Welcome back to Running to Myself. I’m so glad you’re here.
Today’s episode is one that comes straight from a moment. From a run. From a phone call. From a fall—both literal and emotional.
It’s about seasons—the ones outside our windows and the ones inside our hearts.
If you live in a place where all four seasons show up in their full glory, you get it. You know what to expect. Winter means cold. Spring means growth. Summer brings the heat. Fall carries that golden pause between the two.
And still… the unexpected shows up.
Where I used to live, in the Midwest, it sometimes feels like the unexpected is the season. I remember the winter of 2014—maybe you do too. It was one of those years when the snow just wouldn’t stop. One storm after another. We went weeks, months even, without a full week of school. It was constant. Exhausting.
Now, technically, it was winter. We expected snow. But this? This was excessive, even for Indiana.
Sometimes life feels exactly like that.
You know you’re in a hard season. You know it’s going to be cold, challenging, maybe lonely. But the hits keep coming. The snow won’t stop. And just when you think you might get a break—another storm rolls in.
Other times, you’re in what feels like spring. Things are blooming. Life feels fresh, full of potential. There’s excitement and beauty—and then, bam. An unexpected gust of wind knocks everything sideways.
That’s been me lately. A perpetual winter. A long, cold season with very few breaks. And every time I catch a glimpse of warmth, of spring coming around the corner… bam. Another storm.
Now, is that the whole truth? No. Of course not. There are good days. Sunny days. Even in winter, the sun shines now and then. But emotionally? This has felt like a season that just doesn’t want to quit.
The other day, I was heading out for a run—my favorite space for processing, praying, letting my thoughts breathe. Just as I was getting into rhythm, my phone rang. It was a call with really good news. Unexpected, complicated in some ways—but genuinely good.
And I got off the phone and just cried.
Tears of grief. Tears of loss. Tears of shame, if I’m honest, that I couldn’t just feel happy for someone I love.
But here’s the truth: I was happy for them. I am happy for them. Deeply. But at the same time, my pain is riding sidecar in this season, and sometimes it takes over. It catches me off guard and rises up, uninvited, and before I know it, I’m choking on it.
And that tension? That conflict between feeling joy for someone else while also feeling your own pain? That’s not easy. It’s not clean. It’s not simple.
I made a note in my phone right after that call. Just a few raw words that I didn’t want to lose in the fog of emotion:
How to live when the thing you want most feels so far out of reach. When it only takes a feather to knock you down. When someone else’s “problem” is actually their blessing—and your heart feels like it might break from the longing you carry.
I thought about all the people who know that kind of ache:
* Couples facing infertility.
* Parents mourning a child.
* Children missing a parent.
* People navigating life after losing a spouse.
* The silent pain of a breakup, a divorce, or a relationship that never got to be.
* The ache of loneliness when you long for connection.
* The fear of an uncertain future after job loss or financial instability.
There are so many ways this ache can show up. So many reasons our joy can be fragile when someone else is celebrating.
It’s a tender, sacred space. And it's so easy to feel ashamed of how tender we really are.
As I kept running, thinking and crying and breathing and praying, I tripped.
Literally.
I fell—full body, face-first—onto the trail.
And as I got up, I looked around. I knew something had caught my foot, but I couldn’t see anything obvious at first. Eventually, I spotted it—twisted stems of the wild Mexican hat flowers that bloom all over this time of year. They’d knotted together just enough to form a sort of tiny rope. Just enough to trip me while I was already feeling fragile.
And I had to laugh. I had just been thinking how that phone call felt like a tripwire—and now, I had a literal one.
Here’s what I want to say about all of this:
We can hold both.
In coaching, I talk about this all the time—learning to hold the hard and the good at the same time.
Not pretending one doesn’t exist. Not denying the other. But letting both be real.
I may have faceplanted that day. But it was still a good run.
I may be walking through deep discouragement right now. But I’m also genuinely happy for the people in my life who are not in a winter season.
I want them to share their joy with me. I want to celebrate alongside them. I don’t want their lives to get smaller because mine feels heavy right now. I want to be included in life—not tiptoed around.
So I will hold both.
I will celebrate their joy, and I will tend to my grief.
I will feel it all.
And I will refuse to gaslight myself into believing my pain isn’t valid just because someone else is happy.
If you're in that place right now—where your heart feels tender and your season feels long—I see you.
You’re not alone.
There’s no shame in longing. There’s no shame in grief. And there’s nothing wrong with feeling both joy and sorrow in the same breath.
One doesn’t cancel the other out.
And here’s what I know with all my heart:
This season will not last forever.
Winter never does.
And if you let yourself keep running—faceplants and all—eventually, you’ll see the signs.
The ground will soften.
The sun will linger longer.
The wildflowers will bloom again.
Spring is coming.
Thanks for joining me today, friend.
If you’re walking through your own kind of winter—if the storms keep coming, or if joy and pain are living side-by-side in your heart—I hope this episode reminded you that you're not alone… and that you’re not doing it wrong.
There is room in your story for both grief and gratitude.
For longing and love.
For falling down and getting back up.
If you found yourself in these words today and you’re wondering how to take the next step forward, coaching might be a space for you to process it all with clarity and compassion. You can visit trishastanton.com or click the link in the show notes to learn more.
And if this episode encouraged you, would you take a second to share it with a friend or leave a quick review? That helps others find the show and reminds me that these conversations matter.
Be gentle with yourself.
Even in winter, spring is still coming.
Until next time, keep running toward yourself.
I’ll talk to you soon.
