I am celebrating


I’m dealing with a lot. Probably not as much as some people but more than I’ve ever had to deal with before. I’m trying to be strong and not let my problems define me. I have these amazing examples of strength right in front of me all day every day. I want so much to be like them but I’m failing miserably. Well actually that’s the crux of this. I’m not failing, I just deal with things differently and I need to learn to be ok with that. I feel sad sometimes. I cry. I feel sorry for myself. I need to be okay with that, go through the emotions and then get back on track. It’s ok not to be this pillar of strength all the time.

I have been on this journey to get myself healthy and strong again. I have been comparing my results to past results or other people’s successes and coming up lacking. Losing weight is a challenge – mentally and physically. I have been letting my comparisons pull me into this negative space. I’m not doing enough, I’m not strong enough, I’m a disappointment. I haven’t lost enough weight. I’m a failure.

I have reacted in anger and defensiveness at the simplest suggestions – things I used to be confident enough to let roll off my back. Despite the gentle reminders of my friends (to whom I have not always been so nice) I let my lack of confidence turn into a lack of trust. I have allowed my negative headspace to impact my thought processes and everything seems like a slight or a criticism.

I have spent a lot of time and energy focusing on what I have not accomplished in my life and how my past choices have impacted my health now. Yes I have made bad choices that have caused me problems, it is what it is and now more than ever I need to focus on staying positive and continuing my journey to better health.

I have not “only” lost 43 pounds since 7/16/17. I have lost an average of a pound a week. I have not failed to meet my goals, I have done what I set out to do. I have lost weight and gotten healthier. I need to live my own mantra and celebrate the victories – large or small. My pants sag, I’ve had to buy some new clothes because the spring clothes from last year are too large.

I haven’t failed to get back to the gym. I was dealing with illness and fatigue and pain and medicine side effects that were impacting my life. Instead of beating myself up for what I haven’t done, I need to focus on what I can do. I can walk from the lot to my office without being out of breath. That might not seem like much but it’s enough. For now.

I got some excellent news yesterday and I was very happy. People told me I need to celebrate. That was a foreign concept to me. Celebrate what? Sure I am pleased but I’ve failed to accomplish my goals so I shouldn’t be celebrating anything.

I need to regroup. I need to pull myself out of this negative headspace and be okay with who I am now and what I have accomplished. I need to stop feeling sorry for myself.

I am strong in my own way. Maybe not as strong as some of the amazing women in my life and maybe not every day but that’s enough. I am smart, I am successful, I am learning and growing and becoming a better me.

I am happy and content. I am celebrating my successes. I have lost 43 pounds. I have taught myself to cook clean and healthy. I have created a lovely home for myself. I have helped to shape an amazing young woman into the person she is today. I have found a safe place emotionally and physically in which to exist.

I have found a good career and become a force to be reckoned with. I get accolades for what I do regularly at my job – I earned them and I deserve them. I have worked hard to be the best and while I’m not perfect I am an excellent Credit Manager. Recently my job has been highly scrutinized and dissected to the nth degree. I’ve worked long hard hours to show my results and what I have accomplished with the mess I inherited two years ago. Instead of saying “Ok bring it on I can handle anything” I’ve become angry and taciturn. I’ve reacted defensively and allowed paranoia and self doubt to impact my decision-making ability.

It’s all related. I’ve lost myself in the negativity.

I’m solid. I’m aware. I’m re-evaluating. I’m re-grouping. I’m taking life’s lemons and making lemonade.

I am celebrating my weight loss. I am reveling in the joy of my recent good news. I am telling the scrutinizers to BRING IT ON because my numbers will withstand any scrutiny because I am a rock star.

I am strong.

I am successful.

I am celebrating my life.

I am moving forward.

I am learning and growing.

Who I am is good. What I’ve done is great. I can do this because I am positive and I am a good.

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I am strong


I am good. I am happy. I am positive. I am worthy. 

I am strong. 

I have been feeling this cloud of negativity beginning to descend upon me the last few weeks and today, quite by accident I discovered why.  One persons toxicity can do such damage to another’s psyche. My mood crashed after an encounter and it suddenly became so crystal clear to me how much real estate I was giving this negativity nearly every day of the week. 

Today I am committing to myself. I will no longer allow this toxicity to take up residence anywhere within me – my heart nor my head. I will stay positive and happy and cheerful and won’t waste any more of my time (or yours) re-telling shocking stories or anything else. 

