Sometimes in life you have to get a little lost before you are truly able to find your way.

Archive for the ‘Friends and Family’ Category

Oscar-winning Performance.

oscar11Otherwise known as…your life. When you live with chronic pain, life truly is your stage. You smile; you make small talk; you get through as much of what must be done each day as you can. You show up to work, perhaps. Many of us can’t anymore. We’ve lost that theater.

It’s hard at first. Particularly in the early weeks and months when you haven’t yet stopped waiting. Waiting for the pain to stop, or lessen. It’s the moment when you realize – or perhaps accept, more accurately, that this could be – most likely is – permanent. The pain isn’t going away. The condition – it’s a part of you. It has been your primary focus. The focus of your doctors, your friends, family, coworkers, schoolmates – everyone you know or see. But in that moment of acceptance, something changes and you begin weaving it into the background in ways you never thought possible. Doing things you previously imagined you might never do again. You take off your sun glasses for the sake of respect in conversation. You drive, despite the piercing pain of the headlights. You attend a party you know will take a devastating toll. You go to the grocery store. You take your kids to the park. You do the things that most people take for granted each and every day. And you do it in pain with a smile on your face because it’s how we have learned to survive.

fire redYears go by. You realize that there are more people in your life who have never known you without this pain than those who ever knew you pain free. Some still don’t know. It’s incredible. The reactions when people find out? Sometimes I’m not sure if I’m more astounded by how they could have missed it than by how I could have hidden it so well. I think back to all the times in conversation when I thought I would pass out from the pain – but apparently my performance never faltered. I have former clients from my consulting company who demanded me on all their projects. They never knew. Coworkers who were clueless until the day I left on disability. People in all manner of interaction who react in such amusing ways when they learn the truth that has literally be right in front of them. At least that’s how I’ve learned to look at it. Some with awe – both at my ability to hide the pain, and that to withstand it. Some with shock or sadness or my very least favorite (read: I HATE this….) – pity. “Oh you poor thing!” I get it. I can’t blame them. I think it’s meant more as an attempt at compassion, but pity is pity and I work too damn hard at this to be pitied. So do you.

oscar_fallen_hLet me ask you something though…if any Hollywood actor was told he/she would be on set for the rest of their lives, never allowed to break character…what do you think the reaction would be? Disbelief? Outrage? Laughter? That is the role we often feel we are cast in. Keep up appearances. Hide the pain. Wear the mask. But let’s be real. None of us can do it. We can’t hide it all the way all the time. And we need a safe place to remove the mask. The let down our guard. To be vulnerable. To be in pain openly. Cry if we need to, even though it makes it hurt more. Somehow, every now and then it helps too. Sometimes just being able to say that it hurts. Or that we’re tired of it hurting. Without judgement or pity or guilt or frustration. That’s a lot to ask. Of anyone. It’s hard for those who care for us most NOT to feel those things. Not to show those things. And they will come out too from time to time, so to be fair – I guess we can’t expect to never get that side of it.

different kind of maskBut do you have that safe place? Do you have those people in your life that you can be nakedly in pain in front of without judgement or pity? Do you have a way to step off the stage and just be – you – pain and all? If the answer is no – then something has got to change. Finding that safe place – that safe person or people – is worth a thousand “remedies.” The mental and emotional and physical fatigue that accompanies these daily performances is SO underestimated.

Give yourself the credit you are due. Take the breaks you need to take. Find the safe place. The comfort, support and tenderness you deserve. Take off the mask and cry. Curse your pain and all the effort it takes to hide it. You’ll be amazed at how renewed you will find yourself. How much more comfortable that mask is to put back on when you get out of bed, or take a shower or walk out the door or if you’re lucky enough – when you go to work. It sounds like such a small thing, to stop acting for a short time. But it has a power that those who don’t go through life wearing this mask will never comprehend. How lucky they are.

Here’s to the performances, the intermissions, and most of all – those who make taking off the mask possible!

This post goes out with a special thanks to my amazing family and friends – thank you and I love you all so much! I could not fight this battle without you!

This is Winning.

