Meeting Me Where I Am

It’s been quite a long time since I’ve published a blog post~ February 24 was the last. As I consider life over these past months, I’m left with one word- exhaustion. Physically, emotionally, mentally and spiritually- I’m just plain tired. And for the first time in the history of me, I’m okay with that.

Let me back up a bit so ya’ll can catch up. In March 2013, my father was diagnosed with throat cancer. Just prior to the diagnosis, my sisters and I had undertaken a very diligent, organized and intentional care-taking regimen involving both of our parents. Much- if not all- of the week to week appointments were the arena my older sister chose; my younger sister tended to many day to day details; she’s an extraordinary caseworker. Given limited resources, I made the three hour drive one weekend a month loaded down with healthy meals from my freezer stock. My reasoning was that at least I could control what was available for them to eat. After the diagnosis and subsequent surgery (which found the tumor inoperable as it had wound it’s way around the windpipe), appointments with doctors, for chemo and radiation- they all kicked into high gear. Beth, Barb and I knew we couldn’t do it all on our own, so we summoned a team. For a couple of months I worked and slept with my phone at my side- the three of us were tethered by text and email messages with constant updates to each other.

In the middle of this darkness, a ray of light also entered my life- I fell in love. While I suppose that timing is never “perfect” for meeting a partner, this was truly an unlikely time. Despite the amount of strength I know I possess, the gratitude I’ve felt for the arrival of another rock to stand beside me is immense. His home became a refuge where I could go to attempt relaxation; weekends, when not on the road, I could be found at Ronnie’s Spa. When the time came, he was a strong shoulder to lean on as my son honored his grandfather by singing “Amazing Grace” at the memorial service.

If you know my father, you know that life on anyone’s terms other than his own just won’t do. Chemo and radiation treatments didn’t last long- he didn’t like being “zapped” and feeling like a limp noodle. Though never given a prognosis, we saw a quick deterioration; at times we (Beth) was able to rally his spirits- usually involving a glass of chablis- but the bursts were short lived. The troops gathered to celebrate Dad’s birthday on June 2; then two weeks later, on Father’s Day, he passed.

While putting together this post, I found the following dated June 11, a week before his death: “I sat down last night to write a blog post. Okay honestly, I sat down last night to write an obituary, but wanted to procrastinate by writing a blog post. In the end I chose to do my duty as the “daughter who writes” and put together a first draft for my father to edit. You see, my father is dying of lung cancer. His life is pretty touch and go these days, but yesterday was one with much clarity and lucidity. In a pretty non-stop fashion I received text messages from my younger sister who sat by his side. I imagined the smiles and laughter in the living room where the two of them were sitting approximately 200 miles south. One message read something like, “All grand kids mentioned in obit. US Army 1954- 1956. Grad WMU 1957. Lawson YMCA, First National Bank then started in real estate in 1965.” What a surreal experience to transcribe these life events. When I received the text that read “Picture should be the one of him in red plaid sweater”, I literally laughed out loud. Of course my father knows just what he wants; he always has. Like Carlo Rossi by the jug. And chocolate. I am truly my father’s daughter.”

Driving north on Father’s Day, I experienced my first anxiety attack- while driving 70 mph+ on 131. I made it about ⅔ of the way to Traverse City before I had to pull over. Grateful to get off the highway safely and into the nearest gas station, I called My Rock, my sister and my daughter. Humility isn't something I do well; with no other choice I told them that I needed help. I cried and napped on and off for two hours as I waited for them to arrive. And they did.

I’m pretty certain that there is no “normal” way to grieve; each individual brings their own set of stuff to that table. Me being me, decided to overload the table. In July I decided to take a job transfer to the Lansing area- the timeline for working full-time in the new office was the end of August. I set about doing the stuff necessary- both personally and professionally- to prep for the move; the big question was “What about the house?” Bottom-line- I still own it. After finding an apartment in the Lansing area, I spent the months of August and September driving between the two offices weekly. Interestingly, the driving stuff was complicated by vertigo- a lovely residual effect of the increased anxiety. I had to ask for help again- The Rock was there, as was my boss. Together we all worked it out. Again, with the humility and acceptance. And added learning that I don’t always have to have all the answers.

