Thursday, October 16, 2014

You've Got (Voice) Mail

I would not necessarily call myself a packrat or a hoarder when it comes to the items I save. I do not have much clutter and try to live a simple life. When I go through my things-clothes, books, movies, and a long list of other random items-and am trying to debate if I should give them up or keep them I ask myself some questions.

Do I need it?

Do I love it?

If no to those, then they are gone.

It is not because of lack of sentimentality on my part. I do hold on to little mementos to remind me of trips, fun nights and great times. Most of my clutter lives in my head of fond memories and inside jokes. I do not need a closet full of things I will never display or use to remind me of where I have been or where I want to go.

I guess I just do not like disorganization, confusion and messes. I try to do simple because simple makes me happy.

But, that does make me immune to moments of weakness of holding on to something that I really do not need.

I had re-listen to my voicemail at work, which to be honest is an awful experience. Our voicemail is set up where you cannot skip over older messages and you must listen to the entire voicemail before you delete them. So to get to your most recent you have to listen to any of the ones you forgot to delete or any of the ones you saved.

I know, I know that is such a petty little thing to complain about but when you have to call patients and offices and you spend ten minutes listening to the older ones and cannot skip or speed things up it gets irritating.

Although my voicemail clearly states my name and that we are a Comprehensive Breast Center people still leave messages for their doctors office or pharmacy. Which to be fair, our building has a pharmacy, doctors offices, urgent care and much more. It only takes one wrong number to get the wrong office.

While listening and deleting older messages to get to my most recent one the other day,.I ran across one I forgot about.

It took my breath away.

On Thursdays, Fridays, and vacations I monitor another part of my centers voicemail as there is no one at the desk on those days. I check it every hour or so return the call if it needs to be addressed immediately, turf it to where it needs to go or let it be if it can wait until Monday.

A couple months ago, I was checking that voicemail and there was a message from a physician, quite upset asking for a phone call back wanting to know why his patient was not seen in the clinic as she was exhibiting some of her old "warning signs".  He left his direct number.

That is kind of a big deal, normally doctors push off their calls to their receptionists, medical assistants or even their nurses. It is rare they call themselves and rarer they leave their direct number. That means they want an answer, like yesterday.

Here's the thing. I knew the call was not intended for our office. I knew it was meant for the counselor downstairs. I know people who would just let it go and not respond. I am not one of those people.

I reached out to the doctor and explained who I was and why I was calling. He was confused and wanted to know why I was calling on behalf of the counselor. I let him know that the number he had called was for the breast clinic. I asked if he needed me to look up the number for the counselor and he said no that he would ask one of his nurses to do that and apologized. He laughed, I laughed we said our goodbyes and I thought that was it.

I deleted that voicemail.

A couple days later, it was late in the day. The phone was ringing off the hook, pathology was piling up and seemingly there was no end in sight. I had not checked the other voicemail in a couple hours as it had gotten quite busy and debated leaving it for Monday.

But...I just cannot do that. I would never do that. If I know I am supposed to do something and don't, it eats me up.

So I checked that voicemail and had two from a mother who was frantic. She asked why we had not seen her daughter. She was scared and said her daughter was off her medicine and she was terrified of what she was going to do to herself and didn't want something to happen like "last time". She begged for a call back and advice on what to do.

I deleted those voicemails.

I immediately felt sick. I did not have the number for the counselor and could not find it in our directory. I ran downstairs to see if she was there to get her number for future reference and to give her the message however she was gone for the day. So I reached out to Facebook (not explaining why) asking if anyone had the contact info for the office and one of my resourceful friends had it and I could not thank her enough.

I reached out to the mother and left a voicemail asking her to call me on my direct line if she needed to. I briefly explained we were the breast center and left the correct number for her so she could reach the counselor.

When I got in that Monday I had two voicemails. The first was the mother telling me her daughter got the help she needed and she began to cry. I knew she got my message and her daughter was okay.

I deleted that voicemail.

The second voicemail was the mom again.

I did not delete it.

I could not delete it at that time. I didn't ask myself if I needed it or loved it, I simply kept it.

Then months went by and I forgot about it.

When I was listening to my old messages yesterday, I came across that voicemail and my eyes filled with tears, because well I am an emotional one. I do not know how I forgot about that one. Her voice was thick with emotion thanking me for getting her the correct number and blessing me and telling much they needed that information and how she was so glad I called back when I didn't have to.

