Courage

Reclaiming Me

8 Comments / Coping, Courage, Personal Growth / By / July 3, 2020

A strange queasiness in the pit of my stomach swelled to a lump rising in my throat, followed by tears, hot and salty against my cheeks. I told myself I was ready, but there are some things you can only be ready for by experiencing them. The loss was not only tangible, it was visceral. I had to look, to see it, to own it. This wasn’t a finger I recognized, the one I had spent my whole life with, used to hold a pen and write letters with. No, this stubby little half finger was disarming at first glance, shockingly so. And to me, ugly and unfamiliar. 

I hadn’t expected to see the results of my surgery and amputation for two weeks, but my bandages came loose on the third day, causing friction between the two surgical sites and it had to be rewrapped. I knew I needed to make a decision as to whether or not I would look at it. Yet. But the way I navigate a challenge given me is to face it head on, no matter how difficult or fierce. When the lab tech peeled the last bit of gauze from my wounds, it took my breath away and I requested a few moments to lean into the weight of the emotions that came over me. My friend held my hand as I cried. I was grateful that the excruciating pain from the metal was gone, after an exhaustive, difficult year. And I was heartbroken that it had come to this.  

That same day my boyfriend’s daughter was hospitalized for a gunshot wound and my roommate, who is going through cancer, was dealing with some very difficult symptoms. Instinctively, I wanted to be there for them, to help ease their pain, while managing my own, and they wanted to do the same for me. These losses were personal, connecting us by our own humanity and wouldn’t be resolved quickly. 

That next two weeks went by, in a blurred, dizzying array of heaviness, lingering and deeply felt. As intellectually prepared as I knew I was for my surgery, I also anticipated that there would be many more feelings bubbling to the surface and, boy oh boy, was I right! I had no idea how to traverse having a finger amputated because I’ve never done it before. As with everything I’ve never done before I tried to start with what I knew, and that was listening to my body because every response it shares with me is there to help me find my way. Between the upheaval in my living space and continued chaos in the world I simply could not hear it. I realized that a lot of that was my own fragility, both emotionally and physically, but this was all so foreign, and I felt lost. None of my coping skills seemed to be working. Literally, part of every day found me crying, seemingly out of the blue, feeling confused and unequipped to deal with the ups and downs that were ravaging my body. I wanted to record my feelings as I clumsily made my way through this new experience, to talk about the spiraling thought process, share those real and raw moments of mourning, and not just for my own release but in the hopes that I might help another person. Sadly, I couldn’t find my way to writing and wasn’t ready to let our collective situation disconnect me, but I lacked the energy to do anything except let go. There was no respite from something I couldn’t identify. So it remained in our home, clouding our normal, affectionate existence, shrouding it with emotional pollution, smoggy and stifling. Eventually, I made the decision to just let all of it teach me, to not worry about figuring it out or changing it, but just to sit with it. 

To be okay with not being okay. This shit was hard.

I reminded myself that I could be present for these men I love and share a home with, but I wasn’t responsible for them, nor them for me. I owned what was mine and they owned what was theirs and we showered each other with grace and transparency, working together to create the most loving supportive environment we could muster. It was the permission we gave ourselves to navigate our experience the way we needed to, and it is how we healed.

Fast forward to now and I find myself in a better head space. I’ve acknowledged the gravity of all this, the fog is lifting, we are all reconnecting and coming to the other side of our own trauma. Time offers perspective. I got my stitches out on Friday and now I am in the process of conquering the mundane and the miraculous with my new fingers. Both need time to mend from the incisions, and the middle one still needs to be splinted while the bone holes heal from the metal plate and 7 screws. Of course, there’s pain and a great deal of fatigue, along with the readjustment. I don’t cry now every time I look at my finger. In fact, I am learning to be comfortable with how it looks and feels. I experience phantom pain everyday, so I wrap the little nubby in a blanket and squeeze the end that’s missing to remind my brain there’s nothing there. The sensation of an actual finger is currently drowned out by nerve damage. It’s wildly surreal, kind of indescribable. I see it, I touch it, I feel pain at the actual sight and the sight that’s gone. It is odd to feel the finger that isn’t there but not the one that is. So I let myself experience it all. Every time. And I breathe. I breathe in hope. 

