What do we need to know and believe about ourselves, our worth, and life?

Yesterday, my former roommate, Cassie, who is currently an assistant school leader at my old school texted me to loop me in on one of my students. This student has been having a tough time recently and feeling very sad--and not just elementary-school-student sad but grappling-with-very-difficult-things sad.

Cassie told this student that he/she (I'm avoiding any revealing details about the student) could select an adult to write to and that that adult would write back. (To be clear here, Cassie also is taking many other steps here to support this student--and this is one way to allow him/her to find a way to express his/her feelings.) My former student asked to write to me.

I've now written two letters, and this got me thinking about all the things I wanted and still want my students to know and believe. I started with the following:

...and today I wrote the following:

What are the essential things that children need to hear, deserve to hear, and must believe about themselves, their worth, and life? For that matter, what do we as adults need to hear, what do we deserve to hear, and what must we believe about ourselves, our worth, and life? I'm starting a list (the first four have already been shared)...but I need help. (Please ignore the fact that they are a mix of first and third person.)

• It's okay to feel sad, and it's okay to admit you are sad. Doing so makes it less scary.
• You are wonderful, strong, caring, and funny.
• Never forget how special you are.
• I am important.
• Even if you think you're not the bravest or the strongest, trust that life will make you braver and stronger than you ever thought possible.
• I deserve to be happy.
• Life will never give me more than I can handle, but that is not to say I will not have to ask for help.
• It's not easy, but I can and will have the courage to get up and try again even when things are tough.
• Never ever forget to say I love you.
• Be kind.
• Love wins.
• A cheerful heart is good medicine.
• Laughter really makes things better.
• There is goodness all around you--sometimes it's hard to see, but trust me, it's there. If you look hard enough, you can find goodness.
• I deserve to be loved.
• I am enough.

♥a

Happy mom's birthday to you

(Fair warning: there's a noticeable increase in my use of swear words in this post. I'm no Wolf of Wall Street, but you've been warned.)

This morning began with a phone call home: "Happy Mom's birthday," I told my dad, and a few hours later I texted my brother the same thing. It's a weird thing to celebrate--but let's be honest, no weirder than celebrating my mom's life and her awesomeness two and a half years ago at her funeral.

I tried to write last night, but my brain just couldn't process it. Perhaps it was the after effects of the vodka on the rocks I had the night before (because of course, my mom's signature drink couldn't be margaritas, but no, straight vodka on the rocks), but it just wasn't happening. Instead, I spent most of my night flipping through photos of my family--many of which included my mom. I re-read things I wrote two and a half years ago, and I kind of felt pretty awful.

I give myself 1% of the year to feel shitty. I figure 3.65 days of the year I'm allowed to have all out crappy days. 2 of them are the same each year: October 3rd, the day my mom died, and April 21st (or thereabout depending on when it actually makes sense for me to celebrate her birthday. Vodka is not a Monday night type of drink for me).

Last night it was a 1% day. As I looked through photos of my mom, I was reminded of just how amazing she was. She was selfless. She was caring. She was compassionate. She didn't give a shit what people thought, she knew what she wanted in life, and she went after it. She was always up for a challenge, and she was always on the go. She lived life the way I think most people strive to, and she was pretty damn awesome.

This should make me feel great, right? The fact that my mom was such a wonderful woman, and it does.

...but it also makes that loss all the more difficult. I didn't lose an okay mom. I didn't lose a mom who maybe cared about me or who sometimes told me she loved me or who believed in me 75% of the time.

I lost a mom who cared more about her family than I can really even process.
I lost a mom who told me on a daily basis she loved me.
I lost a mom who believed in me without wavering or doubt.

So there I sat, sad girl in pajamas, eating sushi on the couch, flipping through photos, thinking, "Man. This hurts."

I very much so believe in my ability to will things to happen, to make a choice in life and to see that it happens, but the reality is, I can't will my mom to be alive and healthy. I actually don't have a say here. I don't get to call my mom on a daily basis to ask her advice, and I'm going to have to keep deleting all of those damn emails that are filling my inbox about "gifts for mom" as Mother's Day approaches. All those questions I want to ask my mom just aren't going to get answered right now.

*sad violin plays*

...okay so yes, yesterday I tried to close my eyes really tight and see if I remembered my mom's voice. I don't. I tried to think about the last memory I have of her when she was 100% healthy, and I found myself thinking back to the end of eighth grade. We're talking 14 years now. It's hard, and it gets scarier the less I remember of her. I get nervous at times I'll forget her.

However, then, my better judgment kicks in. I read her eulogy and what I said at her memorial mass.

...and I find myself constantly arriving at the same conclusion:
Yes, losing my mom was easily one of the most painful things I've ever gone through. And yes, it still hurts.

But oh my goodness,
how fucking lucky were we all to know her?

I would almost argue that the real people who are unlucky here are those who didn't know her. I feel a little envious of those who knew her better than I did.

...but I also feel so unbelievably blessed to have had such a wonderful mom for the time that I did. It almost feels greedy to say that I should have had more time with her, because I got to know her for longer than many other people did, and the impact she had on my life is immeasurable.