Back in 2012 one of my best friends and I decided that 2013 was going to be our year. The previous few had pretty much sucked. Not that there weren’t good times or things to be thankful for, but we’d both been through a lot and we were really looking forward to a fabulous 2013. You know what they say about the best laid plans… Needless to say, 2013 didn’t turn out to be THE year. For either of us. Personally, I dealt with 4 surgeries, a failed business, a failed suicide attempt and a very tumultuous relationship. I wasn’t sorry to see it go. 2014, unfortunately, didn’t prove to be a whole lot better. Well – there was no suicide attempt so I guess that’s a pretty marked improvement lol.

Looking back over the last several years – I realize that I haven’t really had a life of my own. I really haven’t had much of a life. I have so much to be grateful for – my amazing family and friends and their seemingly endless support and encouragement. But it’s time for a change. Time to really start living.

uhaulI sit here, the night before New Year’s Eve 2014, and I AM READY. I’m ready for a lot of changes. I leave tomorrow to move 3000 miles from the comfort and support of my family back to Sacramento, back to an amazing group of friends whom I have missed SO much in the 11 years since I left CA. I have plans. Big plans. Maybe not in the same way that healthy people have big plans, but plenty for me. That’s the thing though, isn’t it? It’s not about how our lives measure up to others. It’s not about how much money we make (if any) compared to anyone else; it’s not about how nice our home is or what kinds of vacations we take or our job status – if any. It’s about setting goals for ourselves. Things we can actually achieve – or have a shot at. Even if it’s a long one. It’s about challenging ourselves. Some people are determined to get that big promotion this year. And that’s great. I am determined to find SOMETHING that I can do part time. And that’s enough for me. In fact, no, it’s not just enough – it’s HUGE. If I could go back to work in any capacity at any level – it would do more for my state of mind, my quality of life and my health and happiness than someone else’s huge promotion. It seems like a small thing to most – but to me it would mean a world of difference.

I have lots of goals like that. No need to bore you with them all here. The point is that January 1 isn’t just a time for resolutions you have little to no intention of keeping. It’s about reflecting on where you’ve been, how your life is going and what YOU can do to improve it. And to hell with the comparisons to everyone else. So get out there – set your goals – and go after them with all you’ve got. I might not have control over my migraines, but I have control over more than I have allowed myself to believe in a very long time. And this year I intend to take back the reins of my life. One way or another – this year will be a better year.

Happy New Year everyone!

Here’s to new beginnings, new goals and new-found strength!

Ultimately Selfish

I’ve been debating if I should tackle this issue or not. But it keeps worming its way back into my brain so I’ll take that as a sign that I should. After this I really hope to move on to some lighter issues for a while! There was an article published in the Huffington Post called Stop Calling Suicide Victims ‘Selfish.’  While I recommend reading it in its entirety (it’s not very long), the gist of it is that we should not judge those who take their own lives because suicide is the result of severe mental illness. The author makes the point that we don’t judge victims of other fatal diseases. She does a good job, in my opinion, of pointing out that it is wrong, and in fact, impossible, for those who have never been suicidal to even begin to understand what it must be like, and therefore, they should not, and cannot (fairly) judge this action. One of my favorite quotes from the article: “I’ve felt sad before, yes. I’ve felt bad about myself before, yes. But I haven’t actively wanted to die, so why should I pretend to know what that’s like? I’ve had the flu before, too, yet I don’t know what cancer is like.” I appreciate that. But I disagree with her when she says that suicide is not selfish.

Here’s the thing… yes, more needs to be done to get help to people before they reach this point. The taboo that surrounds mental illness from anxiety and depression to schizophrenia all needs to be a thing of the past. But suicide is a tricky beast. it is a last resort. It is terrible and awful and clearly speaks to a kind of hopelessness and misery that, as the author of this article points out, cannot be even imagined by most people. But in the end, it is still a choice. It’s a terrible choice. And in that moment, I assure you it does not feel as though there is any alternative. But even I cannot deny, having been in that place, in that moment, I made a decision. I own it and all of its consequences. Aside from the obvious fact that it speaks to a kind of pain most people cannot fathom, what is perhaps worse, or at least as awful, is that it doesn’t end with the person taking their life. Its reach extends as far as their presence in life is felt – to every friend, family member, coworker. It tears people apart. It’s hard enough to lose someone you love to something inevitable. But to know that the person you love actually decided to make this happen…what could be worse?

