who will you run to?
i had a very eye opening day.
i received some very scary health-related news. this can be terrifying for anyone, but as a cancer survivor (still feels weird to say), this type of news has a tendency to send me into a full spiral.
not to be dramatic, (what other way is there to be as a writer?) but i spent the better part of the day convinced i had just received a death sentence.
the day was a blur, and now that i’ve had some time to sit and think about things i’m noticing who i turn to when i am in these deep holes.
in my darkest times, i have a tendency to become small and burrow into myself and shut almost everyone out. i retreat from anyone who doesn’t feel completely safe (and i’m noticing those people are few & fat between). it happened with my dad’s cancer diagnosis. it happened with his passing. it happened with the news of my own cancer. it happened with each miscarriage. and it happened again, recently…
if you know me at all, you know i’m a person of action (side note: this will probably be my fatal flaw). if i can’t act and must wait or things are in limbo, i am dying. i know that sounds extreme, but waiting feels equivalent to torture. for me, it doesn’t get much worse.
so, there i was…waiting.
spiraling.
panicking.
burrowing.
dying.
instead of going deeper and deeper into my hole, i reached out to some friends. and they pulled me out. a few even got in the hole, sat with me, and waited this thing out. (special shoutout to my forever rock, who is as calm and steady as i am bold and emotional. if you’re reading this: hi, i love you. without you there would be no sanity and i would let all the bridges i burn light my path.)
despite my tendency to shut the world out when i’m sad or scared or hurting, i’m so grateful to learn that people are there, if you let them in. and when you’re falling, they will catch you.
i needed this reminder today.
…maybe you do too. 🤍
the call is coming from inside the house.
this is a hard one to write.
my head is still spinning and i don’t even know where to start, but writing is my therapy so i need to get it out…
earlier this week, someone i considered a close friend expressed that my public breastfeeding (of my almost 4 year old) makes her uncomfortable and voted that i wean my child. (it is an election year after all, things are gonna get weird).
i very clearly stated that i’m not at all uncomfortable. and there is no need to spend time with me if it’s an issue for her.
also, and here’s the part that matters to me, my body went through infertility. and cancer. it survived. and is alive! and i will never ever feel shame for using my breasts, AS INTENDED.
when i shared with her that this mattered to me deeply…that i still feel like my body failed me with cancer, and not being about to get and stay pregnant on my own. after miscarriages, and years, and tears, it’s finally something my body can do and provide for my child. i’m proud of that. i’m thrilled about that. i was not able to use my own eggs to have my child. i LOVE that my body produces milk and nourishment and comfort for him. her response was something along the lines of: my feelings are my own and not attached to your story.
true.
and so dismissive.
i don’t expect my friends to agree with every choice i make ~ that would be crazy…AND i was terribly hurt by the nature of her response. if your feelings are your own and you’re not attaching them to my story, then why did you feel the need to share with me? what exactly was the goal? if not to shame me and try and make me feel weird about my choices? (which i don’t. and won’t. i feel hurt and sad that a “friend” is so judgmental and quick to dismiss vulnerability.)
even more unfortunate is that my husband watched her roll her eyes the last time we were together and i breastfed my son.
(before you ask, yes. she’s a mom.)
the funny thing is, my husband always assumed someone would say something to me about breastfeeding at some point.
…we just NEVER ever thought it was going to come from someone who was inside our circle.
i honestly thought we were past the point of telling women what to do with their bodies. this will never compute for me. a completely asexual activity (literally, feeding my child) is somehow seen as something…inappropriate?
what a weird thing to care about.
so…where do we go from here?
queens.
somewhere deep in the colorado rockies, the second group of people arrived. i was part of the first group whose flights had come in earlier in the day.
she burst into the room. she was loud. she was funny. she was furious that we had to take turns showering – she exclaimed that she needed two showers a day and this proposed schedule simply wouldn’t work for her. when asked to choose a nickname for the week, she demanded we call her “queens.” i loved her immediately.
we were at cancer camp. where they fling a bunch of strangers together for a week in the wilderness and make you do outdoorsy things (rock climbing, in our case). group dynamics can be so strange. but for us, it was magic. we all fell in love. some love stories went deeper than others, like ours.
i don’t remember the first words we exchanged. i don’t recall what we initially connected over. i won’t ever forget those late nights of talking. playing games. and the most inappropriate (and vulgar) things i’ve possibly ever heard. the years of text exchanges after that first magical week. the trip to nyc where i was recovering from a devastating miscarriage and she was about to go in for her latest scan. there was a longstanding joke about dicks & feet and i’m no longer sure where it originated, but i think it was one of those late nights in the mountains. there was so much laughter. there were so many tears. we lost friends. i made a person.
she loved her people so well. and if you were lucky enough to be in her orbit, she would tell you how special you were, all the time. she had no ego, she just loved. even in some of my darkest and brattiest moments (infertility is hard, and hearing about others getting pregnant did not result in me being my best self or handling the news with grace), she let me carry on and just loved me. and when the moment called for it, she commiserated.
including this next image because she sent it to me in our text thread.
i still can’t wrap my head around her being gone. it will never make sense to me. i can’t fathom visiting new york and not seeing her. who else is going to try and convince me that all the bread at the bakery is gluten-free (when it very clearly isn’t), milkshakes make a pregnancy stick, and that dating rappers is a good idea?
i scroll through our messages every few months (i can’t bring myself to delete them). gosh, she was funny. and wild. in all the best ways.
her death broke up the band. we lost others over the years, but she was the glue holding us together. she’s the one who arranged the video calls. she’s the one who forced me out of my bubble. she’s the one whose death i can still barely talk about, let alone accept.
nyc won’t be the same without her. and neither will i.
must be something in the water.
recently i’ve received a few unhinged messages from men of my past. i typically find this somewhat entertaining, but i’m noticing that i’m less and less interested in these trauma dumps. sure, everything is copy, but i might be past the age of doing things for the story.
anyway, my husband and i were laughing about this because they all live in the same east coast town. are you guys okay out there?
sdinsd 