The Feminists will come for me on this one, but right now a night at the motocross track with my husband and his friends feels superior to ladies night for me. As an avowed, card carrying, girls’ girl, I never thought I’d say this. I give a full-body YES to tagging along with my husband any chance I get.
I’ve established that my husband and I have distinctly different interests and hobbies. I am an indoor cat and will probably never be seen in the back country or at the top of a mountain or on an actual dirt bike. I never begrudge him his days at the track without me, long weekends skiing, or late nights in the garage. I think that our independent time and separate hobbies allow us to complement and truly appreciate each other. However, I will absolutely go out of my way to watch him race or watch local races with him and his friends.
Why? Because there’s something magic about nights at the track, squeezed between him and his friends on the bleachers, asking questions and covering my ears. There’s something magic about holding my breath as I watch him race and then running to hug him and sit while he dissects every turn and how he’ll do better next time. There’s something magic about sitting on the back of his pickup with a hot tea, getting to know his friends.
It’s these moments that keep us connected. They make my world a little bigger and signal to him that, while I may never fully understand his world, I love him enough to want to explore it with him.
Don’t get me wrong. I still get all tingly when I think about a spa day, a shopping trip, a long walk, or a night dressed up for deep conversation with my girls. BUT for me, right now, as I care for our fledgling marriage, an opportunity to visit Blake’s world will trump a ladies’ night. That will likely change, but in this stage, I’m going to throw on jeans and one of his giant hoodies and head to the track every chance I get.
xoxo Your Favorite Late Bloomer
I’d love to continue this conversation! Find my on Instagram @bailey_bowerman
If I’ve learned anything over the past couple of years, it’s that healing is a circuitous process. Often, the solution to one problem causes other problems, all with seemingly endless and increasingly burdensome possible solutions.
I worked so hard to gain weight, accept my new body, and celebrate food freedom that I was confused and disappointed that the energy and strength I expected with a sufficiently-fueled body didn’t come.
Months of unanswered questions and fruitless pregnancy attempts ended with discovering that I had some severe gut, immune, and hormone issues that required a seriously restrictive diet and intense treatment regimen.
The diet used to heal infections that were wreaking havoc on my body left me thinner than I’ve ever been. This lead to more severe hormonal issues. I’m now on a journey to gain weight while continuing to heal my gut.
I don’t always look or feel it, but I am different, maintaining recovery, and making progress everyday. My carefully curated meal plan doesn’t look like the food freedom I aim for, but I make choices based on facts rather than fear, and one day I’ll be healed enough to experience the freedom I seek.
Here are the actions and mindset shifts that are keeping me on track:
✌️I am now motivated by a desire to heal my body, rather than a desire to control my body.
✌️I know exactly what I want and align my actions with those goals.
✌️I check in regularly with healthcare professionals and therapists
✌️I check in with myself and my body before taking any advice or adding any new treatment.
✌️I listen to my body and its cues
✌️I am honest with family and friends about my journey.
✌️I rest without shame.
✌️I remind myself daily (ok…hourly) that my body is resilient and I will rise again.
A couple years ago, I learned to love a bigger body. Then, I learned to love a smaller body, because it was still mine, and it fought to get me where I need to go. Now, I am loving my body as it grows again
Especially in the alternative, natural healing space, there are plenty of experts ready to tell you about all of the “bad” foods you need to eliminate to heal. They operate in and propagate fear, making food out to be more enemy than ally.
After overcoming disordered eating, I refuse to accept that I will have to eat a restrictive diet for the rest of my life. It’s been a slow, painful process, but I’m adding diversity back into my diet after being restricted for health reasons for almost a full year! I couldn’t do it without the help of @nutrition_dynamic and @kristensmithdpt
I’m re-learning how to relate to different foods and how to help my body do its job.
In a world that full of voices giving us rules and assigning food a moral value, I claim freedom. ⚡️I refuse to cut entire food groups out ever again. ⚡️I refuse to make food decisions based on fear. ⚡️I refuse to be left out of celebrations.
I’m so close to freedom, I can TASTE it! ⚡️I will cook one meal for my husband and me. ⚡️I will savor birthday cake with friends. ⚡️I will make and eat waffles with my kids. ⚡️I will go to the fair and sample fair food. ⚡️I will enjoy dinners out for both the company and the food.
Recovery from disordered eating alongside recovery from chronic gut and hormone issues is a bit of a mind-fuck. I’m still on this journey and far from an expert, but I hope that my thoughts are helpful and encouraging to my fellow fighters.
I’d love to hear how you deal with similar fights!
I write this from bed at 5:04 AM. Blake just left for a snow camping trip (yes, he is voluntarily CAMPING ON SNOW), and I decided that I must collect my thoughts now, while they are fresh.
