40 more days

I haven't been writing lately. I haven't been doing much of anything lately. At least nothing creative. My day to day has left me empty at this point.

That's not ok. Not anymore.

And so, I'm dedicating myself, again, to 40 straight days of writing.

Part of my problem is that there's been so much I've been grappling with it's been easier to shut down and not think. Not feel. But the anxiety is coming back and I know, I KNOW, that it's my inner self's way of saying why the fuck are you doing?! Not dealing is not helping. And writing has been, for the past year, a constructive way to process all that's swirling around me - both inside and out.

So. Here I go. For those not interested in the struggle and angst and occasional whine, consider yourselves forewarned.

For the rest of you, not to mention me, I've got Hannukah starting tomorrow. A call in to a transplant coordinator about donating my kidney. A line of middle school merchandise to get produced. Work to find in a market where people are desperate and there's no work to be found. There's the continued lack of a creative project - those constructive distractions kept me sane during insane times. The ever present what's next. The challenge of knitting my first dog sweater, contemplating my first tattoo, fighting off my underlying fear that I won't be able to handle things and will break down. Relatives who aren't well. Kids who are growing and grappling to find their paths. Hurting and healing from my own stuff both physical and in the head drama.

Redefining who I want to be.

Curious to see what te next 39 days bring.

bullying where you least expect it

As a general rule I don't write about people without their permission. I am respectful of privacy, of other's stories and situations. I never mean to hurt, to expose, to cause pain or concern. I write openly and honestly about myself - my experiences. My joy. My pain. My life. And should I write about anyone else, I clear it with them first.

Today though, I'm breaking, or at least bending, my rule. Someone in my life has been needlessly cruel to me for over 25 years and I've had enough. I realized yesterday that I've been bullied since my early 20s and the intensity and venom hasn't eased up since then. There have been respites, periods I'd thought we'd moved past the enmity only to find myself body slammed by hate. Again.

It started with this person calling me at work, at my first job at Fred the Furrier, telling me that someone in my life, someone I adored more than anyone, actually hated me and asked her to let me know he wanted to sever all contact. Forever.

This came out of the blue. From a person I'd known for a long time and liked.

It was a shock. And it was a lie.

I've lived with that intense hatred, sometimes simmering below the surface, at others spewing all over me, for my entire adult life.

I've never done anything to this person except be. But it seems like that's excuse enough for decades of appalling behavior.

And yet, with every attack, every slam, every poisonous barb launched at me, I was expected to let it role off and move on. This was just a bad temper, stress, hormones. It wasn't really about me per se, I just was the unfortunate target. She didn't really mean it. She was just blowing off steam and all would be fine eventually.

And so, I let it go. I welcomed her into my family, into my home. I listened, I supported. I forgave.

Over and over and over.

And yet, it hurt every time. For someone who spends so much time and energy on relationships and family, the fact that my own was so often ripped apart has been brutal.

I've been threatened in person. Over the phone. Through email and facebook messages. I've been forbidden to call certain people, certain locations. For as long as I can remember, hearing her voice unexpectedly started my heart racing, terrified I'd be reamed or screamed at.

Which brings me to Thanksgiving. On one hand, I don't know that I've ever been so grateful for the people sitting at our table. My brother and sister were here, both of whom had summers and falls that pushed them to the edges of what people should ever have to handle. And yet, both are fighting, hard, to get to better, healthier places. My own little family? Ever challenging but I am thankful beyond words that this is my life. But, for the first time ever, I didn't invite everyone I usually do. The internal battle over that, the guilt I felt, shredded my insides. Life at the moment though, is so extraordinarily challenging I couldn't bear the thought of adding any drama to the mix.

This last rift has been going on for almost a year. It started, as far as I know, last January. Huge blow outs. Accusations. Blames. Finger pointing at I'm not sure what. One strained visit since then that left me shaking my head with confusion.

I realized, as I stared down the invitation decision, that I'm not angry. I'm not vindictive. I'm not harboring resentment. But I'm not a victim anymore.

I treat people with kindness and respect. And I expect the same in return.

That's my story. And I'm honoring myself by sticking to it this time.

a thank you to my body

Today I feel pretty good. My shoulder aches a bit. My hand is a little sore. Manageable sensations that aren't quite pain, more just something that something isn't quite right. The cool part is that this is after 3 days of yoga. In a row. Granted, it was abbreviated yoga - no planks, down or up dogs. No poses perching on my palms as my legs careen out to the side. But still, yesterday was 3 eagles per side (while standing, wrapping one leg over and then behind the other, squatting down on one foot whole bending forward). Lots of balances, twists, moving.

My body held on. Kept up. The familiar poses took over and I moved. Stretched. Expanded.

Breathed.

That, in itself, was amazing.

But what truly blew me away was how I feel today.

Fine. A little tired. The backs of my legs are slightly sore. After a month of no yoga at all.

My body, my home, my casing, didn't give up on me even when I did. It didn't fall apart, turn to mush, let flab in the front door with a big hello. It kept the candles burning until I was ready to come back.

And here I am. Thankful.

filler

It's getting to the end of the day and I never found the chance to write. I meant to. I had a class parent meeting first thing. Worked on my fiction project, met a friend for coffee, got caught in the rain which made my bad hair even worse. That prompted a hair cut appointment during which much of my hair ended up on the floor. I'm still telling myself it's only hair. We'll see how tomorrow goes. I then went to yoga to take my mind off my modified head but couldn't do at least a third of the poses. Then it was a houseful of people for GLEE after dinner and homework.

