I am really over being sick.
Being sick is not over me.
I came down with the flu (or something like it) on Friday, and I've been down for the count since then. I'm definitely on my way to getting better - my fever broke yesterday, but it's amazing how wiped out I am.
I've been watching Gilmore Girls (for the zillionth time), and lounging in bed with my dog, who must really understand how awful I feel, because he hasn't been pestering me to play, just snuggled up against my legs. It was sort of nice for a minute or two, but I'm bored and wanting to do something, but still lacking energy.
I've been thinking about my health a lot.
I've been on Weight Watchers for three weeks, and I'm down twelve pounds. I find this is slightly extraordinary - I've hated those twelve pounds (and their friends) for a long time, felt disconnected from my body for a long time, and somehow I was able to overcome them (and this is the crazy part) with ease.
I just decided that I was over feeling the way I felt, and I decided to do something about it, and then I did. I've done Weight Watchers before (I lost 40 pounds after cancer, and kept it off for years) and so I didn't even think about it, I just signed up. And then I started following the program, tracking my food, and making simple swaps (no sour cream, use fat free Greek yogurt instead; lots of chicken breasts, not so much beef; double or triple the number of fruits and veggies I'd been eating).
And - success.
It is really extraordinary to witness the changes in my body after 12 pounds gone. My body has a different shape, in addition to the size. My clothes fit differently. But most of all? I just feel different. I can't even describe it - I just know that I feel completely different than I did three weeks ago when I started.
And I'm just getting started.
I do not know how I'd worked myself up to this high weight, but I did. Well, I do know: I put my health on the back burner, worked out only sporadically, and I ate just about everything, without the slightest consideration, and in large quantities. It was a recipe for disaster, and a disaster occurred. My cholesterol shot up, my waistline ballooned, and I felt sluggish in all ways.
But no more.
At only three weeks, I've barely started my new habits - I know I'm nowhere near the safe zone. As a matter of fact, I know that there is no safe zone. I know that when I was my goal weight and kept there for a stretch, I thought I was safe forever - but it just doesn't work like that.
This time, I'm going through this knowing that when Weight Watchers says "Lifetime" it doesn't mean I'm done and I can celebrate, it means that I get the opportunity to spend the rest of my life working on that success. Lifetime means that there are no shortcuts, and that I'm going to have to spend the rest of my life managing my health.
I have another lipid panel scheduled for May. By then, I'd love to be 15-20 pounds down from where I am now, well within my healthy BMI range, and starting to wear the size 6s that I should never have taken for granted.
***
Being sick sucks. It really does. It's not vacation, it's not fun, it's boring and irritating. The past few days have gone by in a blur: my house is still a mess, the dog isn't getting enough exercise, I miss work.
So I'm going to work really hard at making sure that I don't get sick.
I'm losing weight, lowering my cholesterol, reducing my blood pressure. If I ever crawl out of bed (tomorrow, I hope!) I will get my exercise going in earnest. I'm eating healthy food that is actually quite delicious (although it is a shift in my palate - no question, I had some really bad habits). I'm still able to have treats, just in moderation.
And I'm ready to face a whole life ahead with this new philosophy. I'm going to lose a total of 30 pounds, and I'm going to be healthy. I'm going to keep my new eating habits for a lifetime. Because I'm ready. Because I'm worth it.
And because I felt really awful before, and it wasn't worth it.
So yes, I'm sick - but I'm getting healthy. It's time.
Tuesday, February 25, 2020
Monday, February 24, 2020
Detour
My plan for mid-winter break:
1. Rest
2. Go on great adventures
3. Work out
4. Catch up at work
I did okay with resting, and then my body said "Detour!" in a very loud voice: I got sick. Really sick. Fevers, chills, sneezing, coughing, body aches sick.
It is Monday morning and I'm at home, not at work. I think my fever broke last night (I got so sweaty I had to change my pajamas at two in the morning!), so maybe I'm on the mend, but I am definitely moving slowly (because that is all I can seem to do, and because when I get up and move I start coughing).
None of this is according to plan.
Most of my life has not been according to plan, actually. It is rare when something has gone as anticipated. I'm getting used to that idea, but I'm not bitter about it: I'm starting to figure out the peace in the detours.
This morning, I'm feeling gratitude, despite my illness.
My dog - so bouncy and wild - has calmly stayed by my side. He knows I'm sick, and he is here for me in an uncharacteristically calm way.
My work colleagues texted me to offer any support they could give. They told me they missed me, and then they made me feel appreciated, and they encouraged me to stay home and care for myself.
I have sick leave.
My teenage daughter went to the store to buy more ibuprofen, satsumas, tissues, throat lozenges, and chicken so that I can make chicken soup (tonight's dinner). She's brought me tea, and been self sufficient. (At 17 I still try to mom her, but it's nice to know she doesn't need me to do everything.)
So here I am, in my warm, comfortable house, with a cup of coffee in a favorite mug, sick and in bed. It's a detour I hadn't planned, but somehow, I'm okay.
I can get some work done. I can write. I can do some laundry. I can have a nap. I can drink tea.
***
After the really horrifying experience of witnessing domestic violence, I think I'm not surprised I got sick. I put myself in harm's way, and my body went into panic mode afterwards: I swear I could feel my blood pressure through the roof. I'm not surprised that my body said "Enough." Today is enforced down time; today I will move slowly, whether I want to or not.
***
I am determined to live my best life, detours and all. I have learned that sometimes the worst detours lead to some fantastic places: cancer taught me strength and the joy of being alive; divorce freed me to be happy. Looking back at my life, those detours were necessary for me to become who I am now, and I like myself better for how those experiences shaped me.
If my father had not revealed his truth, and shouted how ashamed he was of me, I would still be trapped in a relationship with him where I was constantly scrambling to stay safe as he questioned my worth.
The detours are horrible. In the moment, they are filled with pain, fear, anxiety, and hopelessness. At the moment when the detour announces itself, I have felt worthless.
It's what happens after that that matters, though.
I have come to realize that it's what we do with the detours that shapes us, not whether we get detours. EVERYONE gets detours! Some people seem blessed with fewer detours than others, but nobody gets through life unscathed. Whether it's health issues, family of origin issues, trauma such as rape or war, relationship issues, work issues, poverty issues, or equity issues (I do not forget my privilege as a white, middle class, cisgender, straight person), nobody gets through life without some detours. Some are easier to deal with than others, but having survived some, I know that I can survive others.
***
So, here I am, in required downtime. It's nearly 9am and I've managed to send in sub plans hours ago, and here I am writing, and the rest of the day stretches out before me. The trick will be to manage my time well, acknowledging that my body needs rest, but that even in rest there are ways to heal and ways to merely pass the time. How I manage my detour is up to me. This is my life, and I get to shape my path.
***
Weight Watchers follow up:
One of my detours has been my weight, and with it, my health. When I finished cancer treatment, I managed to lose 40 pounds, and I felt SO DAMN GOOD. I kept most of that weight off for almost a decade, but then it crept back up, and in my "new" job (2.5 years) I think I've gained 25 pounds. I say "I think" because my scale lives under the bathroom cabinet, and I hadn't pulled it out in years, so I have no idea how much I weighed when I started that job, but I do know that some of the clothes I could wear when I started no longer fit, and that my pant size went up from a 6 to a 10 since I started.
I am determined to reclaim my health again. This time, it's my cholesterol that has motivated me. I did not fight cancer for years only to die of a heart attack! Getting my cholesterol results was a definite detour, and it scared me.
But good things are coming from it.
I've lost 11.2 pounds in three weeks on Weight Watchers. I'm never hungry, because I can eat as much as I need. I've been snacking on fruit a lot more than usual - it isn't unusual for me to have a banana, an apple, and three satsumas in a day. I know there are folks out there who say "oh no fruit has too much sugar!" but I respond that nobody ever got fat eating fruit. I'm eating lots of fiber, I'm eating the rainbow, and more importantly I'm not eating processed junk or desserts because I'm filling up on healthy, whole foods. I know that this is how to take care of my health, and I'm thrilled with how I feel. When I've wanted a treat - chocolate, or, in one case, a burger - I've planned for it, tracked the points, and stayed on plan, and continued to lose weight. This is what healthy eating looks like to me: it's not about deprivation, it's about making thoughtful choices. According to the data, losing just 5% of one's weight can lower cholesterol, so in theory my cholesterol is already lower.
But it's more than that.
I want to date again. No, I don't: I want to fall in love. I want real, everlasting love with a man who finds me extraordinary. I want to look at him and think "How did I ever get this lucky?" and I want to feel safe, happy, and excited all at the same time.
I deserve that.