Loving someone who feels most alive when he is risking his life is not something I was prepared for. It is a unique experience, but I have a feeling I am not alone. I share my experience in hopes that some one feels a little less alone and perhaps benefits from what I’ve learned.
I remember when Blake and I first got engaged, I came to the unsettling realization that I had found something outside of myself that I loved as much as, if not more than myself. While love and partnership came with a newfound safety, I could not escape the vulnerability of knowing that there was someone outside of my body who, if I were to lose him, part of me would die. It was the first time I had something to lose. I am a naturally selfish person. That is not a self-deprecating statement; it’s just the truth. I survived a big family, a competitive academic environment, and a few cut-throat careers as a single woman by putting a lot of focus on myself and my survival. Despite my natural tendencies toward self-preservation, I came to this unsettling realization a bit sooner than I might have, because Blake’s commitment to chasing adrenaline put him at constant risk. I was all too aware of how close death was for the person I had grown to love so much.
A second, closely-following realization was that asking Blake to refrain from the countless dangerous activities he loves so much was out of the question. I absolutely could not keep him safe by stifling him and keeping him close to me. I knew that he wouldn’t be the man I fell in love with if he stopped doing the things he loves. I had to come to terms with the fact that he may die doing the things he loves, but I’d rather that happen than ask him to live a life of quiet desperation.
I vividly remember sitting at the big kitchen table in Blake’s farmhouse in Latah, Washington as he’d passionately recount his latest ski adventure (like a little kid, pacing the entire length of the room, not breathing, talking a mile a minute about the “sick line” he hit). I remember physically listening calmly but internally combusting. Outwardly and consciously I was interested, but everything inside me wished he’d “SHUT UP.” I regularly would completely miss chunks of his stories as I dissociated and left my body. At first, I thought this was yet another example of my selfishness, but after more reflection, I realized that it wasn’t a need for attention or a lack of desire to give him the attention he deserved. Rather, it was a reaction to the fact that the topics he was so excited about caused me to confront my fear of losing him. The stories of adventures that were exciting to him, as he pictured success and felt a rush of adrenaline, were terrifying and painful for me, as I pondered how close I came to losing him on each trip.
A little over three years later, things are quite different. I’ve learned a lot about skiing, touring, the back country, avalanche safety, snow camping, surfing, motocross, super cross, vintage motorcycles, skate boards, and boats. Our relationship has matured a bit, I’ve matured a bit, and I find joy in empowering Blake to succeed in his many hobbies and in hearing all about the many details of each adventure.
There are a lot of things I learned and changed in order to get here, and there are a lot of things I still have to learn and change. In today’s blog, I’m covering the first and toughest one:
A shift in Perspective: Adjusting my Expectations for Blake and how I Relate to him.
I no longer view Blake as merely MY HUSBAND-a possession, someone who owes me all of his time and attention and resources. Instead, I have come to relate to him as a wild, honored guest, and I have the unique pleasure of hosting him when he touches down to earth. I no longer wish he was like my girlfriends’ husbands who play golf, go on cute dates on the weekends, accompany them on trips to the grocery store, and make it to every family function, because I fell in love with a wild, feral Blake. What makes him so wonderful and wild are these things that he loves.
A big part of making my peace with this has been letting go of my ego, my western mindset, and my belief that his life should revolve around me. I had to shed the idea that I should be part of the banner moments in his life, because I never will be. The moments that light me up and that I look forward to are the mundane ones-the dinners at home, the evening walks, the long drives holding hands over the center console. In contrast, the moments that light Blake up are not with me. They are the moments right before sends it (whether it be the start of a race or catching a wave or skiing a first descent).
This doesn’t mean that he doesn’t love and value me. As much as he knows how to exist in the mundane, he chooses to rest there with me. He needs the steady, the boring, the safe to balance out the rest of his life, and I am proud to be an asset to him in that way.
All of this is what is most beautiful about him. This is what makes him such a wonderful partner. His ability to function in the face of adversity is unparalleled. The way his brain works, the elevated level at which he functions daily with little downtime, and the fact that he is able to make very detailed, reasoned decisions very quickly make me feel so lucky to know him and support him. Nothing throws him off; nothing I’ve ever said or thought has scared him. His ability to love is so big. He has the unique ability to see my imperfection, love it, and make me feel safe, all while demanding greatness. I think it is because of the training he’s gone through, because of his regular exposure to high intensity situations. I love those things, and I’m so honored to get to host Blake’s earth-bound life.
Marriage is so much better and bigger and wilder and harder than I expected. It’s not what movies showed me. It’s not what my parents showed me. Loving someone like Blake is such a wild experience. The best way I can put it is to say that Blake is this wild soul that I cannot control, but I look forward to hosting him from time to time.
Does this resonate with any of you fellow lovers of wild souls? I’d love to hear your thoughts! And stay tuned for Part 2 of how I love my adrenaline junkie!
