Fessing up

I currently have four or five drafts sitting in my blogger thingamajig. They'e been there for months. Posts that start out with something cute or funny -- Polly-and-Bob dialogs, stories about Riley, a-funny-thing-happened-to-me anecdotes -- and are supposed to wind up revealing something profound that I learn from these things.

But I can't push "publish" on any of them. The reason why is if it doesn't feel real, if it feels forced, I can't do it. And that's what those were. Half-baked ideas that were more about being funny and wise and they were not where I am right now.

See, this year has been a long slog. Physically, mentally, and spiritually. And I think I'm ready to just fess up to some stuff.

Body.

I had two surgeries in 2018. One in February to remove that hateful tissue expander and install an implant where my breast used to be. This was going to be it! I'd finally be done and able to move on. It did not work out that way. At a follow up appointment a few months after the surgery I explained that I was still having to wear a pad to even out the sides, and Dr. S shook his head and said that we could do better. There was some explanation for why the results weren't what he was expecting.

So I had another surgery in November to swap the implant out for a larger one. This time the sides are much closer and I can wear a real bra now. But it feels very weird and I'm in some pain just about every day. I spend a lot of time worrying about it. I have dreamed that the cancer has come back, and even had pain exactly where the tumor was. I know I will deal with this for a long, long time, maybe forever. Sometimes I'm okay with that fact, and sometimes I am pity-party-Polly.

In a totally different physical struggle, I've been changing my diet and workout plan. I've been struggling to get back down to what I considered my ideal weight pre- cancer treatment. I was basing this target on a lot of things, including what the wii told me I should weigh -- if I say that out loud I realize how ridiculous it sounds.

I had been a low carb eater for a couple of decades at least. I liked eating low carb, and mostly didn't miss carbs. I was never the person who said I "could not live without" pasta or bread. Eating this way became second nature to me. But when, after cancer, diving back down to single-digit carb intake per day did not make the weight fall off, I freaked out. I realized I was terrified of carbs. I had trained my mind into thinking that if I ate a slice of bread I had totally failed.

So I'm not sure who was praying for me, but I finally had a breakthrough. Food is not bad. Good food -- real food, fresh food, healthy food, or really even junk food -- is not my enemy and God does not want me to be afraid. I slowly sort of woke up and thought: what if it's just about balance?

So like a lot of people, I turned to tech for some help. I developed hate-hate relationships with various diet and food apps. I would keep track of every bite. I measured, scanned, added recipes, etc. I felt guilty if I lied to the app, and depressed when I didn't hit my macros. (I know many of you already have this figured out and you're rolling your eyes... and believe me I don't blame you. I was a mess.) It turned out that there were just a few tricks for me to remember, and I did myself a favor and dropped the apps. But there was/is still more to work through.

One day Bob and I went to Subway for lunch. On the way I was giving myself the mental pep talk. Carbs aren't bad. Balance is good. In line my heart started pounding. "I can't do this, I can't do this," I told Bob. He said, "you are having a panic attack over a sandwich." So I sucked it up and ordered a low calorie, 6" sub on 9 grain bread with lots of fresh veggies and you know what happened? NOTHING. It was delicious and I did not gain weight.

Body image issues are embarrassing to talk about. So here's the part where I want to justify my scars, weight, belly, wrinkles, and all of it by saying "not so bad for state-my-age." I want to believe it.

Mind

I'm a pretty twitchy person by nature, but there have been many times over the past several months when I feel pretty crippled by anxiety. Like head-between-knees-breathe-breathe-breathe kind of anxiety. Loud noises, dogs howling and barking, traffic, crowds, work pressures -- all this stuff triggers it and it sometimes takes quite a while for the pain and panic to stop.

One of my abandoned posts started like this:

Polly: Oh! Oh no! BOB, you see that car pulling out, right!?
Bob: Yes. Of course I see it.
Polly: Well it didn't seem like you did! And why is everyone driving so fast!?
Bob: I've got it under control, honey.
Polly: I'm not worried about you! It's THEM! Human beings are unpredictable!