Today and going forward I am going to take deep breaths, put on my music if I have to and find my equilibrium again. I love my life and I love my work and I shouldn’t have to remind myself of that. 

I am happy. I am good. I am worthy. I am positive. I am strong. 

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Cancer sucks


So I have cancer. It’s so weird to actually type that. I’ve known for a while and I’ve shared with my loved ones etc. I always start out telling people the same way. “I am okay now and I am going to be okay”. This is absolutely true. I am fine and I am going to be fine. My cancer is very beginning stages and completely treatable. Incidences of my type of cancer spreading are extraordinarily rare. 

I have been diagnosed with adenocarcinoma grade 1 uterine or endometrial cancer with endometrial hyperplasia. Currently I am taking a synthetic progestin medication to control the amount of estrogen my body produces in order to keep the cancer from growing. This will allow me time to get healthy and strong and lose weight before I have surgery. The surgery will of course mean that they will remove everything. I’m fine with that. I am 53 as of Friday and I don’t need any of that stuff!

So basically two pills a day. Weird right? 

So I’m taking the pills, dealing with improving my diet and increasing my exercise. I’m cutting back on refined sugars and putting my mental energy into getting healthy. I’m not freaked out and I’m not sad about this. As a matter of fact every once in a while I find myself saying “Oh yeah that’s right, I have cancer!” The pills are basically for three months then I have another biopsy. As long as the cancer hasn’t changed then I can stay on the medication and continue to get healthier. If the cancer cells have increased then we will have to schedule the surgery sooner. My hope is that I will drop sufficient weight to get the surgery next summer when my daughter can be home for it. I really want that time although the thought of cancer cells just sitting there inside my body is a bit intimidating. 

A while ago, fresh from diagnosis, I burned my hand pretty badly and ended up at urgent care. They were writing my info for me on the form because my hand was immersed in ice water. He asked “anything else you can think of?” I said “Hm no not really I’m pretty healthy.” “Oh wait do you need to know I have cancer?” Now yeah it was a maybe stupid question in hindsight but come on what does my uterus have to do with second degree burns on my hand? 

Work is amazing. “Whatever you need” ” Just let me know when you have to be off” etc. My family is phenomenal. They ask good questions, give sound articulate advice, keep me grounded and remind me that this sucks but it’s not the end of the world. My friends are amazing. They remind me not to shut myself in and not communicate. They call me, text me, invite me places and remind me that they are there if I need anything. 

I have shut myself away a little bit. Well a lot actually. It’s the fatigue and the frustration with myself and my body. I am fine physically overall. The fatigue is a bitch but I do what the doctor says. “Eat right, get moving, rest when you’re tired”. It is also partially because of my dietary limitations. I’m retraining myself to eat clean and healthy and I’m not quite ready to get out there and try eating out. My house is straight but it needs some deep cleaning. I do what I can on the weekends but weeknights I’m tired. I know my friends don’t care what my house looks like but I do. 

I hate asking for help. I am strong, independent, capable of doing anything and self sufficient. I am the fixer, the doer, the helper. I am who people reach out to, I don’t ever need anyone. Believe that? I do. I did. No, I do. It’s very very hard for me to ask for help or even accept it when offered. It upsets people and I don’t mean to hurt my friends and family but it is who I am. I’m working on it though. It’s a flaw. 

I come by it honestly. Recently I was with my family. I asked for help with something. The next fifteen minutes was spent telling me all the different ways I could do it all by myself. I capitulated and will now do it by myself because now if I wait for help then I will look like a failure. Incapable. 

I know that wasn’t the intention of anyone there. Well maybe one of the people there but I know he doesn’t completely understand the ramifications of his words. Like he says things like “People who buy iPhones are idiots” and nearly every single person sitting in the room is literally holding a newish iPhone in his or her hands. 

So anyway, back to me. I have cancer. Fuck – that’s just surreal.

