Red is not really my color. It doesn't look good with my skin or my eyes. It's a great color, just not on me. At least that is what I have always thought. But, lately I've been trying on my red a lot more. Not really wearing it, necessarily, although I do have some rockin' red flats that I love. What I mean is that I have adopted a new mantra, if you will. Instead of approaching my life from a place of fear, I have decided to switch the fear with courage. Sounds simple enough, no? No. Not really, anyway. It has taken me a lot of hard work, determination and, well, courage, to shift my thinking.
Now, I realize that what takes courage for me is very different from what it may mean to others. Here is an example of what it's like from my eyes. I wake up in the morning feeling like I could easily sleep another three hours, head aching, allergies raging, pain and fatigue assaulting my body and I yell, "NO!", in my head. I want to hide under the covers and pretend that I did not hear that alarm or my husbands' gentle but persistent voice to wake up. I immediately tell myself, "I can't do this". This is pretty much how I feel every day. HOWEVER, for the past month or so I have been challenged by my ever so amazing Integrated Awareness Practitioner to replace the fear behind those statements with a calm sense of courage. So, now when I say "I can't do it!", I correct myself and say, "Yes, I can. I did it yesterday and the day before and I can do it again today".
What is "it" you may ask? Well, getting out of bed for one thing. Then there is showering, eating breakfast, taking my meds and supplements, getting my little one up and fed and clothed for school. Making his lunch. Driving him to school. Taking my walk and then picking both of my kiddos from their schools, the occasional play date, bringing them to karate, making dinner, playing with them, helping with homework, and if I can muster up the strength; bedtime routines. Overwhelmed? I was.
It amazes me that moms without chronic pain and illness do all of the above and much more in a day. I do not clean my house during the week. I do laundry and try to keep up with the dishes and trash. On good days, I make dinner. May not sound like much to some, but that's what I do. My husband does the vacuuming, and pretty much picks up the rest of the pieces that complete the puzzle of our life together.
At first, I was really jazzed about this new idea of replacing the word and feeling of fear with courage. It was exhilarating and empowering. My revised mantra seemed easy enough. Until the day when it rained for the fifth day in a row, insomnia had been taking over my nights and the bags under my eyes could hold $250 worth of clothes from Kohl's. That morning I said, "The hell with this. I CAN'T do this. I don't WANT to do this. I give u........", and then a voice, a very small voice, in my soul, said "Yes, you can". I decided to begin with the Serenity Prayer. Then I slowly slid to the edge of my bed and took an enormous breath and got up. Nothing magical here. It was not fun. It was not invigorating. I still looked like death warmed over. But, I got up. I went downstairs. I began my day. I did not make dinner that night. I could not exercise. My courage that day was getting out of bed. Washing my face, brushing my teeth and getting dressed took courage. Every step I took felt like I was sloughing through molasses. It was a very hard day but I smiled for my kids and hugged my husband when he got home from work. When the day finally ended I even smiled at myself. I wore my red that day. My red badge of courage. Going to bed that night, I thought, "That wasn't too, too bad".
I am proud to say that I am getting used to this power color. I'm diggin' it a lot more these days, That right there is progress, my friends.
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Thursday, March 15, 2012
Traumas and Fibromaylgia; a personal account
I am often asked to share my "story" with others whom I meet who also have Fibromyalgia or Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. I am happy to do this, as I have found great comfort, solidarity, and compassion when others offer to share their story with me. My blog tends to be more situational, and philosophically based. However, I would like to try to introduce how my world was turned upside down by these illnesses, so as to be able to understand why I am where I am at this time.
I first began symptoms when I was 24 and living in VT with my boyfriend (ultimately my husband). I was working 2 jobs, taking dance classes, and performing in theater. I was aware of the importance of exercise and eating "right" in terms of keeping thin but not so much in terms of living a healthy lifestyle. I was young and like most at that age, felt invincible.