So here we are, the first week of October. I’m sitting at the kitchen counter-top in my little one-bedroom 500 square foot apartment. Alone, well, except for the cat (that’s another story). The vertigo, though not all gone, has drastically diminished so I’m able to drive safely. From time to time I find myself crying; why doesn’t really matter. I just do it. Because to not to would mean imploding. And I’m writing again- that’s always good.

I'm often asked by folks that I meet here why I’d want to leave “paradise”. My answer? Because I could. For the first time in over 25 years I was able to make a decision where I wasn't compelled to consider what was best for four other people- my offspring. As a matter of fact, they were by-in-large supportive of it being my turn for an adventure. You know what’s really funny? I find myself doing the same things here in Haslett that I did in Traverse City; I go to work, go to yoga, shop and cook. Same stuff, new people and places. It’s a surreal mix of old/new. As my dear friend and yoga teacher recently reminded me, it’s 99% mental. I think that means that it is what we decide it will be. And I’ve decided that it’s time for some rest, along with another box of tissues.

Letting Go With Love

I need to be completely honest here: I find it much easier to let go with hate, especially when that which is being let go is a relationship with another human, personal or otherwise. Competitive to the core, I’m able to come up with a list ½ mile long of why I am the better person, why I deserve more or better or faster or, or, or…Making things so black and white allows me to come out on top, with the halo. But you know what else I end up with? Sometimes guilt, sometimes shame and sometimes I’ve given up any opportunity to ever approach that person again with my pride intact; all the bridges have been burned. Then what am I left with? Yup. I’m left alone with me, and a new pile of manure to attend to. Hmmm, I trade one pile for another.

Sooooo…., what if I attempt this spiritually enlightened idea of letting go with love? No setting up teams, no losing- everyone wins. The first element that needs to change is my perception that pain, loss, discomfort and sadness are bad emotions to be avoided at all costs. Now, bear in mind that in order to continue to change this perception, I must also give up all of the coping mechanisms that I’ve adapted over the years to “deal” with these feelings. I gave up the drugs and alcohol long ago and continue to give up “eating” these emotions. Within the last year, my body has shut down a bit so that I am not always able to workout to counteract this stuff. I’ve been left with feeling. Ugh. How interesting is it that when left alone to feel, I’ve decided to turn back to a competitive scenario- the human psyche is interesting indeed.  

I wonder if this would be easier if I didn’t use the extremes of “love” and “hate”? Maybe I need a different phrase. Maybe, just maybe the concept is as simple as trusting; trusting myself that I’m making the right decision, and that I’m hearing positive direction from the Universe [Yes, this hole just keeps getting deeper.]

Let’s simplify this concept and apply it to the kitchen. Today I threw caution to the wind and made soup created completely without a recipe. My general modus operandi is to check through the recent saved recipes to see if one catches my attention. Today I decided to challenge myself and not go to the store for ingredients; instead I had to use what I had on hand. The resulting aroma is now wafting through the house- a wonderfully flavorful vegetable soup with chicken and quinoa. I started by heating some olive oil, adding a couple cloves of garlic minced and a handful of chopped red onion. This is one of the best smells ever! (My friend West has referred to the aroma of sizzling garlic and onion as Chanel #9) Next I went to the produce drawers where I found carrots, parsnips, zucchini, yellow squash and fennel. I eyed a couple of tomatoes on the counter; thinking, as grandma always said, that the color would be a nice addition. I decided to go with some chopped spinach from the freezer instead. Into the pot along with the veggies went a couple cups of chicken left from yesterday’s rotisserie, some rosemary, thyme, sea salt and pepper. In the end when the pot was bubbling nicely, a cup of quinoa was added, the flame was turned to low and the top put on the stock pot. Mission accomplished.  

Trust. I knew that I’d be able to put together a pretty good pot-full of yumminess, but this result is gastronomically awesome- much better than anticipated. It’s a big step to compare the act of trusting my cooking instincts to that of trusting my instincts in regard to human relationships- the emotions seem so much more where real when other people are involved. However I will allow myself this cooking success, knowing that I’ve arrived here by building upon each experience with the soup pot- taking a risk each time. And ultimately isn’t that what we do when we allow people into our lives? We trust in the risk and trust in the lesson. Oh yeah, there’s always one of those.