I think it needs to be said that I caused the cancer. I mean yeah my oncologist won’t say that but it’s a reality. I am obese, I am over fifty, I have history of breast cancer in my immediate family and I’ve had endometrial hyperplasia. I’m like a textbook case. Because I’m obese my body produces an excess of estrogen and as a result I have developed an estrogen driven cancer. So, I caused it. So there’s that. Now I can just put that away and focus on what I can control. Diet (nailed), exercise (still working on it), appropriate weight loss (20 pounds since I was diagnosed seven weeks ago). I mean I could starve myself but that’s no good for my body. I need to lose weight slowly and properly. 
So I cook and I chop and I eat clean beautifully made foods full of lean proteins, complex carbohydrates and good fats. I eat lots of vegetables and fruits and chicken breasts. I’ve renewed my relationship with ground turkey and huge gorgeous rainbow salads. I’ve begun grilling chicken for snacks and eggs any way I can get them. I love good clean food and I love to cook so this part is not difficult. The hardest part is getting my butt up and into the kitchen to do weekly food prep because that my friends is my superpower. When I can go into my kitchen before work and pull out ingredients for a quick omelet, chopped portioned ingredients for lunch and crunchy raw veggies for snacks I succeed. When I can come home at 6:30 or 7:00 from work and throw a meal together in ten minutes because I have pre-portioned meals already in the fridge or freezer I am golden. 

My birthday was Friday. On Saturday I had dinner with my family. My mom and my sister planned and fixed an amazing healthy menu. My sister made these granola Berry bars that were so so good and only like 200 calories which is entirely doable. 

My daughter is in New York. That’s a long way away. She’s so busy with her very demanding job and her hectic life but she still is making the time to call or text me much more than we used to. I appreciate her so much. She is really such a wonderful person. She is just beautiful inside and out. She also helps me to keep things in perspective and is my biggest supporter in my pursuit of a healthier lifestyle. 

I have mostly good days emotionally. Today is a bad day but that’s nothing to do with cancer. It’s more to do with my turning another year older I think. I think I’m having some hormonal responses to things. I’ve done some research and I don’t see much about that with the medication or cancer I have. I will ask my oncologist in October when I get my first biopsy. I don’t really have a lot of bad days but occasionally I do get a bit testy or teary or both. Even with that I know I can bitch to a friend or cry on someone’s shoulder if I need to. That’s pretty nice to know. 

Work is good. Work is great actually. They are appreciative of my efforts and energy, they respect my input and they provide intelligent feedback. I am learning so much and in less than a year had taken on two other departments. I’m a really good Credit Manager and I am rocking this so hard! My boss is the nicest guy!

Life is good overall. I moved into a really wonderful place a year ago and recently I bought my first brand new car. I am surrounded by amazing inspiring people. I am so lucky. My world is solid and I am content with what I have. Cancer doesn’t change any of that. It’s a stubbed toe, a skinned knee in the bigger scheme of things. I’m okay now and I am going to be okay. To quote e a slightly overused phrase “I’m going to kick cancers ass!” For today though I’m just going to go throw in a load of laundry and mop my kitchen floor. 

 

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What has happened to me?


When did I stop fighting back? When did I give up on standing up for my rights or others? When did I become afraid? Is it age? Am I getting soft? Am I more fearful? Is it the times we live in? Maybe a combination of all of the above. 

We were in line at an auto car wash. I pulled my car in behind his in line. I didn’t know he wasn’t lined up right. I didn’t know he was going to have to back up and realign his huge truck so he could get through the door. I didn’t know it until he nearly backed into me and then, throwing it into park, he jumped out and agressively approached the drivers side of my car yelling about what an idiot I was. I apologized profusely and repeatedly while simultaneously holding out my hands in supplication and putting the car into reverse so he could back up and reapproach. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m so sorry sir” I yelled through my windshield as my car and the cars behind me all backed up. 

Then as I sat, well back from the truck bed and waited for him to enter the wash I began to tear up. Real tears. Lip shaking. 

What the hell? Forty year old me would have jumped out of my car and demanded to know how he dared to yell at me because he didn’t know how to drive his own fucking truck. Even had I initially not confronted him, I certainly would have when I had regained my composure and might have asked him what kind of man yells at a woman old enough to be his mother like that. I know I wouldn’t have cried and I’m fairly certain the first words that came out of my mouth would not have been desperately uttered words of apology in a shaky old lady voice. 

I think I was a little afraid, I don’t handle outright aggression  very well. But I’ve been afraid before in my life and my reaction was not to tuck and run. 

I’m disgusted. First and foremost I’m disgusted in that asshole for acting like a four year old and blaming someone else for his ineptitude but I’m equally or even more disgusted or maybe disappointed with myself. What have I become? When did it happen? What happened to self assured and somewhat fearless single mom who wanted to conquer the world and all of its inequities? Can I get her back or is she gone forever? I didn’t always like that woman but I respected her. She didn’t take shit from anyone, certainly not some two bit thirty year old with his dick in his hand and a Natural Light beer in his cup holder. 