The art of reclaiming myself during a deeply felt loss is seeking my complete, unconditional surrender. It requires something of me, which is to remain curious, grow toward understanding and become a loving partner with my body, as it works its magic to render me whole again. Respecting the value of  grief and loss has been an interesting road. Ultimately, this is about coming to terms with me, without condition or judgement, accepting every emotion I’m going through as equally important and valid, every weakness, every fear, every bit of strength, fortitude and resilience. Visualization has helped me imagine myself as malleable, everything flowing through me, no matter how uncomfortable, feeling like one finger has sympathy for the other and wants to restore it. In those moments when the pain is too intense, I lay my left hand over my l right and invite the energy to move freely through me. I know that my body is a majestic vessel with a powerful purpose, and with time and synergy, it will heal itself. I also know, humbly and without doubt, there is beauty in both the darkness and the light and this process of healing has been both for me. Eventually, I will gift this little half size digit of mine with an appropriate name and a badass tattoo, to honor the sacrifice that it made for my body, and represent the gratitude I feel for everything it’s meant to me over a lifetime. 

The truth that rises to the surface for me is that even when it’s hard to hear, everything we need is inside of us, a lesson I learn again and again. The power of our minds and how our bodies can adapt to change continues to amaze me. I was in a place emotionally that I’ve never been before, unable to find my center, yet here I am now, on the other side of it, expanding my ability to grow, my gratitude intact. Everything ebbs and flows, the joyful and the difficult. 

As I journeyed through the last two weeks, unsettled and uncertain, I came to know that this was never just about losing a partial finger, but about all those little losses I have felt over the years since I got this illness. All those things that chipped away at me, those things I thought were part of my identity, that I have since come to recognize as a lie. This was about practicing self-love on a profoundly meaningful level, finding my absolute worth at my core. I am now and will always be so much more than any one thing that is taken from me. 

Gratitude & Surrender

25 Comments / Coping, Courage / By / August 7, 2024

I took a long, loving look at my body today. 

I’d been trying to find something to wear from my summer wardrobe and nothing fit. Like many people I’ve talked to recently, I have what I like to refer to as ‘pandemic’ weight. It’s a thing. That sounds better than saying I’m just too lazy or too tired and everything is just too much. I am acutely aware that I am carelessly eating brownies or rice pudding for comfort and pleasure and I own that choice. I also don’t like how it makes me feel or look and I’ll be having a talk with my disciplined self about that. Later. But as I hung the last dress in the closet, with utter disgust, I realized something else was happening and in that moment I was judging myself entirely on my weight. Entirely.  

I knew better. I’ve done this before. I was desperately in need of a deeper perspective.

As I turned around, I saw my reflection, in bra and panties, fully in the mirror. I stopped and really looked.

At everything. Every perceived flaw, every curve, every dimple of cellulite. I perused my body like a vintage book with dog eared corners and a worn binding, that tells a captivating story and has been deeply loved, and read again and again. I rested my hands against my silky skin and slowly followed the soft curves of my hips, closing my eyes and breathing in the emotions that flooded over me, and with that touch salty tears began to warm my cheeks. I felt the subtle heat of anger rise through me and realized that I had been uncharitable, punishing my body for betraying me, for letting me feel like I was lost at sea. 

For nearly a year I have struggled with excruciating pain from metal implants that were placed in two of my fingers, fraught with the promise of hope, strength and regaining the use of my hands. But my autoimmune illness had different plans and caused rejection of these foreign objects and now, after exhaustive, agonizing complications, and failed attempts to correct the situation, I am going back for my third surgery tomorrow. Definite, permanent, final.

They are removing my index finger. 

A finger that, from the beginning repeatedly blistered, ruptured, blistered again and eventually turned necrotic as it strived to heal. That resistance played out in a symphony of pain for the rest of my body with constant flare-ups and took every ounce of my energy to navigate through. I became acutely aware and in tune with everything that was happening to me. I listened intently because I knew my intuition would tell me what my body needed. Around December I remember experiencing this Knowing. A serene, calm and gentle truth from my core, that I would need to sacrifice this finger. So the whole of me could have respite.

