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acceptance

May 18, 2017 Comments off

“The mole, I’m not
so worried about,”
said the nurse practitioner,
peering at me over the rims
of her eyeglasses. “It’s
the anxiety that
concerns me.”

“I didn’t say anything
about anxiety,” I
pointed out.

“Oh, honey,
you didn’t
have to.”

“This is half as bad
as it was even a
month ago,”
I replied.

We talked
for fifteen minutes.

At one point,
I said, “the best thing
was accepting, really
accepting, that the world
could be very, very grim
for my children, no matter
what I do or say–“

“We don’t know that
it will be!”
she cautioned.

“Oh, I know. I’ve been
reading Arundhati Roy
and Rebecca Solnit, and,
well, dozens of other authors
just this year. There’s hope in
uncertainty, here.”

She nodded.

“What I mean is:
I was ragged from figuring
out what I could do, and how
I could do it, to show that citizens
must not wait for politicians to do
the right thing environmentally.
What finally freed me
from that churn
was seeing that …
if the outcome does end up
being very, very grim,
it will be all the more important
for me to have left my sons
with tons and tons of love
to sustain them through
hardships I can’t
change.
They’ll need
the memory
of all
that
love
to get by,
you know?
So I’ll keep
reading, and I’ll
keep showing up,
where I think it’ll help,
but I’m not arguing anymore,
or fretting about the right words,
or seeking the magic combination
that’ll suddenly engage
the disengaged,
but mostly,
mostly …
I’ll love
on
my
sons.”

When I left
the room moments later,
she told me, “You’re
a lovely woman.”

“Ha!” I wanted to say.
“You should talk to
some of my now-
former friends.”

Instead,
I accepted her words,
and her hug,
too

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simply … pausing

“Let me wash the dishes,” my husband said over my shoulder yesterday morning.

“Naw,” I replied, continuing to scrub. “This is zen washing.”

“You need a sign,” he told me as he left the kitchen.

I contemplated that as I kept scrubbing. Do I really need a sign? I wondered. I feel like the distinction between my two types of washing is pretty obvious.

There’s the zen kind that’s pretty sweet. I could zen wash dishes for hours.

Mmmmm.

Mmmmm.

Read more…

39.5 days

Note:
I just wrote about how much I do not like proselytizing.
There’s a chance what I wrote below might come off as trying to sell you, but that’s not my intention.
I intend strictly, exclusively, to tell you why I feel so darn good at this exact moment in time,
in a way that doesn’t take me 408 hours to explain.

A few years ago, I changed my eating habits after a serious, months-long health scare following exposure to environmental toxins. Read more…

Categories: Health Tags: , , , , ,

The coffee need

On the first day of Lent, I committed to giving up the junk food that’s been my bane for the last many months. I usually eat junk food sparingly, but have been dosing it with myself most evenings since I wrote “my bulimia / my beautiful body” after my last Whole30.

“Junk food” means something different to me than it does to many people. For me, “junk food” is anything not listed on the Whole30 Autoimmune Protocol shopping list. It’s food that leaves me feeling crappier after eating it than I did before, whereas eating food on the list leaves me feeling better.

I usually feel like I’m swimming in rainbows a week or two into eating junk-free.

like this,

Like this, but with so many more rainbows

Not so this time. Read more…

I am

I am with you

I write this post from 32,000 feet above the earth.

I’ve written before about my take-off anxiety. It was (unsurprisingly) especially bad today, so that my usual tools to defeat it were completely worthless.

My eyes blurred as I tried focusing on easy sudoku puzzles. I can usually cruise through the easy ones in a couple of minutes, but today I could only allot the easiest first numbers to their spaces. I jumped back and forth between four puzzles, willing the plane to start moving so the worst of my anxiety would dissipate.

My flight wasn’t full, so I moved from a window seat in the middle of the plane to an aisle seat nearer the front. Its neighboring seat was empty, so I knew I’d feel a little less claustrophobic.

What I didn’t expect was how I’d fill the space in that empty seat better than I could fill in any sudoku spaces.

I filled it with Abe Zelmanowitz.

I couldn’t even remember Abe’s name when I thought of him, but I will never forget what little else I know of him. Read more…

Soaring over anxiety

I’m not afraid of flying, but I do suffer anxiety that’s exacerbated by flying.

The higher my anxiety baseline, the more acutely I experience anxiety around flying.

I’m incredibly excited about my new job. And yet, the good stress of that coupled with other stressors–not to mention an overindulgence in celebratory sugar–means my anxiety levels are already sky-high … before I even begin to think about actually being sky-high, where I’ll be today en route to my brother’s graduation.

walking snuggliThis morning I found a little green jacket that helped ground me a little. “This is a sad and a happy thing for me,” I told my newly awakened six-year-old. “It’s sad because I bought this jacket to keep you warm while my mom was dying. It’s happy because it reminds me how much my mom loved being with you, and because, this trip, there’ll be a whole new person we didn’t even imagine then wearing the jacket.”

Um, okay, weirdo, my six-year-old said with his eyes.

I smiled as I breathed in the jacket’s familiar sweetness.

I set it over the back of a chair and took a seat at my computer. I searched my blog for “i love you amy,” and softened further reading the post that returned.

Then I searched for “vulnerability,” and breathed a long, thankful sigh of relief while reading the post I’d sought. It was just the medicine I needed.

I’m often amazed by how healing others’ words can be in the blogosphere. Much less often, I’m amazed to find was the source of exactly what I needed to read.

Holding all of this close to my heart, I won’t just be flying today.

I’ll be soaring.

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