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Today


Today it has been four years since we lost Dad. I don’t really have a lot to say about it.

I have a lot of stuff going around in my head. Some good memories and some bad. I hope he was proud of me. I hope he forgave me for being such a shitty daughter way too often. I’m sad. I love him. I miss him.

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Get over it!


Why is it that in this day and age we can’t allow ourselves even a moment of self pity without someone jumping in to tell us to stop whining or worse, telling us what we should do about it? Why if I’m having a bad day or I’ve just had a lousy thing happen – no matter how trivial – I’m not allowed to feel the feelings that come along with that until I’m ready to not feel them any longer? Why do I have to “buck up” just because someone says I must.

I’m heartily sick and tired of people telling me how I should feel about something. I’m not okay with another individual, I do not care who that person is to me, setting limits on my emotional responses. If I want to be sad about something that makes me sad then why shouldn’t I? If I want to throw a mini temper tantrum because something didn’t go my way then who are you to tell me how to behave? How is me lamenting this thing that has just happened to me impacting your life in a negative way? If you don’t like it then hang up or change the subject but don’t tell me how to feel and for all that is holy do NOT tell me how to fix it.

Now, if I ask your advice, which I will if I need said advice, then by all means fix away but until then don’t … just don’t. Now don’t get all huffy and “I never” right now, if we are having a conversation about something and you want to share your opinion or your position on this I’m not unreasonable and I will listen and often it will help me to change my perspective on something, this is not what I’m talking about. What I’m talking about is uncomplicated, simple, basic human response. If I tell you something has happened to make me sad then what sense does it do for you to tell me “Don’t be sad.” Of COURSE I’m going to be sad or angry or frustrated or whatever and *NEWSFLASH* I HAVE THAT RIGHT! I’m a grown ass woman in a grown ass world and sometimes stuff happens in that world that are going to elicit a response. Sometimes … wait for it …. it won’t even be a big deal but right here right now it is a big deal so just be a friend and let it run it’s course.

I am a pretty happy person in general. I’m a hippy by nature and all about living a very simple existence. Sometimes though things get in the way of that pursuit and “harsh my mellow”. Am I not allowed to have an emotional response? Why does it bother you so much that I am having a bad day or a bad moment? You have them all the time and I’m there to be supportive and encouraging and give advice when asked (okay sometimes when not asked but I’m working on that I promise) and it’s okay for you but not for me? Think about that for a minute. If this thing that has happened has put me in an emotional state – anger, disappointment, sadness or whatever – do you really think, knowing me as you do, saying “well have you tried ………..?” is the way to go? I mean yeah it is a way to go but don’t you see how that is going to feel to me? Don’t you know me well enough to know that this is the OPPOSITE of what I need?

Yeah yeah I know you were just trying to help. Here’s the thing though. It is the exact wrong thing.

What has happened to empathy? What has happened to saying “Oh no I’m so sorry this has happened to you, what can I do?” When have we become a society that expects no emotion? Does my emotional response make you uncomfortable? Well that’s too bad because it’s not your decision how I respond to something.

Here is what I want … what I need. I need to be supported, not laughed at or lectured to or belittled or told what to do. Just be there. Just.be.there. How hard is that? Am I not there for you when you are suffering or struggling with something? I don’t need that kind of support often and it’s not your place to determine if my response to the issue is appropriate or not. Just let me feel the feelings and express the emotion and when I’m done I’m done. I don’t dwell and I don’t drag it out and I don’t pull you into my drama, I just feel the emotional response, address the issue if I’m able and I move on. Is it any wonder I don’t trust you to protect my emotions? Is it any wonder when I’m feeling down or sad or angry I don’t reach out for comfort? Why would I when I know what I will be met with? I just feel it’s safer for me and everyone around me to just pull the welcome mat in and lock the door.

