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Category Archives: Writing
A Winter Haiku
Damn you Michigan
Frigid temps make my legs ache
Come quickly spring sun
A tinnitus haiku
When I wake, silence
All I hear is rushing wind
It’s all in my head
Habit Reset
Hey! We are officially on Christmas break! That means I can sleep in a little. Sleeping in was a lot more fun when I was younger. These days I tend to still wake up fairly early, and in pain so that staying in bed is not enjoyable. So I get up, make my coffee, get my mental work done, and then, depending on how I’m feeling, go back to bed for a morning nap.
I had a good morning at church today. God and I are working on some things. He’s tugging at my heart and helping me to let go of some of my idols. Getting back into a healthier routine. Every day is an opportunity for a fresh start. Today was that for me. A reset, for sure. My fluctuating hormones and energy levels have really made it hard for me to feel balanced, and I think that by getting back to some basic daily routines, I will start to feel more steady.
The routines I’m trying to work back into my daily life include drinking 64 ounces of water, reading, spending time in prayer and Bible study, and exercise. The idols I’m working to eliminate are binge watching television and the coloring app on my phone (which has since been removed… again.). These two things are not only big time sucks, but they aren’t great for my mental health and clarity. They’ve got to go.
Daily exercise may be my biggest challenge. I don’t have much energy these days, so it’s a matter of talking myself into it. Every day. The vicious cycle is that the less I exercise, the more my energy levels drop, and the more my energy drops, the less likely I am to exercise. So I just need to resolve to do it. And that is starting tomorrow.
I also want to get my writing mojo back; I miss it. I am journaling daily, so I am still writing. I don’t think that will ever change with me. I’ve journaled since I could hold a crayon. But part of getting that mojo back is why I’m posting more here, even if it’s mindless drivel. I’m hoping to write more content that I can be excited about. Writing wakes up parts of my soul that have gone dormant, but it takes a bit of work sometimes to chip away at the crusty covered up parts.
So that is what I’ve been hammering out today, new habits. Writing, reading, hydrating, praying, studying, and exercising. Hoping for the start of a new phase. I’m getting really bored of the current one. So here’s to new days and new habits. Until next time, shalom!
What now?
Runners like to ask each other questions like, “What’s next on your calendar?” or “Do you have a goal in mind?”. The answer to that first question is nothing. I have nothing on my calendar. But to answer the latter, I do have a goal, and that is to focus on running faster 5ks. I told my husband when I came home from Sleeping Bear that I was done with longer races for awhile. 10k would be my max. He didn’t believe me. He says I say that every time. Which is probably true, but whatever. I think this time I’m serious. We have a high school senior now, and our youngest will soon be learning to drive, so I just want to have more time and mental focus available to be there for my kids. Training for half marathons takes up a lot of time and focus. But speedwork for 5ks? I can do that. And it’s a goal that keeps me active, which for my M.S. is a really important thing.
So for the blog going forward I’ll still be talking about running and fitness related stuff, but I’ll likely start throwing in other random crap I’m obsessing about. Because I’m always finding random crap to obsess about. If you had to guess, it’s most likely food related. Probably.
P.S. I’ve really been struggling with my writing lately, and I know that’s really normal so I’m riding it out, but I’ve been thinking about short stories. I have lots of short stories in my head, and I want to work at getting them out on paper to share. And when I say paper, I mean the computer screen obviously. So you might see some of that here too. As always, no promises.
Peace out, folks. Shalom.
She is not me
I want to share something that I learned this week, in case it might resonate with you as well. The other day I found out some bad news. A horse that my daughter had loved riding had passed away. I was feeling quite emotional about it, and debated when to tell her. I finally decided to just rip the band-aid off and do it right away. I went up to her room, opened the door, and said, “I have to tell you some bad news.” And then I stopped. I couldn’t get the words out. Tears were welling up in my eyes. She sat there waiting. Then, jokingly, “Mom, just say it!”