So I understand the anger and the characterization of of suicide as being selfish. It’s a tough pill to swallow, but at the root of it all, if it is part of the overall sentiment, which includes compassion and at least an attempt for understanding, I think it’s a fair assessment. I’ve been on both sides of suicide. Someone I love taking their life, and nearly taking my own. While the words hurt, they are not wrong. I put the people I love through the worst kind of hell. And despite what I was feeling and what drove me to that point, I cannot deny that it was a selfish choice. I can’t deny that I was putting my own misery and hopelessness ahead of the pain and suffering I was about to cause. Those are facts. They suck, but they’re real. And they have real consequences.

When someone plans in as much detail as I did how they are going to die, they don’t think about what happens afterwards if they survive. You’ve worked hard to minimize impacts once you’re gone…making sure your loved ones aren’t the ones to find you, for example. But surviving and facing those who you have hurt is never a part of the plan. Thinking about how you will earn back trust or repair relationships isn’t a part of the plan. The plan is to stop the pain, the hopelessness, or whatever awful thing has taken over your consciousness. The plan is to simply stop being, at what ever cost. The road back, when you fail, as I did, is incredibly difficult. Facing the pain you’ve caused, trying to find a way to make amends for something that is almost unforgivable. And even when people forgive, trust is something that is, in many cases, beyond what your loved ones can achieve. These are consequences of a choice. I face them every day and I accept them. What I did was selfish. And I am blessed that so many in my life have forgiven me. I do not get frustrated when I have to offer extra reassurances that I’m OK on a bad day, or take measures to ensure that those most deeply affected are confident that I am safe.

So while I disagree with the author about suicide being selfish, I think the bigger, far more important message is that people are suffering in unimaginable ways. Some of them out loud and in the open. Some silently and alone. As a society, we have to stop judging. We need to be more accepting of mental and emotional illness and distress and collectively find ways to support those most in need. Open dialogue, collective awareness and sensitivity combined with more widely available (and effective) therapy could change…and save…so many lives.

support

 

Hold On Pain Ends

I learned the most wonderful new acronym recently: Hold On Pain Ends. It’s funny how simple it seems, but how difficult it can be to practice sometimes. I’ve written before about what it means to keep on hoping through desperate or painful or sad times. But this phrase carries a lot of special meaning for me. I recently stumbled across a picture of myself from nine years ago. It stopped me dead in my tracks. I almost didn’t recognize the face staring back at me. Young. Vibrant. Happy. Successful. I wondered how just nine years could age me so much. And here’s the real kicker – that photo was taken at about 1:30 a.m. after working nearly non-stop for three days on a big proposal at my consulting firm. I should have looked ragged and tired and worn. I couldn’t even physically work those hours today, much less look good doing it at 1:30 in the morning the third straight day.

So what was it about that time in my life? I was five years into this migraine ordeal. I was clearly working way too much. But I had held on. At times where there seemed absolutely no reason to believe that my pain would lessen, much less end, that I could find happiness given some of the struggles I was dealing with, reeling from the loss of some of my closest loved ones. I held on. I continued to HOPE. Against reason, against odds. And one day, 6 months prior to that picture being taken, I was put on a new drug protocol by a truly remarkable team of doctors at the Michigan Headpain and Neurological Institute in Ann Arbor, MI. And the pain became less. It strengthened me. It renewed me. When I say I look at that picture and I see success, it is not because I was making a ton of money or even that we won that contract; we lost it in fact. But I was more able than I had been in a very long time. I was able to work for days on end with almost no breaks for sleeping or eating. I was able to sit in that conference room, working through ridiculous amounts of paperwork, barking orders at people three times my senior for their lack of focus and stop to smile pretty for the camera for my new employee photo that just had to be taken at that exact moment because it was the first time I’d been in one place in the office long enough to for the girl from HR to track me down! Tt photo