I got to reap the benefits of having such a bad-ass mom. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure my mom cringes over some of the choices I make (Mom, it's cool, I do too), but overall, if I dare say so myself, I think my parents raised some pretty awesome kids.

And so I find myself going back and forth between two very different sets of emotions:
1. Feeling sad (and well, feeling sorry for myself), because really? Mom, really, you had to leave me so soon?
and
2. Feeling a kick in the ass from my mom reminding me: Life is tough; suck it up, because at the end of the day, I'm very lucky.

I probably sound terribly arrogant saying this, but, on a daily basis, my life is fucking fabulous. I'm actually not quite sure why I've been given such a phenomenal life with such amazing people with whom to share it, but I have. ...and each day that I got to spend with my mom (when I was smart enough to listen to her and not being a punky child) has contributed to the awesomeness of my life. Each day that I wake up and do something that would make her proud, well, it continues to contribute to how wonderful my life is.

...so, really, if I were to re-write this post, I'd probably write about how lucky I am and how much you should be jealous of me, because I had the privilege of having such a wonderful mom, and though I may not get to see her on a daily basis or talk to her at all, I get to go through life with her in my heart, which, hey, really isn't too shabby.

Happy mom's birthday to you; may you be as lucky to know someone as amazing as she was at some point in your life.

♥a

High five for scars and fevers

I spent today with my apparent new best friend of 2014: Advil. You see, Advil has been a pretty crucial part of the past month of my life. Despite the fact that I don't like taking medicine as I consider myself to be very tough, sometimes things like broken elbows or fevers require me to take medicine.

(Fun fact: I've had a bottle of 80 Advil that I purchased the weekend I fell. I have 49 left (discovered this today when the bottle spilled...)--which means I really haven't taken very much medicine anyway since I'm allowed to take 9 a day).

This morning, or if I'm being really honest, nearly this afternoon, as I was lying on my couch, I briefly got a little angry at my body. Seriously? You are just getting over a broken bone and think that now is an appropriate time for me to get a fever? I disagree with you, body. I issue a strong statement of dissent.

The moment quickly passed, and I found I was reminding myself of something I know but maybe sometimes forget: my body does a lot for me, and I should really be grateful for it.

Now don't get me wrong, my body and I have our disagreements. I will often push my body to its limits, because I think I'm oh-so-tough. I often don't give my body a break when it needs it. For example, I still remember being offered a wheelchair when I needed to have some lung test while I was going through chemo. Let's be honest: I probably wasn't looking so great if I looked like I needed a wheelchair. I refused, however, and felt a little bit upset--really, body? Can't you keep it together?

I also have moments where I get distracted by things and people around me, and the words "juice cleanse" seem intriguing. Though my pant size is a single digit, I'm no longer as little as I used to be in high school; I know, it sounds so awful (sarcasm marks), but hey, sometimes it's hard to ignore the allure of new diets and trends.

However, in time, I've come to realize my body is pretty damn strong, and I ought to give credit where credit is due (instead of getting sucked in to a world of skinny jeans and feeling down on my appearance). Sure I have a few scars, and yes I'm not always stoked to take a day off from work, to admit I'm not feeling well, or to feel like my body at any point is limiting me, but if I look at all the evidence, well, it's in favor of my body being strong and useful--and in fact, not limiting me.

My scars are reminders that 1. My body can handle cancer. Win., 2. My body can also handle my clumsiness and failed attempt at using a steak-knife to cut a plum when I was 10, and 3. Shark bites happen (I kid. It was the crazy tumor--but I like referring to it as my shark bite).

Each day, I get to wake up, make breakfast, walk to my car, drive somewhere--my body allows me to travel, to sleep well, to move, to walk, to dance, to talk, to write. If I'm thinking really big picture, my body allows me to live.

Sure, perhaps today there wasn't a lot of dancing happening, but maybe, just maybe, instead of getting angry at my body for failing to be healthy 365 days a year without a break, I should cut myself some slack and rest. Take care of my body after all it does for me. So in the spirit of being grateful that in a day or two I'll be good as new (and being patient with my body as it gets back to 100%), I'm heading to sleep early. Thanks for being awesome, body, for putting up with fevers and scars and still coming out on top. It may be time for a self-five.

 ♥a

My brain may be breaking...

The Elbow Diaries: Challenge accepted.

Roughly 3 weeks ago, I decided to get a bright and early start to my day. Early bird gets the worm. Plus, I've read all these articles from Harvard Business Review about how the most effective people start their days early and get work done before other people even begin. So at 6 a.m. I gleefully skipped off to Starbucks. Okay, I didn't skip. I walked and walked carefully at that.

However, my careful steps were ineffective. I slipped on some ice and very gracefully landed on my butt. A kind person crossing the street called out to me, "Are you okay?"

...and I replied how every human being does unless your bone is poking through your skin: "I'm fine!!"

When he reached the other side of the street, this kind man actually crossed back over to me. "You haven't gotten up yet so I actually don't think you're fine." I had planned to rest a little on the ice/didn't actually know if I could get up just yet, so I was taking a break.

