This summer has been an absolute whirlwind. My head is spinning still as we spend up the rest of summer's days. I think I had an idea in my mind on what it would be like when I got back here, and every experience completely defied all my preconceived notions. There were things for which I felt sure I would be totally prepared that have knocked me on my back side. It has all left me feeling quite lost and very confused about how I'm supposed to proceed.
The biggest surprise this summer was, indeed, the baby! My husband and I had discussed for a while the idea and the planning necessary for bringing another baby into our family. We had made plans to try starting the beginning of the year, but, knowing about our impending move, to take a year long break from trying if we were not successful by March. In March I began to have terrible and familiar pains, so off to the hospital we went. After having these pains for a year and a half, I was diagnosed with ovarian cysts (pain level: think kidney stones). There were some in both ovaries. It seemed like our fate was sort of sealed - at least temporarily. I had never had them in my life until the couple years, so I began to research articles and ask a lot of friends about how this could affect my health. Bottom line - infertility was a GIANT likelihood.
We began the dialogue about not adding any more children to our family and just loving the three that we have, but it seemed pretty safe to bet that babies any time soon were NOT going to be a possibility. We resigned ourselves to the fact that we would need to wait that year and get life settled. Getting pregnant after March would mean a bit of a logistical nightmare, after all.
One night I began to have the same terrible pain, but there was another sensation added. The only way I can describe it is being electrocuted from my hips all the way to my knees. The cyst had burst (it was as fun as it sounds...ask anyone who has had one). It was about 20 minutes of the most cruel and unusual punishment my body had every dealt me. I was starting to get really exhausted by having constant physical pain...every...single...day.
Well guess what happened. 3 weeks later, I peed on the stick and saw two lines. I was SHOCKED! Also immediately terrified. My pregnancies tend to be very impeding and extremely uncomfortable, and I had a LOT to do!!!! BODY!!!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING???
Very soon after, I had my first ER visit this pregnancy (I dehydrate SO easily, so I often have to get help for rehydration). During that visit's ultrasound, the tech rattled off everything she was seeing, but something she said caught my immediate attention. She mentioned the ovary from which the egg had been released. It was from the same ovary that had the bigger cyst in it - the one that had so furiously ruptured and ripped through my nether regions...4 days before that tiny little egg needed to make its way on its journey. 4...days. If that cyst had remained or ruptured 4 days later, who knows what would have been the fate of the egg?
I'm just going to tell you. Being pregnant right now has been so, so, so difficult, but if any kid was supposed to exist, I have to argue that this little bean is. I don't know what the story for her life will be (yes. it's a girl) but it's going to be a ride if her start is any indicator. Do you know anything about ovarian cysts? Do you understand how high against me the odds should have been stacked? I had just days of remote health after having these vicious things for over a year! I was misdiagnosed at another hospital when I first began to have these pains, so they went untreated an unmonitored for how every many months I had them. The possibility of damage is another likelihood with this kind of thing, I've heard. The orchestra of events that needed to play in order for this baby to happen is an intricate one. It is music indeed. I am still confused and still terrified (sidenote: it doesn't matter how many children you have. It's still terrifying every time) but grateful.
So in January, Audrey Hazel Cheon is going to show the world what her face looks like.
The rest of my challenges mentioned in other posts still exist. Some of them have grown. Some have arrived - new ones (I know. I'm shaking my head about it, but roll with the punches, right?) I'm trying to reenter the world of being healthy of mind and heart. Though I never really left because the lessons of healing from earlier this year are seared into my soul, I don't want to stagnate. It's hard, though, folks. It's work to grow, and if something is zapping your spiritual or physical energy, you may not feel like it. Choose it. Choose with me to grow in spite of being exhausted.
I apologize that I have done so poorly with making additions to this blog, but I'm still hoping to do better. Thank you again for every minute you've spent reading all my disjointed thoughts.
Adieu, friends.
Friday, August 28, 2015
Tuesday, July 21, 2015
On encountering injustice
Back in the saddle. It's time to write some more. Just as before, this is mostly for my own catharsis. If it becomes beneficial to you, then I am so glad. My return ends up being even more than what I hoped for.
I have been very frustrated as of late. I have encountered injustice again...and again and again and again. I have had more barbs thrown my way. I have experienced more things that have broken my heart. It has left me feeling indignant and, in some ways, paralyzed because there is nothing I can do about it. So I have had to ask my myself "Okay, if I can't do anything ABOUT it, what am I going to do WITH it?"
What do you do when you cannot change injustice when you encounter it?
This is another one of those things that you have to approach from behind the scenes rather than full on straight ahead. My first instinct has been to draw my sword and shield and furrow my brow in righteous rage. Let me tell you. This has been exhausting...and fruitless. I mean it hasn't been a total waste. I have accomplished some things, but I have spent more time concentrating on how to find the weaknesses in the thing that I find to be my enemy instead of on myself and how to grow myself past my OWN weaknesses. Remember those? All those battles I was fighting so valiantly within my own soul? Well I had gotten preoccupied and forgotten them. It's time to readdress them. That is what is going to make my battles winnable. That is what is going to make these struggles worth it. That is the thing that is going to leave others feeling thankful for my victories.
Concentrating solely on the enemy allows bitterness to grow. And bitterness is a terrible vulture of a thing.
I have to reacquaint myself with the reality that there are people whose minds I can never change. There are circumstances beyond my control. There are hurdles bigger than the well of my resources. To wage those battles is embarrassingly futile. I had already learned that, and then I forgot.
I have found myself increasingly frustrated with people lately. We have had several issues come up all over social media that had people in outrage...but only one social media. There were people with whom I wanted to continue to share parts of my life to whom I had to bid a permanent farewell. As few friends as I've been able to have over the last 2 1/2 years, that was so difficult. That caused me to be even more frustrated.
But I can't change them, right?
Literally as I was typing this, we got some more disappointing news. More struggles ahead. More things...I...can't...change.