By working on my cholesterol, I'm also working on my physical appearance. I know that the right man for me will love me for my giant heart, my brave spirit, and my irrepressible optimism, but I also want him to think that I'm beautiful. What's more, I want to feel confident in my own skin. I don't want to sigh when I catch my reflection in a window. I want to go for runs where stretching my legs in that way makes me feel incredibly strong. I want to go for hikes where my focus is the lake, the smell of the forest, the feeling of the sun on my skin, because my body is strong and wants to soak up the miles.
I will be in a size 6 again by summer. I'm doing it for me, and if nobody noticed or cared it would still fill me with excitement to reclaim my body in this way. But I also think that I deserve to have a man think that I'm beautiful, and be drawn not only to my soul but to my physical self.
The cholesterol detour is going to pay off. I am absolutely sure that I am on the right track to get back my body, the one that is rightfully mine. I still have a ways to go - I want to lose at least 19 more pounds - but that's okay. I'm doing what it takes, committed to the process, and sure that it will work out. When I set my mind to something, nothing will stop me.
I know I'm unstoppable because I've had huge detours in the past, and I've found my way.
The next few months will be transformative for me. My body is changing, and with it, my mind is shifting. I will open myself up to dating again and - my intuition tells me - this time I'm ready, and the Universe has someone waiting for me who will be just as excited to find me as I am to find him.
***
So, I'm lying in bed, Chance at my feet, sniffling and sneezing with a tightness in my chest, but it's okay. It's okay, because I'm thinking about the life that I'm making, and I'm planning for my future, and I'm reflecting on how far I've come. I know that a chest cold/flu/whatever this is can derail, but only for so long. I'm not afraid of the detour, and I'm ready to come back stronger than ever. I also know that today is a day for naps, and I don't need to feel guilty about that.
Sometimes, detours have the best views.
1. Rest
2. Go on great adventures
3. Work out
4. Catch up at work
I did okay with resting, and then my body said "Detour!" in a very loud voice: I got sick. Really sick. Fevers, chills, sneezing, coughing, body aches sick.
It is Monday morning and I'm at home, not at work. I think my fever broke last night (I got so sweaty I had to change my pajamas at two in the morning!), so maybe I'm on the mend, but I am definitely moving slowly (because that is all I can seem to do, and because when I get up and move I start coughing).
None of this is according to plan.
Most of my life has not been according to plan, actually. It is rare when something has gone as anticipated. I'm getting used to that idea, but I'm not bitter about it: I'm starting to figure out the peace in the detours.
This morning, I'm feeling gratitude, despite my illness.
My dog - so bouncy and wild - has calmly stayed by my side. He knows I'm sick, and he is here for me in an uncharacteristically calm way.
My work colleagues texted me to offer any support they could give. They told me they missed me, and then they made me feel appreciated, and they encouraged me to stay home and care for myself.
I have sick leave.
My teenage daughter went to the store to buy more ibuprofen, satsumas, tissues, throat lozenges, and chicken so that I can make chicken soup (tonight's dinner). She's brought me tea, and been self sufficient. (At 17 I still try to mom her, but it's nice to know she doesn't need me to do everything.)
So here I am, in my warm, comfortable house, with a cup of coffee in a favorite mug, sick and in bed. It's a detour I hadn't planned, but somehow, I'm okay.
I can get some work done. I can write. I can do some laundry. I can have a nap. I can drink tea.
***
After the really horrifying experience of witnessing domestic violence, I think I'm not surprised I got sick. I put myself in harm's way, and my body went into panic mode afterwards: I swear I could feel my blood pressure through the roof. I'm not surprised that my body said "Enough." Today is enforced down time; today I will move slowly, whether I want to or not.
***
I am determined to live my best life, detours and all. I have learned that sometimes the worst detours lead to some fantastic places: cancer taught me strength and the joy of being alive; divorce freed me to be happy. Looking back at my life, those detours were necessary for me to become who I am now, and I like myself better for how those experiences shaped me.
If my father had not revealed his truth, and shouted how ashamed he was of me, I would still be trapped in a relationship with him where I was constantly scrambling to stay safe as he questioned my worth.
The detours are horrible. In the moment, they are filled with pain, fear, anxiety, and hopelessness. At the moment when the detour announces itself, I have felt worthless.
It's what happens after that that matters, though.
I have come to realize that it's what we do with the detours that shapes us, not whether we get detours. EVERYONE gets detours! Some people seem blessed with fewer detours than others, but nobody gets through life unscathed. Whether it's health issues, family of origin issues, trauma such as rape or war, relationship issues, work issues, poverty issues, or equity issues (I do not forget my privilege as a white, middle class, cisgender, straight person), nobody gets through life without some detours. Some are easier to deal with than others, but having survived some, I know that I can survive others.
***
So, here I am, in required downtime. It's nearly 9am and I've managed to send in sub plans hours ago, and here I am writing, and the rest of the day stretches out before me. The trick will be to manage my time well, acknowledging that my body needs rest, but that even in rest there are ways to heal and ways to merely pass the time. How I manage my detour is up to me. This is my life, and I get to shape my path.
***
Weight Watchers follow up:
One of my detours has been my weight, and with it, my health. When I finished cancer treatment, I managed to lose 40 pounds, and I felt SO DAMN GOOD. I kept most of that weight off for almost a decade, but then it crept back up, and in my "new" job (2.5 years) I think I've gained 25 pounds. I say "I think" because my scale lives under the bathroom cabinet, and I hadn't pulled it out in years, so I have no idea how much I weighed when I started that job, but I do know that some of the clothes I could wear when I started no longer fit, and that my pant size went up from a 6 to a 10 since I started.
I am determined to reclaim my health again. This time, it's my cholesterol that has motivated me. I did not fight cancer for years only to die of a heart attack! Getting my cholesterol results was a definite detour, and it scared me.
But good things are coming from it.
I've lost 11.2 pounds in three weeks on Weight Watchers. I'm never hungry, because I can eat as much as I need. I've been snacking on fruit a lot more than usual - it isn't unusual for me to have a banana, an apple, and three satsumas in a day. I know there are folks out there who say "oh no fruit has too much sugar!" but I respond that nobody ever got fat eating fruit. I'm eating lots of fiber, I'm eating the rainbow, and more importantly I'm not eating processed junk or desserts because I'm filling up on healthy, whole foods. I know that this is how to take care of my health, and I'm thrilled with how I feel. When I've wanted a treat - chocolate, or, in one case, a burger - I've planned for it, tracked the points, and stayed on plan, and continued to lose weight. This is what healthy eating looks like to me: it's not about deprivation, it's about making thoughtful choices. According to the data, losing just 5% of one's weight can lower cholesterol, so in theory my cholesterol is already lower.
But it's more than that.
I want to date again. No, I don't: I want to fall in love. I want real, everlasting love with a man who finds me extraordinary. I want to look at him and think "How did I ever get this lucky?" and I want to feel safe, happy, and excited all at the same time.
I deserve that.
By working on my cholesterol, I'm also working on my physical appearance. I know that the right man for me will love me for my giant heart, my brave spirit, and my irrepressible optimism, but I also want him to think that I'm beautiful. What's more, I want to feel confident in my own skin. I don't want to sigh when I catch my reflection in a window. I want to go for runs where stretching my legs in that way makes me feel incredibly strong. I want to go for hikes where my focus is the lake, the smell of the forest, the feeling of the sun on my skin, because my body is strong and wants to soak up the miles.
I will be in a size 6 again by summer. I'm doing it for me, and if nobody noticed or cared it would still fill me with excitement to reclaim my body in this way. But I also think that I deserve to have a man think that I'm beautiful, and be drawn not only to my soul but to my physical self.
The cholesterol detour is going to pay off. I am absolutely sure that I am on the right track to get back my body, the one that is rightfully mine. I still have a ways to go - I want to lose at least 19 more pounds - but that's okay. I'm doing what it takes, committed to the process, and sure that it will work out. When I set my mind to something, nothing will stop me.
I know I'm unstoppable because I've had huge detours in the past, and I've found my way.
The next few months will be transformative for me. My body is changing, and with it, my mind is shifting. I will open myself up to dating again and - my intuition tells me - this time I'm ready, and the Universe has someone waiting for me who will be just as excited to find me as I am to find him.
***
So, I'm lying in bed, Chance at my feet, sniffling and sneezing with a tightness in my chest, but it's okay. It's okay, because I'm thinking about the life that I'm making, and I'm planning for my future, and I'm reflecting on how far I've come. I know that a chest cold/flu/whatever this is can derail, but only for so long. I'm not afraid of the detour, and I'm ready to come back stronger than ever. I also know that today is a day for naps, and I don't need to feel guilty about that.
Sometimes, detours have the best views.
Monday, February 17, 2020
What I Want
I have a million things that I want - a trip to somewhere tropical, world peace, a flat stomach, a happy child - but not all of the things I want are equal, and I'm trying to work really hard on what I *really* want.
