Today is another ‘color’ day…

Life is often clear as mud. The mysteries of the unknown make it difficult to discern what is what and despite our best efforts, we simply can’t control this uncontrollable…even on our best day, we are still merely predicting. And predicting through skewed humanness at that. 

That said, I think that while there is much we cannot control, there are some things we can. 

1. Managing our expectations accurately.
2. Seeking clarity rather than writing inaccurate narratives.
   1. AKA: Challenging our narratives through these two filters: humility (I always have something to learn because all feedback is relevant) and humility (I don’t have to take this personally because the world doesn’t revolve around me). 
3. Responding vs. reacting.
4. Asking direct questions and communicating direct instructions.
5. Being mature enough to handle feedback – Being mature enough to ask for it AND being mature enough to offer it.

So while today’s color COULD be ‘mud’ because every next moment is a mystery, I’m going to say that instead, it’s clear blue because today, I sought clarity instead of sinking in the perpetuation of an inaccurate narrative. And it did my soul good.

And those 5 things above – the pot talking to the kettle because I can always do better.

*Post 1060

It’s Weird Here :: 2/25/18 :: Post 175

I have EFFING cancer. And so much heavy on my mind………..

This battle is huge. Tonight I feel like I’m the only one acknowledging that. Tonight I feel lonely in the battle. 

My heart is so sad tonight. I’ve cried a lot. 

This is beyond hard for me…I can only imagine how tough it would be to be the caregiver. Constant selflessness. 

I have no boobs. I have no hair. I have pain in my body…I hurt – everywhere. My physical body…my heart…my spirit. 

Feeling beautiful is a chore.

I am constantly doing “work”…..I am working on myself. I am working on how to learn and what to learn from this.

Being a wife. A mom. A daughter. A friend. An employee. I have capacity for only so much. Yet expectations to do all this and battle cancer and be better…cuz, you know, the hard stuff is done. (It’s actually not, but it kind of is, but not really, but really……….ugh.)

My fear is that my struggle will be more and more minimized the further I get along in treatment. I still have cancer. I still have to battle. I still have to get up and make choices to be stronger and more resilient. I still have to endure. I still have much to learn. I’m tired. I’m exhausted. 

Everything. Literally everything. Is harder. 

The outside looks “good”…the purple hair, the drawn in eyebrows, the mascara on the thinning eyelashes, the brightness in my face….. and while I do feel better and what’s on the outside is evidence of that, the inside is wrecked. 

And I’m weary of picking up the pieces. 

The truth of the matter is that I am on the other side of some really hard places. I am feeling better. I do have more energy. I am gaining strength. My capacity is increasing a little each day. It is easier to smile and laugh and participate in the fullness of life. 

But I still have cancer. I still have unknowns ahead. I still have awful days. I still get scared. I still hurt. I still wish it wasn’t me. I still ache inside and out. I still have to choose to battle. I still have to give myself grace when I’m overwhelmed. I still cry.

It’s weird here in the place I’m in…..

Soul-Deep :: 2/25/19 :: Post 531

I experienced something very strange today.

I didn’t see it coming.

I didn’t even think it would be a thing.

And while nurse navigators, oncology professionals, radiologists and survivors offered a long list of things to ‘be prepared for’ when I was told I had to have a double mastectomy, this didn’t make the list.

I was sitting next to a woman today who was breastfeeding her baby. 

I haven’t breastfed a baby for 10 years. And even when I had babies, breastfeeding was one thing about being a mom that just didn’t happen for me. Me and the babies never quite figured it out and I ended up pumping more than I nursed. So…what about sitting next to this mom feeding her baby was like daggers in my soul today?

The sounds of the little peanut eating, the smacking of her little lips and the gulping of her swallows….. Strangely sent me into a very visceral experience of heartache. And where nipples once were, I felt pain. Literal pain. 

Was I yearning for what was? Did I hurt because of the harsh reality that cancer took parts of me that nourished my own children? Did I feel heavy-hearted because I never actually breastfeed well? Did I feel guilty because I didn’t love it like some women do? Was I feeling cheated because this broken body didn’t even work when it was supposed to? Not to mention the fact that not only would I never nurse a baby again, I couldn’t even have a baby again because cancer took those parts, too. I mean, not that Chris and I had plans to add a fourth but literally everything in my physical body that made me a mom is gone. GONE.

It’s one thing to go to war against cancer in order to live. And I’m grateful for this particular victory. But the battle leaves scars that run deep. Soul-deep.

Contrasts Within Contrasts :: 2/25/20 :: Post 848

I’ve got two things going on as I write tonight…

I was laying next to Chris on the couch and I was so uncomfortable…not uncomfortable being with him but being in my own body. I’m so not the same as before cancer. I feel like a foreigner in my own skin. I cannot lay on my sides without pain and when I’m on my back, my implants are so heavy that it is like a elephant is on my chest. There is no physical comfort, even in the arms of my husband.  Not only am I different, but our relationship has to look different now, too. It has seen some ‘you-know-what.’ It has looked death in the face. It has experienced pain in the deepest sense of the word. And yet, there is a connection between us that can only come from the depths of hell that we’ve been. My heart is heavy with grief but I am so thankful for him.

And the other thing:

Surviving cancer is learning to live slow because of what battling cancer taught me. But each rich, slow minute is filled with pain, grief and reminders of what cancer brutally took from me. I’m so grateful for cancer’s lesson of “be” but in the “be” I feel every bit of cancer’s devastation. Cancer created a connection with my body because I learned how to listen intently to what it was telling me. But in that, I now have a burden of knowledge that is persistent, intense and potent…Headaches. Watery eyes. Bloody noses. Sore teeth. Tight neck and shoulders. Painful reconstructed mounds of tissue and plastic implants. Arthritic wrists and hands. Upset stomach. Sore scars. Hurting back, hips and knees. Stiff ankles and numbing toes. And inside, my heart holds in tension grief and gratitude, anger and joy, impatience and trust; my soul wrestles with feeling like a fraud in my own body and my spirit, with a deeper faith, now finds peace in confusion.