Lessons and Leaves

I’ve returned to this old, trusty blog to write about what I’ve been through the last two weeks; I never want to forget. 

Two weeks ago, on a typical weeknight, I came home from work, sat down to watch the Seahawks on Thursday Night Football, and a wall of exhaustion hit me. I looked at the clock, which read 6:00 PM on the dot. I then looked at my husband and told him I was going to lay down for a bit. The nest thing I remember was that it was morning, I was dizzy and couldn’t get out of bed. After being in bed for over 24 hours, I reassessed the situation, and I knew something was off. The next four days were a blur of ER, urgent care, and primary doctor visits. I felt so frustrated and dismissed. On Sunday, my left eye became red and sore. On Monday, I had developed my first blister. On Tuesday, back to the ER where this angel attending said, “We think you likely have Ramsay Hunt Syndrome.”  Finally, a diagnosis, An answer. 

I was sent on my way with a prescription for anti-viral meds and painkillers. It wasn’t enough, I had become so depleted over the last five days that I was back in the ER at 4 AM on Wednesday and that is where I remained for the next three days. ER holding room for a full day and then a room in isolation. 

During the worst of it, I couldn’t open my eye, tolerate any light, had facial weakness, and the pain was quite intense. I had infusions of meds three times a day and continued to sleep. I was sent home on Friday evening to finish my recovery at home with another week’s worth of anti-viral pills and meds targeted for nerve pain. 

It’s slow going. My eye, although much improved, is still sore and blurry. The blisters are starting to scab over, The nerve pain is still pretty consistent, but manageable with meds. I am still tired and not allowed to drive. I am trying my best to remain patient and positive. Healing takes time. 

And here’s the thing: this, most-likely, was all caused by stress. I was under enough stress from my life that a dormant zoster virus reactivated and attacked my facial and ocular nerves. The incredible thing was, I didn’t necessarily feel that stressed out. Looking back, I think it just had become my new baseline, which is ridiculous. 

I had been working extremely hard in therapy over the past few months to reprocess childhood trauma. It was simply the right time to do so; to reclaim my life and my past and my inner dialogue. But, in that, I know there was obviously vulnerability and a level of internal stress.

Then there’s the place I spend most of my time outside of home: work. I have been honest about the toll work has taken on me over the past few years, including the ever-increasing workload and the inability to feel caught up or on top of the unrealistic expectations. My high-level of commitment and care is rewarded with a high-level of stress, and if I am being perfectly honest, unhappiness. No amount of salsa gardens or book clubs could have prevented this. The weeks leading up to my illness, I found myself Googling things like: how to start a second career when you need health insurance and looking into my service credits. 

While I am on a this forced break, I am leaning into rest and figuring out how to move forward. There is one thing, however, I know without a doubt: I will NEVER again allow myself to let stress go unchecked and become so unwell. 

I will do what I need to do for me, unapologetically. I turn 50 in five weeks and I am determined to use this as reset and wake-up call. I am so thankful for the small things. To be home. People who love me. A hot shower. A good cup of coffee. Laughter. Music. Seasonal candles and decorations. God-willing, I will fully recover because there’s still so much more I want to accomplish in this precious life, so much more that I want to contribute. So much more love to give. 

A New {School} Year’s Resolution

I have always loved the start of a new school year. The last few years haven’t held that same magic for me. I can pinpoint some specific reasons as to why this was, but overall I think it was more nuanced and complicated. 

I am someone who will give her all until there is almost nothing left. This can be especially problematic when there is an ever-increasing workload and not enough help. I have struggled with the four B’s (which is not a thing, I just made it up because I like alliteration): Burnout, Bitterness, Balance, and Boundaries. 

I would be on the verge of burnout, develop feelings of bitterness (which I felt guilty about) but wouldn’t implement appropriate balance and boundaries because how could I when the needs were so great? 

And so it went. This dysfunctional dance with a recurring chorus of demoralization. 

I was in such a bad space last year, that receiving the monthly wellness offering emails would trigger me. 

I have a renewed resolve, however, to find the magic again, to let things go, especially things I have absolutely no control over in the first place. I resolve to focus on my own wellness. 

I want to get back to the person I was BC (before Covid). I want to radiate positivity. I want to find the joy in all of it. I want to respond with love and kindness in every situation. I want to seek to understand and assume good intentions. I want to feel valued and seen and heard. Moreover, I want others to feel valued, supported, seen, and heard by me. 

I resolve to take deep breaths and lunch breaks. I resolve to ask for help and take mental health days if needed. I will be honest and not hide on the hard days. 

I resolve to remember that I have the ability to control how I respond to things. I will respond in ways which are helpful and productive instead of something like, “Are you fucking kidding me?!” (I know, it makes me sad, too, but I am being honest). 

I feel ready to go back, which hasn’t been the case in quite some time.  I feel ready to seek out the beautiful magic that happens when we work together for the good of everyone. I feel so ready to get up every day and feel excited again. 

It’s time.

 *tap, tap* Is this thing on? I guess Blogger is still up and running, which is good. I don’t think many people blog anymore, especially on Blogger. Maybe they have fancy websites, or they post influence-y TikToks, or vlogs, or actually write books. Who knows? But here I am. Coming back to what I know. 

