Gratitude & Surrender

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.