On a day that I was not particularly feeling good and wanted to be done when I clocked in it revitalized me and reminded me why we should always go above and beyond and how a moment of kindness can mean so much to someone.

The prompt asked me if I wanted to delete it, replay it or save it.

I saved it.

I did not keep it because she was showering me with praise and gratitude.

I kept it because that voicemail is my little 2 minute memento to remind me that taking a few extra minutes to find out something, to go out of your way a little for someone else can effect their lives in ways you cannot even imagine.

There are some things you keep not because you need them, not because you love them, but because they are reminders of who you are and the impact you can have on others.

Sunday, October 12, 2014

Redesign Time

Our habits are hard to break and even harder to unlearn, especially if they have been with us since childhood. We at times reject that it was something we learned, picked up, or chose to do, but rather we focus on convincing ourselves and others it was how we were designed, how we were made.

Here's the thing though, there are parts of us that are predesigned in utero for us. Our gender, our hair color, eye color, any chemical imbalances, chromosomal abnormalities, diseases, it is just how we were made. It just happens.

We at times confuse what we were born with and how we were raised with what is natural or normal for us.

My mom has to see a dietician tomorrow. She is less than thrilled to say the least. She knows she needs to eat better and exercise more but has a hard time doing so. Let me make it clear, my mom has quit smoking, she rarely drinks, and has lost weight since her initial heart attack in 2005. That is huge. You may not think it is, but truly it is amazing when someone attempts to redesign who they are for a better future.

In between 2005 and now, my mom has had other health issues. Diabetes problems. Circulatory problems. Chronic back problems and pain. Limited exercising and walking. A year and a half in hell of memory problems that turned out to be thyroid issues. Another heart attack.in 2011, pacemaker in 2013, and learning what to eat while on coumadin. Chronic allergy and sinus issues.

Needless to say we focused on other things not necessarily her diet. Her doctor made her an appointment for a dietician tomorrow and my mom is dreading it.

We filled out the paperwork yesterday and....well...I learned a lot. Seriously.

We had to list my moms medical history and medications which was a breeze. But then there were some questions that put us in the uncomfortable category.

There was some self-esteem questions, questions about goal weight, portion control and a diary to fill out for one day to see what a normal menu is for mom.

I had no clue how uncomfortable my mom felt in her skin, with her weight, until I started filling out the questionnaire for her. I had no clue how much she really wants to lose, how much she has to lose and how she thought it was damn near impossible.

I would have never thought that. My mom is loud, outgoing, confident and always a cheerleader and supporter for others. I had no clue she was filled with doubt. She seriously is one of the reasons I have stuck to my weight loss and healthy eating goals, I felt ridiculously disconnected to her in that moment.

Sometimes I forget the strong people, our elders, our parents have doubts too. I forget we have to take them off the pedestal or out of the role of superhero and realize they are humans too. Fragile, sensitive humans.

She believes she was just made this way. Her dad and mom were overweight, so naturally she assumed she would be. She enjoys heavy foods and big portions and thinks that is what she should consume, because that is what she has done the majority of her life.

But it is not impossible for her to meet her goals. She is such a strong person, she is a fighter, an innovator, a cheerleader for everyone else it broke my heart to see how deflated and embarrassed she was answering the questions.

I believe she can do it. I think she can break her eating habits and work in some more exercises. But before she can redesign herself, before she can commit to a better lifestyle, she needs to believe in herself.

Sometimes we get caught up in how we have been living for so long that we forget that we can live a different way. We forget we have the power and control inside of us to change.

We have the power to design the kind of life we want. It may take time, we may fail many times before we get it right, and it will probably be hard.

But living the life we do not want full of regret and shame is much harder.

We talked for a while after finishing the questionnaire, and my mom was surprised I would believe in her. I was surprised she thought I would not. I took my time and explained all of her strengths that I have seen in her that she was overlooking.

She deals with chronic pain on a daily basis, refusing pain pills as it causes so much havoc on her body. She has quit smoking after being a heavy smoker for over 40 years. She rarely drinks alcohol. She has a positive attitude and has a deep.strength and bullheadedness inside her that is second to none.