I want to live a life of value and meaning, in which I live my values. This is so much harder than it sounds. It means I have to hold my temper when I'm angry, but not suppress my anger. It means that I have to balance my budget, but maintain joy. It means I have to take care of the world, while I do self care.
I do not have it figured out.
As I mentioned, I joined Weight Watchers (again) two weeks ago. It's going ridiculously well - surprisingly well. I needed to drop 30 pounds, and I've already dropped 9.8 pounds in two weeks. I had hoped for a loss of two pounds a week, so I'm a little startled at my early success, though I'm enjoying it. But the thing about it is... it's making me question EVERYTHING, make me wonder where else I haven't lived my values and where I could do better.
The reason I put on weight is because I stopped living my values. As a cancer survivor, I know all too well, in intimate detail, what happens when the body gets disease. I know the shape of the fear; I know the heaviness and taste of it. I know that nothing in the world is worth living with that fear. What comes with the fear is pain (in my case, things like surgeries and radiation that lead to third degree burns), tedium (how many appointments?!), and the inability to do the simple tasks that make a life run smoothly. It temporarily stole from me the ability to climb the trail, to run along the sea...to make dinner for my family.
I never what to feel like that again. Ever. So why did I allow myself to get so unhealthy?
It's because I tried to take shortcuts to happiness.
It's so easy to believe that the brownie contains happiness; that the answer is in a screen, and not in nature. Those two ideas go against my values in every way...and yet I let myself believe that I was okay, I wasn't doing too badly. The result? Pants that didn't fit, followed by replacement pants, followed by even bigger replacement pants. A face in the mirror that didn't look like mine (why is my chin that shape?!). Cholesterol with alarming numbers. Flabby muscles.
I don't know why, but sometimes the truth is right in front of me and I ignore it, but then suddenly - after days or years - I see it clearly and know exactly what to do, and I'm filled with inspiration to do what must be done. When I get an idea in my head, it is almost like it just happens - I'm filled with determination and I feel unstoppable. It happened when I put myself through college despite the fact that my parents didn't support that journey emotionally or financially: I knew I had to do it anyway. (Two undergraduate degrees and a masters later, it seems that I was onto something.) I knew it when I had to get divorced: years of a bad marriage, but one day I didn't have any more questions, I just knew that I needed to create a new life. Returning to teaching: one day I just knew, even after a 14 year absence, that it was time.
Sometimes I just know things.
Right now, I know I'm on the cusp of a few things. One is my weight loss. I have ten (almost!) pounds down, and at least 20 to go, and I'm 100% sure that I will lose that weight. I did it once before, after the worst part of cancer treatment in 2006, and I know I can do it again.
But while I do it, I'm really thinking about what I really want, and where else in my life I've been delusional, thinking that I'm doing what I want (e.g. brownies) but sabotaging what I really want (e.g. health).
When someone says "would you like a brownie and a heart attack, or no brownie and health?" it seems like a ridiculous idea, but I think it really is that simple, and that complicated.
So I'm looking everywhere at my life. Where do I need to do things differently?
***
I need to write more. The book is evolving in my brain, and it's ready to go. I'm so sure that I have something to say, and that the time is NOW. If I am strong enough to face someone else's domestic violence, strong enough to face down cancer, strong enough to lose ten pounds in two weeks....surely I'm strong enough to write stories!
I need to budget better. My phone screen is cracked, and today I went to the phone store (three of them, actually, to compare) to figure out a new phone; my iPhone 6 isn't worth the cost of the screen repair. Every single plan they offered, every single bill, was significantly higher than I wanted it to be. I wanted the new phone. I wanted the new features. But I held off. Because what I want most of all is to live a life free from worry about money, and adding another $45 to my monthly bills wasn't the right way to do it.
Yesterday, my brain still foggy from the trauma of a couple of weeks ago, I went to the mountains and hiked in the snow with my silly dog. I wanted to curl up with a blanket in front of the TV, but I knew that my answers weren't in the flatscreen. My answers were in swirling snowflakes, a prancing puppy, and the quiet that is the snow in the forest. It took everything I had to get myself out there, but I did it, and I'm glad.
***
I don't have it figured out, but I'm slowly - oh so slowly! - realizing that if I can pinpoint what I want the most, I might just be able to get it. I'm slowly, painstakingly slowly, realizing that when I figure out what I REALLY want, that I can make changes in my life to get what I want.
I want to be healthy, have energy, and feel beautiful... so I need to watch what I eat, and I need to exercise more.
I want to be a writer... so I need to write more.
And I want to live thoughtfully, in a way that treads lightly on the earth and doesn't stress my finances... so I need to say "no" to things, and "yes" to experiences like hiking in the woods.
I want to fall in love with a real partner, the kind I deserve ... so I'm going to have to put myself out there.
It's so simple, and it is so complicated. But I know what I want, and I'm going after it. There are no shortcuts. It's hard to live my values.
But I'm going all out, and I'm trying. I can do this. It's worth it to me, and I see it with some clarity that was missing not that long ago.
***
I stopped eating brownies, I started eating lots more whole grains, fruits, and veggies along with lean protein....and I dropped 10 pounds. If I can do that, I can do anything.
I'm going to be a size 6 again by summer.
But more than that, I'm going to be the best me, in every way, that I have ever been. I'm ready. No excuses. And with that, I think that I'm ready for what I want most of all: the love of my life.
I can see it. It's what I want, and I know now why I wasn't ready, but I am now.
I can't wait to watch this unfold!
I want to live a life of value and meaning, in which I live my values. This is so much harder than it sounds. It means I have to hold my temper when I'm angry, but not suppress my anger. It means that I have to balance my budget, but maintain joy. It means I have to take care of the world, while I do self care.
I do not have it figured out.
As I mentioned, I joined Weight Watchers (again) two weeks ago. It's going ridiculously well - surprisingly well. I needed to drop 30 pounds, and I've already dropped 9.8 pounds in two weeks. I had hoped for a loss of two pounds a week, so I'm a little startled at my early success, though I'm enjoying it. But the thing about it is... it's making me question EVERYTHING, make me wonder where else I haven't lived my values and where I could do better.
The reason I put on weight is because I stopped living my values. As a cancer survivor, I know all too well, in intimate detail, what happens when the body gets disease. I know the shape of the fear; I know the heaviness and taste of it. I know that nothing in the world is worth living with that fear. What comes with the fear is pain (in my case, things like surgeries and radiation that lead to third degree burns), tedium (how many appointments?!), and the inability to do the simple tasks that make a life run smoothly. It temporarily stole from me the ability to climb the trail, to run along the sea...to make dinner for my family.
I never what to feel like that again. Ever. So why did I allow myself to get so unhealthy?
It's because I tried to take shortcuts to happiness.
It's so easy to believe that the brownie contains happiness; that the answer is in a screen, and not in nature. Those two ideas go against my values in every way...and yet I let myself believe that I was okay, I wasn't doing too badly. The result? Pants that didn't fit, followed by replacement pants, followed by even bigger replacement pants. A face in the mirror that didn't look like mine (why is my chin that shape?!). Cholesterol with alarming numbers. Flabby muscles.
I don't know why, but sometimes the truth is right in front of me and I ignore it, but then suddenly - after days or years - I see it clearly and know exactly what to do, and I'm filled with inspiration to do what must be done. When I get an idea in my head, it is almost like it just happens - I'm filled with determination and I feel unstoppable. It happened when I put myself through college despite the fact that my parents didn't support that journey emotionally or financially: I knew I had to do it anyway. (Two undergraduate degrees and a masters later, it seems that I was onto something.) I knew it when I had to get divorced: years of a bad marriage, but one day I didn't have any more questions, I just knew that I needed to create a new life. Returning to teaching: one day I just knew, even after a 14 year absence, that it was time.
Sometimes I just know things.
Right now, I know I'm on the cusp of a few things. One is my weight loss. I have ten (almost!) pounds down, and at least 20 to go, and I'm 100% sure that I will lose that weight. I did it once before, after the worst part of cancer treatment in 2006, and I know I can do it again.
But while I do it, I'm really thinking about what I really want, and where else in my life I've been delusional, thinking that I'm doing what I want (e.g. brownies) but sabotaging what I really want (e.g. health).
When someone says "would you like a brownie and a heart attack, or no brownie and health?" it seems like a ridiculous idea, but I think it really is that simple, and that complicated.
So I'm looking everywhere at my life. Where do I need to do things differently?
***
I need to write more. The book is evolving in my brain, and it's ready to go. I'm so sure that I have something to say, and that the time is NOW. If I am strong enough to face someone else's domestic violence, strong enough to face down cancer, strong enough to lose ten pounds in two weeks....surely I'm strong enough to write stories!