I still haven't eaten.

I'm troubleshooting a new Lego video game.

My hair still doesn't look or feel like me.

We'll see what tomorrow brings.

After getting kicked in the head

Today, for a moment, I flowed.

I was graceful. Strong. Powerful.

It's been months since I felt that way. Injuries, both chronic and sudden, brought me to a place where I was practicing in tears. Not from pain, but from frustration at my body not doing what I wanted it to.

A month ago I gave up. I stopped going to class, as every pose I couldn't do, every twinge, every spasm made me feel more and more like a failure. I knew I shouldn't have been pushing myself but I kept trying. And hurting.

I took meds, rested, and got smaller and smaller, more and more lost.

But, once I knew what I was recovering from (a fracture in my hand, torn cartilage in my wrist and knee, plus a torn rotator cuff and labrum), something clicked and I took healing back into my own hands. I'm taking three different homeopathic remedies. I went to an accupuncturist. The anti-inflammatories I'm on are herbal. I'm icing my shoulder while holding hot chunks of ginger in my aching palm. Tomorrow I start physical therapy.

Saturday I went back to yoga. It was ok. Yesterday was better. Today, I was smack in the middle of it for that glimmering shimmering moment.

I still can't do much. No weight on my palm wipes out down dogs and planks and all arm balances. My sore shoulder changes how I get from pose to pose. Someone kicked me in the head when I wasn't doing what the rest of the class was. I felt that negative spiral grab me. I started sinking into failure.

But this time I fought it off. And I got it. The profound, enlightened difference between then and now. This is my practice. My way. My path. It doesn't matter what anyone else is doing. It doesn't matter what I can't do.

I'm doing what I can. I'm honoring where I am. I'm accepting limitations and parameters.

And I'm grateful for what is possible.

letting go of pain

I don't know about you, but I find it's easier to live in the negative. Feeling bad about myself, doubting other people, regretting where I'm not, groaning about where I am. I hold on to negative relationships, behaviors that hurt in the end, I find comfort in that familiar discomfort.

I've gotten much better. I used to live deep in a dark tunnel and would get spooked by the occasional glimpses of light that would flash by, choosing to hide in the blackness rather than let go and see what might take its place.

I've gotten better at letting go. I work hard at not letting myself get bogged down in unworkable situations, I stay away from toxic people whenever I can. '

When I'm in a good place I can pull that off. I can rise above, slough it off, be a light for myself, and even for others sometimes.

I'm not in a good place.

This is trivial, but my hair's a train wreck. I need to get it cut but can't find it in me to book an appointment.

I've lost my voice. I have such interesting, vibrant projects I could be, should be working on, but I don't have anything in me.

I can't practice yoga. I've gone to class for the past 2 days and am sitting here with an ice pack on my shoulder, popping advil every 4 hours.

I have no work. NO WORK. This is the first time in my adult life I'm not earning money and I feel like I'm failing. It's been so long since I've had to go out and find clients I don't even know how to start.

I'm grumpy. Short-tempered. Anxious.

I'm dreading the upcoming 4 day weekend. Hosting yet another holiday. Hannukah looming fast on the horizon.

I don't want to be thoughtful, find presents, entertain. I don't want to be accepting or forgiving or nice.

Man, this has turned into a rant I didn't know I was feeling.

Or maybe I did.

I'm not starving myself—that's one way I'm healthier. I'm not sinking back into the sugar addiction that started last spring. I'm not drinking or doing drugs (not that I ever did either as a means of escape).

What's worse though, more insidious, harder to combat, is I'm hating myself. Well, not hating, but definitely not liking. And from this sad, heavy place it's hard to move anywhere else.

I'm stumped about how to move forward. How to not feel this, be this, live this.

How to let go of the pain I cause myself.

naming names

In Harry Potter one is never supposed to say Voldemort out loud, as it will give the dark lord more power. In the Lighting Thief books (one of my favorite series ever), same thing—uttering the gods' names is a major no.

There's power in naming. Acknowledging. Identifying.

Fractured hamate bone. Torn rotator cuff.

My injuries have been outed.

And they hurt even more.

Crazy?

Yes. But that's what's going on.

Or, it could be that I stopped taking anti-inflammatories and now am feeling what's been there all along.

Sigh.

The pain isn't major. It doesn't stop me in my tracks, take my breath away, bend me over double.

I know that pain. Childbirth without drugs. A burst ear drum. An exposed nerve in my tooth. That was pain. PAIN. Intense, seeing red, losing sight of reality pain.

This is more annoying. Slightly incapacitating most of the time, more in certain situations. I can't open windows, lift heavy pots or pans, open a jar that's too tight. I can't reach around to the back seat of the car, to the top shelf, carry overloaded bags anymore. I can't practice yoga with freedom.

I'm cautious. Nervous. Afraid I'll make things worse.

Afraid I won't get better.

But, I started 3 homeopathic remedies the day before yesterday. Boiled ginger chunks and held them in my palm until they cooled. Am seeing an acupuncturist along with my orthopedist tomorrow. Next on my to-do list is physical therapy and finding someone who can do serious hand massage.

I'm not giving up without a fight. I'm not signing on for surgery unless nothing else works.

But the fall of being in the best shape of my life has crumbled around me. And with it, optimism has taken a back seat.