Peace, Love and Vegetables

Driving down the road the other day, I noticed a bumper sticker on the car ahead of me. It was one of the symbolic types, no words, just images. I was focusing so hard that I almost forgot to stop with the rest of the traffic at a red light. After slamming on the brakes, I was able take a good look. The peace sign was easily recognized; as was the heart- I presume the statement intended was “love”. But the last symbol befuddled me; I just couldn’t figure it out. It looked like a head of broccoli. Seriously? Now, I’m a broccoli lover from way back, but I’m not sure that my adoration is sufficient to capture on a bumper sticker. So I started thinking- what would make sense in this instance? Well, “vegetables” of course.

“Peace, Love and Vegetables”, now that’s a statement I can stand solidly behind. I’ve stated before that the deeper I delve into my yoga practice, the more healthfully I want to eat. Now that we’re past the heavy holiday season, I’ve made a devoted effort to get back to clean eating- nothing processed, nothing “white”. For the past two weeks I’ve gone so far as to try to keep intake to naturally micronutrient rich foods (yeah, cool term that I learned by watching the documentary “Sick, Fat and Almost Dead” and reading a little by nutritionist, Joel Fuhrman). Micronutrients=vitamins & minerals. The foods dominating this category are green, leafy vegetables; broccoli, radishes and cabbage are next; then come fruits, nuts and seeds, beans and legumes, and whole grains near the end. Meat and dairy are at the bottom of the scale. More information, along with a cool chart of these so-called “Superfoods” can be found at www.eatrightamerica.com/erni-superfoods.

To help me on my journey to consume more phytochemicals (yeah, hit the link above), I recently purchased a juicer. Now, you need to know that I still eat veggies in their whole form; this fiber is important to flush the colon and keep things running smoothly. The juicer allows me to take in even more of this ultimate, natural medicine in the form of colorful veggies. This naturally occurring, readily available food provides the vitamins, minerals and phytochemicals necessary to normalize and boost the immune system and to enable our body’s detox and cellular repair mechanisms that protect us from cancer and other diseases.

If what I eat can keep me healthy, more energetic and more efficient, logic dictates that I ought to steer in that direction when choosing what goes in my mouth.  I can change my thinking so that what I eat is fuel for not only my body, but also for my mind and spirit. Well, there we go.

Mark Epstein, M.D. takes this “food as fuel” theme one step further in a refreshing fusion of East and West entitled “All You Can Eat” found on the Yoga Journal website (www.yogajournal.com). While many ideas are explored, one rings true for me- espousing that perhaps those of us who are addicted to food ought to eat more. The addiction, of course, is born of an unhealthy obsession. Some of us may be reaching for food to pacify an emotional need; if we keep ourselves from reaching, we inevitably will binge. But obsession could be healthy. Like a fixation with yoga, a focus on food could eventually lead to a sense of peace. Essentially, the idea is to eat more often, not necessarily a larger quantity. If a slow and steady stream is maintained, the “need” or desire or compulsion to overindulge may be dissuaded. To be obsessed with food need not be a shameful act; actually it may be preferred as we learn to listen to our internal selves, all the while being kind and gentle.

Letting Go~ Again and Still

I’ve been working on another blog post for over three weeks; starting, stopping, editing, rewriting- in essence it’s been kinda tough. And that’s odd for me; generally these posts just flow, or perhaps more appropriately, they are jettisoned from my consciousness. This morning it occurred to me that perhaps I’d been pushing too hard to make the post appear. It was beginning to feel as though I was pregnant and WAY overdue, trying everything I could to get that “baby” to be birthed. Inevitably, like that baby in utero, the post is out of my control. Well, kind of. And so I’ve decided to just let go and move on.