And she was forgetting, that she had an annoying daughter who would be her cheerleader every step of the way and who wants to see her make it to 80th birthday party.

With those words, with those reaffirmations, those reminders of her strength I think it reignited a fire in her soul that erased some of the self-doubt, as she looked me dead in the eye and told me, "Damn right I'm making it to my 80th, and you're going to make sure I have strippers there".

Deal mom.

Todays blog is a Sunday Confession about Design  hosted by the Hot Ash from More Than Cheese And Beer who showed up this Sunday despite not feeling well. Please stop by the link up and check out the other bloggers who joined in and show Ash some love for showing up and hosting when she should be resting.

Friday, October 10, 2014

Use Your Words: October 10th, 2014

Today’s post is a writing challenge. This is how it works: participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once and all the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them. Until now.


At the end of this post you’ll find links to the other blogs featuring this challenge. Check them all out, see what words they got and how they used them.

I’m using: school ~ fall ~ red Solo cup ~ flabbergasted ~ laundry


They were submitted by: Eileens Perpetually Busy

This is a continuation from my last Use Your Words blog.

Marge laid on the godforsaken uncomfortable gurney, though the awkward neon colored lights tried to distract her, the only thing she could think of was the fall.

It was her fault.

She was lucky, if you could call it that, because she only broke her left leg, her collar bone, and a few ribs. She had extensive bruising which colored her once pale skin deep purples and blues, reminding her of the lake on a beautiful fall night. She had some gashes over the tired skin she had worn for many years without once finding injury like this that were tied up neatly with strong stitches. Those stitches forced her swollen, reddened skin together, forcing the two ends that were rudely parted back together again, making a promise that they could heal, that they would heal. She stared at the stitches, wondering how her husband was doing, hoping that they would be brought back together shortly and that they could heal together as well.

She had always believed it was a clich├ęd thought that memories and moments pass before your eyes right before you die or before you think you are going to die, but now she knew better. During the too-fast, excruciating descent, she found herself being drawn to moments she had forgotten over the years. She was brought back to the moment Grady had proposed to her and how they had spent all night making love.

She remembered the look of sheer happiness on his face when she told him she was pregnant with Clara and then the same beautiful reaction when she told him she was pregnant with Ellie. He did not even bat an eye even though they had struggled financially, that just made him accept the position in the stinky factory where he would work and retire from.

The memories started dancing and whirling before her eyes as terror shot through her body and the wind and the pain of the fall accentuated every moment more clearly. The time she was doing laundry and put too much soap in and it overflowed and instead of getting angry, her husband, her Grady, asked her to dance in the white, wet fluffy bubbles. The girls first day of school. The moment their sweet dog Angel was hit and killed by the next door neighbor. The time Grady hugged her tightly and told her they had saved enough money to open her own shoppe. When they came home to find the girls throwing a party and their house was littered with those stupid red solo cups. The Christmas when she realized the girls were grown up, they were barely home because they had their families and engagements to visit and attend.

The damn moment that flabbergasted her when her foot somehow began to slip, she felt the unsteady ground give way and her little shriek alerted Grady who instead of keeping his feet firmly planted reached out for her and they began their treacherous tumble down Machu Picchu.

As she was lying on her back staring at the pale green walls, she wondered about her Grady and how he was doing. She vowed right there and then, she would never reminisce in the fashion way ever again if she could help it. She wanted to be involved only in the present, she wanted to know what was going on, what to expect. She wanted to know what the hell was going on with her husband.

Just as she was about to beckon for some help, a young gentleman dressed in navy scrubs came in her room, "You are Mrs. Lancaster yes? You need to come with me now. I need to take you to your husband. I will roll your bed. We go now".

As the young man came around the bed, his eyes were telling her something but she wasn't sure she was ready to hear…


Please check out the other wonderful brave bloggers who joined in today for the challenge of Using The Words:

Links to the other “Use Your Words” posts:

Baking In A Tornado
Spatulas on Parade
Stacy Sews and Schools
Follow me home
Battered Hope
The Bergham's Life Chronicles
Evil Joy Speaks
The Momisodes
Someone Else’s Genius
Confessions of a part-time working mom
Crumpets an Bollocks
Sparkly Poetic Weirdo
Eileen’s Perpetually Busy

Monday, October 6, 2014

Rocking Sky High

There is a moment, that every person who has decided to turn their life around, refers to as their rock bottom moment. It is a moment that shocks the person jolting them back to reality. This moment is usually gritty, unbecoming, embarrassing, but mostly necessary, to shock them out of the lifestyle they were living.