However, I did notice that I needed a lot more sleep than most, especially towards the winter and spring of 1994. My primary job was extremely stressful and I worked under a boss who seemed impossible to please. I was walking on eggshells and had not matured enough to speak up for myself and set boundaries. Oh, no. That came much later. So, I was often pretty miserable at work but forced a smile on my face and worked my butt off to try to please those I was working for. Not an easy task.
My second job, was working part time at a mall in customer service. I loved this job. I loved interacting with people and the more relaxed atmosphere that it provided. I made good friends with a couple of stand up guys who worked the security there. I was certainly tired working so much, but most everyone I knew at that time was working 2 jobs, so it didn't seem to be out of the norm.
One horrific night, 2 days before Christmas, I was working at the mall. I was happy because I was looking forward to going home to NH to celebrate Christmas with my family and have some time off. My boyfriend, Todd, had left that day to go home to see his family and we would meet up later in the week. I went to work with homemade fudge for my friends the security guards and was full of Christmas cheer. I was buying dinner for the 3 of us (I should mention that I worked alone in my shifts) to be delivered much to their surprise and appreciation. They came by and we joked and chatted it up before they had to go do their rounds throughout the rest of the mall.
Customer Service at that time was in a room. There were glass doors leading into the room, and a large counter behind which I worked. The doors leading into Customer Service were also the only doors leading out of Customer Service. Behind me were floor to ceiling glass windows.
My job entailed wrapping gifts for people, assisting them in finding their way into the mall, suggesting stores for certain items, and at this time of year, selling First Night Buttons. The First Night Buttons were selling like mad and everyone coming in was exhausted, cheerful and excited about the upcoming holidays.
After my buddies left to go do their rounds, a young guy came in and inquired about the first night buttons. He wanted to know if I had been selling a lot of them. I smiled and told him yes, I had and would he like to purchase one.
Whenever I go into my brain to remember this, it all is all in slow motion terror. He took out a gun and began to threaten me and curse me. He wanted all the money and he wanted it now. He kept snarling at me to not look at him and if I did look at him he would kill me. He said that a lot. I got a good look at him, all the same, which seems miraculous to me now. I gave him the money and he ordered me to get down on the floor all the while aiming his gun at me.
The next thing I remember was reaching for the walkie talkie (my only means to alert my security guards). Then I remember them coming in and calling for me and ultimately finding me on the floor in a fetal position and the sounds coming from my throat sounded distant and scary.
Needless to say those security guards (their names have sadly escaped me after all this time) felt horrible and looked like they, too, were going to cry. One of them gave me his coat to put on, as I guess I was shivering.
At some point, the police arrived and just when I thought it couldn't get worse, it did. They had a lead from an informant at the mall that this guy was at a local club. I was brought to the police station and had to change my clothes, put on a baseball hat, leather jacket and go undercover into this club and point out the guy who had done this to me.
I couldn't do it. I mean, I went. I actually went into this club with another female officer, but the light show and the music and everything made my already nauseous stomach lurch even more. There were so many guys. My mind was spinning and ultimately, I could not make the guy.
After that, I was unable to go to my apt and sleep alone. I mean, this guy knew what I looked like. He even knew my name. I was terrified, paranoid and unable to barely make a sentence. I was brought to a friends' house and spent the night there where I kept the light on the whole time and read all night.
I know this is one of the many traumas that has welcomed Fibromyalgia into my body. Others include car accidents, and still others I am not ready to write about.
One trauma at a time, they all built up walls inside of me until a house was made for my Fibromyalgia to live in.
And one at a time, I am breaking those walls down. One trauma at a time. One wall at a time.
The pain is real. The symptoms exist. But, so do my determination and my belief in a better life.
There's got to be a way out. I will keep bashing those walls down until someday I will find a window. That window will be my way out.
Someday.
I first began symptoms when I was 24 and living in VT with my boyfriend (ultimately my husband). I was working 2 jobs, taking dance classes, and performing in theater. I was aware of the importance of exercise and eating "right" in terms of keeping thin but not so much in terms of living a healthy lifestyle. I was young and like most at that age, felt invincible.