"Yes, it kind of hurts a little," I admitted. Fortunately, he helped me up, and I very appropriately answered his question when he asked if I fell on my hip. "Nope, just my butt. Y'know. Good stuff." He waited with me till I assured him again, "Thanks so much--really, I'm fine, but thank you."

(By the way, Julie pointed the following out to me...

...it's likely this kind sir was married...and not as cute as he appeared given the spots I was seeing, but hey, a girl can dream of living out a rom com.)

At this point, I was on my feet and approximately 250 feet away from Starbucks, if that. (I only live about 400 feet from it--clearly this was a long trek.) Sure, my vision might have been a little blurry, but I didn't hit my head so I wasn't very concerned. As long as I made it into the 'bucks without passing out in the crosswalk I would be okay.

Challenge accepted.

Once in Starbucks (yes, I made it), I let my vision return to normal, so I could see the beauty that was my drink, and I walked, even more carefully, home.

When I got home, I went to pick up my coffee with my left hand and discovered a dilemma: my hand did not appear to work. I couldn't pick anything up/hold anything, and so I ended up taking off the day and enjoying House of Cards with a stack of peas on my arm. I ordered sushi and eventually caved and took some painkillers.

I love our pillows.

Fast forward to the following week: I have been showing off my arm's strength and flexibility to my roommate on a regular basis. Look! I can carry my phone! I can hold a dish! WOW--I can almost touch my face with my hand!

My arm decides it does not want to work? Challenge accepted. I will make you work. I will will you to be strong.

At trivia on Wednesday night, a week since my fall, I proudly showed how my arm was nearly 97% straight (though Emily said it was only 95%). I managed to put on eyeliner that day, because MY HAND COULD TOUCH MY FACE. My willpower worked.

Does this look like the face of someone in pain? #sixdegreesofselfie

I did agree with friends and family that if my arm still would not straighten by the weekend I would go to the doctor. While I think straightening my arm is important, I still cannot figure out for what purposes I need to be able to do so. Sure my professional gymnastics career is now out, but other than that, will a crooked arm impede my future?

Friday finally arrived, and I sadly trudged to an immediate care center to get my arm checked out. I will spare the details, but I cried and swore a fair amount during my x-rays. This did confirm that it was a good thing that I went to the doctor; I'm not a crier, but ouch. I went home with a diagnosis of a bad sprain and a suggested small fracture on my elbow. The technician outfitted me in an ace bandage and sling which he attested made me look tough and cool.

You should see the other guy...

So I took it easy and followed up with the doctor come Wednesday. I should note here that I am actually not a terrible patient, but I do need clear parameters on what I can and cannot do.

For example, if a doctor tells me, "You can move your arm a little," I hear that as, "Rhythmic gymnastics and frisbee are okay."

If a doctor says, "Wear your sling as often as possible," I hear that to mean, "Your sling looks great on the doorknob, but you should maybe wear it sometimes."

I don't do "gray" when it comes to doctor directions. Give me black and white. Give me directives. Tell me what to do.

Wednesday's call took away the gray. While I stared at my sling sitting on my dining room table, the technician told me, "You should be wearing your sling pretty much 24/7 and not moving your elbow." Clearly, I had intended to put it back on...

"...Oh, so stretching my arm and elbow, not a good idea?" It's not like I was stretching my arm or anything...

"Nope. You have a fractured elbow. It needs to be still."

"Mhmm...so I should go back to the doctor then soon?" You mean, I can't will my arm back to normal?

"Yes, you'll likely need physical therapy, and the doctor will need to check your arm out."

I drank wine in bed and felt a little sad the next day.

Okay, okay, I see what you're saying.
I need to be a big kid and go back to the doctor.
Challenge accepted.
(The quotes from my mom above also reminded me not to be such a baby and make an appointment.)

So I went back to the doctor today. The weather is beautiful which means I finally was able to make this sling look a little cool (ignore my dirty hair).

We're hitting the 3-week mark, and I still can't straighten my arm.
I think it's a cool character trait. The crooked arm girl.

I relayed my story to the doctor (and a brief medical history)--she laughed as I hoped she would, and when I finished she said, "So what I'm gathering from your story is that your assessment of pain is extremely inaccurate."

I admitted, that yes, perhaps my understanding of pain is somewhat skewed. I can always rationalize my pain. One arm hurts? Well it could be two--or both my arms AND my legs.

Also, on a scale of 1-10, when cancer was a 3, nothing ever is that bad.

So, on Wednesday, I head to an orthopedic surgeon, and well, I just hope I really don't need surgery. I made a comment a couple weekends ago about how I sometimes have a "dark gloomy cloud" effect on life. While I try 99% of the time to be sunshine-y, that damn cloud sometimes follows me!

However, dear gloomy cloud, challenge accepted. I know I'm not good at admitting I'm in pain or being patient with myself when I'm sick or hurt. I also know I suck at asking for help, so, challenge accepted. Although, really if we could bypass anything involving needles, that would be great.

So, do what you wanna do lovely little cloud; I'm going to spray some windex on my arm and drink half a bottle of brandy.

♥a

P.S. I started drawing too. (You can click on them to see them bigger--if you really want to see my artistic non-skills.)