Oddly, “Let Go” has been my mantra for a while. Funny thing about using a mantra, and/or praying, you just may end up getting what you ask for. In my case, it’s been a number of opportunities, situations, and people to let go of. Forgive me if I have a hard time laughing at myself here- admittedly I do like to organize and plan things. And at times those actions may come across as controlling. Maybe that’s because they are. But as I listen more to my heart, and stop engaging in internal battle, the letting go becomes very simple.

Letting go and slowing down seem to go hand in hand. One interesting thing about me is the infernal internal battle. It’s my mind, my brain, that stays busy and that wants my physical body to follow suit. It tells me to “do this”, or “do that”; “stop that, and go back to this”. At times I feel as though there’s a little ADHD going on here. But it’s just a mind-trip- the desire of my mind to keep me moving so I don’t slow down and feel, or listen. You see, my mind has the ability to completely destroy me. Slowing down, and at times dismissing a life-long pattern is tough. However I’ve found it necessary. Just like my body that has screamed at me to pay attention, my soul is now longing for equal time. Conquer the mind and the body will flow.

This is an ongoing challenge. I’ve noticed lately in yin yoga classes that the teacher speaks of easing into a posture and letting go, or making space. I’ve heard encouragement at times to not fill that space so quickly- to leave it open for possibility. My mind so wants to complete the puzzle, to add the missing piece. The challenge remains to keep open and allow the “filler” to come. This is a tough post to write, because the intricacies are incredibly intertwined. Most often I can cut to the chase and see the simplicity; but not so here. When I choose the filler, the outcome may not be positive. Yet when I allow opportunity, through action/exploration, that filler is more likely to speak to my soul.

I was once told that only the mind is real; that the emotions are not. While there may be some truth in this, I propose that the ultimate reality is the soul. This is the seat of all knowledge and truth. The mind, or ego, simply thinks it has all the answers. How do we discern between the ideas of the mind and the truth of the soul? We simply need time to listen, to know. Then we are led. Oddly the timeline that unfolds is never of our making.

Remember that movie “Field of Dreams”? The famous line is “If we build it, they will come.” There’s lots of personal truth in that statement. For me it means to build the yoga practice, build the stamina and discipline to listen- work beyond the asanas. And the truth will come. Letting go of the mind is the key.

The Book...Take One

In September, I self-published my first recipe compilation. I'm not quite sure why I haven't shared the publication here. Sheer terror perhaps? More than likely it just didn't occur to me until now to make the announcement. I've got a middle-aged brain after all.

The compilation contains many favorites that I've found, have been given and have literally run in to. Some of the recipes I've "cleaned up" a bit, and others have been left as is. Cooking is a very creative endeavor for me; that freedom keeps it fun and fresh. I subscribe to a few different foodie blogs, and have recipes from sites such as www.realsimple.com  and www.graciouspantry.com delivered directly to my inbox. It's incredibly handy to have recipes arrive that way. Though from time to time I get cravings just reading my email. And there are always more recipes to try than I have time for. This, I think, is a good problem to have.

Below you'll find an excerpt from "Regarding Rebecca"- a different kind of Foreword.

September 2012

This is much easier to write if I start with what I am not. I am NOT: a chef- professionally trained or otherwise; a restaurant owner; a food critic or food writer- I'm not a professional foodie at any level. I’m not a nutritionist or a personal trainer; though in my own mind (through delusions of grandeur) I’ve been all of the above. I am a woman who, after years of battling food addiction, exercise addiction, low self-esteem and all the assorted "stuff" that goes along with these issues, finally admitted that she needed some help to get it right.

For close to 50 years, I've attempted to battle this demon on my own through research: the latest and greatest in nutrition and/or exercise never got past me. After my years as a high school athlete, I wore leg warmers with Jane [Fonda], lifted weights with the guys at the gym, and put on the gloves with Billy Blanks [Tae Bo]. I’ve probably logged a million miles of walking and running, at times with both human and canine partners. I know about all of the food pyramid formats, eating five to stay alive, low-carb and the grapefruit diet. Lack of knowledge has never been my problem. The challenge has been my lack of patience. I’ve been a victim of my own thinking- “I want what I want when I want it.” A healthy body, however, relies on a healthier lifestyle for which there’s no quick fix. 
    