Have you ever seen a six year old collapse into a pile on the floor in hysterics because you just told him his shoe was untied? What do you do? Do you say to yourself “oh he’s just having a bad day” or “oh poor kiddo is tired” and then gather him up in a hug? Or do you say – in that moment while this kid is buried in your arms in obvious distress – “Well if you double knotted your shoe laces like I told you this wouldn’t happen?” Now, don’t get me wrong, there will be a time and place for that conversation but why on God’s green earth would anyone in their right mind think that the appropriate response while you’re mopping the snot off this child’s face should be to tell him what he already knows? Then you expect him to stop crying, stand up and brush himself off and say “Oh you’re so right mother, why didn’t I think of that? My crying was silly so thank you for making me see the error of my ways”? No ladies and gentlemen that is not going to be what happens. He IS going to cry harder and longer because what he really wants is for you to hold him and tell him it’s okay and to let him cry for a minute until he’s done because maybe it’s about the shoelaces but maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s about something else, bigger and stronger and more upsetting than you are able to fathom or he is able to express but he knows when you hug him and you listen to him that it’s going to be okay.

Just tell me that it’s going to be okay.

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THINK


Do you know THINK?

Is it True?

Is it Helpful?

Is it Inspiring?

Is it Necessary?

Is it Kind?

I was just talking with someone tonight about this. I try to use this when I speak because I think it’s important. I don’t want to intentionally or unintentionally cause someone else pain. I work hard to use compassionate speech and to respect other people’s rights to a dissenting opinion. Sure I joke that I’m always right but right or wrong I know everyone will not always agree on everything. 

I know I’ve written about this before but I think it bears repeating. Social media has taken away our compassion. It invites us to release our dark side and use memes or article links to personally attack people with whom we do not agree. I’ve taken a break from a lot of it in large part due to exactly this kind of behavior. 

I met a man about twelve years ago. He was very nice and quiet and would do anything for anyone. Everyone loved this man because he was genuinely good. He was shy and soft spoken but mighty in his faith in God and his love for his family. He was one of those people who you would say “Oh let’s ask ***, he will help” whenever there was a need. 

The internet broke him. Honestly I know you’re probably chuckling and that was my intent but I absolutely feel as if that is what happened to this man. He’s an angry, sad, mean-spirited person and he has completely lost his empathy. For a long time now I have been making excuses for him. I’ve been telling our mutual friends that it’s not his fault, he has been misled. 

Today reality set in. Yes, he is a lemming and has always been but the internet conspiracy theorists and the meme patrols have stolen his compassion. They’ve rotted his soul and he is no longer kind. I used to worry about him but I have decided, as much as it pains me, that I must walk away. I hope only the very best for him but I don’t see this ending well. I tried to help him with gentle guidance and reminders of how words can hurt. He doesn’t care any more. He’s broken. 

I think what took him into the land of no return was this election. Like a lot of other religious zealots (and I think this is a fair assessment of him) he is a Trump supporter. I, big shock, am not. He calls me and people of my ilk names like demons and liars and has no remorse even when I try to call upon him to ask if what he is saying is really what he meant. 

He did. He does. He feels that I, because I believe in the right of a woman to choose and I believe that everyone regardless of race, religion, sex or sexual orientation deserves to be treated the same and I believe that college should not cost $100,000 and that taxes should not be a burden on the poor and middle classes and allow the wealthy to keep their millions safely tucked away. I believe that we should take care of people who can’t feed or clothe themselves or who are unable to afford housing, health care or child care. Because I believe these things I am less than he. I am a demon and I should be vanquished. I’m not exaggerating, truly I wish I were. 

The thing is, I’m just a hippy. I want peace love and understanding. I want no wars and love for everyone. I want farms in empty lots in food deserts and I want to see us find ways to educate our children so they feel like there’s a future. I want us to pay attention to people so much smarter than we when they tell us we are destroying our planet. All of these things are part of who I am and I am not going to be embarrassed or sad about that. I know when I place my head on the pillow that I have tried to be a good person today. 

Here’s the worst part. So does he. He uses God as his shield and says things like “God knows” as though that will somehow make his venom more palatable. Spewing hatred and calling people names in the name of God is reprehensible. I’m an agnostic and I even know that. Don’t call me a Libtard out of one corner of your mouth while you’re drinking the blood of Jesus Christ who died on the cross so we could live.

He broke my heart today. I told him so but I don’t think he cares. I think he is so broken that he has lost his sense of proportion and his compassionate side has left the building. I wanted to believe he was just confused and maybe he is but when someone who genuinely cares about him tries to reason with him and show him how his words hurt and he just pushes them away – he is lost. 

So today I chose to walk away. It is with heavy legs and a pain in my heart but I can’t fix this. I will just have to hope that someday that nice man inside comes back and he can be happy again. 

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