Today I rode my bike.

It's been 3 years since I've ridden my bike.


Since the last time I rode my bike, I had a baby. I moved to Germany. I moved again in Germany. I returned to the US, moved across the country to Kansas.  I hurt my back. I  moved again. To Minnesota, my home.


In the last year, I have ridden the rollercoaster ride of recovery from injury, experienced, for the first time, anxiety and depression. . . traces of which remained up until tonight, when my 5 year old said, "Please Mommy? Come on, that lady who helped your back get better [my PT] said a REALLY LONG time ago that you could ride your bike."


That's true. Like 7 months ago.  Not that a Minnesota winter makes anyone want to jump on a bike, but besides that, I was scared.  Like I have been so scared of so many things.  But after an emotional week, after a day with prayer after prayer, I really wanted to get back on my bike.


So I did.  It brought tears to my eyes, smiles to the faces of my family.  For the first time as a family of four, we rode around our neighborhood, with Elsa flying down the street without training wheels.  Me feeling freedom from some of the shackles of fear that have been weighing me down for way too long.


I don't know that this is the answer, the end of my struggle, but I do know that today, I rode my bike.