While I found unexpected peace in that, there have also been waves of frustration and grief, and this raging, enormous sense of loss. Another loss. How the fuck did I get here and how was it possible that my hands would never look the same?!?! Never Why Me, but lots and lots of WTF’s! This was all made more difficult by the angst of maneuvering through these Covid-19 restrictions. The waiting was plodding and tenacious. 

I was speaking with a dear friend a few weeks ago who understands my journey with pain because we share that common ground. Especially now, with both of us facing new medical challenges and all the chaos in the world, he said that all we have at this point is “Gratitude and Surrender.” That was quite simply the most breathtakingly beautiful thing he could have uttered. The truth of that resonated to my soul and I knew with everything in me that those beliefs are what have sustained and carried me all these years, even in the face of unyielding pain and uncertainty. 

For me, this experience feels like being caught in the middle of an inhale and an exhale. I was holding my breath, living on the fringes of acceptance and mourning, and waiting. For answers, for clarity, for the doctors. All the while, unknowingly, laying blame on the body that wants more than anything to show up for me. But I can show myself grace now, for not knowing exactly how to navigate this kind of letting go.

I know the reality of this procedure will set in when I see it. I’m losing a part of my body. But I am as prepared as one can be for this. I am processing both the loss and the beauty of it all. 

My bestie back home affirmed me, saying, “And that, my brave friend, is how you’ve approached every loss in your life.” She’s right. That’s kind of my super power! And it made me cry.

So, with resolve and eyes of pure acceptance and unconditional love, I look again at this body of mine, that has sustained me, so many more times than it has betrayed me. I touch it with affection, look past the cellulite on my thighs and see legs that have allowed me to dance, to reach the peak of the Pyramid of Coba in Mexico, to stand and gaze at the beauty of a peaceful pre-dawn lake. Instead of seeing the extra pounds on my round, ample hips and belly, I see a safe shelter for growing my three beautiful daughters as babies in my womb, and feel the tender caress of my lover’s hand against my hip bone. Instead of seeing the jiggle in my arms, I remember all the hugs I have given and received over the years and the warmth of those embraces. My tears of anger turn to compassion as I remember all the freedom, joy and happiness that my beautiful body has let me experience, and losing a finger won’t alter that. I am reminded of the exquisite words that my friend whispered to me last night with tears in his eyes, that no physical loss will ever change who I am. Yes, there is abiding truth in that. And despite everything, I am vibrant, zestful, and surrounded by the most incredibly generous people on the planet. 

I have shared this news with just a few people in my circle, and, of course, telling my children was the most heart wrenching. But they are warriors too and they give me wings. Each friend has responded with encouragement and compassion, crying with me and encompassing me in profound reassurance. One even suggested one helluva Wake…Love that! And last night as we shared a toast with some kindred spirits, saying farewell and onto the next adventure, I felt that affirmation again, that I am much more than the sum of my parts, the size of my thighs or one index finger, and that as I lean into this lovely act of surrender, flowing with these changes in the tide, I am blessed with perspective and showered with unwavering love. 

I have everything in the world to be grateful for. 

Drawing Lines In The Sand

2 Comments / Courage, Personal Growth / By / June 11, 2020

We have all been hurt, betrayed, ghosted, or mistreated, and because of that, boundaries are a necessary part of living. The common thing I hear is that it can be difficult to define, especially when we are dealing with people we have loved deeply, shared dark secrets with or grown up with, like our family. Life is messy and personal, those ties run deep and the lines get blurred by emotional attachment and occasionally fear of the consequence. Sometimes, completely cutting ties, for our own sanity and well being, is our best choice, although not a black and white one. Other times we have to simply decide what kind of behavior we will allow while still seeing those people, and it is a balancing act, one that requires assertiveness, yet can also make us feel guilty and uncomfortable. It is a learned skill, to be able to create clear emotional lines to protect ourselves. You can still be a kind person, hold your ground and your power at once. In fact, if you’re doing it right, that’s exactly how it looks.

So how do you know what is fair and right? 

For me, it is all about recognizing my inner motivation and how it manifests in my body. If I pay attention, I’ll always recognize truth, because my gut speaks it. It’s also a matter of working through my feelings before I react or make any life choices. I strive to never make important decisions when I’m in emotional upheaval. After I’ve been hurt it is common to carry residual emotions that can be confusing. Once I sit with, sort and identify them, I have a better chance of responding in a way that serves my higher, best self. We all have a higher, best self. 