So what is my responsibility? How do I spend my life so that it isn't totally fruitless? I mean, no I can't change these things, but I also don't mean to sit idly by - slug-like - doing nothing. I still have to find a way to make my life worth the few days I'm going to spend on this giant ball.
How?
I don't know very much about life. I realize more and more the older that I get that the preconceived notions and trite formulas that my younger self felt sure I could trust are nothing but papery apparitions.
I do know this though. Love always wins. I have a love in my heart that, for whatever reason, has never been totally quenched. There has always been left at least a tiny remnant. I'm going to give it. I'm going to give it to anyone that will take it. I will choose it FIRST as the weapon from my arsenal. I don't mean to say that I won't mark those that I know to be dangerous or even monstrous individuals, but there is a way to protect yourself and not engage hatred or bitterness. I will do that.
I'm also not going to give up. Being told no is not something that has ever stopped me in my life. Ever. You can ask my mother and my grandmother. They will both attest to the truth of that statement.
I'm going to pray. It matters not to me if you adopt this one or not. If you don't, it's okay with me. Just use the others. I just know in my own life that I am the beloved of a God who doesn't want to see me fail. Struggle - maybe, but struggling causes growth. Failure, however, is not in His plan for me.
I'm going to go back to the principle several posts ago, and I'm going to PURSUE happiness in each day.
This life is a crazy ride. It just is. Just the moment you feel like you've got your feet under you, something collapses. Sometimes it's your own legs.
Just get back up...and take my hand. Let's just keep going. Slowly but surely, the injustices we face will be exposed for what they are. If we keep our hearts in check, our overcoming our struggles will give us a louder voice than we'd have ever had if our lives had been predictable.
So clear your throat and square your shoulders, dear heart. If the injustice has not already hit, it's probably on its way...and we're going to be just fine.
I have been very frustrated as of late. I have encountered injustice again...and again and again and again. I have had more barbs thrown my way. I have experienced more things that have broken my heart. It has left me feeling indignant and, in some ways, paralyzed because there is nothing I can do about it. So I have had to ask my myself "Okay, if I can't do anything ABOUT it, what am I going to do WITH it?"
What do you do when you cannot change injustice when you encounter it?
This is another one of those things that you have to approach from behind the scenes rather than full on straight ahead. My first instinct has been to draw my sword and shield and furrow my brow in righteous rage. Let me tell you. This has been exhausting...and fruitless. I mean it hasn't been a total waste. I have accomplished some things, but I have spent more time concentrating on how to find the weaknesses in the thing that I find to be my enemy instead of on myself and how to grow myself past my OWN weaknesses. Remember those? All those battles I was fighting so valiantly within my own soul? Well I had gotten preoccupied and forgotten them. It's time to readdress them. That is what is going to make my battles winnable. That is what is going to make these struggles worth it. That is the thing that is going to leave others feeling thankful for my victories.
Concentrating solely on the enemy allows bitterness to grow. And bitterness is a terrible vulture of a thing.
I have to reacquaint myself with the reality that there are people whose minds I can never change. There are circumstances beyond my control. There are hurdles bigger than the well of my resources. To wage those battles is embarrassingly futile. I had already learned that, and then I forgot.
I have found myself increasingly frustrated with people lately. We have had several issues come up all over social media that had people in outrage...but only one social media. There were people with whom I wanted to continue to share parts of my life to whom I had to bid a permanent farewell. As few friends as I've been able to have over the last 2 1/2 years, that was so difficult. That caused me to be even more frustrated.
But I can't change them, right?
Literally as I was typing this, we got some more disappointing news. More struggles ahead. More things...I...can't...change.
So what is my responsibility? How do I spend my life so that it isn't totally fruitless? I mean, no I can't change these things, but I also don't mean to sit idly by - slug-like - doing nothing. I still have to find a way to make my life worth the few days I'm going to spend on this giant ball.
How?
I don't know very much about life. I realize more and more the older that I get that the preconceived notions and trite formulas that my younger self felt sure I could trust are nothing but papery apparitions.
I do know this though. Love always wins. I have a love in my heart that, for whatever reason, has never been totally quenched. There has always been left at least a tiny remnant. I'm going to give it. I'm going to give it to anyone that will take it. I will choose it FIRST as the weapon from my arsenal. I don't mean to say that I won't mark those that I know to be dangerous or even monstrous individuals, but there is a way to protect yourself and not engage hatred or bitterness. I will do that.
I'm also not going to give up. Being told no is not something that has ever stopped me in my life. Ever. You can ask my mother and my grandmother. They will both attest to the truth of that statement.
I'm going to pray. It matters not to me if you adopt this one or not. If you don't, it's okay with me. Just use the others. I just know in my own life that I am the beloved of a God who doesn't want to see me fail. Struggle - maybe, but struggling causes growth. Failure, however, is not in His plan for me.
I'm going to go back to the principle several posts ago, and I'm going to PURSUE happiness in each day.
This life is a crazy ride. It just is. Just the moment you feel like you've got your feet under you, something collapses. Sometimes it's your own legs.
Just get back up...and take my hand. Let's just keep going. Slowly but surely, the injustices we face will be exposed for what they are. If we keep our hearts in check, our overcoming our struggles will give us a louder voice than we'd have ever had if our lives had been predictable.
So clear your throat and square your shoulders, dear heart. If the injustice has not already hit, it's probably on its way...and we're going to be just fine.
Friday, June 19, 2015
Old ghosts and new challenges
They come and they go. I hate the old ghosts. I can't ever be totally rid of them. As I have said before, I think I'm not supposed to be rid of them. I think, instead of seeing them as something that I should fight and then waste my time battling something permanent, I should acknowledge them and figure out how to do something productive with them.
We have moved back to be with the kids now. We've been back just over a month. It has been an absolute roller coaster. The logistics of moving across the country are bad enough, but apparently this time of year in this area presents its own kind of nightmare. It has left all involved in a state of exhaustion. Now we are just acclamating to all the new that is around us.
I can't say that I've been very proactive with my healing over the last month. My brain has been working so hard just to keep everything straight. That would normally be hard enough as it is with all the changes, but I also found out some more information regarding my health - I'm currently sharing it.