That rock bottom moment happens I believe because, we need to be lower than we ever have before so we can rebuild our lives.

When my weight started to become a hindrance to the life I wanted to lead, it should have spurred me to change but it did not. The funny and not so funny thing is, even though you need change, you cannot and will not do a damn thing until you want to change your lifestyle.

I had many moments I would consider my rock bottom. Not just one. I was not ready to change, so I did not and let the pain and embarrassing moments pile up. Many moments, I simply joked off or grimaced through as the token obese person believing that was how I was going to spend the rest of my life.

I could no longer fit on roller coasters or any fair rides, so even though I loved the tacky, loud, neon lighted atmosphere, I refused to go anymore.

While with friends at a crowded bike event, at their urging I sat in a folding, camping, nylon chair. I insisted to sit on the ground but they would not stop badgering me so I sat in their flimsy chair. Right when I was lulled into a false sense of security, the chair decided that was when it was going to give out tossing me to the ground, in front of strangers. I was mortified and met with extreme, uncomfortable silence from my group and others in the crowd. I refused to acknowledge the humiliation right then and there but rather got up and made some self-deprecating remark and laughed, which eased everyone else.

Because I was still a people pleaser regardless of how badly I wanted to hide and cry.

Probably the moment that scarred me a little more than any of the others was a night I went to the theater with my mother to see a play. I was extremely uncomfortable dressed up and wearing make up because I felt it would draw attention to the big beast I was. At that point, besides work I rarely went out. I was nervous to go out and really despised big crowds as I always worried I would offend people with my sheer size. But my mom really wanted to go and I already paid for the tickets. We showed up at the theater, were escorted to the seats by the usher, and my mom sat down. I tried but could not. I could not force my body into the chair. I attempted to sit on the edge of the seat but it was way too uncomfortable and there was no way I was going to be able to endure that position for three hours.

My mom was oblivious to my difficulties, she was busy, enjoying the crowd, the festive contagious atmosphere, and the beauty of the theater. I tried to whisper that I had to leave, but my mom could barely hear me and smiled at me asking to repeat myself louder until I pointed at my awkward stance on the too small chair and got out through my gritted teeth, while blinking back hot tears, "TOO SMALL". Then I stormed out.

I waited outside for my mom, embarrassed and angry, convincing myself that I hated the theater anyway. My mom finally came out with a sad look on her face. She went to hug me but that made me feel even worse so I squirmed out and we walked away in silence.

I wish I could say that was the moment I decided to take back my life but it was not. It was not until a year later that I started to work at bettering myself.

I have a stronger mentality, more confidence than I have ever had, and am losing the weight.

But even though I have lost almost fifty pounds this year, and even though people have told me they can see a difference, I cannot. I simply see lots of work still ahead of me and years of neglect. I find it difficult and impossible to swallow the fact that I have made big strides, that I have lost weight, that I have turned over a new leaf, I think because fear has a cruel hold on a part of my brain.

It whispers to me that the changes I am making are short lived and eventually I will give up. That I will revert to my old lifestyle. That everyone is simply being nice to the fat girl.

Even though my measurements have changed, even though the scales are showing a smaller number, even though my doctors are encouraging and proud of me, I have been denying myself acknowledging the changes I have made, the progress I have made and simply enjoying the moment.

There are rock bottom moments, those I was well versed in. But a sky high one was rare in my book.

We snagged some free tickets to a show at the theater on this past Friday night. I was edgy all day and kept throwing out excuses to my husband and mother why I did not want to go. I was fearful of the same experience as last time, I was fearful of being so close to something I wanted to experience but not be able to, I was fearful that I had not really made any progress.

We made it to the theater and was ushered in to our seats. My mom went in first, then my husband and they seated themselves, I think once again oblivious to my internal crisis.I was having. I stood, hovering over the aisle seat, wondering if I was going to meet the same experience as before. I debated dashing out to the lobby and telling them I was sick. After what seemed like ten forevers, I forced my knees to bend, my rear to lower and encouraged my expectations not to be shattered.

