body

"The body does not belong to us. While it lasts, we must use it as a trust handed over to our charge. Treating in this way, the things of the flesh, we may one day expect to become free from the burden of the body. Realizing the limitation of the flesh, we must strive day by day towards the ideal with what strength we have in us."   - Satygraha, Gandhi

Dear C,

Are you treating your body, today,

 as though it is a token of honor entrusted to you?

One day… it will be no more.

Now…

what really matters?

strength,

C

this girl

is on fire.

a power ballad has never sounded so strong since Aretha herself.

no commentary needed. i'm feeling a little on fire these days.



one day at a time,
burning away the ED from my
body, mind and spirit

with fire in my eyes.

not.

backing.

down.

let it burn,

C

beauty is pain

fighting isn't easy
but, you would think "getting better" was.
what about fighting to get better? how's that?

i've been too silent
too in my head
pushing through the next few months
meeting goals
thinking through numbing out
and fearing the results

i have not written because
i'll be honest
it's hard to put it to words
other than
i'm exhausted

anyone who has been here knows.
i am completely, utterly, unconditionally
spent.
not physically.
not emotionally.
but wholly.
it takes every moment
every ounce of energy
it takes everything
every piece of your life.

every piece of your life that was once
swallowed by depravity
the same
depravity that hungers after your healing
as every moment of
"normalness", happiness, and joy tries to sneak into your heart
and body

surrender one piece to depravity again.
just a little bite, a little snack.
it is like sinking sand.

it had been a normal morning.
normal is sometimes all i can ask for through this.
nothing had been restricted,
no excuses had been made.
i was calm, collected, strong and bouncy.

i glided out on my lunch break at work and
i heard the voice. dangerously familiar.
you're not hungry, you don't want lunch.
you'd be silly to eat your lunch you packed because you're not hungry
why don't you save it for later?
maybe you'll be hungry in two hours.

it was one of those moments.
i almost slipped
i almost fell for it's tricks
i almost thought i didn't have the strength to fight it.

depravity stealing me…

i sat down on a sunny bench
folded my legs, closed my eyes and hugged my knees
weighing to consequences of my choice
and a sweet squeaky voice appeared in front of my closed eyes:

"oooooOOOOOooooo Look Momma! She's so beauuuuuuutiful!"

i shot my eyes open and saw a little
black girl bouncing from head to toe being dragged by
her mother down the sidewalk.
the mother glanced back at me and flashed a smile
at me and then at her daughter.

oh if she only knew.

funny how life just works like that.
i pulled out my lunchbox
and thanked the angel.
beauty is pain, sweet girl… oh, if you only knew.
but i pray you never know that pain.

to sandwiches and soul sisters.

to brokenness and beauty.

to taking chances and accepting discipline.

to your strength within.

until next time,

C

wounds

Thursday night, I read this and got chills all over my body.

Friday night, I read this and tried to bury it beneath the surface of my heart.

Saturday afternoon, I read this and I wondered what it would be like to not question my wounds.

to not try and figure them out.

Sunday night, I read this and my wounds surfaced again and they got scary.

Monday night, I read this again… my wounds surfaced...again.

I was terrified again.

My wounds are deep.

Deeper than I can see, deeper than I know, multiplying every day… 

even the days of healing.

and endless abyss of discovery…

it cold, confusing, uncomfortable and appearing on my skin.

Then. This afternoon, 

I read it again.

I wanted to hide those wounds appearing 

on my skin so badly I could burst into a million pieces. 

but sitting right there in the park, whisper:

"Your heart is greater than your wounds.

You have to let go of the need to stay in 

control of your pain and 

trust in the healing power of your heart."

you must live your wounds through, 

through the skin, through the surface,

 through the darkness.

and so 

I read this again moments ago and got the 

chills, tears, longing, terror, acceptance, all at once.

I invite you to experience the same. 

Read for weeks on end,, until it becomes true.

I will do the same.

Live your Wounds Through

by: Henri J.M. Nouwen

You have been wounded in many ways. The more you open yourself to being healed, the more you will discover how deep your wounds are. You will be tempted to become discouraged, because under every wound you uncover you will find others. Your search for true healing will be a suffering search. Many tears still need to be shed.

But do not be afraid. The simple fact that you are more aware of your wounds shows that you have sufficient strength to face them. 