I had to keep looking away. Swallowing my spit in hopes of stopping the tears and getting my voice back. After several bizarre seconds, I finally spit it out. “Trixie passed away over the winter.” And then I waited for my daughter’s equally devastated response.
I got nothing like that.
She was not devastated. Not overcome with sadness. Not the emotional wreck that her mother was appearing to be. She was calm. She explained to me, sounding so grown-up, “It’s fine. Horses die all the time for lots of reasons.”
I was stunned. She was so calm and pragmatic about the news. Who is this kid? She is not me.
Here I was, trying to shield her from the hurt, protect her from the sadness that I only assumed she would feel. Why? Because when I was her age, I would have felt those things, and this type of news would have crushed me, leaving me in a cloud of sadness for days.
But she is not me.
This had me thinking about how often I have done this with her, my daughter who looks so much like me and yet in personality and emotional makeup is so different. She has grown up in an entirely different home environment than I did. She has experienced different things. She has learned how to process her big, upsetting feelings and has come out stronger. When I attempt to shield her from these sad scenarios, what I’m really doing is doubting her strength. I’m saying I don’t believe she can handle it. But that’s not for me to decide, is it?
She is not me.
I am learning that I need to give her more credit, and this has me thinking in broader terms. How many times have I done this with other people? How many times have I tortured myself and put off having difficult discussions with family, friends, even coworkers (I’m going way back here; I haven’t worked a job since 2013). Why were these discussions so difficult? Or rather, why did they *seem* so difficult? I think there are two equally valid theories to answer this question. Some would say that it’s empathy, that I’m thinking of others’ feelings, and being courteous of how they might feel about the topic of discussion. Fair enough. But the other theory, the one that was a lightbulb moment for me, is that it might be projection. I am projecting onto others when I assume they would react the way I would. And I think in the aforementioned discussion with my daughter it was definitely the latter. I was assuming her reaction would be like mine.
But she is not me.
I am in awe of this. Humbled and amazed. How can a 14 year old be smarter than me? Well, I believe she watched carefully those first few years as I worked through trauma therapy. She paid attention to my changing reactions to every stressful situation that came my way. She learned from watching me. And she’s not afraid of her emotions the way I used to be. She can feel sadness and knows it won’t destroy her.
I am so grateful to see this emotional resilience in my daughter, but I am also grateful for the greater lesson I’m learning here. I am learning to allow other people to have their reactions, and I am not so acutely affected by them as I once was. We all have big feelings. I can handle mine, and you can handle yours. This has been one of the many great outcomes of trauma therapy, and I wish I could share it with everyone who cares to listen. That said, I’m hoping to write more about it here on the blog, especially since the kids are back in school and that allows me more headspace for it. So stay tuned for that, my friends.
I need a new driver
I made a note awhile back to write this post but felt stuck and left it hanging. I’ve been struggling to find my groove with writing lately. Today being the first of June, I set a goal for myself to write at least 30 minutes and run at least 2 miles a day for the entire month. Y’all, there are so many parallels between writing and running, it’s uncanny. Warming up is crucial to both. I haven’t run yet today, but I did some writing, and in the practice of writing I already feel like I’m finding my “voice” again.
Anyway, back to the subject of this post, needing a new driver. Let me explain. Healing from CPTSD has been an amazing and difficult journey, and I am so grateful to be on the other side of it. HOWEVER, it came with some downsides. I believe my constant level of anxiety was the reason I did the things I did every day. The anxiety is why I had my routines. It’s why I couldn’t leave the laundry unfolded for too long, it’s why I had to plan the meals. My routines were driven by my anxiety.
With anxiety no longer driving the car, my routines were off-roading. Wee!! It was kind of fun for awhile, liberating even. But now I’m sort of getting back to reality and realizing I need some level of routine. Because I don’t live alone, and people count on me. So if anxiety isn’t driving the routines, what is? That’s a really good question, and I think the answer had to come after a lot of soul searching. I realized that I really like having a clean home. It feels very satisfying to have laundry and dishes that are not only clean, but put away. I am able to relax when we have food in the kitchen and I have a plan for meals I can feed my family. Having this order in my home gives me a really peaceful feeling. So I’ve been reintroducing my routines bit by bit, but only after making sure it’s because I want them there, and they make sense.