Grudges are heavy, life sucking, joy robbers that come from a place of unresolved anger, hurt, or vengeance. The weight of carrying it often brings bitterness and angst, even at the very name of the person. It’s ultimately toxic, incites negative emotions and keeps you stuck. It can feel like you’re protecting yourself, but you are only adding hurt to an already difficult situation. You armor up, block out everything, even the good stuff, instead of moving through the pain. 

Establishing boundaries, however, leaves you feeling serene, expands your heart, creating space for those healthy relationships that are meant to nurture your life. These derive from self-love and awareness that allows you to see your worth and only accept behavior from others that aligns with that. There is peace, healing and contentment in your choice. That person may still be out of your life, but you send them away with love, goodness and light. You also accept that they are in a different place, one that doesn’t match yours, and doesn’t require your judgment or energy. Yeah, that sounds kind of woo-woo, but it’s also a Universal truth, one that has held fast for me again and again. You will always know by the stirrings in you if you are making boundaries or holding grudges. 

It has been my personal experience that this is not something I do once, but a practice I’ve had to visit again and again, because sometimes my heart gets the best of me, or the dysfunctional role I’ve played in these people’s lives comes back like muscle memory. I certainly didn’t grow up knowing how to take care of myself emotionally, in fact I was the one in charge of everyone’s else’s, so I had to adopt this trait for my own well being. Each time I do it, I am stronger and better at finding my way, listening to my intuition, because, again, it always knows. 

I recently had to revisit some boundaries with my family, my dad in particular, a man I’ve had to draw clear lines in the sand with for years. I was thrown off guard by old emotions that bubbled to the surface when I was being manipulated and bullied in a phone conversation with him. At 59, I found myself in tears, responding like a child with no voice, feeling beat up and kicked in the gut. Because essentially I had been. 

After I hung up I had to take a step back and evaluate where those feelings were coming from. Eventually, after sitting with it for a time, recognizing my part in it and re-centering to the person I am now, I was able to stay true to myself, reach out with compassion, and still remain clear on what I needed and would not accept from him. Of course, at first this feels mean. This is my dad we’re talking about, and yes, it’s very personal. 

But I matter. Let me say that again. I MATTER.

And no one will take care of me if I don’t take care of myself. I have learned that I can respond to these situations with firmness, clarity and positive energy without falling back into old destructive patterns where I am being used up and shut down by their needs. I decide how much I am willing or able to give. With zero guilt. I also decide to remain soft in a harsh situation. That is vital for me. I will not let my experiences leave me bitter. And, YES, it is a decision. It felt really good to know that I could do all of this at once.

I spend my time now in loving, reciprocal, positive relationships where I am heard and respected. I’m a giver, and when I need to take a step back, I see it more quickly and do it with ease and no resentment. I’m not perfect at this, but I won’t be an afterthought and you don’t get to wipe your shoes on me, so I’ll keep at it.

Give yourself permission in this moment to not take any shit and still be beautifully kind. Own your power without ire. The more you practice this form of loving self-care, the easier it will be to recognize your truth and what you need to do.

For you. 

Bravery Is In The Boxes

Leave a Comment / Courage / By / April 25, 2020

(Author note, this post was written in the Fall of 2014 as I prepared myself for my cross country move from Idaho to North Carolina)

Bravery, courage, conviction…they come disguised in the mundane. The daily art of living that often requires the strength we didn’t know we had until we needed it, the fight we didn’t have in us until we used it, the sheer will to move forward because going backward just wasn’t an option. For me, Bravery is in the Boxes…as I carefully sort my belongings, some precious, some just accumulated over time, I find tears flowing, emotions stirring and the realization that my life will never look like this again. And it is liberating, empowering and heartbreaking all at once. I am stepping away from everything comfortable, everything I know, leaving my children and my grandchildren, who are my heart, and those friends that have surrounded me with nurturing belief and unwavering support. This is what it sounded like in my head, at warp speed, and with no rhyme or reason…