The great challenge is living your wounds through instead of thinking them through. It is better to cry than to worry, better to feel your wounds deeply than to understand them, better to let them enter into your silence than to talk about them. The choice you face constantly is whether you are taking your hurts to your head or to your heart. In your head you can analyze them, find their causes and consequences, and coin words to speak and write about them. But no final healing is likely to come from that source. You need to let your wounds go from that source. You need to let your wounds go down into your heart. Then you can live them through and discover that they will not destroy you. Your heart is greater than your wounds.

((… your heart is greater than your wounds.))

Understanding your wounds can only be healing when that understanding is put at the service of your heart. Going to your heart with your wounds is not easy; it demands letting go of many questions. You want to know "Why was I wounded?" "When?" "How?" "By whom?" You will believe that the answers to these questions will bring relief. But at best they only offer you a little distance from your pain. You have to let go of the need to stay in control of your pain and trust in the healing power of your heart. There your hurts can find a safe place to be received, and once they have been received, they lose their power to inflict damage and become fruitful soil for new life.

((soil for new life.))

Think of each wound as you would of a child who has been hurt by a friend. As long as that child is ranting and raving, trying to get back at the friend, one wound leads to another. But when the child can experience the consoling embrace of a parent, she or he can live through the pain, return to the friend, forgive, and build up a new relationship. Be gentle with yourself, and let your heart be your loving parent as you live your wounds through.

may all of these surfaces,

these wounds,

these dark moments,

these weaknesses,

these battle become 

soil for new life.

may we live through these

to find new life.

may we have strength enough to live.

live through,

C

… to stop searching

a poem:

Having loved enough and lost enough,

I'm no longer searching

just opening,

no longer trying to make sense of pain

but trying to be a soft and sturdy home

in which real things can land.

These are the irritations

that rub into a pearl.

So we can talk for a while

but then we must listen,

the way rocks listen to the sea.

And we can churn at all that goes wrong

but then we must lay all distractions

down and water every living seed.

And yes, on nights like tonight

I too feel alone. But seldom do I

face it squarely enough

to see that it's a door

into the endless breath

that has no breather,

into the surf that human

shells call God.

~Mark Nepo

what would it look like to stop searching

and only stand still

face the door

face fear

accept what we cannot change

rub against challenge

be refined into a pearl

and stopped questioning 

the waves and tides engulfing our entire bodies

and stopped looking back at the shore 

wondering what it would be to return

questioning whether there is another

safe shore in the future

what if we just listened to the sea

what would it look like to stop searching

I wish I could be that still in the water

knowing I was one day going to be a pearl

but rocks hurt.

they hurt really bad.

read this everyday,

C

dear morning, i don't know where to begin.

what happens when you take the time to address the day,

address yourself and your immediate emotions and intentions,

before beginning anything else.

minus brewing coffee.

today, I have begun an experiment of letters.

a new form of discovery and seeking

peace connection and clarity.

we will see what happens.

a little insight to what is on, in or around my mind

when I first begin the day.

the thoughts are as foreign to me

and they may be to you.

but this is an experiment.

and so be it...

if this is "alive", how much more extravagant is truly living?

let it heal

a wise instructor read the following poem in class

this weekend at the nyc yoga journal conference.

this needs no preface. just soak. i still am.

Let it Heal By Ruth Forman

Listen to the song and let is tell you how

be quiet be quiet be still

let the angels put their hands on where it hurts and

smooth be quiet be still

ask for prayers around you and bathe in song

be quiet be quiet be still

sit in children's laughter twice a day

be quiet be quiet be still

leave your thoughts for another time

wrap yourself in daylight

knit yourself a friend tighter than you imagined

let good people close to you

move away from those that suck from you

be safe be quiet be still

if you have no hands

write

if you have no feet

walk

if you have no voice 

sing

and a chorus will carry you

if you have no eyes

see 

if you have no arms

hug

be thankful be quiet be still

and the pouring come upon you like holy water

and the healing a new plant

break the ground

emerge clean and willing

sorry and thankful

new and quiet

rejoice

like children at kickball

wise like grandmother's on the stoop

ready to live

and whole

ready

and

whole.

wrap yourself in daylight,

C

the waters within

I've hit that point where I can't even write for five minutes without changing my mind. The point where a couple of minutes go by and everything changes: up, down, left, right, joy, tears, love, pain, numb, crippled, giggling, screaming. Emotions: it feels all so new to me.

