sunday night thoughts
I remember when I used to write blog posts like journal entries. Nothing to prove, everything to share. In high school I’d read blogs by people I admired and wsh one day I could be as honest as they were. I stopped writing like that after I got married. And the more I think on it, the more I remember it wasn’t getting married that became the catalyst for this sudden shift in vulnerability but the event that happened shortly after. It was the first time my words had been used against me in such a violent way, taken out of context and twisted to the point where death threats and ill wishes were spoken against me and my newly formed family. Ann Voskamp, in her latest book, says “Newborns begin in vulnerability, and wih every breath we only keep growing into greater vulnerability, or we let parts of ourselves die.” I let myself die there. It marked a distinct shift for me, and that early March morning when I saw what had been said about me, when I ran from the warm apartment I shared with my new husband into the falling, frigid snow, a monument was constructed that said ‘here stands a woman who would rather kill herself with silence than let a weapon be formed against her.’ I still grieve that girl. I’m trying to teach her it’s ok to use her voice again
I’ve been using this affirmation on myself: I don’t owe anyone pretty. Oh but how I feel like I do. I feel like I owe people pretty, skinny, inspiration, success story. Recovery isn’t enough, it needs to sparkle. Is it any wonder the beauty industry, and the diet industry, make billions of dollars every year? I’ve had a lot of moments lately standing in front of the mirror wondering who the hell I am anymore. There was a year (my first year in college i think) where I loved my body. I was bigger than I am now, softer, less sharp edges. But then I had a baby, and many surgeries, and medications that made my hair fall out and my face swell up ike a moon and everything changed so fast I could barely keep up. Cody and I just got back from visiting family, and the number one topic of conversation was my health and my body, and I realized much of what was said was just an external voice to my internal thoughts. Thoughts creep in, and when they are your own they almost sound like truth. The lady at the ramada when we checked in a 2am told me how beautiful my hair was, but did it matter if my own defenses were up ready to deflect it? Store bought hair dye on my head, even though it wasn’t what my intuition told me, trying to play the game and be pretty enough.
Airports are like hospitals. I had that thought when we were stuck in one for 7 hours trying to get home from visiting family. In both, you’re at the mercy of another person. Tired, exhausted, or in pain, either way the guards are low. We yell at each other over baggage claims, the same way my words are harsh when i’m in pain. mid way through our airport layover, my body collapsed in nerve pain. I still get it sometimes, intense nerve pain around my scar, my ribs, my spine. I’m not thinking clearly, I am afraid, and the instinctual response is to give up responsibility, to give in to fear and claim a desire to go to the hospital (in this situation i knew where the pain was coming from and why i was in pain. i am not claiming to be ignorant about very real medical issues, or to seek support when i do need it or have concerns). I rested (briefly) then, forced my body to carry on to get home, and the pain continued in loud, sharp bursts, demanding to be heard. (that’s the thing about pain. it demands to be felt. john green). and as frustrating as it is to not be superwoman, isn’t the body wise? doesn’t she know what she needs? we take tylenol to push through the pain and coffee to combat fatigue but the body knows what she needs. and in ignoring sensations, have we flipped the switch from human being into machine, at least partly?
I read a quote a few days ago on rejection, and if we want the fullness of life we need to be open to the fullness of rejection. when i think of rejection i think of organ rejection. it’s the number one concern for a transplant patient - rejecting your organ. isn’t that also the same? there is no life without the possibility for rejection, and if i spend every moment focusing on preventing rejection am i really living? or am i just managing a life? everyone seems to be talking about how to live with your transplant but no one seems to be talking about how we truly live.