I turned 34 this month, and my month-long celebration culminated in a beautiful evening with some of the most powerful women in my life. We met at the Glow Co in Spokane for a beautiful fusion class with the dynamic Angela Boulet. We moved, poured into each other, and got a little outside our comfort zones. As I sit basking in the glow of such a beautiful night, I can’t help but feel that this is my favorite age so far.
I’m solidly in my thirties now, and I wear that with honor. I thought I’d resist aging as my mom did (she longingly talks of being 23, wishing to stay that age forever), but I find myself donning each new age with satisfaction, cozying up in its newness. One of the benefits of blooming late is that the value of age and wisdom is a little clearer for me.
Make no mistake, youthful beauty should not be underrated. It is a gift, and I encourage those who have it to wear it like a crown. Unfortunately, despite best efforts and the many technological advances we enjoy, youth and beauty will fade; we have no control over that. I’m definitely aging; being married to a younger man makes me all too aware of that fact. Perhaps my hottest, most supple years are behind me, but I firmly believe that the best is yet to come, for wisdom, stature, and favor grow if we foster them.
I’m objectively less young and hot, but I know I’m objectively better and so proud of that.
I am proud of the wisdom I’ve gained.
I am proud of my virtue.
I am proud of the value I bring to every interaction and project.
I am proud of the way the energy shifts when I enter a room.
I am proud of how I make people feel.
I am proud of my marriage.
I am proud of my relationship with myself.
I am proud of my vulnerability.
I am proud of my resilience.
I am proud of my boundaries.
These things will only get better each year, and they make me feel more beautiful than ever.
Because of my experiences, each day, each mundane moment, carries more weight and more beauty for me. I carry with me every experience from the past 34 years.
The sunrise is more vivid, because I know what it’s like to see it rise on good days and bad. I remember sunrises in Russia and El Salvador. I remember sunrises after nights of studying and nights of dance parties.
Hugs are more delicious, because I know what it’s like to crave safety and true intimacy.
Leisure is sweeter, because I remember hustling and wondering if I’d ever find rest.
Books are more stimulating, because I bring with me every word I’ve ever read.
My age and experience give a delicious context for new experiences. In my mind, the beauty I gain is a fair trade for the beauty that fades.
For all of these reasons and so many more, I’m thrilled to be 34 and can say with confidence: THE BEST IS YET TO COME.
I’d love to continue this conversation! Find me on the ‘gram at @bailey_bowerman
We’re officially 10 days into 2023. The holidays are over, Capricorn season is in full swing, and January has once again surprised me by how NOT chill it is (January and I have that in common apparently).
Despite being a classic Capricorn, I have never properly set New Year’s resolutions, and this year that changed.
I’ve always had great reasons for skipping this annual ritual. At times, I resisted it because I had no desire to join the throngs who, swept up in yet another mainstream cultural tradition, disappoint themselves before Aries season even starts. Other times, I resisted simply due to my sneaky and only sometimes advantageous aversion to obligation. While I love structure and achievement, I hate it when I’m expected to act/feel a certain way at a certain time of year. I even have a vague memory of a more douchey version of myself telling some poor soul, who made the mistake of asking about my resolutions, that “I seek excellence always, so I don’t see a reason for resolutions in January.” (MASSIVE FACEPALM).
Unsurprisingly, the truth is far less soap box-worthy and more cringe-worthy. Isn’t it cute that we get so self-righteous when we’re resisting something that is in our best interest?
Luckily, the latter half of my twenties and beginning of my thirties produced a far more open-minded, far less obtuse Bailey. Here I am, solidly in my mid-thirties, doing almost nothing that has ever been expected of me, BUT I made resolutions and sent out Christmas Cards (a topic for another post).
I have come to the pleasantly horrifying conclusion that I resisted setting clear goals because they would shed light on my deficiencies and make failure possible. After all, one who observes from an ivory tower rarely gets stuck in the mud. And without defined success, I would never have to admit to myself that I failed. I could keep myself busy checking off lists and looking productive. I could fool everyone (including myself) into thinking I was accomplishing things.
Talk about sabotage . . .
Needless to say, in my infinite 34-year-old wisdom, I sat down a mere 10 days into the new year and made some clearly defined, realistic goals for myself this year. In the spirit of vulnerability and transparency (the mainstays of this blog), I’ll share mine (well, most of them;))
Blog Weekly
Practice Meditation or Breath Work 5x Weekly
Re-Acquaint Myself with Spanish (enough to have a full conversation)
Gain Enough Weight to Workout with Amanda Wilson Again
Throw At Least 3 Parties
Coordinate At Least 3 More Giveaways
I would love for you all to keep me accountable! If I fail, I fail. This is the first year I have any chance of true success.
What are your thoughts on resolutions? Do you make them? Do you keep them? If you make them, what are yours this year?
Let’s keep the conversation going! find me @bailey_bowerman