I won't go back and recount the days since I last wrote, since you most likely all know the feeling of complete recovery chaos all-too-well. One day I'm on top of the Empire State Building waving Hello to cloud 9 and the next I am curled up with my head between my knees wondering if I will ever be free of this.

Step-by-step, I know the answer is yes. This is only for awhile.

Sunday afternoon I felt the sudden urge to plop down and scribble out everything that was swirling wildly in my mind trying to find a crevice to leak out. Thankfully, I had my school binder in my purse (the size of a suitcase) and ran into the nearest Starbucks that appeared to show any sign of an open barstool (ugh, Manhattan coffee addicts…)

I decided it was time to let the words surface, come what may… dare I discover what was in there. dare I bring these torrent rivers to surface. I decided instead of trying to make sense of everything in a blog post, I would admit I have no idea WHAT I am making sense of right now and just...share the ranting river of words. Because I know that you all have either been there, felt that, done that, conquered this, or are getting ready to experience the strong currents of the recovery river.

Hang on… A wise friend told me, It will pass, It will get better.

February 19, 2012

I am probably going to be incredibly late to church in writing this, but my heart tells me this is exactly where I need to be and what I need to be doing at this moment. While it was on my mind. It scares me a little to be sitting in a public Starbucks, actually the one right by church, pouring out my gut onto the page. What if someone comes in that I know from church? What if they ask why I am frantically scribbling in my flowered binder? What if they see my late snack I am finishing up so that I didn't miss one today, because that is priority? How do I tell them: "oh yeah… I'm coming I just had to stop because it was snack time and I felt the sudden urge to write?" Oh wait… that actually sounds normal, right? It's not weird for someone to stop because they needed a snack. People get hungry, believe-it-or-not. It's not peculiar for someone to get "the next great idea" and sit down to write it out. This is New York City after all, for all they know I could be writing the next Gossip Girl season. It's okay, you're okay. So what if they see?


I feel like everywhere I go this weekend it's E.D. Sometimes it has been positive (get-outta-my-face-and-shut-up that actually is a good cookie and you know it) and sometimes its been a dog I want to put a muzzle on (you're tired, go to bed… I'll take care of you, you don't need that bedtime snack, just lie… you need sleep. NO!) I don't want this to consume me, but its so hard to disassociate myself from it when I constantly have to wear my invisible armor. Food is everywhere, that's a fact. Sometimes the kind of food that talks… "you're stressed, run away from me… you know you should really stop wanting me, I'm no good for you… You don't need me. Hellloooooo, don't I look good? How long has it been since you had me? Would you be proud to tell your dietician that you ate me?…" It's really quite loud and obnoxious when I'm having a somewhat quiet day, which would be today… Somewhere in the idleness of a peaceful mind it knows exactly how loud to speak in order to get my attention. This is certainly where the distraction of a sweet furry friend would come in handy. (sigh)


I want something else to define me. Not numbers, not how many snacks I need, not "challenges", not even recovery itself, not school, not work, not even what used to: coffee, running, dancing, painting, perfect grades, long-curly hair… but rather something new that has meaning, that I can openly share, that radiates from my skin, that brings tranquility to my spirit instead of lies. Something that just doesn't temporarily fill up the vacant room. No, THAT would be an eating disorder. 


Such an easy filler… food is always there (or not there). "Food" defines everyone, in some way… but all of us differently.  It's in your control, you can take week long breaks from it, you can have it all to yourself, it mops up any tears with its presence or absence, controlling it doesn't cost you any money: so easy to alter, cut back, tweak, reject, accept, ignore… Yeah, It doesn't necessarily cost money, but it can cost you everything. Food, sustenance, affects how we function, our ability to think, our capacity to feel…a gift to our bodies that we have the chance to taste, feel and be a part of. We gain a richer experience of receiving energy, of functioning properly, of being able to… well, be alive.


Doesn't that make anorexia seem outlandish? I like that word outlandish. The most outlandish thing in the entire world. If we have this key to life, why don't we use it? Why wouldn't I want my heart to pump blood? My brain to think as clearly as possible? My fingers to feel what my hands touch? My organs to expand and contract with breath and activity? My life to be full, to be energetic, to be well… living at all. Living outlandishly.