Yep. Pregnant.
I am so grateful to finally be growing this little life, but the timing probably could not have been worse. It makes me feel so guilty to even say that. I have so many friends that struggle with fertility that I very quickly recognize that I should be celebrating every beat of the heart of this little person, but I also feel torn. I did want to come back and give attention to my three little "already here" ones and to the new job I had planned that I would acquire. While the inhibitions are minimal and certainly not crippling, it leaves my heart asking yet another "Why?".
That sounds so terrible to me. My husband and I started trying to get pregnant months ago. We talked through all our options and how to plan and we had even agreed that, if we didn't conceive by March, we would wait until next calendar year. We did not conceive by March, and then the next two months brought a lot of really painful, hospital trip inducing pain that left me feeling a little certain that we actually may have to abandon the idea of getting pregnant altogether....well, gosh I was wrong. I think I got pregnant like 4 days before we made our cross-country trek.
Here's the funny thing. This is baby number 4 for this uterus and body, so morning sickness started two days after I found out the now grape-sized baby was cooking, and my belly IMMEDIATELY began to make room for its new occupant. ..awesome. So the whole idea of waiting to tell my new employer so she wouldn't worry about me not being able to handle things or even the awful experience of being treated like I was fragile (I am a princess. We know this, but something that my life has revealed is, fragile I AM NOT!) At about week 5, I told her I was going to sit at the restaurant where my husband works and relax and wait for him to get off, and she told me I should sit and have a beer. I had almost an out of body experience while I just felt the words vomit out of my mouth before I could stop them "Uh...actually I'm not drinking right now", and then I just stood there with an expression on my face that was so awkward, it still makes me hurt. She immediately guessed why, because DUH! The belly was a giveaway. One of my coworkers had even already noticed it. My ploy of loading up the pocket of my smock with bulky items did nothing to obscure the fact that there was a belly behind all the crap.
So also with pregnancy comes the emotional roller coaster and the fatigue. The fatigue I try to combat in my own ways, but the emotions. My poor husband. On one of the nights that I was leaving my job to go wait for him to finish his, I asked him to put in an order for me for the tuna melt (made by their chef - Oh my gosh. So delicious). He regretfully told me that they had run out of tuna. I literally blinked away tears while I drove. I straight up cried.
And there's also the being back in this place. At no point has being in this place been a positive experience for me. I have lived in 7 different states and moved more times than I care to count, and never have I lived in a place that represented so much terrible pain and utter failure. I have literally lost everything in my life TWICE in the 3 1/2 years that I've lived here. I don't like it here. It's hard for me to be here and feel the nearly tangible oppression that I have felt since my arrival.
And there is the reintegration with my 3 munchkins. Life has presented new challenges with them individually and collectively. I spend a lot of my day trying to figure out just how to tackle each problem. My heart has weighed a million pounds nearly every day since I've been here. More on that at a different time.
So my hiatus in Norman was so incredibly painful but helpful. It was my opportunity to come up for air, but upon my return I could feel the struggle of the waves I see now every day push against every muscle in my soul. This resuming of the "swim" has indeed brought back some old ghosts. Some I have fought well, and some have caught me off guard and left me crying and confused.
I apologize that there is not much of my usual presentation of a challenge followed by a solid confidence in a resolution. At this moment, I'm not sure of the resolution. I'm not sure of my next opportunity to come up for air. Right now, I'm just concentrating on surviving.
We have moved back to be with the kids now. We've been back just over a month. It has been an absolute roller coaster. The logistics of moving across the country are bad enough, but apparently this time of year in this area presents its own kind of nightmare. It has left all involved in a state of exhaustion. Now we are just acclamating to all the new that is around us.
I can't say that I've been very proactive with my healing over the last month. My brain has been working so hard just to keep everything straight. That would normally be hard enough as it is with all the changes, but I also found out some more information regarding my health - I'm currently sharing it.
Yep. Pregnant.
I am so grateful to finally be growing this little life, but the timing probably could not have been worse. It makes me feel so guilty to even say that. I have so many friends that struggle with fertility that I very quickly recognize that I should be celebrating every beat of the heart of this little person, but I also feel torn. I did want to come back and give attention to my three little "already here" ones and to the new job I had planned that I would acquire. While the inhibitions are minimal and certainly not crippling, it leaves my heart asking yet another "Why?".
That sounds so terrible to me. My husband and I started trying to get pregnant months ago. We talked through all our options and how to plan and we had even agreed that, if we didn't conceive by March, we would wait until next calendar year. We did not conceive by March, and then the next two months brought a lot of really painful, hospital trip inducing pain that left me feeling a little certain that we actually may have to abandon the idea of getting pregnant altogether....well, gosh I was wrong. I think I got pregnant like 4 days before we made our cross-country trek.
Here's the funny thing. This is baby number 4 for this uterus and body, so morning sickness started two days after I found out the now grape-sized baby was cooking, and my belly IMMEDIATELY began to make room for its new occupant. ..awesome. So the whole idea of waiting to tell my new employer so she wouldn't worry about me not being able to handle things or even the awful experience of being treated like I was fragile (I am a princess. We know this, but something that my life has revealed is, fragile I AM NOT!) At about week 5, I told her I was going to sit at the restaurant where my husband works and relax and wait for him to get off, and she told me I should sit and have a beer. I had almost an out of body experience while I just felt the words vomit out of my mouth before I could stop them "Uh...actually I'm not drinking right now", and then I just stood there with an expression on my face that was so awkward, it still makes me hurt. She immediately guessed why, because DUH! The belly was a giveaway. One of my coworkers had even already noticed it. My ploy of loading up the pocket of my smock with bulky items did nothing to obscure the fact that there was a belly behind all the crap.
So also with pregnancy comes the emotional roller coaster and the fatigue. The fatigue I try to combat in my own ways, but the emotions. My poor husband. On one of the nights that I was leaving my job to go wait for him to finish his, I asked him to put in an order for me for the tuna melt (made by their chef - Oh my gosh. So delicious). He regretfully told me that they had run out of tuna. I literally blinked away tears while I drove. I straight up cried.