The need to work consistently on my personal health was drummed into me beginning in September 2010.  My daughter, Bridget asked me if I'd join her in an eight-week program that our chiropractor’s had designed called "The Biggest Winner". Now, I’m no dummy and I know that anytime my 16 year old asks me to do something with her, I say yes (as long as the request is within reason, of course). So we signed up for what was billed to be a “jump-start” to healthier living.
    
Initially, I signed up to “support” Bridget; I knew I had a handle on living healthfully (sarcasm intended). After all, I had my five to six day per week Bikram yoga practice, I had the food pyramid memorized, was careful to eat five to seven servings of fruit and vegetables per day and only ate sweets every once in awhile...well, unless I was baking cookies or there was a “need” to drive to Moomers. In my mind, I had this thing licked. I chose to ignore the fact that I had been on a plateau with my weight for over a year. Logic dictates that eating healthfully on a regular basis along with regular exercise would equal weight loss, right? 
    
...continued...
    

My sense of personal responsibility dictates that the more I know, the more responsible I become for my own health. I continue to educate myself, and highly recommend any book by Michael Pollan, the movies “Food Inc.” and “Forks Over Knives”. My greatest hope is that more people will begin to make the necessary changes in order to benefit their biggest asset, their health. Our country has some staggering statistics in regard to obesity, diabetes, heart disease, and several other crises that could be averted through lifestyle changes. It’s really very simple, but it's definitely not easy. Change very rarely is. Bottom line: We’re only given one body; our job is to be good stewards of this gift.
    

Middle Age Angst

The blessing of being a mother is one that can never be matched. I wouldn’t have known to ask for a gift so filled with lessons in patience, persistence, perseverance, kindness, fear, anger, letting go. Being a mother embodies the good, the bad and the ugly. And I’d never have it any other way; except for the times when it feels as though my heart is being ripped out of my chest.

I thought I was prepared for this stage of motherhood. For about four years I’ve made a conscious effort to befriend women who are either just a head of me, or in the same space. We’ve had coffee, shared experiences, hopes and strengths. As a core group we’ve gathered each other up and held one another- sometimes tight and warm, and sometimes at arms-length. We’ve chosen to be denial-busters and at other times have dried tears. Through it all we’ve held hands and hearts. I was mentally preparing, but clearly nothing could have adequately equipped me for this level of grief.

For twenty-four years I’ve been a mother whose primary role has been caretaker to her four children. For ten of those years I’ve been a single mother balancing the roles of chief breadwinner along with chauffeur, chef, scheduler, disciplinarian, counselor and all-around organizer. Slowly, as children have launched, the intensity of these roles has lessened. I didn’t know how painful the loss of these roles would be.

The day to day physical intensity is no longer needed. Gone are school events, conferences, meetings, games, practices and concerts. Enter the “revolving door” era when the multitude of comings and goings tugs at my heart strings like a pain I’ve never known. The gratitude I feel to see them on my doorstep melts into bittersweet moments of re-entry. Then, just as soon as I’m accustomed to them being home, they leave again. The tears fall. I know, intellectually, that they’re not leaving me; after all I’ve raised them with wings. It still feels that way sometimes. You know, those times when I’m not shouting “hallelujah” as the car pulls out of the driveway.

They promise to return. It’s what I’ve asked of them. With pictures and stories to share of their adventures. I am blessed that they choose to share their experiences, that they want to come home- to get grounded, feel safe, get cookies. Then they’re off again. Is it prideful that I feel such success at this behavior? It’s yet another bittersweet piece.

And now there’s me. It’s time for my adventure. New roles to try on, new hands to hold. It’s not an easy shift; while there may be others who could use my care, there’s some work to be done on me. I’m grateful for this time, and grateful for the awareness that I’m in need of some healing. There’s a hole that needs to be filled and instead of filling with external stuff- people, places, things- I’m gonna work toward knitting that hole back together from within. Though I won’t be surprised if a cookie or two passes my lips.

