is a baby step wrapped in bubble wrap! I have a great therapist who offers practical advice (I just have to implement it!). I have the gift of a few more days of winter break to rest. I have medical insurance. I have people who love me and check on me. I am blessed and never take any of those blessings for granted!
Right now I am be fractured, broken and damaged, but I will make it through today (and every day after that)and call that a win! I might be down right now, but NEVER count me out!
Check on your strong friends.
Peace
#tutulady
#forwardisapace

Panic

Kristine Binder

Thursday, September 8, 2016

I guess I fell asleep at some point because I woke up alone in my bed. It was not the first time nor would it be the last.
I got ready for work. The plan was to push everything out of my head and get through the day.
I got the my son up and ready. We were in the kitchen when my wasband came in. I told my wasband that we needed to talk. He told me there was nothing to talk about. I can not remember what he said next….but it was something that raised the eyebrow of my son. My son turned and, for the first time I had ever seen, stood up to his father.
“Leave Mom alone! What the heck is wrong with you? Why can’t you be nice to her?”
“Son….remember who you are speaking to and watch your mouth….” and my wasband left the kitchen.
My son and I went to school without saying another word.
I did the best I could to get through the day but late in the afternoon, while teaching my class, I felt sick….like never before. I have panic attacks and anxiety. I have been in treatment for these issues as these episodes have had very dire consequences. I know what to expect. I have ‘coping skills’ and  meds to help. But this was different…..
I sent a student to get my partner teacher. My partner teacher and I had worked together for 15 years at that point. We KNEW each other. I remember I must have looked bad because the look on her face was one I had never seen before. She sent me into the hall as I tried to get my breath. She walked my students out of the room to their fine arts class and then ….
I melted down. I could not breathe. It was the panic attack to end all panic attacks. I was breathing into a paper bag and she was trying desperately to calm me down. She went to call 911 and I begged her not to……I finally regained control …..over an hour later.
She covered for me the whole time. Not only did I feel like a weak woman but I felt like a failure as a teacher. I needed to get it together.
I pulled myself together as much as possible and got through the reminder of the day. I didn’t want to go home. I didn’t want to go home that day or any day after that….but home was where my kids were and I knew I had to take care them. So I went home……
Here’s to soaring again….

Divorce

Kristine Binder

Monday, August 15, 2016

Divorce. That was not a word that was used in my family. It was a dirty word. A word that was whispered. A word that was for others. A word that was like a scarlet ‘D’ on the chest of those “other people”.
I was born and raised Catholic. I went to Catholic school and even Catholic College. I devoted my life to teaching my faith to children, other children and my own.  I was taught, at home and through my faith, that we do not divorce. We pray. We talk to the priest. We go to Mass. We say the Rosary….we DO NOT divorce. Divorce is a sin.
My family does not “do” divorce. No one got divorced. No one talked about problems either. People stayed married in my family. That is what I wanted when I got married. I was made to believe that divorce was for quitters. People that did not do the work before or during marriage were the ones that got divorced. So I planned to do everything right. I was going to pick a man that was ready to do the same.
I dated lots of guys but when I found “my Guy”, I looked at his family. Everyone was married and no one divorced. Yea….good role models.
When I got married I was in it for the long haul. I was dedicated to my husband and would soon start family. As the family started to grow, my dedication and activity level grew too. I was “that” mom. I took the kids everywhere. We went to zoos, museums, sports, dance….you name it…I had my kids doing it. What I didn’t realize was …it was just me. I was the one doing it all. I excused it all because my wasband was working. He was always working (Or so I thought).
So I did what good moms do….I “mommed”. I worked and I “mommed”. I lived for the nights my wasband was home for dinner with the family or nights he would treat me like a queen by taking me out to dinner.
Years passed and the kids grew.
People always say that the wife is the last to know….that is so far from the truth. The wife is the FIRST to know. She is usually the last to admit it to herself and others. That was me. I knew. I knew the first time it happened and I listened to the excuses from my wasband. I let it go and thought that it was a one time thing.
The second time it happened….I let it go hoping it would go away…and it did.
The third time? Well..that was enough. I had had enough. My kids were older and other people knew about this affair.  I knew about the affair. What I didn’t know then was that this was not number 3. This was, well, let’s just say a number more than number 3.
I knew for over a year before I was ready to admit it to myself. I knew. I knew and I knew I was done living like this.I knew and I knew both my kids and I deserved better. I knew and I knew that I needed find the courage and strength to leave this toxic marriage. I knew…And soon it was time to let my wasband know what I already knew…..D Day was upon us.
Here’s to soaring again…..