And there's also the being back in this place. At no point has being in this place been a positive experience for me. I have lived in 7 different states and moved more times than I care to count, and never have I lived in a place that represented so much terrible pain and utter failure. I have literally lost everything in my life TWICE in the 3 1/2 years that I've lived here. I don't like it here. It's hard for me to be here and feel the nearly tangible oppression that I have felt since my arrival.
And there is the reintegration with my 3 munchkins. Life has presented new challenges with them individually and collectively. I spend a lot of my day trying to figure out just how to tackle each problem. My heart has weighed a million pounds nearly every day since I've been here. More on that at a different time.
So my hiatus in Norman was so incredibly painful but helpful. It was my opportunity to come up for air, but upon my return I could feel the struggle of the waves I see now every day push against every muscle in my soul. This resuming of the "swim" has indeed brought back some old ghosts. Some I have fought well, and some have caught me off guard and left me crying and confused.
I apologize that there is not much of my usual presentation of a challenge followed by a solid confidence in a resolution. At this moment, I'm not sure of the resolution. I'm not sure of my next opportunity to come up for air. Right now, I'm just concentrating on surviving.
Thursday, April 30, 2015
On letting scars stay
The past 2 days have included some really unpleasant emotions for me. I saw a video online of a boy at a poetry slam expressing the effects of his rapist being suggested as a Facebook friend for him. He was completely eloquent. As much as I try to give a voice to victims, it is such a rescue for me when I am able to listen to someone else be a voice for me. I "shared" the video with a caption of my own explaining that some of my Facebook friends are Facebook friends with my attacker or members of his family. The moment made me feel strong. I had a platform of activism and exposure to the issue after being given the resource of this guy's words. It felt good...and then it didn't.
Within a couple hours of watching the video and sharing it on my wall with my caption, I began to feel the darkness of my trauma come back. I felt the sludgy filth start to stain my insides again. I recognized what I felt and tried to put it in the lock box I have crafted for this type of trauma, and then I forced my mind to concentrate on other things. The sludge stayed though. It was content to stay in the background of my thoughts as it laid in wait for the first moment that my mind was not distracted by other things.
It crept forward a couple steps today, but I didn't recognize it. It disguised itself as the stress I'm feeling over our impending move. The disguise was only partly effective though. As I sat today telling a friend about some really wonderful things that are happening in my life, I found that a weird angry passion had entered uninvited into my contributions to the conversation. "Why am I so angry?...I sound so angry...what is this?" I thought. Even with this internal questioning of myself, the sludge's sloppy ruse was sufficient to distract my attention from it.
It crept forward another couple of steps while I was at the grocery store. I forgot to eat until late afternoon, so I was "hangry" by the time I got to the store with my husband and another friend. I wanted a cupcake. I had even picked out the cupcake that I wanted (because that specific cupcake was going to taste noticeably better than the other ones on the ceramic tray). The girl working the bakery was taking her sweet (see what I did there? "sweet") time filling out an order form with a lady ordering a cake for the birthday party of the child standing next to her. I walked across the aisle to where my husband was standing at the deli sandwich line. I ordered my food and then made excuses to Dan for my short temper by explaining that I was just so hungry. He made a teasing comment to me. I snapped at him and said a bad word to him that he did not deserve to hear. I began to feel frustrated that I was so on edge and apologized to him nearly immediately, but the feeling of something being present that wasn't invited was starting to register. Still the sludge had not totally revealed itself until later in the evening.
My husband is a very, very tender person. He is so attentive to me. Sometimes to the point of being embarrassing to me to be treated as someone so valuable. This evening he made a tender gesture towards me, and the sludge came charging forward to the front of my being. I literally physically pushed Dan away. I didn't shove him. I moved his hand away. He was offering me love and tenderness, and I rejected all of it and walked out of the room. He had done something completely sweet, but it triggered a memory. Something about it reminded me of a different time. The moment the sludge had been waiting for came. It swallowed up the tenderness my husband was offering to me and replaced it with the memories of times that I had been stolen from. I felt the infection of it poisoning our evening together, and I felt totally helpless and really frustrated. I asked myself and I asked Dan out loud when the day would come that these things wouldn't haunt me anymore. Neither of us were able to find an answer so we spent a couple hours in different rooms.
After our sabbatical from the presence of the other, he stepped into the doorway of our bedroom and, with the same careful tenderness that he always employs asked the same careful question that he has used every time this sludge has stolen a moment from us - and there have been so many. "Do you want to talk about what happened tonight?" I am ashamed to admit that my first impulse was to continue to "protect" myself from letting someone get close to my heart and to tell him "no", but I felt my head nod in a "yes". I asked him to turn on the light so he did and then laid down on his belly next to me on the bed. Then he just looked at me...and waited.
I began to talk through how I haven't been as vigilant about continuing my healing process over the last few weeks. If you pay close attention to my blog (so...my mom), you may have noticed that there have not been as many posts during that span. (again, this is probably only my mom) I am so thankful that people have found some of my words here to be helpful, but the primary purpose of this blog is, in fact, my own catharsis. When I don't actively pursue that healing, not only does the healing not happen, but the muscles of what is left of my spirit begin to atrophy a bit.
As I was talking, the light of sense shone through to my brain. I was ready to admit something that had been fighting its own way to the front of my brain in a battle against the sludge. This is permanent. These scars and amputations of my soul are permanent, and to pretend they are not does nothing but make me look like the emperor with his "fake" adornments. Cloaking myself in the denial that there are parts of me that have been severed and stolen only leaves my spirit vulnerable in a way that is not productive.
That is a hard thing to accept. I have fought that admittance since the first experience I had with being forced to do something to which I did not consent or being treated as an object. I waged my war against this realization even more furiously each time a new event would occur. I have spent more than 10 years of my life training my brain and soul to believe that, if I fought hard enough, I could gain back the things that were irretrievably broken or that I could make the scars from the darts and knife marks of acts of hateful people just disappear. That's just not how it works, so it is no wonder that I have spent so much time confused.