All that is well and good, but putting things in perspective, there were five years there prior to that moment when one treatment after another DIDN’T work, right? And during that time I dealt with some things I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy, both physically and emotionally. I had learned a hard lesson early on in this migraine thing. HOPE is essential. But so is managing your EXPECTATIONS. If I had continued, as I did in the beginning, to EXPECT each new treatment or medication or procedure, or whatever, to work, I would have lost hope. I have not a doubt in my mind. Learning early on that most things were NOT going to work allowed the treatments that have had positive impacts be more successful, their results more genuine and the overall effects on my pain, my life and ability to maintain hope exponentially greater than if I went into each one expecting it to be “the one.”

When that treatment regimen that I began in July 2005 started working, it hit me out of the blue. The alleviation of my symptoms felt like it fell right out of heaven, knocked me on the head and bounced half the pain right out of there! There was no false positive. No placebo affect. I had approached my treatment for so many years with the “hope for the best, expect the worst” frame of mind that when real, measurable improvement came, it sent me soaring. I couldn’t doubt it. And for a long time after that the quality of my life truly was immeasurably changed. It was that change, in fact, that allowed me to deal with the death of my fiance, by far the most difficult thing I’ve ever experienced. And that series of events, I know, happened in sequence just as it was meant to.

The marrying of those two essential functions – managing expectations and maintaining hope has saved me so many times. But I failed at one of them in an extraordinary way last year. After the last post, Suicide Won’t Fix It, I got a lot of feedback and a lot of tough questions. Some people were shocked. Some were sad, angry, confused. All of this, I expected. But the only explanation I can offer is this – I failed at managing my expectations. When I learned that I was a candidate for the neurostimulator implant surgery, I allowed my doctors to set my expectations at a completely unrealistic level. I envisioned no pain. I saw doors and avenues that have long been shut flinging wide open again! I saw absolutely limitless potential, every possibility available once again. I saw a new life. I saw a new me. After 12 1/2 years of very successfully managing my expectations, I made that one very grave mistake. And I rode the high of those expectations all the way to the moon. And when reality clashed with those expectations, I lost. I fell. HARD. It was the crushing blow that at one time I had been cautious enough to protect myself from, but from which I was at last was feeling the impact. When I came crashing down from that high, I crushed every ounce of hope I had managed to hold on to for nearly 13 years.

It’s one thing to live with chronic pain and to know that even with limitations, there are still some things that work; moments of feeling well, daily success stories. It is quite another to suddenly think you are on the brink of a new life, and to fall crashing back into that seemingly bottomless pit. So I urge you – whatever it is you deal with – migraines, fibro, depression, anxiety – manage your expectations and maintain your hope. It comes in many forms, but one way or another, in small ways or in big ones, if you do Hold On..the Pain does End.

hang in thereThere are some other interesting reasons why this acronym is so close to my heart. And this goes to show that things really do come full circle. When I was in middle school, I was obsessed with horses….mine in particular. Her name was Hope. I didn’t name her that; she came to me that way. And it was perfect. I had several posters in my room at the time. One was a herd of wild horses galloping down a beach. It was magnificent and there was one horse who reminded me so much of my Hope. And directly across from it on my other wall was a very famous poster with a picture of a tiny kitten hanging from a branch with the words “Hang In There.” I remember reading those words so many times over and over during difficult moments. And now, with this fabulous new acronym, those three wonderful things from my childhood – my horse and my two favorite posters are melded into one incredibly powerful phrase…Hold On Pain Ends. Some day I hope to be well enough to run a wildlife rehabilitation center. I have known for many years that if I am able to do it, I will name it New Hope Ranch. This lesson; this phrase; this entire lifetime of experience shows me that it is still the goal I must keep holding onto and keep striving to reach. court and hope

Suicide won’t fix it.