And I fit.

I fit into the chair. Immediately I was brought back to the same scenario as last time, feeling awkward and hot tears threatening to spill over my too full cheeks. And I realized this was not another rock bottom moment, this was a sky high moment. I was riding my euphoria and letting the tears cascade freely, undoing any doubt I had about my progress, not caring who noticed,  realizing that I had changed my life, my reactions and my experiences.

Sometimes you need a physical reminder. People can tell you until they are blue in the face how good you are doing, but until you realize it those compliments fall on deaf ears.

I still have a long way to go. I will still meet set backs. But I was able to feel my progress, I was able to realize that my changes, my diet, my lifestyle has not been in vain. It was exactly what I needed to help me stay on track.

Sunday, October 5, 2014

Run

I am not fast.

I am not structured.

I am not a marathoner.

But I run.

Slowly and methodically. Watching my path and every step I take. Ignoring cruel words  when they accost my ears. Panting, sweating, and cursing my fat feet for agreeing to this journey of self-improvement.

I never thought I would ever run.  I do not partake in it often as I prefer to walk, briskly, as running is a challenge for me. I have improved greatly, but can only run for 5-10 minute intervals. I sometimes feel bad for that, feel ashamed, then I stop and take a step back and realize that I could not run for a minute, seriously not for sixty seconds, earlier this year.

I run not because I want to but because I need to get my cardio in. I need to push myself, I need to amp up my work outs a notch. Because if I don't, I fear I will destine myself to the unhealthy future I was well on my way towards before accepting and pursuing a healthy lifestyle.

When I run, I feel completely vulnerable and exposed when I force one jiggly thigh to push past the other, creating a friction, a fire that makes its way and its home in my core. Everyone who passes me or who I pass can see my struggle. They can see my slow gait. They can see my labored breath. They can easily spot I am an amateur, that I barely know what I am doing.

I do not care who sees my sick sweat stains anymore. Who notices I have to force myself to keep going. I am not aiming for perfection, I am simply trying to encourage myself to keep going, to make good on changing my life and my habits.

That uncomfortable fire fuels me to keep going. It forces me to continue what I started. It forces me out of my comfort zone.

A simple act that I have improved on slowly since the beginning of the year has helped me gain confidence. It has encouraged me to try new events, push myself farther and believe in myself.

It has shown me what happens when we decide to emerge from the safety of our comfort zones. It did not show me promise how easy life would be for me. It did not show me how behind and how much time I have already wasted. Rather, when I parted with my comfort zone, the universe showed me what was out there, what was possible , what I could achieve. It did not show me that it would be easy or that I would not fail. It simply pointed out what was out there for me.

Ending that specific comfort zone, of not sweating, exerting myself and being afraid of what people would say, instilled some confidence and helped me embrace a world I was not a part of, it helped me set and meet new goals, and it helped me learn who I am, what I am capable of and realize I can shape myself into who I want to be, I just have to keep my options, and my mind, open.

This has been a Sunday Confession hosted by Hot Ash from More than Cheese And Beer. Please stop by the link up and see the other brave bloggers who took a "run" at todays topic.

Friday, October 3, 2014

Secret Subject Swap: October 3, 2014

Hello and Happy Friday! Welcome to October's Secret Subject Swap hosted by the one and only Karen from Baking In A Tornado.  Last month14 brave bloggers picked a secret subject for someone else and were assigned a secret subject to interpret in their own style.

Today we are all simultaneously divulging our topics and submitting our posts.

Here are links to all the sites now
featuring Secret Subject Swap posts.
So sit back, grab a cup, (or slam a shot-no judgement here) and check them all out. See you there:

Baking In A Tornado

The Momisodes

Spatulas on Parade

Stacy Sews and Schools

The Bergham's Life Chronicles

Evil Joy Speaks

Dinosaur Superhero Mommy

Silence of the Mom

Climaxed

Sparkly Poetic Weirdo

Someone Else’s Genius

Crumpets and Bollocks

Confessions of a part-time working mom

Small Talk Mama

My “Secret Subject” is:

If you could stop one thing in history
from happening what would it be?
It was submitted by: Stacy Sews And Schools - thank you Stacy!

My immediate response? The Holocaust. Then one second after that my mind became a flurry of all the events I would erase from history.