I need to budget better. My phone screen is cracked, and today I went to the phone store (three of them, actually, to compare) to figure out a new phone; my iPhone 6 isn't worth the cost of the screen repair. Every single plan they offered, every single bill, was significantly higher than I wanted it to be. I wanted the new phone. I wanted the new features. But I held off. Because what I want most of all is to live a life free from worry about money, and adding another $45 to my monthly bills wasn't the right way to do it.
Yesterday, my brain still foggy from the trauma of a couple of weeks ago, I went to the mountains and hiked in the snow with my silly dog. I wanted to curl up with a blanket in front of the TV, but I knew that my answers weren't in the flatscreen. My answers were in swirling snowflakes, a prancing puppy, and the quiet that is the snow in the forest. It took everything I had to get myself out there, but I did it, and I'm glad.
***
I don't have it figured out, but I'm slowly - oh so slowly! - realizing that if I can pinpoint what I want the most, I might just be able to get it. I'm slowly, painstakingly slowly, realizing that when I figure out what I REALLY want, that I can make changes in my life to get what I want.
I want to be healthy, have energy, and feel beautiful... so I need to watch what I eat, and I need to exercise more.
I want to be a writer... so I need to write more.
And I want to live thoughtfully, in a way that treads lightly on the earth and doesn't stress my finances... so I need to say "no" to things, and "yes" to experiences like hiking in the woods.
I want to fall in love with a real partner, the kind I deserve ... so I'm going to have to put myself out there.
It's so simple, and it is so complicated. But I know what I want, and I'm going after it. There are no shortcuts. It's hard to live my values.
But I'm going all out, and I'm trying. I can do this. It's worth it to me, and I see it with some clarity that was missing not that long ago.
***
I stopped eating brownies, I started eating lots more whole grains, fruits, and veggies along with lean protein....and I dropped 10 pounds. If I can do that, I can do anything.
I'm going to be a size 6 again by summer.
But more than that, I'm going to be the best me, in every way, that I have ever been. I'm ready. No excuses. And with that, I think that I'm ready for what I want most of all: the love of my life.
I can see it. It's what I want, and I know now why I wasn't ready, but I am now.
I can't wait to watch this unfold!
Friday, February 14, 2020
Celebrating
I believe in celebrating every. damn. thing.
When I had cancer, I threw myself a last day of chemo party. I baked and made cheese platters and got tubs of drinks, and about 20 people crowded the hospital room - we got shushed by nurses, who reminded us that there were sick people around, and I giggled because, well, that was funny. I was bald, fat, and miserable as the poison dripped into my veins, but we counted down from ten for the last drops, and I imagined the final cancerous cell in my body exploding into oblivion. My friends clapped, and I thanked my friends for joining me for this milestone... never mind that I had radiation right around the corner, the day deserved a celebration and I made it happen.
Today is Valentine's Day and, like most of the Valentine's Days of my life, I'm single. But I'm still celebrating. I read my students a poem about Valentine's Day:
https://poets.org/poem/will-you?utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Poem-a-Day%20%20March%2013%202019&utm_content=Poem-a-Day%20%20March%2013%202019%20CID_9b0938fa8fc6b7fbcded7b494a4e8d9f&utm_source=Email%20from%20Campaign%20Monitor&utm_term=Will%20You
Will You? by Carrie Fountain, and I thought about all of the elementary school celebrations. I thought about my acquired distaste for glitter in my house (days later, I'd find bits stuck to my face or my elbow, and I swear the tiny sparkling pieces never, ever left the sofa entirely) and how I refused, after one particularily messy arts and crafts session with six year olds, to never let glitter enter my doors again.
This was said with seriousness, but also with merriment.
I was the mom that hosted Valentine's Day parties with home made sugar cookies and vats of pink and purple icing to decorate them with. I was the mom who invited a half dozen kids over, covered the table with a plastic tablecloth (covered in hearts, of course) and let the kids go nuts decorating their cookies and filling up on sweets. The moms clustered around, with glasses of wine, cheese platters, and dark chocolates.
When I was married, I wore the red dress and the highest heels on Valentine's. I made the reservation at the romantic restaurant.
And then, when money was tighter and the marriage was weaker, I made the fancy dinner and set a table for three at home.
I celebrate. I celebrate big things, and I celebrate little things. And yes, despite it all, I still celebrate Valentine's Day.
This year in particular, I'm not feeling it. The violence I encountered is still within me; I've chosen not to date since last summer; I'm a single mom. I am just not feeling it.
But I'm trying.
I ordered my kid a couple of small items from her favorite clothing store. I read my students a poem, and created space for them to make notes for each other on pink and lavender paper (trust me, a rather unexpected moment in AP Language). I am celebrating small this year, but I am still celebrating.
Life is too short not to celebrate whenever there is the tiniest opportunity to do so.
And even though I'm still not feeling it - good things have come from this. Students wrote me Valentine's cards. My daughter is appreciative of her surprise gift (I don't always buy a "real" gift for Valentine's, it's usually something like socks with hearts on them). My classroom felt festive today, on a day when I'm still having trouble just getting through.
I avoided the cake in the staff room - a victory. A student gave me chocolates; another student gave me a chocolate heart from Fran's (ooohhhh fancy!). I felt loved.
I am proud of my celebration of this holiday of love. One day, it'd be really fantastic to celebrate it with a real man - a man who represented the present and the future; a man different than the men in my past.
But today is a victory, because I found a way to celebrate even when I'm hurting, and for now, that's a pretty big win.
When I had cancer, I threw myself a last day of chemo party. I baked and made cheese platters and got tubs of drinks, and about 20 people crowded the hospital room - we got shushed by nurses, who reminded us that there were sick people around, and I giggled because, well, that was funny. I was bald, fat, and miserable as the poison dripped into my veins, but we counted down from ten for the last drops, and I imagined the final cancerous cell in my body exploding into oblivion. My friends clapped, and I thanked my friends for joining me for this milestone... never mind that I had radiation right around the corner, the day deserved a celebration and I made it happen.
Today is Valentine's Day and, like most of the Valentine's Days of my life, I'm single. But I'm still celebrating. I read my students a poem about Valentine's Day:
https://poets.org/poem/will-you?utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Poem-a-Day%20%20March%2013%202019&utm_content=Poem-a-Day%20%20March%2013%202019%20CID_9b0938fa8fc6b7fbcded7b494a4e8d9f&utm_source=Email%20from%20Campaign%20Monitor&utm_term=Will%20You
Will You? by Carrie Fountain, and I thought about all of the elementary school celebrations. I thought about my acquired distaste for glitter in my house (days later, I'd find bits stuck to my face or my elbow, and I swear the tiny sparkling pieces never, ever left the sofa entirely) and how I refused, after one particularily messy arts and crafts session with six year olds, to never let glitter enter my doors again.
This was said with seriousness, but also with merriment.
I was the mom that hosted Valentine's Day parties with home made sugar cookies and vats of pink and purple icing to decorate them with. I was the mom who invited a half dozen kids over, covered the table with a plastic tablecloth (covered in hearts, of course) and let the kids go nuts decorating their cookies and filling up on sweets. The moms clustered around, with glasses of wine, cheese platters, and dark chocolates.
When I was married, I wore the red dress and the highest heels on Valentine's. I made the reservation at the romantic restaurant.
And then, when money was tighter and the marriage was weaker, I made the fancy dinner and set a table for three at home.
I celebrate. I celebrate big things, and I celebrate little things. And yes, despite it all, I still celebrate Valentine's Day.
This year in particular, I'm not feeling it. The violence I encountered is still within me; I've chosen not to date since last summer; I'm a single mom. I am just not feeling it.
But I'm trying.
I ordered my kid a couple of small items from her favorite clothing store. I read my students a poem, and created space for them to make notes for each other on pink and lavender paper (trust me, a rather unexpected moment in AP Language). I am celebrating small this year, but I am still celebrating.
Life is too short not to celebrate whenever there is the tiniest opportunity to do so.
And even though I'm still not feeling it - good things have come from this. Students wrote me Valentine's cards. My daughter is appreciative of her surprise gift (I don't always buy a "real" gift for Valentine's, it's usually something like socks with hearts on them). My classroom felt festive today, on a day when I'm still having trouble just getting through.
I avoided the cake in the staff room - a victory. A student gave me chocolates; another student gave me a chocolate heart from Fran's (ooohhhh fancy!). I felt loved.
I am proud of my celebration of this holiday of love. One day, it'd be really fantastic to celebrate it with a real man - a man who represented the present and the future; a man different than the men in my past.
But today is a victory, because I found a way to celebrate even when I'm hurting, and for now, that's a pretty big win.
