I’ve learned my lesson????

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A picture from the longest walk I’ve taken so far. I hope I rebound quickly so I can get back to this length.

I have been very angry. The kind of angry that just has to burn itself out because it has no release valve. I know that God is teaching me something I don’t fully understand, and I can’t promise it won’t be the last time I have to learn it. Over and over again I am reminded that I have no control over certain aspects of my life. I have no control over my uterus and ovaries and their near constant assault on my life.  I have no control over my doctors and their ability to relate to how much pain I am in, and very little control in what steps they will offer to relieve this pain. I have no control over how my loved ones react to my inability to accomplish my responsibilities. Worst I have no control over when the pain comes so plans are almost near impossible. I’ve been stewing on these things because I’ve not only been plagued by the normal endometriosis and adenomyosis pain but I got sick with pneumonia for a while. When I was in pain and also sick, I had time to soak in my anger and sadness. I didn’t have a lot of brain power to tell myself how lucky I am or figure out a way to make myself feel better about my predicament.

Sadly, my anger lasted a lot longer than the sickness. I get a little unreasonable when I am stuck in 700 square feet for more than a month. The only place I could go was the doctor’s office, and of course that was dreary. Also, coming out of one of these episodes feels like recovering after an ugly storm hits. Luckily I survived but now I have to rebuild. Working in a creative field takes a certain frame of mind, and the intermittent pain interrupts the process because I can’t think. So when the storm clears I have to get back my mojo so to speak. Not only that, but I have to go back and reread what I previously wrote and think about how to continue from there. The really messed up part is just when I am ramping up to start writing again, then I get another tornado of pain.

It is a mad rush to get up to speed and then try to make progress in all areas of my life. I have been trying to lose weight for years and that is another problem. I have been doing yoga and walking, but after this episode I had to start all over. I was up to three miles three times a week and three yoga sessions. After the episode I had to start all over and was having trouble doing the seven blocks to the library and the twenty scant minutes of yoga. It is like my body resets back to slack ass mode as a default.  My lungs get smaller, my legs get weaker, and I lose all the stretch I have gained in my yoga practice.

I am thinking about how often this happens to me and it still grates on me.  I know I am lucky. I have a great life other than this: a loving, fantastic and sexy husband, a deeply close lovable family, and friends that would give their ovaries if it meant I’d have no more pain. Bitching about this part of my life doesn’t feel right somehow. I feel guilty for being so upset, but a friend set me straight.

It’s okay to mourn not just for the loss of progress, but the lost time in my life. I miss out on time with all those people I love, and joy and discoveries while I am in so much pain. It isn’t just the progress I am making on my goals to be regretted; I am missing valuable experiences and moments. Time I won’t get back. I wish that I could just bounce back from these episodes as resilient as my fellow Oklahomans do after their storms. A high expectation but I still wish I could be stronger. What I wish is not really relevant because I still have to figure out a way to move on.

Unfortunately that means that I need to allow myself to just be upset so that I can move on. If I don’t just realize that I am going to have these feelings and not feel guilty about it then I can deal with the feelings and move on. This is my reality for now… Mourning it is okay. Feeling shitty about how my body has rebelled on me is natural and inevitable. For now I will have to just realize this is my life now. I will be going through this over and over again until I get help. I need to go with it and realize that rebelling against my feelings is just a waste of more time, and beating myself up about my feelings only gives me another reason to feel bad.

Part of what I am learning the more I go through this process in culmination with more and more yoga is how to be more kind to myself. Regretting that I am not stronger or what I have or haven’t done is not only a waste of time, it is mean. I am literally being mean to myself. It is like self-torture akin to pushing your own cuticles back but more insidious. I am as strong as I need to be to live and to get back up after being down and out for a month and that is a feat in itself. As a woman I was taught to be durable, as an American – resilient, and as an Okie – never to complain but sometimes those three things together make life harder than it is. Sometimes misery needs to be vented and recovery time taken. Rather than over and over pointing out what I can’t do or what qualities I like, perhaps it would be best to acknowledge how hard things truly are and that surviving is enough. My husband says, “Hey, you bled for a month and didn’t die-that’s extraordinary.”

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Seeing the quirkiness of Philly is always motivating to move more.

We all need maintenance

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My Momma: The glue in our family

There are so many incredible women in my life. Beautiful, remarkable, talented, and really genuinely care about the people in their lives. It amazes me the lengths they will go through to take care of the people in their lives, but then totally neglect their own health and their needs. It is so difficult to believe after all this time the guilt and shame built into our roles as a woman, and especially as mothers. I am not a mother, but a daughter, sister, and friend to many. I watch from the outside, which can be more telling than inside sometimes. I watch these monoliths of strength hold up their families in ways that would make super glue want to patent them. They spend most of their days devoted to keeping their families safe, well fed, educated, and well adjusted. The culture of sacrifice pervades incessantly, to the point their always standing, always the last to eat at dinner time, and even feel guilty when they are sick. I thought that was an old way of thinking, but it is so prevalent they even make Nyquil commercials about it.