They are permanent. I have to accept that, and on this day, I choose to. There are now parts of me that are gone forever, and there are now scars that I will carry on my spiritual skin for the rest of my days. So what will I do about that?
The first thing I'm going to do is stop looking around for the things that are gone. I cannot regenerate or resurrect the things that have died or been cut away. Then I will be even more vigilant about strengthening the parts of me that are left. I have found myself to be able to compensate in ways that make life more beautiful than it would have been if I had never been altered. I have come to be aware of what strength in those parts actually feels like. I know now how to train those parts of myself, so I will not let myself forget that attention needs to be given to that. I will also celebrate victories. I have admonished others to celebrate victories amidst their struggles. I will allow myself to do the same. I will also give love, and I will accept love.
My journey has been really circuitous and really bumpy, but I have learned some things along this path of mine. I have learned that doing the things I listed above will result in the ugly voice of the sludge being quieted. So, sludge, go back from whence you came. You're not welcome here. I hope you've enjoyed your stay, but it's time you found the door.
Within a couple hours of watching the video and sharing it on my wall with my caption, I began to feel the darkness of my trauma come back. I felt the sludgy filth start to stain my insides again. I recognized what I felt and tried to put it in the lock box I have crafted for this type of trauma, and then I forced my mind to concentrate on other things. The sludge stayed though. It was content to stay in the background of my thoughts as it laid in wait for the first moment that my mind was not distracted by other things.
It crept forward a couple steps today, but I didn't recognize it. It disguised itself as the stress I'm feeling over our impending move. The disguise was only partly effective though. As I sat today telling a friend about some really wonderful things that are happening in my life, I found that a weird angry passion had entered uninvited into my contributions to the conversation. "Why am I so angry?...I sound so angry...what is this?" I thought. Even with this internal questioning of myself, the sludge's sloppy ruse was sufficient to distract my attention from it.
It crept forward another couple of steps while I was at the grocery store. I forgot to eat until late afternoon, so I was "hangry" by the time I got to the store with my husband and another friend. I wanted a cupcake. I had even picked out the cupcake that I wanted (because that specific cupcake was going to taste noticeably better than the other ones on the ceramic tray). The girl working the bakery was taking her sweet (see what I did there? "sweet") time filling out an order form with a lady ordering a cake for the birthday party of the child standing next to her. I walked across the aisle to where my husband was standing at the deli sandwich line. I ordered my food and then made excuses to Dan for my short temper by explaining that I was just so hungry. He made a teasing comment to me. I snapped at him and said a bad word to him that he did not deserve to hear. I began to feel frustrated that I was so on edge and apologized to him nearly immediately, but the feeling of something being present that wasn't invited was starting to register. Still the sludge had not totally revealed itself until later in the evening.
My husband is a very, very tender person. He is so attentive to me. Sometimes to the point of being embarrassing to me to be treated as someone so valuable. This evening he made a tender gesture towards me, and the sludge came charging forward to the front of my being. I literally physically pushed Dan away. I didn't shove him. I moved his hand away. He was offering me love and tenderness, and I rejected all of it and walked out of the room. He had done something completely sweet, but it triggered a memory. Something about it reminded me of a different time. The moment the sludge had been waiting for came. It swallowed up the tenderness my husband was offering to me and replaced it with the memories of times that I had been stolen from. I felt the infection of it poisoning our evening together, and I felt totally helpless and really frustrated. I asked myself and I asked Dan out loud when the day would come that these things wouldn't haunt me anymore. Neither of us were able to find an answer so we spent a couple hours in different rooms.
After our sabbatical from the presence of the other, he stepped into the doorway of our bedroom and, with the same careful tenderness that he always employs asked the same careful question that he has used every time this sludge has stolen a moment from us - and there have been so many. "Do you want to talk about what happened tonight?" I am ashamed to admit that my first impulse was to continue to "protect" myself from letting someone get close to my heart and to tell him "no", but I felt my head nod in a "yes". I asked him to turn on the light so he did and then laid down on his belly next to me on the bed. Then he just looked at me...and waited.
I began to talk through how I haven't been as vigilant about continuing my healing process over the last few weeks. If you pay close attention to my blog (so...my mom), you may have noticed that there have not been as many posts during that span. (again, this is probably only my mom) I am so thankful that people have found some of my words here to be helpful, but the primary purpose of this blog is, in fact, my own catharsis. When I don't actively pursue that healing, not only does the healing not happen, but the muscles of what is left of my spirit begin to atrophy a bit.
As I was talking, the light of sense shone through to my brain. I was ready to admit something that had been fighting its own way to the front of my brain in a battle against the sludge. This is permanent. These scars and amputations of my soul are permanent, and to pretend they are not does nothing but make me look like the emperor with his "fake" adornments. Cloaking myself in the denial that there are parts of me that have been severed and stolen only leaves my spirit vulnerable in a way that is not productive.
That is a hard thing to accept. I have fought that admittance since the first experience I had with being forced to do something to which I did not consent or being treated as an object. I waged my war against this realization even more furiously each time a new event would occur. I have spent more than 10 years of my life training my brain and soul to believe that, if I fought hard enough, I could gain back the things that were irretrievably broken or that I could make the scars from the darts and knife marks of acts of hateful people just disappear. That's just not how it works, so it is no wonder that I have spent so much time confused.
They are permanent. I have to accept that, and on this day, I choose to. There are now parts of me that are gone forever, and there are now scars that I will carry on my spiritual skin for the rest of my days. So what will I do about that?
The first thing I'm going to do is stop looking around for the things that are gone. I cannot regenerate or resurrect the things that have died or been cut away. Then I will be even more vigilant about strengthening the parts of me that are left. I have found myself to be able to compensate in ways that make life more beautiful than it would have been if I had never been altered. I have come to be aware of what strength in those parts actually feels like. I know now how to train those parts of myself, so I will not let myself forget that attention needs to be given to that. I will also celebrate victories. I have admonished others to celebrate victories amidst their struggles. I will allow myself to do the same. I will also give love, and I will accept love.