Thursday, February 13, 2020
Deserving
I keep thinking, over and over, about my experiences this weekend, and how that family does not "deserve" what happened to them, that I do not "deserve" to be sleepless and freaked out because I helped someone, that I do not know what the man "deserves" for his actions.
I've been thinking a lot about what I deserve - and, by proxy, what everyone deserves, because I don't have the viewpoint that I'm all that special. I'm a person, and I do believe that we are born with "certain inalienable rights" and that we should all have those rights protected... but the details are a little fuzzy, and messy.
I teach high school, and every day as I look out upon the sea of students that passes through my room daily, and all of the students in the halls that I do not know, and my daughter's friends and her high school community, I realize I have some clarity. Our young people deserve to feel safe, valued, and hopeful. They, and everyone, deserve to live their best lives. They deserve help, compassion, encouragement. They deserve opportunities. They deserve a chance to build their skills, to fulfill their potential.
They deserve protecting.
I've played a little trick on my own mind ever since I became a mom when I wonder what I deserve. I imagine that it is my daughter - whom I love more than I knew love was possible in the world - asking me, and then instead of advising myself, I advise her. While I'm tough on myself, and unsure, I always know what she deserves. She deserves goodness, joy, and so much more...and if she does, then don't I, also? Doesn't everyone?
***
About a week before "the incident" I joined Weight Watchers. I'd gone to the doctor for my annual blood draw, and I saw that my cholesterol levels had jumped into the "uh oh" range. I beat myself up for a minute - I know I've gained weight, that my eating habits have become sloppy, and that my exercise ranges from inconsistent to non-existent - but then I knew, with one hundred percent certainty, that I'd had enough, and that I was ready to do the work to fix it and regain my health. I knew I deserved better, and I was willing to fight for it.
I have been on Weight Watchers for a week and a half, and I've dropped seven pounds. I switched from white rice to brown; I've doubled my fruit and vegetable intake; I'm having one Dove chocolate per night instead of five; I'm skipping the sugary processed food so often available in our staff room. I'm not starving myself - most of the time I'm stuffed. Yesterday I couldn't manage cooking so I got Chinese, but instead of one of the noodle dishes I lean towards, I picked up cashew chicken with veggies and brown rice.
I deserve to feel good.
Up until I saw those cholesterol numbers, I thought "I deserve this brownie" and "I deserve to treat myself" and so on. I thought I was being kind to myself by slacking off on healthy habits.
But I wasn't.
I used to be a size 6 (less than five years ago, I'm not talking ancient history), and now my size 10s are straining against my muffin top. I used to work out a lot and have a ton of energy, and now I'm tired all the time. I used to feel confident when I got dressed each morning, and now I feel resigned. I used to relish ten mile hikes, and now they sound overwhelming (despite my absolute joy in picnics beside alpine lakes).
What I deserve - according to what I tell my daughter, my students, and (on my good days) myself - is to feel wonderful. I deserve to be healthy and fit, to feel attractive, to be filled with energy. I'd been telling myself a lie about what I deserved, and my body called out that lie. By saying "I deserve bagels and cream cheese" what I'd really been saying is "I don't deserve to feel my best."
I deserve to feel good. It's defining "good" that is the problem, of course. But losing seven pounds feels good, living my values feels good, taking care of my health feels good. Much better than before, that's for certain. The brownie felt good for about 30 seconds, and then bad for so much more.
***
I do not feel "good" about events on Saturday. I feel anxious, weirded out, and sleepless. I am filled with questions about what could have happened, about whether I did what was right for everyone (or whether I only got lucky).
But the alternative? The alternative is that I had minded my own business or let someone else manage it, and when I think about that, I feel much, much, much worse.
I feel good, even when I'm feeling bad, because I know I did the right thing.
***
I know that my grandparents must have acted out of self preservation. It's true that WWI had put Germany into a terrible position, and that Hitler was offering them a path to pride and prosperity. I also know that resisting what Hitler did put people into harm's way, in ways large and small. I also know that the shame after WWII must have been great - nobody talks about nice Nazis! - and I can see why my grandparents didn't want to broadcast what they had been a part of, in ways large and small, after they left.
But if they thought that pretending it hadn't happened, or hiding it, or refusing to acknowledge their part in the greater atrocities was a way of defending themselves, and of giving themselves what they deserved, then I think that they were very, very, very wrong. I believe that they paid the cost for their entire lives, and that they rotted themselves out from the insides by pretending that they had no shame.
My grandparents tried to get away with what they did, to lead a lovely and happy life afterwards, but I think that they approached it all backwards.
If I want to be fit and thin and sprint up the mountain so that I can dive into the alpine waters on a sunny day, washing the sweat from my body and delighting in every second... then I have to say no to the brownie today. I DESERVE to say no to the brownie.
If I want to go to sleep at night thinking "I'm someone who lives my values" then I need to go toward the screaming, even if I'm scared.
My grandparents wanted a happy life, like we all do, and they thought they could cheat the system by taking shortcuts, by giving themselves self-preservation at the cost of others. I'm convinced it didn't work, even when it looked like it did. I do not believe that they experienced peace and joy. Did they get what they deserved? Do I judge their wealth, or their long lives? Or do I judge their isolation, or the wake of anger they left behind them? Did they wrestle with their consciences? Did they measure themselves to find that they did not meet their own standards? What DID they deserve?
***
If I want to have the life I deserve, I'm going to have to fight for it.
I'm fighting for it. It's hard. I'm struggling. But I deserve to struggle valiantly, because I deserve the results of that struggle. There's beauty in the struggle, not just the victory - I'm prepared to wrestle with my beliefs, my values, my dreams. And the cost of giving up the struggle is far too high for me to accept - I realize that I can not always meet my goals, and that sometimes bad things happen, and that I can't control life's messiness. The only thing I can control is what I do to fight for the life I deserve, and the world that I want to create for myself and others.
And I deserve that.
I've been thinking a lot about what I deserve - and, by proxy, what everyone deserves, because I don't have the viewpoint that I'm all that special. I'm a person, and I do believe that we are born with "certain inalienable rights" and that we should all have those rights protected... but the details are a little fuzzy, and messy.
I teach high school, and every day as I look out upon the sea of students that passes through my room daily, and all of the students in the halls that I do not know, and my daughter's friends and her high school community, I realize I have some clarity. Our young people deserve to feel safe, valued, and hopeful. They, and everyone, deserve to live their best lives. They deserve help, compassion, encouragement. They deserve opportunities. They deserve a chance to build their skills, to fulfill their potential.
They deserve protecting.
I've played a little trick on my own mind ever since I became a mom when I wonder what I deserve. I imagine that it is my daughter - whom I love more than I knew love was possible in the world - asking me, and then instead of advising myself, I advise her. While I'm tough on myself, and unsure, I always know what she deserves. She deserves goodness, joy, and so much more...and if she does, then don't I, also? Doesn't everyone?
***
About a week before "the incident" I joined Weight Watchers. I'd gone to the doctor for my annual blood draw, and I saw that my cholesterol levels had jumped into the "uh oh" range. I beat myself up for a minute - I know I've gained weight, that my eating habits have become sloppy, and that my exercise ranges from inconsistent to non-existent - but then I knew, with one hundred percent certainty, that I'd had enough, and that I was ready to do the work to fix it and regain my health. I knew I deserved better, and I was willing to fight for it.
I have been on Weight Watchers for a week and a half, and I've dropped seven pounds. I switched from white rice to brown; I've doubled my fruit and vegetable intake; I'm having one Dove chocolate per night instead of five; I'm skipping the sugary processed food so often available in our staff room. I'm not starving myself - most of the time I'm stuffed. Yesterday I couldn't manage cooking so I got Chinese, but instead of one of the noodle dishes I lean towards, I picked up cashew chicken with veggies and brown rice.
I deserve to feel good.
Up until I saw those cholesterol numbers, I thought "I deserve this brownie" and "I deserve to treat myself" and so on. I thought I was being kind to myself by slacking off on healthy habits.
But I wasn't.
I used to be a size 6 (less than five years ago, I'm not talking ancient history), and now my size 10s are straining against my muffin top. I used to work out a lot and have a ton of energy, and now I'm tired all the time. I used to feel confident when I got dressed each morning, and now I feel resigned. I used to relish ten mile hikes, and now they sound overwhelming (despite my absolute joy in picnics beside alpine lakes).
What I deserve - according to what I tell my daughter, my students, and (on my good days) myself - is to feel wonderful. I deserve to be healthy and fit, to feel attractive, to be filled with energy. I'd been telling myself a lie about what I deserved, and my body called out that lie. By saying "I deserve bagels and cream cheese" what I'd really been saying is "I don't deserve to feel my best."
I deserve to feel good. It's defining "good" that is the problem, of course. But losing seven pounds feels good, living my values feels good, taking care of my health feels good. Much better than before, that's for certain. The brownie felt good for about 30 seconds, and then bad for so much more.