All of this came about as a result of this morning… this Sunday morning in yoga. Unlike any other day, my heart sank when I stepped into the studio. It startled me. I had no idea why the feeling came, but it was too real to ignore. I felt an uneasy presence. And rolling out my mat, I saw her. There was a woman in the back row laying down that I immediately knew was the source of the unexplainable troubled heart in my chest. Tears welled up in my eyes and my hands started shaking, sweating. I tried to lay down and not turn back. Unfortunately, there were mirrors in the studio and even though I was in the front row, I could see her reflection the entire hour. My heart grieved and ached for her. I couldn't judge her, though ego begs me to, I couldn't… I knew, I knew how much pain she must feel and I wanted to reach out and rescue her, ask her if it was worth it… tell her there's more.


As I struggled to revert my attention inward, the glances of fellow classmates kept directing my attention towards… oh my… for once, I knew I was not the "smallest" in the room (not like that even really matters), but in this case I noticed because I knew. Everything about her emanated what I knew, the past, the struggle, the disorder. 


I knew it had been the cause of my heart to hit the floor, because my spirit craves freedom from it… now, it makes me uneasy, it makes me squirm, it makes me run for cover, I want no part of it. And I want that for other women as well, not only myself.


I saw the veins protruding, a familiar disguise. I saw the thighs as thin as the calves, the sunken eyes, the withered hair, the glossed over grin, the two 26.2 water bottles laying at her side, the knee brace concealing an injury, yet she was still going. I don't describe this to point her out, I describe this because it was me. I knew her once. And I didn't want to ever meet her again.


What scared me most was: she was a grown woman… possibly mid-40s. That was my worst fear, that was what made my heart sink through the floor. I don't want this to be my future. I don't want to still be here. Do I still look like that? Do I want to look like that? Heavens no! I wonder if she is married… if she has children… if she knows how dangerous this is… If she wished for something more? If she wanted out just like me? If she had struggled since a young age? If she ever knew true love? If she ever went out at 3 a.m. for cheesecake with best friends because it was fun? If she ever considered taking a day off running? If she wanted to… live? 


I ask these questions, because I don't want to ever have to ask them to myself again. I don't want to be here in mid-life, I don't want to be here again. In fact, I found myself staring in the mirror hoping, praying, blinking again, hoping for the pounds to just appear. Please, oh please… please come. I don't want other women grimacing at my presence, I don't want the instructor standing by my side for strength support, I don't want to know what this is like 20 years from now. I won't, I can't, I will not, I stop here, I will fight the fight, I will pick up my armor every morning, I will take time to recover, fully. I will make it a priority, I will accept mistakes and allow grace. I will take this day to fuel the fire within my spirit. A fire that has been there for a very long time. I will led it spread like wildfire.

along the banks of the waters within,

It will spread like wildfire.

until the day all that is left is

me.

pure water within.

you is...

repeat this three times every day 

and see if you don't smile brighter in the 

mirror.

and if you have yet to see The Help 

or read the book,

I demand you do both.

There is more healing in this story

than I can explain…

healing the whole world needs:

warmth and love

kind, smart, important,

C

the question

I am a professional what-iffer.

Usually, my what-iffing leads me into a downward spiral of doubt,
worry, negativity, hesitation, yadayadayada.

The beginning of the New Year was yet again
and emotional day.
Once again I was left breathless in trying to tame
my emotions when reflecting on a year
where I went from barely hanging on to being alive.

Looking back on where I was last year at this time

making the decision to leave school and stay home a semester,

extremely ill and in complete denial, working myself into the ground, 

sleeping only four hours a night, 

caking a smile on my face, exercising incessantly,

spending most of my time alone or working…

I have never been filled with more hope and
gratitude for being given a shot at full recovery.

Over Christmas break I went home to visit my family for the holidays
where I would say goodbye to one year and welcome a new beginning…
in the place where I both ran to and hid from the world
and myself only one year prior.

I knew it was going to be a difficult journey home.

I was anxious about being faced with clouds of 

past "sick memories" hovering over everywhere I went.

Lets face it … holidays = lots of food and dessert.

I knew my mom was going to be pushing cake

and brownies on me whenever she could and I would have 

to beg myself not to squirm in my skin at the thought.

I was uneasy about going to church and putting on the

famous "perfect face" I had worn all my life… the one I've been working on ditching.

I feared seeing people from my past who were 

the source of much anxiety, unhappiness and loss.

I was terrified of anyone commenting on my weight, 

even though I hadn't notably fluctuated that much since September,

I didn't want anyone to say anything at all… 

yet, some people just can't help not to comment on weight. 

Grrrrrrrrrr. 