My journey has been really circuitous and really bumpy, but I have learned some things along this path of mine. I have learned that doing the things I listed above will result in the ugly voice of the sludge being quieted. So, sludge, go back from whence you came. You're not welcome here. I hope you've enjoyed your stay, but it's time you found the door.
Wednesday, April 29, 2015
A brush with luck
When I was a junior in high school, a Mary Kay lady came to our health class. She brought with her wares a set of makeup brushes. "One of you is going to win this brush set!" She instructed us to write our names on scraps of paper and drop them in a basket.
I really wanted those brushes....like real bad. I didn't wear makeup, but my mom did, and it was almost Mother's Day. Our instructor spent the class period telling us how to put on various products waiting until the end of class to draw the name of the winner. I spent the whole class period casting sideways glances at the brushes standing statuesque in their lucite jar. I was totally distracted and kept thinking about how badly I wanted them for my mom but how unlikely it was that I was actually going to be taking them home to her.
And then it happened...she did indeed draw my name.
I will never forget how lucky I felt. So embarrassed. It seemed to me that any other person in my class should have been given the privilege of being acknowledged as the winner, but it WAS me! I carefully packed them into my backpack and felt all day like I was carrying around the Hope Diamond. I hid them until Mother's Day and then exulted in the joy I saw on my mom's face when she opened them. She was amazed by my gift. She loved them, and that just made me feel even more lucky.
She still has them - or at least the jar they came in. Those brushes - my brushes with luck - had a lasting impact on my mom's life. In a small way, they have changed things for my mom for the last 16 years.
Lucky. That makes me feel so lucky.
Let me tell you something else that makes me feel lucky.
Tonight a friend of mine posted on my Facebook wall that Rachel Platten's "Fight Song" reminded her of me. I had never heard it before, so I gave it a listen...and then bawled my eyes out as I sat listening to it on repeat. What my friend was effectively telling me was that, to her, my name was synonymous with the sentiments of the lyrics. I am blown away by this.
A few years ago I found myself in a position that required me to fix my resolve and push ahead past some very huge challenges. There were people depending on me. I did not have the luxury of giving way to any self doubt, so I just pushed ahead. Then more challenges came and then more and then more and then more. It became exhausting. In an effort to gain some strength, I started telling people my story. I would share about a challenge I was facing and ask people to pray on my behalf. They would do that and offer me help any way they could, and I would watch myself scale the mountains that stood in the way of my spirit and then find myself standing on top of them looking over the splendor created from overcoming struggle. This would make me so happy and feel so grateful for the encouragement I received that I would share the success in a public way so everyone could feel happy about their contributions to my success. I was highly motivated to succeed by the knowledge of the people that depended on me, but I must tell you that the constant barrage of challenges left quite a bit to be desired in my faith and inner resolve at certain points. So I would keep repeating the cycle of sharing my challenges, waiting for encouragement and then watching my obstacles disappear into my past.
Then something new started to happen. When a fresh challenge came, instead of being totally thrown for a loop, I would remember "Oh wait. I can fight past this. I have been given the tools and the knowledge that this can all be used for good. Okay. I'm gonna find a way to accept this challenge and conquer it and then store the experience to be used for good. This cannot defeat me." This, apparently, has spoken to the souls of a few people. This, apparently, has given inspiration to a few people. This, apparently has started to provide me with a more far reaching ability to provide love and rescue to the hearts of people. I do not feel worthy of this. Sometimes it actually feels like I'm watching this happen to someone else.
I have more challenges that are coming in the future. I know what some of them are, and some of them are still a mystery to me, but I know that they are coming. I can also see something else coming, though. I can feel it, actually. My platform. For whatever reason, people are reading my words (someone in Brazil reads this blog...I don't even KNOW anyone in Brazil!...So..Hey, Brazil!), and they are listening, and then they are spreading the message that I spoke to them. People are asking for my story. They are literally seeking me out. That platform about which I spoke - I can feel it being hammered together under my figurative feet. I am watching more heads turn when the sound of the voice of my spirit utters the words I want to share. That...is a lucky thing. That...is how the world begins to change. To think that I am being ANY part of that blows my mind, but it's happening.
Have you ever thought about the fact that you inspire someone? That doesn't register very easily. I'm gonna be honest, it is really hard for me to associate myself with inspiration, but if I don't acknowledge that this is happening, I waste this. I am NOT willing to do that. I am NOT going to waste this, so, at the risk of sounding like a total narcissist, I'm going to embrace it! Because you know what? Me and my army of lovers of my life HAVE survived all this crazy stuff. If that gives me the ability to change things for the good, then I would be a FOOL to be self deprecating and pretend that I did not actually survive these things.
So I'm going to do my best to inspire people. I'm going to keep telling my stories...and you can bet I'm going to keep fighting my challenges. I will remember that I will have more brushes with "luck". I will be the "small boat" of which Ms. Platten speaks knowing that my little ripples can cause some big ol' waves because it's not a set of makeup brushes anymore that hangs in the balance - it's lives and souls. I will get tired and discouraged, but I will remind myself...every...single...day...
I really wanted those brushes....like real bad. I didn't wear makeup, but my mom did, and it was almost Mother's Day. Our instructor spent the class period telling us how to put on various products waiting until the end of class to draw the name of the winner. I spent the whole class period casting sideways glances at the brushes standing statuesque in their lucite jar. I was totally distracted and kept thinking about how badly I wanted them for my mom but how unlikely it was that I was actually going to be taking them home to her.
And then it happened...she did indeed draw my name.
I will never forget how lucky I felt. So embarrassed. It seemed to me that any other person in my class should have been given the privilege of being acknowledged as the winner, but it WAS me! I carefully packed them into my backpack and felt all day like I was carrying around the Hope Diamond. I hid them until Mother's Day and then exulted in the joy I saw on my mom's face when she opened them. She was amazed by my gift. She loved them, and that just made me feel even more lucky.
