Monday 9 March 2020

"...Tiptoe if you must, but take the step..." - Naeem Callaway

Well, I made the call.

And I either need to put my big girl panties on and suck it up. Or give myself some grace.

Maybe both.

Because I did not want to make that call. I've been avoiding it for oh...5 weeks or so (plus or minus a few years...). I couldn't even bring myself to actually call, but there was a messenger type chat option to book appointments so I took that route. Just asking me the general info and using the words "what can we help you with" and I could feel my back getting up. As I typed the words including  "self esteem", "body image", "breast cancer" I was cringing. (I'm cringing again now retyping it) I didn't mention it's been almost 6 years since I was diagnosed. Or that its been over 3 since my last surgery.

I asked if they have anyone who specializes in cancer survivors, which was a suggestion from a friend that reached out yesterday. They don't. The counselors are all general. Ug.

She finally typed back: so you are looking to talk to someone about self esteem and body image/breast cancer?

It felt ridiculous to be saying I need to talk to someone about my self esteem. Or breast cancer (like I haven't had so many conversations about that).

So I added "I've binge drank some to avoid dealing with this".

And as I looked at all those words sitting in the chat box, I wondered if my being was really reduced to those few words. I felt ashamed. I felt stupid. I felt overwhelmed. It was so much more complicated than those stupid words. It took everything in me not to type "nevermind" and close the chat box.

I wanted to cry.

Some part of me thought I'd probably feel better after making an appointment with a psychologist. 

But I didn't.

Yesterday after I posted my blog, I felt better. Just like a teeny, tiny weight was lifted off my shoulders. That regardless of of how bad of a friend I've been, how many times I've flaked and alienated myself, I still find myself surrounded by friends who forgive me and care. It was another step forward.

But after booking the appointment, I felt emotional. Like the box I've been trying so hard to keep closed opened ever so slightly. 

I didn't like it. 

It's one thing to say you're gonna do the hard things. It's another thing entirely to actually do them. 

And booking that appointment was so much harder than I thought it would be....

...But I booked it.

Sunday 8 March 2020

"Only in my pain did I find my will. Only in my chaos did I learn to be still. Only in my fear did I find my might. Only in my darkness did I see my light." - T.M.T

What do you see when you look in the mirror?

Do you see a sparkle in your eye? The wonderful curve of your hip? The power in your strong legs? The optimism, passion and joy radiating through your smile? Maybe even a shy sexiness you may not admit to anyone else out loud?

I used to see those things when I looked in the mirror.

When I went through cancer treatment, I added "warrior" to the list of what I saw in the mirror.

Somewhere along the way though, the image reflecting back at me started to become distorted.

The sparkle in my eye was dulled by the pain inside. The curve of my hip started to look too big. Those legs looked flabby and gross. That smile only seemed to highlight the plain, fat face looking back at me, and radiated only doubt and shame. And that shy sexiness was slowly replaced with self loathing.

It got hard to look in the mirror.

For someone who talks (and loves to talk) as much as I do, going to see someone to sort through my head space has never been an issue. Not so this time. I felt alone.

I have a huge, loyal friend circle. A wonderful, supportive hubby and equally supportive family. Two amazing kids. A good job. Beat the cancer odds.

What could I possibly be upset about?

So I pulled back. I binge drank. I smiled on the outside.

But I was dying on the inside.

Just over a month ago, Phil (my hubby) sat me down, and we had the first real heart to heart in while. He was concerned about the binge drinking (that was getting worse) but he knew something was very wrong inside. Maybe it was the way he approached it. Maybe I had hit my limit. Maybe it was the love and concern I saw in his eyes. But I finally opened up, and he held me while I cried the pain I had been trying (unsuccessfully) to hide.

We decided no more booze until my head was screwed back on straight. He agreed to not drink beer (cause honestly wine and hard stuff are not my jam) or have it in the house to support my decision to clear my head and let me sit with my pain and not try to numb it.

It's been over a month since that decision, and I'm feeling a lot better. I still haven't brought myself to pick up the phone and make an appointment to go talk to someone. Professionally.

Me, not wanting to talk?? This is NOT normal for me... (but I'll write a blog and put a spotlight on my darkest fears and insecurities for the world to see?? ya I know, I know, doesn't make rational sense but I've never really been a super logical person ha ha)

When I was writing this blog through my cancer treatment, it really helped me to process some of the really hard parts. I'm not sure if I stopped writing cause it got too hard, or if it got too hard so I stopped writing.

But here I am.

The insecure, dark part of me is terrified of putting this out there incase it's really only me and no one else can relate and everyone will just judge and laugh at me for being so dumb. Confirming my worst fears.

My logical side urged me to put this out there because I am definitely not the only person who can relate, is feeling this way, or has felt this way at some point. I discovered how therapeutic writing is for me. So I'm going with my instincts, and on International Women's Day, deciding to share my story as I do the hard things, and walk through my fire. 

A wise woman named Martha Krejci  said this weekend (at an amazing event I attended) that the fires we talk through in life (big challenges) become our Bat Signal to others with whom it resonates with. She also believes its our DUTY when we come out on the other side of the fire, to reach back in and pull the next person out.

So here I go, taking a (SCARY!) step into my fire and sending out my bat signal in doing so.

Maybe you're in a similar fire, and we can walk through it together.

I'm terrified. But I'm ready.

Today's the day I re-write the negative stories I've been telling myself into a story that empowers, excited and uplifts me every time I look in the mirror.

My Inner Ninja is waking back up.