This change may not be noticeable to anyone else. On the outside it looks the same to my family. The difference now is that when I have my fatigue days and can’t keep up with my routines, I am able to say to myself, “just rest, that can wait.” Or better yet, I can ask my family members to help. I don’t feel that shame and guilt that I did before. I am able to have grace for myself and this body I live in. It’s a *wonderful* thing.
This is a matter of self-care, which the culture talks a lot about and I sort of cringe at, but I do agree you need to take care of yourself first. Well, second. Jesus first, then take care of you. I am better able to take care of family now because I take care of my needs first. Only now I feel like I’m doing that because I want to, not because some invisible force told me I should. My stepmom used to say “don’t should on yourself”, and I love that saying. “Should” is a terrible driver. You may be getting things done that way, but you do it with the added baggage of guilt and shame. Find a new driver, one who gives you grace and patience. You might find, as I did, that the new driver looks a lot like you!
Infusion Day
Today was my monthly infusion for Tysabri, the drug I take to manage my M.S. and ward off relapses. I don’t generally post about infusion days because they are typically uneventful so there isn’t much to talk about. Today was a little bit different.
Today my nurse had the challenge of some uncooperative veins. I don’t know why this is a thing, and she couldn’t guess why either, but for the last couple IVs and blood draws, my veins have been extremely uncooperative. My nurse tried so hard to get a good “poke” in two different areas of my left arm, but for some reason the pain was just unbearable. She could see I was in pain and my eyes were forming tears. She stopped what she was doing and looked at me with such kindness and compassion. She said she didn’t want to be causing me pain. It looked as though it was hurting her just as much as it was me. She was patient, allowing me to collect myself and slow my breathing as she made strategic suggestions for how we could make this happen. She knows how important these infusions are for my health, and she was determined to make sure I got my medicine one way or another.
The good news is that the third poke, on my right arm, went in with ease and with almost no pain at all. I was so relieved. I can withstand a little poking and prodding at the beginning, but there was no way I would have been able to withstand the previous level of pain for the hour it takes to infuse the medicine. No way. So I am thankful that she worked with me at my pace and didn’t give up trying.
I love my nurses at this infusion center. Love them. I’ve been going there for years and they have become like friends. They know me, and they treat me with care and respect. They are outstanding at their jobs. This young nurse was my angel today. She has gone above and beyond for me on numerous occasions, and today was no exception. I am so thankful for her.
The other thing that was remarkable today was that while I was sitting around waiting for my ride to go home, I started talking with the patient next to me. I had overheard her talking about recent trouble she was having with a doctor, and how she had to stand up for herself in order to be “heard”. Having just finished the (fascinating and horrifying) book, “All In Her Head”, my ears perked up. I politely interrupted and gave her kudos for being the “squeaky wheel” in order to get the care she needed. That sparked further conversation and she shared with me her journey becoming disabled 20 years ago, at the age of 42, being forced to leave a career she loved. Her story was so different from mine in detail, yet in essence there were so many similarities. I was truly intrigued and encouraged by her fighting spirit and positive attitude that I left the infusion center feeling like I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. I don’t know if I’ll ever see her again, but I hope I do. I don’t think I’ll soon forget her, that’s for sure.
I think the lesson for me today is that I need to keep sharing my stories. It’s people like the lady I met today, that have been through transformative difficulties and are still able to smile and encourage others at the end of the day, that keep us truckin’ along. I pray that I am able to live another 20 years and more, so that I can keep showing people that you can endure hard things and come out the other side stronger. I meet people like this all. the. time. They are everywhere, and you just don’t realize it! Let’s share our stories. Let’s keep encouraging others. We’re in this together, folks. You are not alone.
