Self-Improvement Sunday

Mem(e)ories, Posts

The opposite of play is not work – the opposite of play is depression.

Respecting our biologically programmed

need for play can transform work.

It can bring back excitement and newness to our job.

Play helps us deal with difficulties,

provides a sense of expansiveness,

promotes mastery of our craft and is an

essential part of the creative process.

Most important, true play that comes

from our own inner needs and desires is

the only path to finding lasting joy and

satisfaction in our work.

In the long run, work does not work without play.”

– Stuart Brown from ‘The Gifts of Imperfection’ by Brene Brown

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Speak Up & Stop Listening

Mem(e)oir Material, Posts

IMG_0690Today I had probably the most empowering and emotionally gratifying moment of my life and I’m pretty sure no one noticed. That’s actually the emotionally gratifying part, strangely. That I was able to actually see that the moments that hold the most weight and take up the most space in your heart should be shared with others but they don’t mean anything if they don’t primarily occur within your own self. More importantly, I was able to see those moments finally happen in me.

When I saw a glimpse of my old self today for the first time in about 7 years I regained the little bit of hope that I’d lost believing I’d ever see me again. That me is the one who has driven me to literally hundreds of late night ‘google research’ sessions – 6 different doctors, 3 false diagnoses, 2 surgical procedures (that it turns out I may not have actually needed) and about 5,000 eye rolls from people who thought I was crazy, lazy or just a big baby ☺️👼

It turns out there was one thing standing between me and the answer and that, my friends, was everybody else – whose judgements slowly started to make me doubt

a) things would ever change and

b) that I wasn’t just a whiny person who was just too tired and weak to be the person I ever was before

So – I stopped talking. I started to listen to me – that’s exactly who eventually ended up finding the answer anyways (minus the co-pay, to boot). One central constantly growing and multiplying cause of about 16 different chronically relentless symptoms that vary from mild to debilitating and have prevented me from healing, growing and beginning the second life I so deserve.

So, it turns out that ‘google research’ paid off – it’s provided me with a specific way to get back to me and if it means giving up my wine & cheese (& gluten) for the next 6 months to a year then it means that it’s a challenge I am able to accept and overcome. Because every other challenge I’ve ever overcome has been assigned to me in some way – this one I asked for. It’d just be lame to give up now. After all, throughout this whole personal inventory via psychology.com, wikipedia and WebMD, I’ve learned things that have finally given me enough insight to finish my story. Because the only thing that was missing all along was my voice – “And I’ve been quiet for too long” 🗣🗣54570a26-7b5f-498d-bfc9-ca382b0abc9d-1

Perpetually Traumatized on the Daily, thank you. (PTSD and Chronic Illness)

Posts

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I wish my little spiral notebook stored emotions because I’m really trying to muster up that anger and that disappointment that I felt this afternoon when I was dismissed by my primary care doctor who spoke to me like I was a little fucking whiny ass bitch with a toothache, looking for Tylenol 3. Been there done that whole routine. I don’t have the energy for the gym, much less a drug addiction.

Physically I feel like I am forty years older and the kicker is I got my Brain MRI results and it looks like my memory may be as well. It was a small victory for me, honestly. Just kind of hoping for that white matter for so you can show everyone else you’re not crazy. I mean…I may be getting there so that’s not like a definite. Anyways, as we were waiting for them to fax over the results, my doctor – who’s this short, very serious squirrelly little thing – he tilted his tiny head and looked up at me over his glasses and had the audacity to ask, Do you think this could all be depression or anxiety related?”. You see, when you have a diagnosis such as PTSD on your medical resume, you have to accept that every single doctor that you see and trust enough to share with is going to look at a person like me very differently than say, a 37 year old stay at home mom that always brings the snacks to fucking lacrosse practice. They’re going to spend a little more time with them and actually hear their symptoms. Like such severe light sensitivity and brain fog that it’s impaired their ability to drive a car. We, those who share similar diagnosis codes, are treated differently. I can’t really describe it but if you’re asking me to, you’re probably a 37 year old soccer mom who wears pearls and in that case I’d say count your lucky fucking stars, bitch.

I did go through an incredibly traumatic experience that altered me and the course of my life and I would never have done it any other way because I now see it as a gift and not a curse. Not only that…I have very rarely let it show. I’m always smiling, always polite and the answers always ‘yes’. I still have dreams, still see him daily. Still deal with it. But prior to falling ill in December I was at the best place I’ve been in a very very long time. And actually, I remain positive and proactive, which is something I’m super proud of. 

SO, UM, YEAH I DONT THINK I HAVE CHRONIC JOINT PAIN AND SHORT TERM MEMORY LOSS BECAUSE IM BOO-HOOING OVER A ‘BAD BREAK UP’ OR BECAUSE I NEED XANAX FOR LIKE, THIS SUPER HIGH PAYING JOB INTERVIEW.

From here on out I am going to do my best to drill something into my head that has really been helpful: I am the only one who knows my truth because I’m living in it. No one else will know more about you than you. Especially not some dull, uninspired family physician who’s probably popping Adderall for a non-existent deadline.  

cleaniness is next to godliness

Mem(e)ories

When people ask me why I insist on putting on a full face of makeup and a pair of sneakers even if, for example, I’m home-bound because my brain fog has become so debilitating that it’s begun to impair my ability to drive, I no longer attempt to explain myself. For one, if you’re asking me that question because you honestly don’t know the answer, then consider yourself lucky. Obviously, you have never struggled to find a way to conceal your cath bag under a pair of old baggy sweatpants or spent 15 minutes on the toilet in the dark using a YouTube guided meditation in order to allow yourself to relax long enough to pee.

When I look better, I feel better. Period. There’s no surprise that my Ulta card has seen more action since I’ve gotten sick than ever before or that I’ve gone through so many different under-eye concealers that I’ve narrowed it down to the one that actually works well enough to give the appearance of entire night’s sleep (Boo-Boo Cover Up Concealer, $20.00 http://www.booboocoverup.com).

Lately I’ve taken to organizing the fuck out of my apartment. Maybe its because my mom took the keys to my Jetta and all I do is stare at are these four walls all day everyday. Also I recently read that clutter lends to negative or stagnant energy and after my life as I knew it just recently came to a standstill I’m  not sure which is worse. As long as I’m moving one way or the other, I’m ok. Being stuck in the middle is not fun. And I figure at least I deserve to have one corner of this cozy little box looking like a page straight out of ‘The Paper Source’ catalog. After all, just because my brain is disorganized, it doesn’t mean my stuff has to be.