***
I do not feel "good" about events on Saturday. I feel anxious, weirded out, and sleepless. I am filled with questions about what could have happened, about whether I did what was right for everyone (or whether I only got lucky).
But the alternative? The alternative is that I had minded my own business or let someone else manage it, and when I think about that, I feel much, much, much worse.
I feel good, even when I'm feeling bad, because I know I did the right thing.
***
I know that my grandparents must have acted out of self preservation. It's true that WWI had put Germany into a terrible position, and that Hitler was offering them a path to pride and prosperity. I also know that resisting what Hitler did put people into harm's way, in ways large and small. I also know that the shame after WWII must have been great - nobody talks about nice Nazis! - and I can see why my grandparents didn't want to broadcast what they had been a part of, in ways large and small, after they left.
But if they thought that pretending it hadn't happened, or hiding it, or refusing to acknowledge their part in the greater atrocities was a way of defending themselves, and of giving themselves what they deserved, then I think that they were very, very, very wrong. I believe that they paid the cost for their entire lives, and that they rotted themselves out from the insides by pretending that they had no shame.
My grandparents tried to get away with what they did, to lead a lovely and happy life afterwards, but I think that they approached it all backwards.
If I want to be fit and thin and sprint up the mountain so that I can dive into the alpine waters on a sunny day, washing the sweat from my body and delighting in every second... then I have to say no to the brownie today. I DESERVE to say no to the brownie.
If I want to go to sleep at night thinking "I'm someone who lives my values" then I need to go toward the screaming, even if I'm scared.
My grandparents wanted a happy life, like we all do, and they thought they could cheat the system by taking shortcuts, by giving themselves self-preservation at the cost of others. I'm convinced it didn't work, even when it looked like it did. I do not believe that they experienced peace and joy. Did they get what they deserved? Do I judge their wealth, or their long lives? Or do I judge their isolation, or the wake of anger they left behind them? Did they wrestle with their consciences? Did they measure themselves to find that they did not meet their own standards? What DID they deserve?
***
If I want to have the life I deserve, I'm going to have to fight for it.
I'm fighting for it. It's hard. I'm struggling. But I deserve to struggle valiantly, because I deserve the results of that struggle. There's beauty in the struggle, not just the victory - I'm prepared to wrestle with my beliefs, my values, my dreams. And the cost of giving up the struggle is far too high for me to accept - I realize that I can not always meet my goals, and that sometimes bad things happen, and that I can't control life's messiness. The only thing I can control is what I do to fight for the life I deserve, and the world that I want to create for myself and others.
And I deserve that.
Wednesday, February 12, 2020
This is a test
I have been thinking a lot - nonstop, actually, always in the back of my head - about the truth I told in my post Telling this January. Putting my story out here in the world for anyone to see what a powerful thing to do: it changed me, somehow, and only made me more determined to live my truth, to tell the truth. What we do is telling; what we do tells the story of who we really are at our core.
I deeply want to be the girl who promised herself at nine that, if she'd been a German in the Holocaust, she would have done the right thing. As a nine year old I was just so incredibly sure of that difference between right (helping) and wrong (looking the other way); I was untested, and with that innocence, I as absolutely certain that I would have been different than my own family members, who blithely wore the Hitler Youth uniform, who lied about what they did in WWII while they wore swastikas. Plus, I had promised myself, and Anne Frank, that I wasn't like that. I promised to keep my promise that if the time came, I'd stand up and do what was right, even if it was hard.
However, I grew up, and I learned - as all grownups do - that life is complicated. I learned that life is dangerous. I grew to realize that self preservation is a worthy goal, because life has value, and when you're dead it's hard to help anyone. I grew to value comfort and safety. I spent about eight years of my life in cancer treatment - 16 surgeries, chemo, radiation, and so many awful pills that were designed to save my life but in the short term tried to ruin my life with side effects. In those eight years, I learned one thing that I know for sure: I value my life, and I will fight for it. I am desperate to remain on this planet to raise my daughter, and to accomplish some of my dreams, and to feel joy. I do not take one breath for granted, and I value my safety. I don't drive in the Seattle snow (hills and ice and bad drivers), I take the ten essentials (and more) while hiking... I obsessively take steps to make sure that my daughter and I are safe.
It is nearly impossible to stand up to fight injustice and adhere to maximum safety. The two things are in conflict: Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. spent time in jail for his beliefs before he was taken down by a bullet; Dr. Christine Blasey Ford told her truth and then her entire family had to move and get a security detail because of the threats she received. This troubles me. How could I fight to protect my life, while still holding my ideals?
Life is messy. I try to live my life in a way that would make my nine year old self proud; I try to live my life in a way that honors my promise not only to myself but to Anne Frank. However, I wasn't absolutely sure what the truth of myself was, if I would actually keep that promise or if it was just a lofty thing to say (from the comfort of my home, in a country with free speech, in my middle class life, in my white body). Who could know what I would really do?
Now I know.
On Saturday, I was standing in front of my house when I heard some of the most terrifying screams I've ever imagined, and I realized that a neighbor and her children were in the middle of a domestic violence situation. I will spare the details because they are a very real family and they deserve their privacy, and so I tell this not from their perspective, but my own. I stood in front of my house - having been out walking my big dog - and heard those screams.
I did not hesitate. With what I hoped was a little big of security from my large, rambunctious dog, I walked right into the middle of the situation. There were little kids in there, and nothing mattered to me but making sure they got out. I tried to de-escalate the situation, I talked softly, and I got the kids and mom out, and we went to my house for safety while we waited for the police to arrive.
It was only after we were standing in the safety of my kitchen that I learned that there was a gun involved, and realized that I had walked into an incredibly dangerous situation - much more so than I had imagined. It happened a few days ago, and I'm still shaking.
***
Last night I talked to a domestic violence expert about my experience, and told her about my realization that I had not thought it through at all, that I'd only acted on instinct, and that I was concerned I had done absolutely everything wrong, despite the good outcome. I told her that I felt like an idiot - what if I had made things worse? What if I'd risked myself unnecessarily? If I'd done the right thing, how come I felt anxious and frightened and I can't sleep at night?
I keep reliving details. The police came, and after a couple hours of standoff that involved shutting down the neighborhood, police with guns that looked like assault rifles - giant scary guns, not "just" handguns" - out in my yard and on my porch and and all over my street and alley, the man with the gun was taken away for evaluation. The wife and kids were safe. I was safe. But I don't feel safe.
We talked through my feelings of fear and concern that I'd possibly risked my life in a foolish way, and how I'd acted on instinct and not thought about the consequences of doing so, and how shaken I was, and she said words that I can't get out of my head:
"You did not act impulsively. You've been thinking about this for more than 40 years. You made a promise to your 9 year old self, and you kept that promise. You trusted your instincts - which are good! - and you did the thing that your values demanded. Nothing about that was impulsive; it was a decision that you spent over 40 years thinking about."
***
I will never know, probably, if what I did was the bravest thing ever - hand me my superhero cape, please! - or the dumbest (no domestic violence expert, ever, suggests intervening: domestic violence is incredibly dangerous, and people get years of training of how to deescalate situations, and this is not a situation advised for amateurs).
But I know this: two children were cowering. Their terror, and danger, was real. They will never forget this day for the rest of their lives; they will spend their lives either unpacking it and managing it, or suffering from it. And in this day, I hope that they remember that their middle aged neighbor, the one with the big dog, walked right in and said, "It's okay. It looks like this is a really bad day, and it sounds really scary. How about everybody takes a time out? Come with me, kids. I've got you. You can come with me, and I'll make cocoa. Your mom should come too. Come to my house. It's okay, I've got you..." and then I wrapped them in soft blankets and made them cocoa and grilled cheese sandwiches. I hope that they remember that, when they were screaming, somebody heard, and that somebody didn't look the other way, didn't hesitate to stand up for them. I hope that helps a little bit.
And me?
I'm still shaking. I can't sleep. I hate guns and all that they stand for. I hate violence. I hate shouting. This weekend was filled with that, and I know I risked my life - I risked leaving my daughter motherless! - through blind instinct to help.
I'm glad I'm okay, though shaken. (So shaken. No words to describe these feelings.)
But most of all, though I'm having trouble sleeping this week because I keep reliving it and because the adrenaline or cortisol or whatever it is clearly hasn't left my body, all these days later, I know that for the rest of my life I will be able to sleep, because I passed the test. I am paying the price: the price of doing the hard thing is that - wait for it - it's HARD. There are good reasons people don't stand up.
But I did. I pay the price now, but I did it.
My nine year old self would be proud of me.