Real Talk
I know it’s been a while since I posted. I’m still writing almost every day, because it’s what I must do for my general sanity, but I haven’t felt a strong need for blogging. Well, that’s not true. This whole blog is pretty much my personal stream of consciousness, and I haven’t wanted to bore you with my thoughts lately. But I’m going to try to get back to it. I’m trying to work some consistency into my life with writing and exercising, so adding blogging into that isn’t a huge stretch. (That’s a lie, I started this post 5 days ago.)
Consistency is a challenge when you are having to work around bouts of fatigue. I never know when it will come and how long it will last. And to be even more honest, it really bothers me that after nearly 15 years with M.S., I still struggle this hard with fatigue. Thankfully it doesn’t send me into a tailspin of depression the way it used to. My brain is getting better at managing, I suppose. Thank you to my therapist for that. And for the Holy Spirit, who whispers wisdom when I make a point to stop and listen.
I’m still running. Still writing. Still deaf, and still mostly blind. I have days when I feel okay with my physical limitations. Days when I’m just putzing around the house, so it doesn’t interfere too much. And then days like last Wednesday, when I was out grocery shopping with a friend. It’s exhausting and psychologically taxing. For someone who lived most of her life as a people pleaser with strong codependent tendencies, it’s a tough switch to not care about bothering the people around me. This is the attitude I must take whenever I am out in public if I have any hope of not collapsing into a puddle of tears. Metaphorically speaking, of course. What I am trying to say is that in order to make it through a store, even a store as small and streamlined as Aldi, I need to put on my blinders and not worry that I might be in other shoppers’ way. There is no sign on my back that warns – “Slow shopper, please excuse” – in order to solve the mystery of why I’m staring for so long at a wall of bread. (They all look so similar and I have to carefully read the labels on the shelves.)
I’m not sharing all that to garner pity or validation (well, maybe just a little). I think I’m mostly sharing it because I want you to remember this the next time you are at the grocery store, or in line at a fast food restaurant, and the person in front of you is taking an excessive amount of time (from your perspective). Maybe there is someone on a motorized scooter parked right in front of the chips you came for, and you have to wait an extra minute or two. Does it irritate you? Does it make you mad? Remember, they are probably just as frustrated having to use the stupid scooter. So please, have some patience please. Your kindness goes a long way.
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So that post went an entirely different direction than I expected. I came back to it today and groaned. This is the life of a writer. Not every day can be a great writing day, but you keep doing it anyway. The catch with blogging is other people are reading your crap writing and may be (gasp!) *judging* you. So I figured I have two options: obsess over every sentence to tweak and make it better, or delete it altogether. I’m going with a third option. Hit publish and move on with my day. I’ll be back with more updates, I’m sure. See you later, folks. Have a beautiful day.
Shall we chat about food and writing?
Well, I spoke too soon about the dysesthesia (the burning sensation) on my back. I had a day’s reprieve, but it returned today. So that was kind of disappointing, but it’s fine. It just requires some wardrobe adjustments and limiting my upper body movement until it settles down. No biggie.
With my increase in energy I was able to make more meals at home this week! One of the downsides of my fatigue is that I’m not making meals for my family. This means they are eating crap processed food from the freezer, or Ramen (my daughter’s personal favorite), or fast food. So this week it has been really nice to get back to some better meals. Wednesday I made BLTs and onion rings. Thursday I made shredded chicken for tacos in the crockpot and it was so good (and plentiful) we had it again for dinner tonight. Tomorrow I’m planning to make pulled pork for sandwiches with coleslaw, and Sunday, meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Most would probably not call any of these meals healthy, but compared to what we eat when we are in mom’s-fatigued-crisis-mode, it’s a nice change. Also, it’s mostly been food my picky family all enjoys, so that’s always satisfying.