So, my only hope against the nervous energy was an appointment
I had scheduled with my therapist from this past summer.
...the one who had first led me away from denial
and onto the road of recovery:

the raging storm of challenge, happiness and hope.

I wanted her to see what she had helped create…
the woman I am coming to know. 

how far I have come, yet how far I have to go…

now I can be honest about both.

The transparency I am beginning to show, speak and not fear.

The confidence I am gaining every week and how
I am learning to express who I really am,

as I break through the numbness to discover who I really am.

Her enormous, swallowing hug was almost enough therapy to call it a session.

I just knew this was going to set my mind more at ease towards the coming weeks. 

After I got done telling her all about my new adventures

in the City… the failures, the lessons, the growths, the fall-backs,

the victories, the joys of apartment dwelling and the friends I have made…

we talked briefly about the holidays… because everyone knows 

it is the toughest time of year for ED recovery.

And now that I am honest with myself, 

I was feeling the quivers I had heard everyone talk about.

But I guess it is better than not feeling at all.

She asked me what "my plans" were for the holidays and I

paused and said, "You know… I don't really think we have any…"

Whoa.

what?

I sort of smiled to myself as I noticed the irony of that statement.

Back in June I began to see a therapist for "anxiety and OCD"

…okay yes I do struggle with both, 

yet they were certainly second to the ED hiding beneath my skin. 

The most maddening quality to my OCD life was… planning. 

My mind was constantly going five-hundred-miles-per-minute

making plans for the rest of the day for no reason at all.

She had be talk through why I might be inclined to planning

so obsessively and it all led back to control, stress and perfection.

Once I got the OCD under control with the help of medication,

she challenged me with an all-too-familiar,
yet entirely different, "What if…" question.

"What if you woke up one day 

and didn't plan anything the whole day?"

"HELLO! No plans?! I don't know if I can do that…"

...and now here I am looking her in the eye saying, 

"…no plans" and it is not bothering me one bit.

Oh, how far I have come…

~ ~ ~

Now, months later, my new therapist in Manhattan has been

helping me confront and question my life-long struggle with 

perfectionism.

That's a big cookie to crumble… like Grand Canyon sized chocolate-chip!

Though I was undoubtedly born a perfectionist, 

being a "preacher's kid" since day one has certainly contributed to my 

"obligation" to put on a pretty smile no matter what…

If you have to hide your frustration or exhaustion, then so be it! 

"Just be pleasant" seemed to be the overarching rule of the PK's.

And I was good at it… I still am could be good at it.

I am choosing now to not hide behind my smile, that's too easy.

I've done that all my life.

The real challenge is to ask myself how I really feel,

what I really want to say… sure, don't go around frowning

or cussing the world! Haha, that is certainly not beneficial to anyone!

But rather… How am I truly feeling today?

Am I tired? It's okay to say you're tired.

Are you frustrated? It's okay… it's normal to be aggravated sometimes.

Are you just feeling quiet today? It's okay to not do everything.

Are you really wanting to spend time with these people 

because you truly enjoy their company? It's okay to not agree with everyone.

Are you struggling today? It's okay to say "no" and cancel an obligation.

all of these things I denied myself for years.

Before going home for a holiday break, I was expressing my

anxiety about going back to church and home… seeing all of the people

that have watched me grow up and have seen all of my "transformations".

I knew they would ask questions... some I would be unable to answer.

And I knew they would want to know how I was liking the City.

And I had convinced myself they had expectations of what I had been

accomplishing and doing since I moved.

Even people that barely knew me... who only know me as the "PK".

I was terrified to put my smiling mask back on...

to just revert to my old ways of 

"be pleasant, be pleasant! No matter what. It doesn't matter how you really feel!"

My therapist looked at me and shot me with more of
those "What if…" questions I was a professional at cultivating. 

But these were ones I had never, ever asked myself:

So, what if you didn't put on a smile? 

What if you listened to your heart 

and didn't feel obligated to go? What if you said exactly what you were feeling? 

What if you were entirely honest?

What if you stopped yourself before putting 

on the mask and asked the non-masked girl 

the question?

What would happen then? 

Could you do it?

oh dear… could I?

There's only one way to find out.

With all of these "What if.." questions being tossed 

at me in a different format than I was used to... a more constructive format,

I decided to create a list of my New Year's "What if" Challenges

instead of the typical list of resolutions.

While sitting on the airplane traveling back to begin 

a new year's journey in the City,

I wrote a list of "what if" questions that provoke a thought pattern 

of helpful challenge instead of a doubtful fuss.