And now I know, and I can look my vision of Anne Frank in the eye, and tell not just my dream but my truth:
I would have helped you. I am brave. I am not my grandparents, and I would have helped.
This one was for you, Anne.
I deeply want to be the girl who promised herself at nine that, if she'd been a German in the Holocaust, she would have done the right thing. As a nine year old I was just so incredibly sure of that difference between right (helping) and wrong (looking the other way); I was untested, and with that innocence, I as absolutely certain that I would have been different than my own family members, who blithely wore the Hitler Youth uniform, who lied about what they did in WWII while they wore swastikas. Plus, I had promised myself, and Anne Frank, that I wasn't like that. I promised to keep my promise that if the time came, I'd stand up and do what was right, even if it was hard.
However, I grew up, and I learned - as all grownups do - that life is complicated. I learned that life is dangerous. I grew to realize that self preservation is a worthy goal, because life has value, and when you're dead it's hard to help anyone. I grew to value comfort and safety. I spent about eight years of my life in cancer treatment - 16 surgeries, chemo, radiation, and so many awful pills that were designed to save my life but in the short term tried to ruin my life with side effects. In those eight years, I learned one thing that I know for sure: I value my life, and I will fight for it. I am desperate to remain on this planet to raise my daughter, and to accomplish some of my dreams, and to feel joy. I do not take one breath for granted, and I value my safety. I don't drive in the Seattle snow (hills and ice and bad drivers), I take the ten essentials (and more) while hiking... I obsessively take steps to make sure that my daughter and I are safe.
It is nearly impossible to stand up to fight injustice and adhere to maximum safety. The two things are in conflict: Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. spent time in jail for his beliefs before he was taken down by a bullet; Dr. Christine Blasey Ford told her truth and then her entire family had to move and get a security detail because of the threats she received. This troubles me. How could I fight to protect my life, while still holding my ideals?
Life is messy. I try to live my life in a way that would make my nine year old self proud; I try to live my life in a way that honors my promise not only to myself but to Anne Frank. However, I wasn't absolutely sure what the truth of myself was, if I would actually keep that promise or if it was just a lofty thing to say (from the comfort of my home, in a country with free speech, in my middle class life, in my white body). Who could know what I would really do?
Now I know.
On Saturday, I was standing in front of my house when I heard some of the most terrifying screams I've ever imagined, and I realized that a neighbor and her children were in the middle of a domestic violence situation. I will spare the details because they are a very real family and they deserve their privacy, and so I tell this not from their perspective, but my own. I stood in front of my house - having been out walking my big dog - and heard those screams.
I did not hesitate. With what I hoped was a little big of security from my large, rambunctious dog, I walked right into the middle of the situation. There were little kids in there, and nothing mattered to me but making sure they got out. I tried to de-escalate the situation, I talked softly, and I got the kids and mom out, and we went to my house for safety while we waited for the police to arrive.
It was only after we were standing in the safety of my kitchen that I learned that there was a gun involved, and realized that I had walked into an incredibly dangerous situation - much more so than I had imagined. It happened a few days ago, and I'm still shaking.
***
Last night I talked to a domestic violence expert about my experience, and told her about my realization that I had not thought it through at all, that I'd only acted on instinct, and that I was concerned I had done absolutely everything wrong, despite the good outcome. I told her that I felt like an idiot - what if I had made things worse? What if I'd risked myself unnecessarily? If I'd done the right thing, how come I felt anxious and frightened and I can't sleep at night?
I keep reliving details. The police came, and after a couple hours of standoff that involved shutting down the neighborhood, police with guns that looked like assault rifles - giant scary guns, not "just" handguns" - out in my yard and on my porch and and all over my street and alley, the man with the gun was taken away for evaluation. The wife and kids were safe. I was safe. But I don't feel safe.
We talked through my feelings of fear and concern that I'd possibly risked my life in a foolish way, and how I'd acted on instinct and not thought about the consequences of doing so, and how shaken I was, and she said words that I can't get out of my head:
"You did not act impulsively. You've been thinking about this for more than 40 years. You made a promise to your 9 year old self, and you kept that promise. You trusted your instincts - which are good! - and you did the thing that your values demanded. Nothing about that was impulsive; it was a decision that you spent over 40 years thinking about."
***
I will never know, probably, if what I did was the bravest thing ever - hand me my superhero cape, please! - or the dumbest (no domestic violence expert, ever, suggests intervening: domestic violence is incredibly dangerous, and people get years of training of how to deescalate situations, and this is not a situation advised for amateurs).
But I know this: two children were cowering. Their terror, and danger, was real. They will never forget this day for the rest of their lives; they will spend their lives either unpacking it and managing it, or suffering from it. And in this day, I hope that they remember that their middle aged neighbor, the one with the big dog, walked right in and said, "It's okay. It looks like this is a really bad day, and it sounds really scary. How about everybody takes a time out? Come with me, kids. I've got you. You can come with me, and I'll make cocoa. Your mom should come too. Come to my house. It's okay, I've got you..." and then I wrapped them in soft blankets and made them cocoa and grilled cheese sandwiches. I hope that they remember that, when they were screaming, somebody heard, and that somebody didn't look the other way, didn't hesitate to stand up for them. I hope that helps a little bit.
And me?
I'm still shaking. I can't sleep. I hate guns and all that they stand for. I hate violence. I hate shouting. This weekend was filled with that, and I know I risked my life - I risked leaving my daughter motherless! - through blind instinct to help.
I'm glad I'm okay, though shaken. (So shaken. No words to describe these feelings.)
But most of all, though I'm having trouble sleeping this week because I keep reliving it and because the adrenaline or cortisol or whatever it is clearly hasn't left my body, all these days later, I know that for the rest of my life I will be able to sleep, because I passed the test. I am paying the price: the price of doing the hard thing is that - wait for it - it's HARD. There are good reasons people don't stand up.
But I did. I pay the price now, but I did it.
My nine year old self would be proud of me.
And now I know, and I can look my vision of Anne Frank in the eye, and tell not just my dream but my truth:
I would have helped you. I am brave. I am not my grandparents, and I would have helped.
This one was for you, Anne.
Wednesday, February 5, 2020
Dear Ms. Swift
Dear Ms. Swift,
Today I stayed home from work with a bug (why is it that I fear coronavirus when my symptoms aren't the same and I haven't been to China?!) and decided to watch your documentary Miss Americana.
Thank you.
You and I go way back, though of course we've never met. I have a seventeen year old daughter, and when she entered her Taylor Swift phase I didn't mind. Driving my daughter to play dates and rock climbing, she sat in the back seat cheerfully singing "why you gotta be so mean?" and I didn't mind singing along. It wasn't long before I knew all of your songs as well as she did, and we had some wonderful, enthusiastic kitchen dance parties as we made dinner.
When you came to Seattle for the 1989 tour, I scraped together the cash for the cheap seats, and gave my daughter tickets for Christmas - the "big" gift, the one I hid behind the tree, and wrapped in a big box to trick her so she wouldn't know what it was. She screamed in glee, and I got a huge hug. A few months later, my daughter, myself, and a handful of our mother and daughter friends went to the concert. My daughter wore cat eye makeup (painstakingly applied with the help of friends) for the first time. I sat near her, watching her dance and laugh with her friends, delighted that I could participate in her happiness, but I have to confess, the moms had a really great time, too. *I* had a great time. Your lyrics resonated, and I felt a little silly because I know that I'm not your target audience, but I related to every word.
I love your music, and I'm grateful for the role you've played in my life with my daughter.
Ms. Swift, you're not alone. I too grew up in a world where I was told to be good, to be nice, to smile and look pretty. I too have had uncomfortable conversations with my father about politics and my need to speak my truth. (I count you lucky that your father hugged you afterwards. That's progress, in my mind.)
When I watched you become political and find your voice, I felt maternal love for you. (By the way, your mom seems like an amazing person. Like her, I'm a breast cancer survivor; like her, I'm feel a fierce love for my wonderful daughter.)
We are in troubled times, and we need clear voices. Politically, we need as many people as we can speaking up for what is true, right, and good.
This, Ms. Swift, is where you are most interesting.
You said that you wanted to be good, and that somebody told you how to be good.
I have a different idea of goodness than I used to.
Be good - but not by being quiet, by looking conventionally pretty, but by speaking your truth. It seems like someone told you a long time ago that being fearless meant striving for Grammys, or that speaking about your relationships was your truth. Those things ARE true, as your fans attest. But they are not the only truth.
You are a grown woman, and your truth is rich, nuanced, and needed by the world.
I think that to be good does not mean what you and I were taught to mean.
To be good means to be deeply authentic, to be honest with ourselves and the world. To be good, is to make the world a better place. To be good is to refuse to back down, to be brave. Sometimes, being good means making people angry.