I get it. I really do, society says that if you spend any time on yourself that you are selfish. It isn’t men either, we do this to ourselves. Our moms, grandmas, and great grandmas gave so much of themselves. We feel this urge to be productive, useful, and loving at all times. It is not just a current expectation it is a sociological imperative. My grandma had surgery to remove cancer on her nose in the morning, and much to my dismay, that afternoon was making my Grandpa a sandwich.  My Mom still can’t take a day off and all of the kids are grown and moved out of the house. My sister in law who is the best mom I have ever seen, felt guilty last week because she was so sick she couldn’t make breakfast. She has a very competent husband, my strapping brother, who makes a very delicious breakfast. I know, I have eaten his biscuits and gravy and they are better than my own momma’s (Please don’t tell her.) My nephew is probably better taken care of than any child in the world, and that is not Okie exaggeration.

I am not making a case for neglecting of children or any other responsibilities. I am trying to impress upon my sisters, mothers, and friends to stop putting your needs last and please breakup with the guilt monster.

“Heart disease is the leading cause of death for African American and white women in the United States. Among Hispanic women, heart disease and cancer cause roughly the same number of deaths each year. For American Indian or Alaska Native and Asian or Pacific Islander women, heart disease is second only to cancer.” –That’s from the CDC website

I believe that there is just too much. We have too much in our lives anymore. We need an exhaust vent. I am not a parent but I need my alone time. I need to do things that make me feel autonomous. My hubby and I are eerily close, but we both need time off. He will play video games all day if he wants. He doesn’t need to be productive. He understands the need to vent the steam, and doesn’t feel guilty about it.

Everyone works now, and I am a feminist so I am loving that, but with women still shouldering most of the household responsibilities it means most of those women are over worked and stressed. Why is there guilt when a day off is needed? Why do we feel like we have to explain our time? I wish my Mom was more indulgent. It is not selfish, its maintenance.

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I’ve begun to really rely on my yoga maintenance. It makes my mind calm down. My muscles relax and my heart be more kind to my loved ones.

Even inanimate objects require maintenance. Cars need their oil changed. Houses need gutters cleaned and filters changed. Don’t we deserve better than inanimate objects? Please, if you are reading this, find something you love doing that is all yours and take time out to do it. Even if it is super small like twenty minutes a day, please make sure it is yours and that you feel amazing after you do it. Maintain your sanity, and in turn your heart and soul. I have been doing yoga, and I love a nice long bath. My sister likes the hard core stuff like rowing machines. Art is fun, meditation, journaling, or reading, even just sitting down with a trashy magazine is good. Women, mommas especially, need restorative time to themselves or even time with friends. Please if you feel guilty call me. I will tell you it is okay. If you need permission, I will tell you how much you deserve to indulge. It’s not selfish. It is maintenance.

finding a joy in the middle of the day

Still trying to accept the things I cannot change. I tried to remember a time in my life when I didn’t have control, childhood. I thought, how did I cope with that? Little Danielle, threw lots of tantrums sure, but I also had a pretty happy childhood although I didn’t get my way. I will say a lot of my childhood was spent outside.
As a young child, one of my favorite things to do when I was at my Grandma’s house was to climb the big tree in her back yard. I would even pack a Pb&j, Cheetos, and Little Debbie’s snack cakes. If I had a thermos of Kool-Aid it would take forever to get me out of that tree. I could sit up there for hours just hearing the wind rustle the leaves, using the binoculars to stare at neighborhood dogs and inside windows, and smelling all the different smells coming from the wind.
As I grew older, outside was always where I wanted to be. Mom wouldn’t ask me to do dishes or fold laundry if I was outside with a book, or walking around the neighborhood. In high school would sit reading or writing very bad poetry out in my back yard on a blanket, next to the honeysuckle bush. Every once in a while, as it must do on the Oklahoma plains, the wind would pick up and the smell of that honeysuckle bush would intoxicate me. I would drop my book and just feel it caress my cheeks and feel my hair tickling the sides of my face and the back of my neck.
I don’t know what it is about the wind that mystifies me so. After my Dad passed, I would pretend that the wind was him hugging me in his starched shirts. Maybe it is the Okie in me that loves the feeling of wind hitting the sides of my face. I have spent a lot of my life with chapped cheeks, red faced dry cracked cheeks, but I love the wind. I think it is because it makes me feel that I am connected to several places at once.
So Friday for lunch I walked around my building to the side yard and sat there and ate my tuna fish sandwich. It is a beautiful place, especially this time of year. The grass is green and all uniform, as it is around companies usually. There are large, old gorgeous trees of many colors. There are three big green ones, a white flowered one and a large purple one. You see a lot of those white and purple trees here in Boise but they are all small and seem like they have just been planted. These two trees in the side yard of my company’s lot, are huge. So I sat there watching the wind blow there beautiful flowers around as the sun reflected off the building through the branches. It was so pretty.


I just sat there and let the quiet get into my head. Working in customer service all day is usually loud and sort of hectic. I am sure everyone reading this would probably agree. If you aren’t on the phone talking to someone, then your neighbor probably is. Sometimes you get those people who can’t hear you and then it is even louder. So this was really a treat in the middle of the day.
I sat there enjoying the beauty and the quiet and my sandwich. The only thing that wasn’t perfect was the hotdog cart providing the majority of the smells. When I went back in, I felt refreshed and blessed, instead of curmudgeonly. I think that enjoying nature and feeling the grass and seeing the pretty is going to be essential in my journey to being joyous and healthy.