It is both my plan to thrust my thinking towards recovery

and my initiative to end the battle with harmful "what ifs" in 2012.

Maybe, just maybe, next year the what if's will be entirely transformed.

I can only hope…

yet, no matter what this year brings, 

I will hold onto that hope.

Because of how far I've come, because I am now able to effectively process my thoughts, because I have learned to face my struggles, because I have been blessed with the tools I need to recover, because I have found hope again… a long lost companion, that I don't intend on letting go.

Complete New Year's "What if" Challenge list coming next post.

Until then Happy New Year,

Happy New Beginning,

Happy New Goals of Recovery,

Happy Second Chance,

Happy New Discoveries,

and Happy New Hope,

C

the choice

Do not have expectation,

take challenges as they come 

and allow yourself enough grace.

This is the day you have been given,

you can choose to give it up

and later remember nothing.

or you can choose to live 

and have meaning

and have life.

clearly, they chose to live.

just choose,

C

beating still

I don't know why I couldn't tell anyone.
Maybe it was because I was scared to say it out loud, then it would be real.
      because I can't fully remember the day, but I do. Oh I do. 
      because I am terrified someone will demand medical help.
But my heart is stronger now,
stronger than before.
my heart is beating.


I have verbally told one person.
I just had to say it, tell someone, get it out of my head
away from being trapped behind my teeth
away from sinking too far down, knowing it would be only for a little while.
the words ached as they drained out, but...
It relieved me.

Grateful, humbled, in awe, broken,
I am healing and I am beating stronger.
And now, I decided it was time to… well, write.
write and relieve, so that I don't re-live

Last night in yoga class we ended by laying down as usual.
One hand over my heart, one hand on my belly.
I was working on calming my brain from listing everything I had to do afterwards
and battling away the thoughts of,
"Your pants feel tighter, don't they?
Good… bad. Good… bad.
Yay? Nay? Ugh… shut up. Didn't I tell you that five million times today?"

Something stopped my thoughts in their tracks,
my heart beat.

All of the sudden I became aware of my heart beating, drumming, expanding, contracting, moving, pounding, singing, breathing within my chest.
I stilled my hand over my heart and let the beat take me to that place I feared,
the memory that came,
that past fear, ache…
now,
a world of gratitude.

Oftentimes when I get overwhelmed or frustrated,
I have recently began to close my eyes and place my hands over my heart.
Because I remember to be grateful it is there, it is working,
it is pressing on
and so am I.

Two months ago, I had a revelation that nearly paralyzed my body for an entire night. It was a Sunday again, seems to be the day of emotion. I was probably feeling a little anxious about the coming week and I was in church swaying, lost in the music and I felt my heart begin beating really fast. Of course I reacted in a nervous panic, an any other ED conquerer would…What's going on? Why is it doing this? Am I going to pass out? I feel fine? I ate today… what is that? Why is this happening? Nothing happened, it was just telling me it was there. I was there. Immediately my mind swept away to February. That pain in my chest radiating down my arm, unable to breathe normally for days. It had come over me like an electric shock on the way home from my grandmother's funeral and wouldn't let me go. I was terrified. I slept with my mom for a couple of nights, refused to go to the doctor, took more "heartburn" medicine than any human should take and blamed the coffee, hardly slept in fear of not waking up, googled possible diagnosis and absolutely, positively refused to even think of: heart attack. 

The ED told me lies, but fed me terror. I've never been so scared. Yet, during these days… I was numb. Didn't even know how scared I was, yet writhing on the inside. Crying for help, asking for a saving grace. I didn't want this to be the end, but my body refused to feel, no part of me could shatter it. I didn't want to face the doctor's questions, they terrify me. I didn't want to believe the pain down my arm was anything but a pulled muscle. I didn't want my friends to ask why I went to the hospital. I didn't wanna scare momma and I didn't want to tell dad I knew this disease was responsible for it… the battle I didn't know was doing this to my heart.

A few days later, after resting, laying off the caffeine and regaining strength from the loss of emotions over the previous week… the pain subsided, the memory would not leave. Every time I had the slightest offbeat, my body quivered. Could this be it? Still, the woman who could still feel the slightest bit was terrified… so she pushed it further and further down. I don't want to deal with you now.
Hidden.