Between August 2009 and September 2018, I published 139 blogs. I’d write consistently for awhile, then have large gaps. I was surprised to see that this last gap was almost five years. It was also a little disheartening to scroll through the titles and remember all the things I had felt so brave in sharing, are still, in many ways, things I still struggle with to this day. I poured myself into those posts. 

So, you may be wondering why have I decided to write #140. Because, simply, it’s time. It’s time to focus on doing the hard work. 

Although I am not Cheryl Strayed, and this is not my journey hiking the Pacific Crest Trail to find myself, I am currently sitting in an Airbnb in the mountains of Nothern California, 400 miles from home. You see, I have never really done anything alone. I’ve never lived alone. Never went away to college or done any traveling. My family began right out of high school. So when my time off was coming to an end, and I told my mister that I was feeling this strong pull to go somewhere solo, he fully supported me. 

In some ways, I feel more like Julia Robert’s character, Maggie, in Runaway Bride. She didn’t know how she liked her eggs. She always said her favorite was the same as her former fiancés. It’s time for me to figuratively figure out how I like my eggs (and strive to be the person I was created to be). 

I don’t have the best track record with follow-through. Maybe those things I previously let go of weren’t meant for me. All I know, with increasing clarity the older I get, is that more days are not promised and only the things done in love truly matter. 

“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” -Mary Oliver

What, indeed? 

Beautiful

I've become far more transparent as I get older. Those close to me know that I have struggled a bit more than normal the last few months. Summer was definitely quite rough. I experienced bouts of sadness coupled with anxiety. I remember one particularly bad morning, I started crying and literally couldn't stop. My mister came home from work early to find me curled up in a fetal position, sobbing, and I didn't even know why.

Then, towards the end of July, what I have feared since losing over one hundred pounds happened: An extremely stressful situation occurred, and I reverted back to all of those unhealthy habits that accompanies emotional eating. I started to eat to fill a void, instead of eating to fuel my body. I would eat when I wasn't hungry and I would eat all of the high fat, high sugar foods. I would overeat, too. Sad = eat. Bored = eat. Anxious = eat. Stressed or overwhelmed? Eat. Eat. Eat. And, the weight has crept back up. And I fell so defeated.

Last week was a long week; it was a long, stressful week. I ate my way through it. The temporary gratification is always replaced with disgust and self-loathing, yet the cycle continued.

Tonight, I went to one of those smiling feet places to hopefully work out some knots out as a fresh week begins. As I was trying to relax, listening to the instrumental music with the ocean sounds, I asked God to help me not become so consumed with my negative feelings. And when those feelings arise, because they inevitable will, I prayed that I can respond in a healthy way, not eat ten pieces of candy.

As I continued to pour my heart out to God, telling Him all the ways I have fallen short and how I really don't know what I am doing, the man with his elbow in my shoulder blade spoke. It jolted me back to the room. He said, "Měilì....beautiful." He was referring to the tattoo in the middle of my back. I got it many years ago, and, at the time, I wanted it to be a reminder of a beautiful life, a life that gleaned beauty from the ashes. Hearing it spoken in that moment, and having that reminder was a balm to my hurting heart.

Tomorrow is a new day, and the start of a new month. One thing I do know is this: His mercies are new each day. It's true. And it remains true, even if I don't have my shit together. Especially when I don't have it all together.

So, that's where I am...In a place of striving. And falling. And getting back up again. A place where I am attempting to discern what to do with my future. And most importantly, a place of attempting to live life well, which means loving those around me {and loving myself, too.}

Heard (conclusion)

And so it went. Without her voice, the little girl retreated inward. She imagined a different reality for herself, where she was seen. Where she was loved. One day, when it all became too much, she left the home that held her captive and rode her rusty bicycle to the end of the street. There, she would stage an accident. She waited in that dirty pile of leaves. Waiting for someone or something to rescue her.

Eventually, a lady stopped and asked the girl lying in the leaves if she was okay.

Fine.

All she could muster was 'Fine.'

She was always fine.

The girl's mother had a bad track record when it came to men. Her second husband was no exception, and he, like the others, wouldn't last long.

And it was like a miracle. Finally the prayer she prayed to her favorite Tears for Fears song was being answered {nothing ever lasts forever}

And for the first time in two years, the girl tried to reassure herself that the nightmares were only in her head, not in the middle of the night or anytime she was left alone with him.

She probably would've remained quiet had he stayed away, but that wasn't her fate. And the girl, who wasn't little anymore,  knew that she would have find the courage. She would have speak the unspeakable in order to protect her little sister. There was never any other option.

So, she took her notebook and wrote a note to her P.E. teacher. Ms. Coats seemed like a good choice since the previous month they all watched a PSA about not keeping secrets and the difference between a 'good touch' and 'bad touch.'