I had a moment…a meltdown moment…when I realized that at age 53, my entire life fits into boxes, several of them, but boxes still the same. Donation boxes, consignment boxes, take with me boxes and of course, throw away boxes. My kitchen gadgets that helped me create loving meals for my family, my artwork that spoke to me, but I will part with for lack of space, my photos, letters, articles I’ve collected, movies I love, trinkets, whatnots and other things that only mean something to me. My very sexy lingerie that I wore when I finally embraced my sensual self, my fabulous vintage winter coats, the teddy bear from my bestie that comforted me during recovery, the scrapbooking supplies that recounted my children’s early years, the pottery my daughters made that I couldn’t possibly choose from, the Christmas ornaments I have collected over time that I would be passing along to my children and leaving behind…So I cried, a lot, and then I cried some more.

But I know that putting my life into boxes completely opens me up…empowers me, frees me, gives me wings!

This shift is making a permanent change in the landscape of who I am.

And these are boxes of my choosing. Not those emotional ones that I have lived in for years that belonged to other people or religious and societal expectations. 

When I pull out of my driveway in 5 weeks, car loaded to the top with whatever I have chosen most valuable, I will be leaving this part of my story and writing a new chapter in a life that has been blessed by virtue and failings, victory and defeat, passion and heartache. Every mistake, every amazing experience, every discovery will forever be part of the fabric of my life.

For all the things I have stepped away from, the door has opened for many more life changing opportunities, blessings and the absolute realization of the true nature of friendship, my capacity to love with passion, my rich and rare can-do attitude and that all the things I call home are here, in me, in my heart!

Even if I came back here, it would never look the same, and that’s bittersweet, because perspective should grow with experience, but that requires letting go. Grieving through to the next thing. The unknown. And that pain is why many people never do it. 

So I take a deep breath and continue, sorting, sifting through memories, carefully laying out the remnants of my life.

Indeed, the Bravery is in the Boxes!

Find Your Own Kind Of Bravery

Leave a Comment / Courage / By / September 3, 2020

The biggest hurdle that traveling helped me overcome is that I now know I can do it. It unveiled in me a level of body awareness and connection I haven’t experienced before, I know that a quick trip to Mexico doesn’t make me any kind of travel expert and certainly isn’t the same as a long exhaustive trip to Europe. But still, I found myself overcoming obstacles, through my pain and depletion, that I didn’t know I could conquer until I was doing them. I guess that’s pretty much how any of us live life in its unpredictability, isn’t it? We either choose to go, or we don’t.

  • A quick and whimsical pose between food, sight seeing and power shopping….yeah, he’s a lucky guy!

Yeah, conquered that thing!! Only 120 steps, straight up….thank goodness for my people. Seriously. They held me together.

Carrying around a potentially fatal disease has shifted something in me. Certainly not all bad, but yes, a very real transformation.

I don’t wanna think about my mortality. But I do. I don’t wanna be apprehensive about doing things I’ve
never done. But I am. I don’t wanna carry shame for being sick. But I do.

I want to believe I am brave. That this illness isn’t bigger than me and kicking my collective ass.

And I guess somewhere along the line and only recently, I realized I AM brave. Because I can acknowledge and honor these feelings in my body and still move through them. I can sit with them, become friends with that part of me that feels ugly, exhausted, and like giving up. That is how we conquer them. And conquering those things which feel foreign, unwanted and uncertain is the very essence of being brave. We don’t have to do it all at once or in great big grandiose ways. It really does manifest by putting one foot in front of the other, taking any steps we can and simply going.

So I’m here to encourage you to keep on keeping on, to continue challenging yourself with new things that call to you, whether it’s emotional or physical. Put yourself out there, don’t be afraid to jump those hurdles so you can live a great big gorgeous life!! In ways that fit for you. You will never regret the things you attempted as much as the things you didn’t, and oh my goodness, the results can be incredible!!

  • Getting ready to tour the island of Cozumel, in style!
  • I would’ve missed all this had I given up. Oh, and it would’ve been so easy to do. So much walking and relentless heat. But something in me was more fierce than my pain and fatigue.

  • The sacred majesty of ancient Tulum, quite possibly the most breathtaking and extraordinary place I’ve ever explored. So far….