Your kitchen in Miss Americana, where you can be seen enjoying a simple meal with your dear friend, is full of color and texture. I think that you were taught not to have a hair out of place - you so often look so perfect! - but I thought that the magnets on the stove were perfect. They were joyful, personal, and there because you wanted them to be there. The world needs more of that.
I am so tired of doing what I'm told, of only wanting what I'm told to want. At fifty, my body has changed more than I want to admit; it is a relief to hear that the woman on the stage in sparkling short shorts was NOT the goal anyone should aspire to; I'm utterly convinced that your size 6 self is more beautiful, because you are fit and healthy and not afraid of occasional burritos.
I love that you're keeping your relationship private, that you're speaking up - not just in a "yay, PRIDE way" but in a deep and meaningful way - about LGBTQ rights, women's rights, equality. I look forward to hearing more about what you have to say.
You've always had a way with words. and you've always known how to touch our hearts and minds. Now that you've figured out some more of what you want to say, who you want to be, I think you're becoming more interesting, not less. Speak louder. Keep speaking up. You will continue to make a difference.
One more thing: I know that you and I live in different worlds (and I'm not talking about the distance between Seattle and Nashville or New York or London)...but please hear me out, because as much as I've learned from you and the parts of your journey you've chosen to share, I do have something to offer you, too, a gift of my own words.
At thirty, your life is just getting started, and you are in a position to change all of the rules, so if you don't like them, for the love of God, re-write them. Yes, Hollywood or the music industry has discarded talented women left and right, but honestly, at fifty, I want to hear some wonderful stories that have more nuance than a teenager can give me. At fifty, my life is just getting started, and I'm sure of this. My relationships are so much deeper than they were at thirty, and my taste is my taste and not what I think I'm supposed to like. Your life, Ms. Swift, is about to get way better than you ever imagined. It will have some bumps, of course. (My life has had cancer and divorce: I don't recommend this if you can avoid it.) But it will have joy that you've never imagined. You'll write more songs that please you, you'll treasure your dearest friends in a different way. I believe that part of your new version of goodness is refusing to allow women to be discarded the first time they gain weight, get a gray hair, or hit their thirtieth birthdays. You are not everyone. You can help set the tone for the rest of us, and when you succeed, we all succeed.
At fifty, I'm better than I was at thirty. I don't look better, but I AM better. Do not discard yourself so easily. You are just getting started.
I absolutely love your song The Man. "Yes, yes, yes" I thought when I first hear it, and now I sing along, embracing every lyric. But I'm looking forward to the day when I can be The Man by being The Woman. I'm looking forward to the day when you are compared not to Bing Crosby, but to the possibilities of the future.
Young girls, and middle aged ones, are watching you. All of those concerts filled with adolescent girls had moms in equal number standing next to them, and we grew to love you, too. Talk to us. We're listening! We are dying of thirst for what is good, and right, and true, and we know it's not thigh gap that makes us happy; we know that we are more than our relationships.
I would be very surprised if you read this, but I hope you do. You have wonderful gifts to share, and with your documentary I began to hope that we have just begun to hear your best work, to see the goodness that you have to share with the world.
With gratitude,
Kristina
Today I stayed home from work with a bug (why is it that I fear coronavirus when my symptoms aren't the same and I haven't been to China?!) and decided to watch your documentary Miss Americana.
Thank you.
You and I go way back, though of course we've never met. I have a seventeen year old daughter, and when she entered her Taylor Swift phase I didn't mind. Driving my daughter to play dates and rock climbing, she sat in the back seat cheerfully singing "why you gotta be so mean?" and I didn't mind singing along. It wasn't long before I knew all of your songs as well as she did, and we had some wonderful, enthusiastic kitchen dance parties as we made dinner.
When you came to Seattle for the 1989 tour, I scraped together the cash for the cheap seats, and gave my daughter tickets for Christmas - the "big" gift, the one I hid behind the tree, and wrapped in a big box to trick her so she wouldn't know what it was. She screamed in glee, and I got a huge hug. A few months later, my daughter, myself, and a handful of our mother and daughter friends went to the concert. My daughter wore cat eye makeup (painstakingly applied with the help of friends) for the first time. I sat near her, watching her dance and laugh with her friends, delighted that I could participate in her happiness, but I have to confess, the moms had a really great time, too. *I* had a great time. Your lyrics resonated, and I felt a little silly because I know that I'm not your target audience, but I related to every word.
I love your music, and I'm grateful for the role you've played in my life with my daughter.
Ms. Swift, you're not alone. I too grew up in a world where I was told to be good, to be nice, to smile and look pretty. I too have had uncomfortable conversations with my father about politics and my need to speak my truth. (I count you lucky that your father hugged you afterwards. That's progress, in my mind.)
When I watched you become political and find your voice, I felt maternal love for you. (By the way, your mom seems like an amazing person. Like her, I'm a breast cancer survivor; like her, I'm feel a fierce love for my wonderful daughter.)
We are in troubled times, and we need clear voices. Politically, we need as many people as we can speaking up for what is true, right, and good.
This, Ms. Swift, is where you are most interesting.
You said that you wanted to be good, and that somebody told you how to be good.
I have a different idea of goodness than I used to.
Be good - but not by being quiet, by looking conventionally pretty, but by speaking your truth. It seems like someone told you a long time ago that being fearless meant striving for Grammys, or that speaking about your relationships was your truth. Those things ARE true, as your fans attest. But they are not the only truth.
You are a grown woman, and your truth is rich, nuanced, and needed by the world.
I think that to be good does not mean what you and I were taught to mean.
To be good means to be deeply authentic, to be honest with ourselves and the world. To be good, is to make the world a better place. To be good is to refuse to back down, to be brave. Sometimes, being good means making people angry.
Your kitchen in Miss Americana, where you can be seen enjoying a simple meal with your dear friend, is full of color and texture. I think that you were taught not to have a hair out of place - you so often look so perfect! - but I thought that the magnets on the stove were perfect. They were joyful, personal, and there because you wanted them to be there. The world needs more of that.
I am so tired of doing what I'm told, of only wanting what I'm told to want. At fifty, my body has changed more than I want to admit; it is a relief to hear that the woman on the stage in sparkling short shorts was NOT the goal anyone should aspire to; I'm utterly convinced that your size 6 self is more beautiful, because you are fit and healthy and not afraid of occasional burritos.
I love that you're keeping your relationship private, that you're speaking up - not just in a "yay, PRIDE way" but in a deep and meaningful way - about LGBTQ rights, women's rights, equality. I look forward to hearing more about what you have to say.
You've always had a way with words. and you've always known how to touch our hearts and minds. Now that you've figured out some more of what you want to say, who you want to be, I think you're becoming more interesting, not less. Speak louder. Keep speaking up. You will continue to make a difference.
One more thing: I know that you and I live in different worlds (and I'm not talking about the distance between Seattle and Nashville or New York or London)...but please hear me out, because as much as I've learned from you and the parts of your journey you've chosen to share, I do have something to offer you, too, a gift of my own words.
At thirty, your life is just getting started, and you are in a position to change all of the rules, so if you don't like them, for the love of God, re-write them. Yes, Hollywood or the music industry has discarded talented women left and right, but honestly, at fifty, I want to hear some wonderful stories that have more nuance than a teenager can give me. At fifty, my life is just getting started, and I'm sure of this. My relationships are so much deeper than they were at thirty, and my taste is my taste and not what I think I'm supposed to like. Your life, Ms. Swift, is about to get way better than you ever imagined. It will have some bumps, of course. (My life has had cancer and divorce: I don't recommend this if you can avoid it.) But it will have joy that you've never imagined. You'll write more songs that please you, you'll treasure your dearest friends in a different way. I believe that part of your new version of goodness is refusing to allow women to be discarded the first time they gain weight, get a gray hair, or hit their thirtieth birthdays. You are not everyone. You can help set the tone for the rest of us, and when you succeed, we all succeed.
At fifty, I'm better than I was at thirty. I don't look better, but I AM better. Do not discard yourself so easily. You are just getting started.
I absolutely love your song The Man. "Yes, yes, yes" I thought when I first hear it, and now I sing along, embracing every lyric. But I'm looking forward to the day when I can be The Man by being The Woman. I'm looking forward to the day when you are compared not to Bing Crosby, but to the possibilities of the future.
Young girls, and middle aged ones, are watching you. All of those concerts filled with adolescent girls had moms in equal number standing next to them, and we grew to love you, too. Talk to us. We're listening! We are dying of thirst for what is good, and right, and true, and we know it's not thigh gap that makes us happy; we know that we are more than our relationships.
I would be very surprised if you read this, but I hope you do. You have wonderful gifts to share, and with your documentary I began to hope that we have just begun to hear your best work, to see the goodness that you have to share with the world.
With gratitude,
Kristina
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