The very next day she called to the office where her mother's guilt-ridden face was waiting, but she was the one who felt ashamed. Then came the subsequent trip back to the scene of the crime so to speak. There, she would be forced to undergo a physical exam and talk to a slew of detectives and psychologists. One of the sessions, she was given a paper and pencils and was asked to draw a picture. Even at 13, she saw right through this request. She obliged by drawing a bouquet of heart-shaped balloons floating up in the sky. She wondered if their analysis would lead them to conclude that she desired love and freedom.

Both sentiments still ring true today.

And nothing ever happened. Some people are good at hiding.

The statute of limitation has long since passed, but not for that little girl, who become a timid teenager, and stumbling adult.

But, when she needed to protect the well-being of another, she ultimately found her voice.

And she continues to do so, learning to speak when it matters, even when it's scary. Learning to stop apologizing for things that are not her fault.

Little by little, she is becoming fearless.

And somehow, by God's unfathomable grace, she knows she is free.

{I am free}

Heard

Forty-three years and some odd months and I am still trying to find my voice. Circumstances have all but forced me to rip this from my heart, or else claw away at my very flesh.

*************

Her youngest memories are like the pictures in an old photo album. The kind with embroidery and ribbons adorning the cover. Delicate and beautiful on the outside. Inside, however, were the yellowing pages and faded faces which appear to be smiling. Just snapshots in time. Christmases. First days of school. Backyard kiddie pools. Pictures of houses that no longer stood, where she would stand on swirling wooden stairs and marvel at the dust in the sunbeams, like it was sent from another realm.

She was a quiet and painfully shy girl. They said she suffered in silence, like it was something brave and not a learned behavior out of desperation. Before she was ten, another upheaval. New city. New stepfather. New siblings. 

Her mother was talking too loudly one day about how the house she rented had been the scene of a murder. It made sense to the little girl, as she would see the evil that resided within its walls. 

The first night he came into her room, she thought she was dreaming. The moment when a dream turns, without warning, to a nightmare. She opened her mouth to scream, to utter anything, but nothing came out. Her voice betrayed her, as it left her, alone. Unsafe. 

Did he know, as most predators would, that he would be able to silence her with just his foreboding presence? Did he know that her voice would betray her the same way he would again and again? Did he know that his actions would repeatedly break the wing of the fledgling bird, keeping her grounded far too long, for her spirit longed to soar? Away from this place of nightmares. High, like the other little birdies. Somewhere safe. Somewhere where her voice would not betray her. Heard. 

To be continued...

Reasons

Shortly after the New Year, I took about a three week break from Facebook, deleting the app from my phone. I felt that it was in my best interest. As a whole, it made me feel wretched about myself (or bitter, or judgmental, or a slew of other negative emotions). Not to mention the amount of time I wasted.

It was hard at first, as most habits are, to break. But, as the days went on, it became easier, and I had more time to be engaged in the present. I was looking less at my phone for the red notifications. However, there were certain things I missed, such as seeing pictures of those that live far away, or sharing in others' happy news.

So, after some time, and after I felt like I had found some balance, I decided to log back in. It was the day after the inauguration and the day of the women's march. Two of my best friends and I went together. We joined about 5,000 others in Riverside. People of differing beliefs and backgrounds came together in solidarity, each person choosing to march for his or her own reasons.

For me, this is why I marched: I marched because I believe that our individual and collective voices matter; I marched because I believe that misogyny and xenophobia need to be addressed and eradicated from government; I marched because I believe that all children (including the children of undocumented immigrants like those who attend my school) deserve the best possible education; Most importantly, I marched because I believe that every single person is to be valued. Every one. We do not get to decide if we think someone is worthy of love. I marched because God loves ALL people. Period.

Then, it seems, the world, especially the social media one, went berserk. It is so easy to find articles that prove your viewpoint. It is easy to disregard others behind the safety of your keyboard. It is easy to share some pointed post that will show them what's what. But, ultimately it is never effective.

So, when a distant family member sees that your friend marched and he asks her if she has been ¨kicked in the head,¨ well, that is just plain unacceptable. He could have asked her what led her to march. He could have attempted to understand her feelings.

There is so much division and hate. He is the president, and I do hope to God that he does well, but his actions are unnerving to me. His insatiable ego has no place in the White House. His actions (which I honestly thought were enough to not get him elected) have not changed. His refusal to release his tax records, as was confirmed today, is thoroughly suspicious. And it is so telling that he would rather live with peoples' suspicions than to divulge the truth. Truth matters not to him. Whatever he is hiding must be so damning. I won´t even go into his conflicts of interest.

He has censored the National Park Service for reporting facts, he had Press Secretary Spicer lie to us, then the next morning his counselor, who he publicly called ´baby´ while thanking her,  straight-faced said that he did not lie, but gave ¨alternative facts.¨ Seriously?

Anyway, I think it is time to take a more extended break from Facebook. Now is not the time to remain silent, but nor is it the time to engage over social media. I appreciate what President Obama said in his Farewell Speech: ¨If you're tired of arguing with strangers on the Internet, try talking to them in real life.¨

So, that is what I am planning. I will regret potentially not seeing pictures of your cute kiddos, or missing an opportunity to connect with you or encourage you, but I am still here (I just won't be on online much).

Remember, you matter. Kindness matters. You are loved. And never be afraid to speak out against hate. Peace.

xo.