She still has them - or at least the jar they came in. Those brushes - my brushes with luck - had a lasting impact on my mom's life. In a small way, they have changed things for my mom for the last 16 years.
Lucky. That makes me feel so lucky.
Let me tell you something else that makes me feel lucky.
Tonight a friend of mine posted on my Facebook wall that Rachel Platten's "Fight Song" reminded her of me. I had never heard it before, so I gave it a listen...and then bawled my eyes out as I sat listening to it on repeat. What my friend was effectively telling me was that, to her, my name was synonymous with the sentiments of the lyrics. I am blown away by this.
A few years ago I found myself in a position that required me to fix my resolve and push ahead past some very huge challenges. There were people depending on me. I did not have the luxury of giving way to any self doubt, so I just pushed ahead. Then more challenges came and then more and then more and then more. It became exhausting. In an effort to gain some strength, I started telling people my story. I would share about a challenge I was facing and ask people to pray on my behalf. They would do that and offer me help any way they could, and I would watch myself scale the mountains that stood in the way of my spirit and then find myself standing on top of them looking over the splendor created from overcoming struggle. This would make me so happy and feel so grateful for the encouragement I received that I would share the success in a public way so everyone could feel happy about their contributions to my success. I was highly motivated to succeed by the knowledge of the people that depended on me, but I must tell you that the constant barrage of challenges left quite a bit to be desired in my faith and inner resolve at certain points. So I would keep repeating the cycle of sharing my challenges, waiting for encouragement and then watching my obstacles disappear into my past.
Then something new started to happen. When a fresh challenge came, instead of being totally thrown for a loop, I would remember "Oh wait. I can fight past this. I have been given the tools and the knowledge that this can all be used for good. Okay. I'm gonna find a way to accept this challenge and conquer it and then store the experience to be used for good. This cannot defeat me." This, apparently, has spoken to the souls of a few people. This, apparently, has given inspiration to a few people. This, apparently has started to provide me with a more far reaching ability to provide love and rescue to the hearts of people. I do not feel worthy of this. Sometimes it actually feels like I'm watching this happen to someone else.
I have more challenges that are coming in the future. I know what some of them are, and some of them are still a mystery to me, but I know that they are coming. I can also see something else coming, though. I can feel it, actually. My platform. For whatever reason, people are reading my words (someone in Brazil reads this blog...I don't even KNOW anyone in Brazil!...So..Hey, Brazil!), and they are listening, and then they are spreading the message that I spoke to them. People are asking for my story. They are literally seeking me out. That platform about which I spoke - I can feel it being hammered together under my figurative feet. I am watching more heads turn when the sound of the voice of my spirit utters the words I want to share. That...is a lucky thing. That...is how the world begins to change. To think that I am being ANY part of that blows my mind, but it's happening.
Have you ever thought about the fact that you inspire someone? That doesn't register very easily. I'm gonna be honest, it is really hard for me to associate myself with inspiration, but if I don't acknowledge that this is happening, I waste this. I am NOT willing to do that. I am NOT going to waste this, so, at the risk of sounding like a total narcissist, I'm going to embrace it! Because you know what? Me and my army of lovers of my life HAVE survived all this crazy stuff. If that gives me the ability to change things for the good, then I would be a FOOL to be self deprecating and pretend that I did not actually survive these things.
So I'm going to do my best to inspire people. I'm going to keep telling my stories...and you can bet I'm going to keep fighting my challenges. I will remember that I will have more brushes with "luck". I will be the "small boat" of which Ms. Platten speaks knowing that my little ripples can cause some big ol' waves because it's not a set of makeup brushes anymore that hangs in the balance - it's lives and souls. I will get tired and discouraged, but I will remind myself...every...single...day...
"I've still got a lotta fight left in me"
And hey, after you read this, why don't you think about joining me? How about finding that "fight" in yourself and traveling with me? COME ON!!!!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LVxon65u3tA
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LVxon65u3tA
Wednesday, April 15, 2015
On leaving Norman
I didn't sleep last night. Not at all. I'm literally trembling from exhaustion, but my respite from my troubles has come with the rising of the sun....it's my back yard.
We will only live in this house for 3 more weeks. I have lived here since November, and my husband has lived here for 5 years. 5 years is a long time to live anywhere for me. I don't know that I've ever lived in any house for 5 years in my whole life, but this place has been his and then ours. To be honest, I hated it when I got here. I missed the 4 bedroom house with a giant yard and fire pit that I left. I missed all my girlie everything. I was annoyed with all the natural wood everything and the fishing pole picture frames and everything being so masculine. It just wasn't my house. It was someone else's house, and, for the first 4 months, I felt like I was squatting here.
But then something started to happen. Somewhere along the way, I got "my" dresser and "my" side of the couch and the mugs I like to use for my coffee. (My favorites are the one that says "Dan" that he got from his mom and the ones that say "Baby's Coffee" from a coffee shop in the Keys) Maybe it was when we had a few days of snow and the whole place looked like something out of a movie. Maybe it was on one of our walks to the grocery store or one of my favorite boutiques. Maybe it was after "his" friends started to become "my" friends too....not sure, but I'll tell you this. I'm going to miss this place.
I'm going to miss being able to walk absolutely anywhere. I even walked to our wedding. I'm going to miss the buildings on campus. They're so much older than the ones I lived around for the 3 years before I got here. I'm going to miss the restaurants. Dan has taken me places with foods I still can't pronounce. I'm going to miss the birds. Anybody who knows me well at all knows my recent but deep connection with birds and feathers. Norman has this chubby, little grey bird variety that always seems to find me when I'm having a bad day. I'm going to miss the seasons here. I know the summers are unbearably hot, but I have so enjoyed getting to see snow again. Makes me think of my childhood in the suburbs of Chicago. I'm going to miss the one street of downtown. It's little, but it's cute. There's enough there to spend a day wandering. I'm going to miss the gazebo where we got married. I'm going to miss the walking itself. We have had so many talks and learned so many things about each other during those walks. Oh the things we've talked about. I didn't realize I could love Dan more than I already did, but I do....and a lot of that happened on those walks.