However, I did notice that I needed a lot more sleep than most, especially towards the winter and spring of 1994. My primary job was extremely stressful and I worked under a boss who seemed impossible to please. I was walking on eggshells and had not matured enough to speak up for myself and set boundaries. Oh, no. That came much later. So, I was often pretty miserable at work but forced a smile on my face and worked my butt off to try to please those I was working for. Not an easy task.
My second job, was working part time at a mall in customer service. I loved this job. I loved interacting with people and the more relaxed atmosphere that it provided. I made good friends with a couple of stand up guys who worked the security there. I was certainly tired working so much, but most everyone I knew at that time was working 2 jobs, so it didn't seem to be out of the norm.
One horrific night, 2 days before Christmas, I was working at the mall. I was happy because I was looking forward to going home to NH to celebrate Christmas with my family and have some time off. My boyfriend, Todd, had left that day to go home to see his family and we would meet up later in the week. I went to work with homemade fudge for my friends the security guards and was full of Christmas cheer. I was buying dinner for the 3 of us (I should mention that I worked alone in my shifts) to be delivered much to their surprise and appreciation. They came by and we joked and chatted it up before they had to go do their rounds throughout the rest of the mall.
Customer Service at that time was in a room. There were glass doors leading into the room, and a large counter behind which I worked. The doors leading into Customer Service were also the only doors leading out of Customer Service. Behind me were floor to ceiling glass windows.
My job entailed wrapping gifts for people, assisting them in finding their way into the mall, suggesting stores for certain items, and at this time of year, selling First Night Buttons. The First Night Buttons were selling like mad and everyone coming in was exhausted, cheerful and excited about the upcoming holidays.
After my buddies left to go do their rounds, a young guy came in and inquired about the first night buttons. He wanted to know if I had been selling a lot of them. I smiled and told him yes, I had and would he like to purchase one.
Whenever I go into my brain to remember this, it all is all in slow motion terror. He took out a gun and began to threaten me and curse me. He wanted all the money and he wanted it now. He kept snarling at me to not look at him and if I did look at him he would kill me. He said that a lot. I got a good look at him, all the same, which seems miraculous to me now. I gave him the money and he ordered me to get down on the floor all the while aiming his gun at me.
The next thing I remember was reaching for the walkie talkie (my only means to alert my security guards). Then I remember them coming in and calling for me and ultimately finding me on the floor in a fetal position and the sounds coming from my throat sounded distant and scary.
Needless to say those security guards (their names have sadly escaped me after all this time) felt horrible and looked like they, too, were going to cry. One of them gave me his coat to put on, as I guess I was shivering.
At some point, the police arrived and just when I thought it couldn't get worse, it did. They had a lead from an informant at the mall that this guy was at a local club. I was brought to the police station and had to change my clothes, put on a baseball hat, leather jacket and go undercover into this club and point out the guy who had done this to me.
I couldn't do it. I mean, I went. I actually went into this club with another female officer, but the light show and the music and everything made my already nauseous stomach lurch even more. There were so many guys. My mind was spinning and ultimately, I could not make the guy.
After that, I was unable to go to my apt and sleep alone. I mean, this guy knew what I looked like. He even knew my name. I was terrified, paranoid and unable to barely make a sentence. I was brought to a friends' house and spent the night there where I kept the light on the whole time and read all night.
I know this is one of the many traumas that has welcomed Fibromyalgia into my body. Others include car accidents, and still others I am not ready to write about.
One trauma at a time, they all built up walls inside of me until a house was made for my Fibromyalgia to live in.
And one at a time, I am breaking those walls down. One trauma at a time. One wall at a time.
The pain is real. The symptoms exist. But, so do my determination and my belief in a better life.
There's got to be a way out. I will keep bashing those walls down until someday I will find a window. That window will be my way out.
Someday.
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