African slave trade. Rwanda genocide. Spanish Influenza. 9/11. "Ethnic Cleansing" in Bosnia in the early 1990s. The Black Plague. Salem Witch trials.

Oh, and so many, many more events I would wish to erase from our world history.

I would love to erase anything that caused people pain. That caused families to be torn apart, heartbreak, suffering-that generated more hatred and malice in this already mean world.

I cannot pick one event. I cannot willingly choose one event over another. I refuse to choose one event to be more important, more detrimental than another. How can I choose to alleviate the pain of one group of people rather than anothers?

Maybe I should be able to but I cannot.

In conversations with friends and school mates during history classes I often heard people state they wished they could have gone back in time and assassinated Adolf Hitler. But couldn't changing the past cause worse changes for our present day? For our future? There is no fight that Adolf Hitler was a cruel, creepy bastard of a human. But, some of his generals were worse. I never knew that, until I started hanging out with my history buff husband and his dorky friends. Too many times was I drawn into conversations that have made me pause and wonder what would happen if we altered our history. Say someone found a way to go back and kill the monster that was Hitler-bloody fabulous in my opinion-but would it change anything?

We would still have to contend with the ridiculous anti-Semitic mentality many people had at that time. We would still have to watch and worry for those people who willingly signed up and tortured many poor souls because they had the same beliefs as Adolf. Maybe it wouldn't have happened the same way, maybe it wouldn't have happened at all....or maybe it would have been worse?

What if John F. Kennedy was never assassinated? How would that have changed the United States history? World history? Would we have pulled out of Vietnam earlier? Would the space program have been further along than what it is today? Politicians and history buffs debate and speculate how history could have been but we will never know because we are only allowed the history we have.

I struggle with the thought of what is meant to be will be? How is a genocide meant to be? How is an act of terrorism meant to be? Because some low-lives thought of it and made it so? Does that mean it was meant to be though? Is anything meant in this universe or are we all just random bits and pieces of chemistry ambling about and trying to make it throughout our lives as happily as we can?

There is a movie I love and hate, called Sliding Doors. The movie follows a woman, Gwenyth Paltrow, and sees how different her life would have been if she caught her train on time or if she missed it. It runs the scenarios of both and how her life unfolds. Even though her life goes down different paths in the parallel universes in the end it comes to the same conclusion basically and you are left to wonder if it was fate or coincidence that brought this woman to the same outcome?

It drives me nuts, thinking about what could have been, what would have been, how we could alter something or the ramifications of the changes that we would never ever guess to happen.

I suppose, if there was one thing, one event I could change in history, it would be the part in evolution that gave us "mob mentality".

During the time of Hitler, even with the exteme hate and anti-Semitism mentality occurring, there was more that motivated humans to join in and treat others inhumanely and in unimaginable ways. Put one person with a hateful group of like minded individuals and watch the mob mentality take over. With cruel and hateful leaders promoting and assuring these fools that was what is "right" they follow. Mindlessly. Devotedly. Disgustingly.

During the Nuremberg trials, many of the officers justified  their sick participation and heinous acts against humanity by simply saying they were following orders. They followed orders to butcher people not only because they wanted to, but because it was supported, encouraged, amongst thousands of others they considered peers. They gave in and accepted the mob mentality.

This has been a theme throughout history. How else would slavery become common and accepted by many people-since biblical days? How else would ethnic cleansing be justified by their murderers? How else would witch trials continue and many innocent women burned or drowned? How else do too many sporting events end up in useless rioting? How else did big hair become popular?

Because people, foolishly fall in step with fellow idiots who may start out scared. Then they let their fear and inhibitions run wild with them and take them to places they would never dare go on their own. Maybe it is instinct to fall in line with the herd, maybe it is a survival instinct, and maybe it is simply cowardly.

I suppose if it was anything I would change it would be that. No singular event, no erase of tragedy, no way I am a Saint for absolving pain from people. I suppose, I would let history unfold how it already has, because it is history. I cannot change it and I suppose I would not wish to.

Rather, I would content myself to be independent, to avoid the crowd, and to live in my present making the best future possible for those I love and those I do not even know.

The past is the past, it cannot be altered, it can only serve as education to us all, if we choose to study it and remember it.