In a dark and hazy cloud my eyes slowly started to open. I couldn’t breath. I couldn’t swallow. I was choking. I reached for my throat; I needed air. But my arms moved only inches before the restraints arrested all efforts to stop my choking. My arms were tied. My legs were tied. My upper body strapped in place. I tried to lean forward. A woman rushed at me and pushed me back against the bed hard and told me to relax. RELAX? How could I relax? I was choking. And apparently restrained. But why? Where was I and how had I gotten there? She exited the room in a rush. I couldn’t move my arms enough to reach my face but I could lean forward just enough to reach the finger tips of one hand to the thing that was choking me. I tugged. Pain. I pulled. More pain, but progress. I yanked and with a painful, pressure-laden, tearing movement, the tube that was choking me finally came free of my throat. Relief came, but not without a good deal of pain. And blood. The woman came back. I looked at her and realized she was a nurse. I was in a hospital. She spoke harshly. “What have you done?? I hope you’re proud of yourself, you certainly damaged your vocal chords, perhaps irreparably.” She was right. But that was the least of all of the consequences of what landed me in that hospital bed.

The precise sequence of events is still a blur. My mother was there. She looked tired and scared. I began to remember what I had done; why I was there. I shouldn’t have been there. I should be dead. Then my heart sank. If I wasn’t dead; if I was here, in the hospital, someone had found me. A fear like none I had ever known gripped me. In a painful whisper I asked,  “Did Lawrence find me?” “No, my mother said, trying to choke back the tears that were falling. “Is he ok? Did he know I was ok?” I knew my mother could not have been the one to find me. I had made sure of that. But Lawrence was a different story. If he had found me in that state I could never have forgiven myself. But still my mother stood there and listened to my first words, my first concern be directed at someone she had never met. Someone I barely knew. In some ways it was a pretty good indication of how screwed up I was. My first words should have been “I’m sorry.” It would take time for my thoughts or actions to make sense. It would take time to find all of the forgiveness that was due. To my family, my friends, even to myself. I had done the unthinkable. I had been cowardly and weak and had tried to take the easiest way out of my pain. I had tried, and nearly succeeded in killing myself. Had the paramedics reached me mere minutes later, I would have been gone. My plan would have been a complete success, and my life, a failure. And I would not be here to tell of it. I would not have had the chance to beg for forgiveness from everyone I hurt. I would not have the strength to face whatever comes, knowing I have already faced the very worst, and survived. And I would not have the opportunity to tell you that whatever you are feeling is absolutely valid. And if you are considering taking your life, I get it. But I hope you choose differently than I did.

This is not an easy thing to talk about. It is not easy to think about. And I know it is not an easy thing to read. For some who know me this will be the first they have ever known about my suicide attempt. And to each of you, I am truly sorry. Some think I should not write about it. I should not expose it. But I have an obligation. Because out there, among the masses who might stumble upon this post, there are some who are there, in that dark and lonely place wondering, planning, deciding. I beg of you – please keep reading. Where it seems there is no other way, where there appears only darkness and pain, I promise you, there is hope. And I know this only because I have walked through complete hopelessness and emerged on the other side, just barely. And I am so grateful for that. For the chance to tell you there is another way. There is light. There is a reason to live. And whatever guilt or darkness or fear or stigma is eating away at your will to live – SCREW IT. You are where you are because whatever is happening in your life seems too much to overcome. And you have no idea how many of us understand that. I’m not trying to persuade you that your feelings aren’t valid. Just the opposite, in fact. They are very real. Real enough to convince you to consider death as the best or only alternative. But there’s more.

The circumstances that brought me to that place are fairly irrelevant. Not because they weren’t real or valid or enough. But because these circumstance are different for everyone. The results, however, are the same. Being suicidal comes from something different for each of us. Those close to me always want to know how I could have thought death was the only way. In truth, there were times in my past when it actually appeared to have made more sense that I would have been suicidal. And there will be people who ask you this question, who will not understand how you could think death is the only way. All that means is that they are lucky enough not to have experienced being where you are. It is not judgement. It is fear and love wrapped up in what often feels like judgement.