In addition to returning to healthy habits, I’m trying to get back to writing and working on my memoir. I had been plugging along pretty steadily on that when the fatigue hit. I knew writing a memoir would be challenging, but I’m finding it challenging in ways I didn’t expect. Through the magic of the interwebs I’ve connected with a lot of other memoir writers, however, and I am learning a ton. It’s been really great to bounce ideas off other people who can relate directly to the challenges I’m facing. They offer advice that they’ve learned along the way, and hopefully I’m able to offer them helpful feedback as well. I joined a weekly writer’s group to help keep me motivated. Just being a member of the group keeps me accountable and encouraged to not give up on the process.
You might find this interesting: I’ve read in several books on how to write memoirs, that writing a memoir is akin to training for a marathon. Which is humorous to me. I’ve trained for two marathons, and writing this memoir is by far the most challenging. At least with the marathons I had cut and dried plans to follow. But while “how to write a memoir” isn’t so cut and dried and that is frustrating to me, it means there’s a lot of room for creativity and I’m learning how fun that can be. For example, this past week in my writing group I took a stab at a “quick and dirty” shortened version of what I *think* the book will end up being about. I read it to the rest of the group and it was a lot of fun! It felt silly and free, and like it had sort of gotten me “unstuck” from where I was in the process. I still have so far to go, but I at least feel like I’m headed in a (mostly) forward direction. I will include my quick and dirty short version at the end here, in case you are curious. Keep in mind, it’s not to be read for critique, it was only written as an exercise in searching for a skeleton or outline to the book, which has been one of my ginormous struggles up to this point. I have a plethora of life experiences and stories in my head as well as on the page, and needed to find a way to filter out what actually belongs in this book.
Here is what I wrote this week:
Once upon a time there was a woman. She sat at home alone, feeling helpless and hopeless. She considered swallowing a bottle of Xanax to put an end to her suffering. (They said I should start with my lowest point.)
But! A desperate cry into the interwebs resulted in a friend coming over to save her from herself. She vowed never again to give up fighting.
Why was she so hopeless? What was she fighting? Multiple sclerosis yes, but more recently deafness, permanent vision loss. How will she come back from all this? What will rehabilitation look like?
She decides to start with the basics. Cleaning, cooking, connecting with family and friends. She developed new routines, and as things were scary or feeling new to her, her friends and family helped her to adapt. She overcame fears of boiling water and cutting apples, for example. She began walking around the block with her walker, and eventually walking with her cane to take her kids to the bus stop for school. She eventually was able to give up the cane until one day, she decided to see what would happen if she jogged for a couple of sidewalk squares.
Incredibly, she did not fall!! Bolstered by her victory, she worked and worked at building up the strength in her legs, taking solo trips around the neighborhood. When news came of a local 5k race happening, she decided to sign up to run it. (And here’s where we could write more about all the races she’s run and how she had to adapt, not ever having been a runner previously, and certainly never one with physical impairments.) Five years later, we see a woman running alone in the street, leaning hard to the left, hobbling her way to a makeshift finish line. As she sobs, she breaks through the caution tape and collapses into her husband’s arms. She has just run her first marathon, 26.2 miles, in just under 7 hours. She is elated, ecstatic to have finished on her feet, but vows never to run another one.
That ending is obviously incomplete, but it was a timed exercise so that’s where I had to leave it. I’ve always struggled with endings, so I still don’t know where to go with it, but I’ll figure that out (for those who know my story, if you have suggestions, I’d love to hear them!). If you could see the mess of chapters and paragraphs I’ve collected so far, you would appreciate that writing this quick and dirty tale is a major step forward in creating a plotline for my memoir. Beginnings seem to come naturally to me when I’m writing, but I get a little lost in my head through the middle and by the end I just don’t know how to “land the plane”. So that’s something I’m accepting about myself and working on. This writing project is proving to be a great lesson in grace and patience with oneself! For real.
And that is all, folks. It’s after 9, my brain has officially shut down. No more editing. This is what you get. Have a fabulous weekend!