I'm going to miss the people here. I've spent my life leaving people, and that has left me with a lot of friends in a lot of different places. The leaving is always hard though. Dan spent years telling me about all his wonderful friends. Dan is nearly an eternal optimist who will see good in the ugliest of people, so I thought he was exaggerating about what his friends were really like. He wasn't. These people are gold. I've grown to truly love them. A long time ago, I had a sizable group of close friends. We spent time at each other's houses just about every weekend and always time during the week too, and then I went several years without having very many close friends at all. That was a sad, lonely time for me. I will never forget being at a barbeque about a month and half ago, and the thought struck me "Oh my gosh.....this is what it's like to have friends"....not hypothetical...not an abstract thought....me. This is what it's like for ME to have friends. I'll also never forget realizing that people here were talking with me because they just might actually enjoy my company. I got invited to things...without Dan. Just me. These people here gave something back to me that I thought was gone for me. I hope some day I'm able to express what exactly that has meant to me, so maybe this will help do the job.
And my back yard. We don't really have a back yard. We have sort of some space between the back of our duplex and the fence line of someone else's property, but when I look out there and see so much green, I just feel peace. The big trees speak to me, and those lovely birds prance around and stare at me while they cock their tiny heads to the side in silent conversation with me. I have watched the picture change from barren and cold and empty to covered with beautiful snow to burgeoning with new spring growth. It has become a view that is just for me. Somewhere along the way, it became mine.
I have not felt "at home" in a very, very, very long time. Dan and I have even talked about my frustration with this....but I'm feeling it now. This place, this town, this funny little apartment just off of campus has become home to me just in time for me to leave it.
So Norman, I love you, and I will love you forever. You made my life a more wonderful story. You gave me things and people that no other place could. For that, I am in your debt. I will carry your picture in my heart for the rest of my life, but I do have to go. There are 3 babies that have tugged on my broken heart every day that I have spent here. It's time to write the next chapter. It's time to continue this adventure of my life.....but we'll always have each other, Norman, won't we?
We will only live in this house for 3 more weeks. I have lived here since November, and my husband has lived here for 5 years. 5 years is a long time to live anywhere for me. I don't know that I've ever lived in any house for 5 years in my whole life, but this place has been his and then ours. To be honest, I hated it when I got here. I missed the 4 bedroom house with a giant yard and fire pit that I left. I missed all my girlie everything. I was annoyed with all the natural wood everything and the fishing pole picture frames and everything being so masculine. It just wasn't my house. It was someone else's house, and, for the first 4 months, I felt like I was squatting here.
But then something started to happen. Somewhere along the way, I got "my" dresser and "my" side of the couch and the mugs I like to use for my coffee. (My favorites are the one that says "Dan" that he got from his mom and the ones that say "Baby's Coffee" from a coffee shop in the Keys) Maybe it was when we had a few days of snow and the whole place looked like something out of a movie. Maybe it was on one of our walks to the grocery store or one of my favorite boutiques. Maybe it was after "his" friends started to become "my" friends too....not sure, but I'll tell you this. I'm going to miss this place.
I'm going to miss being able to walk absolutely anywhere. I even walked to our wedding. I'm going to miss the buildings on campus. They're so much older than the ones I lived around for the 3 years before I got here. I'm going to miss the restaurants. Dan has taken me places with foods I still can't pronounce. I'm going to miss the birds. Anybody who knows me well at all knows my recent but deep connection with birds and feathers. Norman has this chubby, little grey bird variety that always seems to find me when I'm having a bad day. I'm going to miss the seasons here. I know the summers are unbearably hot, but I have so enjoyed getting to see snow again. Makes me think of my childhood in the suburbs of Chicago. I'm going to miss the one street of downtown. It's little, but it's cute. There's enough there to spend a day wandering. I'm going to miss the gazebo where we got married. I'm going to miss the walking itself. We have had so many talks and learned so many things about each other during those walks. Oh the things we've talked about. I didn't realize I could love Dan more than I already did, but I do....and a lot of that happened on those walks.
I'm going to miss the people here. I've spent my life leaving people, and that has left me with a lot of friends in a lot of different places. The leaving is always hard though. Dan spent years telling me about all his wonderful friends. Dan is nearly an eternal optimist who will see good in the ugliest of people, so I thought he was exaggerating about what his friends were really like. He wasn't. These people are gold. I've grown to truly love them. A long time ago, I had a sizable group of close friends. We spent time at each other's houses just about every weekend and always time during the week too, and then I went several years without having very many close friends at all. That was a sad, lonely time for me. I will never forget being at a barbeque about a month and half ago, and the thought struck me "Oh my gosh.....this is what it's like to have friends"....not hypothetical...not an abstract thought....me. This is what it's like for ME to have friends. I'll also never forget realizing that people here were talking with me because they just might actually enjoy my company. I got invited to things...without Dan. Just me. These people here gave something back to me that I thought was gone for me. I hope some day I'm able to express what exactly that has meant to me, so maybe this will help do the job.
And my back yard. We don't really have a back yard. We have sort of some space between the back of our duplex and the fence line of someone else's property, but when I look out there and see so much green, I just feel peace. The big trees speak to me, and those lovely birds prance around and stare at me while they cock their tiny heads to the side in silent conversation with me. I have watched the picture change from barren and cold and empty to covered with beautiful snow to burgeoning with new spring growth. It has become a view that is just for me. Somewhere along the way, it became mine.
I have not felt "at home" in a very, very, very long time. Dan and I have even talked about my frustration with this....but I'm feeling it now. This place, this town, this funny little apartment just off of campus has become home to me just in time for me to leave it.
So Norman, I love you, and I will love you forever. You made my life a more wonderful story. You gave me things and people that no other place could. For that, I am in your debt. I will carry your picture in my heart for the rest of my life, but I do have to go. There are 3 babies that have tugged on my broken heart every day that I have spent here. It's time to write the next chapter. It's time to continue this adventure of my life.....but we'll always have each other, Norman, won't we?
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