"Humbly Healthy" Isn't Just Physical Health

When I started blogging, I did so with the intent of espousing my experiences toward a more physically healthy me. Me with my clean eating, me with my Bikram Yoga, me and cooking all kinds of yumminess. Somewhere along the line, I stopped blogging and started doing different things, I’m just not sure what those activities were. Perhaps I was on a high similar to that when a relationship is new; you know what I mean, the adrenaline is pumping and all you can think about is the other person (or computer in my case). Slowly you come to realize that the honeymoon period is over; that’s when the relationship becomes real work. That’s just about the time I lost it with my blog. Not knowing what to write about, I stopped showing up. The funny thing is that I didn’t stop writing, I just stopped pushing the “publish” button. I started writing longhand in a journal. This time-honored practice is one I began as an adolescent. It’s comfortable enough to return to when life gets a little tough. Like macaroni and cheese, journaling is comfort food for my soul.

So what happened? In February/March of 2012 life was buzzing along at a nice, comfortable pace then BAM! my left knee started acting up. None of the strategies that I had used in the past were working to alleviate my pain. My Bikram yoga practice exaggerated my dis-ease, my chiropractor wasn’t able to adjust it in the correct manner, ice and/or heat were only short-term fixes. At the urging of a friend I took a big step out and visited my doctor. Of course all kinds of appointments were recommended- x-rays, blood work, visits to the orthopod. This taxed my already full schedule and almost empty bank account, and all to no avail. (Okay honestly, I didn’t keep the appointment with the orthopedic surgeon; no surgery for me!) Thankfully an alternate chiropractor- an “extremities expert” was recommended. After just three adjustments I felt enough relief to take a four-day, 1100 mile road trip late in April. Upon my return, I eased up on the Bikram practicing just 3-4 days per week and started experimenting with alternative types of yoga. This is when I discovered yin yoga, the polar opposite of the hot, sweaty Bikram. After combining the two for about a month, my budget reared it’s ugly head and choices had to be made.

The next alternate activity I tried was biking. I quickly fell in love with the early morning trek to work and long, peddle punching weekend rides. Yet in mid-July my body began to protest again intense pain screaming from the outside of my kneecap up along my hip and into the groin. A tight IT band was diagnosed. Please know that “patient” is not a term often used to describe me; clearly my body was forcing me to slow down and become patient. I didn’t like it. I got mad at my body. I rebelled. I got addicted to “Weeds” on Netflix. I started using painkillers to sleep at night. I got re-addicted to ice cream. I let my mind take over and began to feel sorry for myself. I didn’t want to have to work to get better, I just magically wanted it to happen. But it didn’t. My clothes started to get a bit tight and I was very uncomfortable in my own skin. I had the tools. I knew what to do. But I didn’t do it. I began to feel very discontent in every area of my life. My kids were leaving home; I was happy/sad. My job was going well, but I was bored. The relationship I was in was not working; but I held on anyway. I felt as though my life was out of my control; my emotions certainly were. My past coping technique of running to the Bikram studio was not an option- I was left with myself and my emotions and there was nothing to do but walk through the jumbled mess in my mind.

Thank the Universe, I took some time off around my birthday at the end of August. I had been happily anticipating turning 50 and wanted to make sure I took time to let it all sink in. The time, with no real plans or goals attached, was the ultimate gift. I had time for friends and time to write and time to cry and time to just sit on the porch with a cup of coffee while listening to the birds sing. Sigh. It was time to get back to ME. The true ME. The real ME. Not the scared, victimized person I had allowed myself to be. I ate ice cream and cake, but it was okay.

It seems as though sometimes we need to fall apart in order to be knit back together in a new way. I feel renewed strength and have begun a morning yoga routine to compliment my evening practice. My pain has begun to dissipate as I’ve taken the action I can to help myself one day at a time. My children “gifted” me with more unlimited yoga, so I’ve been able to get back to Yin, alternating daily with Bikram. As if by magic, I’ve given up ice cream and made a clean break with the man who wasn’t meeting my needs. I’ve renewed my commitment to blogging with an expanded purpose of addressing my whole health. It just makes more sense. Most wonderfully of all, The Universe has responded to this positive behavior with many enlightening messages and intentions. I’ll share some of those here. I’m happy to be back. P.S. It won't just be about me