The circumstances don’t matter. That sounds harsh, I know. But it’s the truth. Because no matter what each of us is going through, no matter what has brought us to this place of unimaginable suffering that we know we cannot bear for one more moment, the only thing that matters, is that those circumstances, all put together, no matter their enormity, are, above all else, TEMPORARY. In fact, all of what we experience is only temporary. The fleeting highs and the apparently interminable lows. The good days, the bad days. Our triumphs and our losses. All of these things that make up our experience of life are temporary. And to use a permanent, irreversible action, suicide, to deal with/escape/end/fix…however you choose to describe it, is…this decision is, at its core, illogical and flawed.

I wish I had known so many things that day. I wish I had known that despite the hopeless way I felt, hope did still exist, and would find me again. I wish I had known that the enormity of all of the things that I was dealing with, while they felt too much, too big, too heavy, too powerful to overcome, would, in fact, be overcome. Not all at once the way I felt I needed, but little by little; they have been…they are being overcome. Some part of me wishes I had known the true nature of pain that I was about to inflict on those who love me most. That I could have foreseen the pain ingrained in every fiber of my mother’s being because of what I had done. But perhaps it’s best that I couldn’t grasp that in those moments because for me, guilt was a heavy weight on the scale inching me towards suicide. From this side of the choices that I made that day though, I live with the fact that I cannot erase the permanent image of me lying in that hospital bed, bound to it, unconscious, with a machine breathing for me and tubes coming out of me that she has etched in her memory. I wish with all my heart that I could take that away. I wish I had known the panic and terror in the hearts of everyone who was desperately searching for me, knowing that each minute that passed by could be the difference between life and death. I wish I had known that less than a year later, I would be sitting here on my couch in my new apartment, minutes from the ocean, having overcome so much of what I thought that day, in those last moments I would never be able to live with. I wish I had the voice of someone who had been in my shoes speaking into me the strength and hope that might have made the difference in the choice between life and death. Or simply a hand to hold in silence that might have delayed my action long enough to change my mind.

Suicide is a funny thing. For those who are truly suicidal, what many people do not understand is that it can be the one, solitary thing that we feel we have control over. It feels like the only thing we can do to change our circumstances, end our pain, fix what is broken. To an extent, that is sometimes true. We do have control over it and many things in life are out of our hands. But the flip side, the reality, the truth we find hardest to see, is that we also have control over the choice to live. To find a way, however impossible it seems, through whatever brought us to that edge. We have that choice. And choice is power.

Suicide is alluring, almost intoxicating because in our darkest moments is promises to fix everything at once. It ends all the pain and suffering and hopelessness in one fell swoop. That promise, that idea that “suicide fixes everything at once”…it’s crap. It’s not real. It’s just a way to avoid facing the harder, better, stronger, braver choice to get through it all…whatever your all is, one tiny step at a time. Don’t feel like you have the strength to take another step? Fine. You crawl. You inch. You slide one hand forward before you can crawl. You make a movement and it is PROGRESS. It is substantial and brave and powerful. It says FUCK YOU to everything that is breaking you down. It is success and it is HOPE.

And no matter how alone we might feel at the bottom of this pit – we are never truly alone. Our actions do not happen in a vacuum. We do affect others in profound ways that we cannot fathom. No matter how alone we feel there are people who will mourn, who will take our actions upon their own shoulders and walk heavy with misplaced guilt, much the same way many of us have/are doing. If you have not a soul in the world who you believe will care if you are gone, there is a paramedic who will be unable to save you. A coroner who must examine you. Someone, some people will suffer from your actions. I say this not to inspire more guilt. The choice we make  must be about ourselves, not those around us. I say this to remind you that no matter how isolated you feel,  you are never truly alone.

I won’t go in to all of what kept me alive when I was absolutely, resolutely determined to die that day. For now, I will say this. I had planned meticulously. I hurt more than I ever had dared to imagine possible. I was 100% sure of what I was doing. I was crumbling beneath the weight of things I no longer had the power to keep from crushing me. But I was WRONG. I know that now. And if you are in that place I promise you with all that I am, you are wrong too. You can, and should CHOOSE to live. That much you do have the power to do. The rest of it, whatever it is, no matter how much it hurts, will someday be behind you. But first you have to make that choice. Take that step. Move, just a little – forward. It is worth it. YOU are worth it. You are more powerful than you can, in this moment even conceive. I know you are, because I was you. And today, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I am more powerful than anything that life might throw at me. And despite the years of falling down into that pit, in that place where the cold and the dark and the fear and the hopelessness and pointlessness all collide, my choices can keep it all from owning me ever again. And your choices, today, can lead you out of it. So choose. Be braver than I was. Be the strength you don’t dare to believe you have. Do the one thing you feel you cannot do. Choose to live.