 It wasn't until I was in the dermatologist office weeks after the pain when I picked up a little "Women's Health" magazine in the waiting room. Ironically enough, February was Heart Health month...I was flipping through and the bold letters of a page caught my eye "I had a heart attack and didn't know it…" It took me ten minutes to force myself to read the article. Yes, yes, yes and…. yes. But no, I won't believe it. I won't. 


I didn't believe it then, but I lived.
It's still beating.
Now, I believe. I'm ready… to look it in the eyes.
To write it for my eyes to see, to rid me of the pain.
EKG's later… it's still beating.
Screams, laughs, hard days, nervous hours, downward dogs,
doctor's visits, loud music concerts, late night silences,
early morning "motivation showers"…. it's still beating.
Tears of joy, it is still beating.

That Sunday night… wasn't a "scare".
It was a gift. A reminder.
It was a cleanse. Yes, I survived a heart attack,
one that should have never happened.


But,
everyday as recovery gets harder then easier then harder again,
it beats and beats and beats.
You're not finished. You're only beginning this life
just beginning to beat and beat…and beat.
you are new, but it is
beating still.

another chance.
my heart says

Thank You for another chance, 

C

for a heartfelt post of gratitude: read.

i can do this

It's killed me to not have written in a week. It's been hard to find time recently to really sit down and process my thoughts. As discussed in my previous post, I've been struggling between pushing my emotions aside and saving them for tomorrow or dealing with them right then and letting them distract me from my everyday life. I hate to let them consume me to the point where I cannot even leave my apartment.... thankfully, I have not let that happen yet, except for the days when I really do just need to rest.

How deep do I allow myself to dig when I have to function as usual the rest of the day? ... Gosh, now I understand why so many choose to escape for a couple of months to learn how to think clearly, eat normally and sift through the pain without any other distractions.

With that said, many of the "normal" everyday things keep me going. Even though there are days when I think I cannot function in both "worlds" today, I know that I could not bear to be isolated from the elements of life I grow to love more and more each day. Because so much of what (and who) is around me slowly walks me back to the life of a "normal" twenty-year (almost twenty-one, AH!) old.

Even when I feel like I cannot recover and live as any other college student would, I am reminded of the things in the universe that keep my heart beating and feet walking in a forward direction... even when it is uncomfortable.

waking up to the smell of coffee grounds and saying hello to my roommate

receiving positive feedback on a paper I labored over for hours

being invited out for dinner and a movie by a new friend

finding out three people at church live just around the block

skyping with old friends that have truly not forgotten

conquering tripod headstand in yoga on Sunday morning

waving to the laundryman on the street that none-other-than an Indian version of my grandpa

writing a paper I have absolutely NO interest in, but one that challenges my brain to think outside of herself 

passing by Free People on the way to school wishing I had all the shoes in the WORLD

getting a text from my boss that says, "You're a ROCKSTAR! THANK YOU!" (not even kidding)

sitting on my bed with my roommate laughing at 90s music videos

visiting a new part of Manhattan every week

eating ice cream at midnight and not even caring

waking up to a new morning with no regrets, it's a new day

yesterday was yesterday

all of this says, "I can do this."

Last week in therapy, after rambling on with thoughts, thoughts, thoughts, worries, revelations, questions, stresses, blessings, on-and-on-and-on for 45 minutes... my therapist looked at me and said, "well... you've had a full two weeks."

Well... okay, when I try to cram two weeks of regular emotions and recovery emotions into 45 minutes, I guess it does sounds like a lot. If it just sounds like a lot, you can only imagine how it feels. Sometimes at night it is overwhelming and then in the morning it is gone. While in class I can silent the voices (finally, a skill that was acquired slowly), and while in church I feel as though the all the angels are speaking into my soul at once. Sometimes I leave paralyzed, other times I am fighting back two years of tears, sometimes I leave not knowing where to put my foot to take my next step. If you sit me down with my thoughts for an hour and a half, play music in the background and have people praying for healing of all categories all around me...you wind up with a very emotional little girl.

Just when I think I can't handle all that I am dealing with on the inside,

all of this says, "I can do this."


I am strong enough to sift through these strongholds, because I built them with my own strength. I have within me the strength it takes to tear them down... ones that didn't even need to be built in the first place. I have the smile it takes to energize the day and the wisdom required to be successful in school. I have the armor necessary to equip me for battle and the courage it takes to say, "Okay, so that wasn't my best effort, but I will try again tomorrow."

all of this says, "I can do this."


all of this says, "I am doing this."

to begin this week,

you can do this,

C