Monday, September 29, 2014

I'm Not A Bitch But...

sometimes want to be. I want to let my guard down, let my emotions get the justice they deserve, simply put, I don't want to apologize for feeling the way I feel.

I am five days late for my period. I know I am not pregnant, not only because at this point we are actively not trying until I'm at a healthier weight, not only because I'm on birth control but because when I get that tiny, glimmer of hope I have to check. I have to just see if maybe a miracle has finally happened but those cruel damn sticks bodly and unequivocally tell me I am not pregnant.

Every time.

Since the time of my childhood I have loved children. I know, that sounds weird, but I always appreciated and loved the relationship between a mother and a child. The ability to bring life. To me that was the most important job in the world.

To me that is the most important and beautiful job in the world.

I know you may think you are being helpful or funny when you say any of the following:

"Maybe it's not meant to be" or "Just relax" or "Why don't you just adopt?" or "Man if my husband just looks at me I get knocked up"

but I can assure you that you indeed are not.

I promise for the first few years of my 13 year relationship with my hubby, I was relaxed, not at all worried about conceiving. I thought it would come in due time. Sometime in my early twenties for sure. But when that didn't happen I thought I'd be a mom in my late twenties. And here I am just welcomed into my thirties with no child of our own.

We have thought of adoption and even though if you google or bing costs of adoptions and it says it can be anywhere between 0 and 50,000 the people I have known and met have all ballparked it between 30-45 grand. Not exactly chump change.

I get that sometimes you may feel the need to say something, but sometimes all a friend needs is a welcoming silence, an outstretched arm and a shoulder to cry on.

It can still happen, we are working with a great ob/gyn, I am taking the medicine, shedding the weight, relaxing, and still holding onto hope.

But.

There are days when the bitterness strikes and I find myself a little sad. I feel a little melancholy. I remember sharing a status back in the Myspace days (before being worried about conceiving) about being ready to be a mom and a few other women commented how they were too. I got messages from some other women who confided in their struggles and pain. Out of those 9 women who commented or messaged me, I am the only woman who has not had a child and l wonder if l will ever be part of the only group l have ever wanted to join-motherhood.

But you know what? l am still that friend that will listen to you complain about your morning sickness, your achy back and leaky breasts. l will always offer to babysit if l can. l will empathize about your lack of sleep. l will still love you maybe envy you a little, but love you and the children you bring into this world.

I just do not want to feel bad about the feelings l am expierencing. l do not need advice, smart ass remarks or lectures. At the very least, understand that l have heard them before-at the very complicated understand l have spent many nights, crying, wishing and praying for this miracle and am working with my doctors to make it a reality.

There is an odd stigma associated with sharing emotions. We feel the need to be happy, to be bright and optimistic and ignore the pain and sadness we may feel. We urge friends or even strangers to smile when we have no freaking clue what they are thinking and feeling. What is so wrong with being real with our emotions? What is so wrong about acknowledging them and processing them?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. It is unhealthy to hide our emotions, our feelings, parts of ourselves to put others at ease.

We deserve to be real with ourselves.

I feel apologetic of not being able to be a "woman" the way I should. I feel sad about not being a mother. I wonder if I am waiting and preparing for something that may not happen. l feel like l am whining when l finally share my feelings with a friend who wants to know how l am 'really doing'.  I feel like a bitch when l feel a little jealous.

That being said, me being sad does not mean I am not happy for you.

It may take me a little bit longer to hit the 'like' button for your pregnancy announcement, my smile may seem a tiny bit strained when you tell me you cannot stand your kids and wish you could sell them, I may bring a ridiculous, big gift to your baby shower,it may take me a while to send a "congrats" note to you in the mail, but not because I am not happy for you. Because I am. I truly am.

It is just that I envisioned that kind of happiness for myself years ago and sometimes unknowns and realities alike are hard to come to grips with.

I am not normally a bitch. But sometimes I just want to cry and not feel guilty,  not explain myself and listen to stupid questions like are we 'doing it' correctly.

Cultivate kindness. Invest it in yourself and others. Bitches and assholes do not just happen. They evolve, they explode from the once quiet person, they thrive from anger and misunderstanding.

I guess, I am just gently asking you to be kind. To me, to your friends, to your family, to strangers and especially to yourselves.