There’s no Trying on Everest! DO it!

35Tomorrow I turn 35. I have no big plans – just a quiet dinner with family, but still it feels like one of those “milestone” birthdays. I’ve been reflecting on the path that brought me here. I’ve mulled over all of the challenges and choices and lessons that brought me to this age, this frame of mind, these circumstances, the state of my health and of my relationships. I have looked back at years of thoughts and dreams and accomplishments and failures immortalized in ink. In journals, unsent letters sitting in boxes, tiny scraps of paper carelessly tossed into drawers. Reliving what the world looked like through the eyes of younger versions of myself is such a uniquely interesting experience. To celebrate, I thought I would share two gems I found. One is scrawled on a piece of scrap paper that seems to wind up in different boxes each time I move (apparently saved many times over from the recycling bin). The other is from a journal that documented a particularly difficult year.  I’ve read both of them many times. I find myself wondering about the moments when these thoughts spilled out of my brain, not sure exactly what prompted them at the time, but always amused that they remain relevant and empowering, no matter where I am or what I’m facing.


I have dreamed of being a writer, a dancer, a mother, an explorer, a journalist, a teacher, a scientist, a wife, an advocate, a traveler, a well person….my list goes on and on. Today, on my birthday, I dream most of being an independent person, open to new love, with the possibility of a career. They might not seem like big dreams, but from inside the walls of the pain I live with every day – they are my Everest, and I am busy collecting the tools I will need to conquer it. Life keeps on happening, and so do I.


 

TOMORROW I WILL DO BETTER. No matter how good or bad or mediocre my days are, I will always strive to do better, to be better. I will challenge myself to dig deeper; to think bigger, to be more generous, to love more openly, to be more kind. I will try harder to forgive others and to forgive myself. I will concentrate less on everyone’s faults (including my own..especially my own) and to BE MORE POSITIVE! I will SMILE more and LAUGH more and DO more to create happiness. I will focus on the good around me and in me. I will endeavor to learn more and cultivate new skills, new friendships and new hobbies. I will be more productive. I will have more fun. I will be a better friend, daughter, sister, self…

Nothing in this world ever changes if we focus on besting one another. We must challenge ourselves. Progress comes when we commit not just to TRY, but each and every day to DO better than we did the day before. So today, and every day, I promise that TOMORROW I WILL DO BETTER!!!

35 papers chloe

 

 

We’re never really grown-ups.

When I was 4-years old I told my mother that I did not want to have any more birthdays. I wanted to stay 4 forever. (smart kid eh?) My mom told me she wished I could stay 4 forever too. I don’t know if I was just having a lot of fun, or if I had somehow picked up on the fact that life for grownups seemed a lot harder than anything I was interested in. Either way – something in me was telling me that where I was in that moment was a pretty darn nice place to be. I often think about that day and that wish and realize I was certainly wise beyond my years.

Growing up is tough. And it lasts a lot longer than we ever imagine. We’re always growing up. When you’re really little the high school-aged babysitter is a grown up. In high school the college kids are grown ups. In college those late 20s-early 30-somethings are grown up. It just keeps getting pushed back as we realize that the process of growing up has no end point. It is painful and joyous and hard and wonderful. It is full of goals – realized and missed; accomplishments, failures, love and loss. But most of all it is filled with lessons and knowledge and at some point, the wisdom of “old age.”

Like everyone, I have suffered through all kinds of heartache. The kind that comes from being hurt or betrayed by someone you love and trust. The kind that comes from hurting someone that you love – however well-intentioned your actions or words might be. The kind that comes from separation,  breakups of all kind – your own or those of loved ones; the kind that comes from physical pain, and usually worst of all, that which accompanies death.

