Month: September 2023

This week there was a blip on my medical radar. I didn’t see it coming, seemed like all of a sudden it was just there. I was tested in the ER for this and that and told to follow up with a specialist, because they felt they had ruled out life threatening  causes. But of course I could get hit by a bus, and that would really be a moot point. Now, I’m feeling much better physically, but I haven’t returned to my usual emotional equilibrium. I think being sick or injured uncovers a lot of fears and vulnerabilities, and there is nothing flattering or dignified about hospital gowns.

There is a silly song from Tiny Tim that was popular during my teen years, “Tiptoe Through the Tulips”.  It seems the tulips were overrun with thistles when I wasn’t  looking, but I’m looking now! I was scared when I wasn’t feeling well and shared this with my son. Isn’t it funny how women can be so good at giving comfort but not receiving it? It is still my job to be mothering I think. Not smothering-I remind myself. Feeling vulnerability is the most “honest” of feelings, but also the most frightening. What if I share vulnerability and I’m dismissed, laughed at or talked out of it. This wound is so deep and will get infected. Healing comes slowly if at all. It isn’t this bad is it? Yes, yes it is. For those who don’t know about wound care, it can seem counter intuitive at times. Wounds needs to be kept “open” until the infection is gone. A sterile tape is inserted to keep the wound from closing and to let the pus drain.  It is not pretty. Letting the wound close too soon risks the infection getting worse. For me, the real challenge is saying “I’m afraid” and not jumping in to discount myself. “It will be fine I’m sure, I’m just a baby” etc….closing myself up before the compassion can happen. 

Getting older means I need to exercise and build up my vulnerability and humility muscle. It’s likely I will  need more help from others, at least physically.  I hate this: “I can handle it, thank you very much.” I walk much more carefully so I don’t slip on the ice, I don’t attempt to move heavy boxes that I used to throw around, loaded with books no less. How old was he or she ? Often the first question I ask when I hear about someone’s death. When I’m not feeling “little” I’m feeling filled with rage. How could this be happening to me? How dare life treat me like this when I am the exception to the rule? The joke is on me!

I’ve written about resilience and I know this is a time when I need to rustle up some of my strengths and attitudes to stay vulnerable, but also practice good self-care. I can sit for a few minutes and meditate to slow my facing thoughts . This helps  my blood pressure and my emotional pressure too. I can ask my trusted friends and family to listen to me and let me express feelings that may not be so pretty. When someone says to me that they have had the same feelings I am validated, which is such an enemy to shame. It’s  self-compassion that will give me the space to be vulnerable. I can leave the wound open until the infection is gone.

Out there in the world I tend to try and “ Fake it until I make it.” I need to get thru the day so I reply “I’m fine” when people ask “How are you?” Maybe I can take a few more risks to be authentic without unloading or over-sharing. The next time Bob asks me “How are you?” I could answer “It’s been a struggle lately. Thank you for asking.”

When shit happens….

“I simply remember my favorite things

And then I don’t feel so bad”

My apologies to Julie Andrews for cherry-picking her lyrics, but it works for me. It’s the “ favorite things” helping her to feel better that I relate to. I have things that I love and  bring me comfort because they remind me of a positive memory or feeling. Although Inanimate  and non-living they seem human to me. My word-nerd self found that “personification” means attributing human characteristics to inanimate and non-living things. For example,  “ My car died.” and“ The dishes keep staring at me, begging me to wash them.” My Mom told me that when I couldn’t find a sock it “walked off”! Missing socks felt like a conspiracy to me. I was never good at playing hide and seek. One year for Halloween I sent my son out as the sock monster, with a hundred socks pinned all over him and a sign saying “ I have your missing sock.” I’m not sure he really got it, but I did.

The things I love aren’t antiques or valuable, but they are valuable to me and  seem human to me. My Pillsbury Doughboy is over 50 years old ( he’s as old as I am). I love him partly because of the commercial he starred in.  I remember when he was poked in his belly he had this sweet little laugh. When I see him on my windowsill, I also see my Mom kneading bread and smell the bread just out of the oven. I couldn’t wait to cut a thick slice, slather butter on it and watch it melt in. I could see,smell and taste the bread. I got a large wicker basket with a lid on it for my first dorm room, in 1970. It’s been a lot of places and seen a lot of things through the years. I still use it as a night stand and “home” is what it holds, no matter the geography. When I see it I know “I’m home. I don’t even know what’s in it now, but it doesn’t matter. I have a small figure sculpted  of nuts and bolts and he is holding a heavy metal heart. I like to think he’s offering his heart to me in case mine gets broken. He’s been with me for I don’t even know how long. He’s in a place where I see him a lot through out the day. I notice that I use the pronoun “he” when I talk about him and I guess it’s the nuts and bolt thing. I don’t know his gender at birth. My son came home from daycare 37 years ago with mama bear and Tyler-bear paper figures stapled together.  Now they are very faded but the staple still holds.  It’s the staple I love…it connects me to my son.

A penny for your thoughts? In my life it’s a dime for your thoughts. My late husband Roger had this weird thing about finding dimes. No other coins around it…just a single dime. When we were out walking he’d almost shove me out of the way to get to a dime he saw. We laughed about it and it became his thing. He made quite a pile of dimes. When he was dying I asked him to keep sending me dimes to let me know he was taking care of me. He hasn’t let me down yet. I get dimes from heaven. He leaves dimes for me everywhere. I remember one particular day I was anxious and grieving , and I parked in a big lot and opened my car door- and there on the concrete was a single dime. I thank him for each dime I find. Sometimes I joke with him and tell him inflation means he should leave me twenties. Not everyone believes that our loved ones communicate with us after death, but I believe.

I was really hoping that my date with BadBoy was going to be a lot of fun. I had dressed to impress.

hope\ˈhōp\

• : to want something to happen or be true and think that it could happen or be true

I was dressed early, so there was nothing to do but wait for him to come pick me up.

wait\ˈwāt\

• : to stay in a place until an expected event happens, until someone arrives, until it is your turn to do something, etc.
• : to remain in a state in which you expect or hope 

He was late, but he was BadBoy so I figured he was always late. I was patient and was escaping the heat of the day and sitting outside in the cooler night air. 

patient: able to remain calm and not become annoyed when waiting for a long time 

I waited and waited and began to get impatient, and irritated. He was probably drinking with his friends and decided to blow me off. My self-esteem took a nose dive.

im·pa·tient\(ˌ)im-ˈpā-shənt

• : not willing to wait for something or someone : not patient
• : showing that you do not want to wait : showing a lack of patience

I wanted to give up on the evening completely, but instead called a friend to vent and asked her to come pick me up. We’d  go to the dance sans BadBoy and have fun. I may have drank more than I should have.

give up: to cease doing or attempting something especially as an admission of defeat 

And through all that waiting here I am. I’m no longer that young woman with a shaky sense of self-worth who thinks waiting is what it’s all about.  I’m not waiting to do what I want to do. I sure as hell am not waiting at the pearly gates of heaven.  I’ll know when it’s my turn.