Funny, right? The truth is that more than half the time these incidents are not funny at all, they're painful for Bob and me both. I'm cringing, gasping, closing my eyes, and gripping the door handle and he's totally confused about why I'm panicking. This is exactly why I couldn't publish that post, I was making light of something that's been a real problem.

Jesus and JPII tell us to "be not afraid." So there is a very real feeling of failure spiritually when the panic punches me in the gut. Well-meaning advice like "just pray more" or "just calm down" does not help. It takes a hard, concerted effort to physically and mentally slow myself down, which is something I learned from this book.

This is the point where I really want to write something wise or reassuring, but this is all I can say. God is doing something. I'm just not sure what it is yet.

Spirit

This was the year I learned to love the Rosary. It was my "add in" during Lent, to pray the Rosary every day. What I was missing before was really just the rhythm of it. Working for a Catholic publishing company I'm constantly surrounded by books and articles about the Rosary and it can make it all seem pretty intimidating. There are a bo billion different ways to pray it, another zillion reflections, not to mention the gillion whens, whys, and wheres. So I just figured, that's not my favorite devotion and that's okay. But I still felt that I could learn if that was totally true by spending 6 weeks praying it every day.

So I did that, and it was mostly rewarding. I say "mostly" because there were days when I phoned it in, rushing through to check it off the list. And also "mostly" because like we professional Catholics do, I read some article online that told me I was "doing it wrong" if I didn't do these two things. Boo.

Also another thing that happens when someone works for a publishing company, I started thinking: maybe I should write about this. God showed me several pretty specific things while praying the Rosary. I took note of them and thought, "I should share this with the world!"

But, when I floated my idea past some people I heard crickets chirping. Maybe because, as I mentioned before, there are already so maaaany Rosary books out there. Maybe they don't like my writing. Or maybe it was just a bad idea. The attack that happened then went something like this: was any of it real? And: you're not special.

Then, discouragement set in and my whole prayer life sort of sputtered. Here I am again wanting to offer up some wisdom on pushing through a spiritually challenging or dry phase, and I have nothing. I've talked to some priests about this, and their good advice is always to not stop, just persevere, it all still counts.

But in the end: grateful

I'm telling you all this kind of tough and ugly stuff that happened this year because it's true and maybe you can relate to some of it, so maybe we can help each other. We can pray for each other. But even though a lot of this sounds like griping, I'm still very grateful to God and here are just some of the reasons why.

1. I'm still here. I just had my insurance physical and passed with flying colors. I have some tests that I will need to have done pretty soon, but there's nothing scary or urgent. Thanks be to God!
2. I have a husband who loves me. At least twice in the past month he has shown me how much he loves me by going outside his comfort zone and putting me first. It's got me asking: how can I be a better wife to him, and for this I am grateful. 
3. Sacraments and Mass. They are not just "important" to me like teeth cleaning or replacing the filter on the fridge are important. And they don't "ground" me in some secular way. They are life-giving. 
4. Family and friends. At weddings and funerals we clump up. Physical proximity seems important, those bonds feel tighter when we are shoulder-to-shoulder sharing tables, breaking bread, and laughing or crying together. 
5. Silly stuff. There are lots of silly things I'm grateful for. I'm sure you have your own list. Mine includes finally finding the perfect place for my Heywood Wakefield table. Offloading a bunch of things that were cluttering up my storage room (and life). Kettlebells. Christmas bells. Warm blankets. Black and white movies. A clean garage. Paperwhite bulbs. Soup. Relaxing music for dogs. Gel pens. Sweatpants (for real, right?). So much more. 

So what's the punchline here? For me, what sums it up is something a sweet parish priest told me after confession a couple of different times. He said he prays this little prayer every morning, and encouraged me to use it also. He says, "God, there is nothing that will happen today that together you and I can't handle." I like it because it is not a promise a problem-free day. It's just a simple statement of trust that my strength can come from God, if I ask him for it.