The worst of all pain seems to have a life of its own, attacking us in waves when you least expect it. I wonder sometimes if that is our minds pushing it back, holding it at bay, then struggling to work through it, which requires feeling it. Or perhaps it is God giving us small breaks to catch our breath, then washing over us only as much as we can truly handle, even when it feels as though we might drown.  I’m sure I”ll never fully understand the way pain works. But it is something universal. Something we all experience, regardless of the different sources and degrees in which we all experience it.

The funny thing about pain, though, is that it is necessary. It shapes us. It strengthens us, even when in the moment, it feels as though it might break us. We come out stronger on the other side. And it doesn’t seem to matter what kind of pain it is. It could be physical pain, grief from losing a loved one, heartache from the painful end of a relationship. It fortifies us for the next round (and there is always a next round!). It transforms who we are into who we are becoming. I don’t know anyone, myself included, who doesn’t wish, beg, pray, scrape and claw through pain to make it end as quickly as possible. I don’t know anyone who attempts to prolong their own pain. At times, we experience things that seem impossible to overcome. It does not feel as though they will strengthen us, but instead be the end of us. Rarely is this actually the case. And at some point, we realize that today hurts a little less than yesterday. And a lot less than a few weeks ago. We reach a point when we can allow ourselves to think about the source of our pain with less trepidation and more fortitude. We grow – we grow through and because of pain.

I’m in a funny place in my life right now. My migraines are particularly problematic because I’m making my way through a month off of one of my medications whose side effects are so potentially harmful that every six months I have to come off of it for a full month and have CT scans done to ensure no damage has occurred from its use. At the same time I had my heart broken by someone I love very much. While I was completely overwhelmed when hit with these things, I see now that they are necessary. Necessary to keep me healthy, necessary for me to move forward, necessary for me to grow, and perhaps most importantly, necessary for me to get where I’m going and become the person I am meant to be, strong and able enough to do all the things I am destined to do.

In the moments when the physical pain is so severe I can hardly breath, or the waves of heartache that wash over me so overwhelming I think I might crumble beneath it all, it is difficult to stay positive. A few days ago I was angry. I was REALLY angry. But that got me no where. My relationship ended in a way that, in my opinion, did not honor what we had. I wish it could have ended differently, but it had to end. While dealing with this sudden loss I also had an overdue appointment with my neurologist. I drove to my appointment hoping that he would have some way of easing my migraine pain. Instead, he made a change that resulted in this month of increased pain. But this too is necessary. Anger doesn’t lessen what I feel. So once again I find myself grateful. Grateful for things that used to scare me, anger me, confuse me, confound and bewilder me. But even this pain is carrying me forward toward whatever the next big thing in my life might be.

Closing some of these doors allows me to find unexpected openings. I’m transitioning from some tough places/circumstances to a lot of unknowns and some dreams-come-true. Sure, I had my heart broken. But it’s OK. It reminds me that I’m alive. Feeling things so deeply – even heartache, can be inspiring. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve listened to Lady Antebellum sing the words “I’d rather hurt than feel nothing at all” and thought to myself – “not me!” But they’re right. It is strangely life-affirming to feel something so deeply, even if it hurts. It is equally wonderful to know, deep down, that like all else – these feelings are only temporary, and soon the pain will be replaced with joy equal in measure.

I have a confession…I secretly want to be a song writer. The one small problem with that – I have no musical ability what-so-ever! I can’t sing; can’t play any instruments and am pretty much tone-deaf. LOL. I do love to write though, and it’s amazing to imagine someone marrying what falls onto my paper with an amazing melody. I also want to be a successful jeweler, a wildlife rehabilitator and educator. I have lots of dreams. It’s good to have places I want to go, things I want to do. And amazing to be well enough, some days, to make some progress. Perhaps one of the doors that is closing in my life will open up to one of these dreams. When I look at it from that perspective, it is hard to resent the pain. And so much easier to embrace the change, appreciate where I am, wade through the tough days and look longingly forward to all that is to come. So here’s to life, with all of its twists and turns, pain and joy and wondrous possibilities!

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