Failure Dwelling

On Saturday, J and I hosted a Halloween party at our house. I spent way too much time and money creating a Hedwig costume, and to my amazement J went along with the plan by dressing up as Harry Potter without complaint. I absolutely love Halloween, probably because it elicits some of my favorite childhood memories. I have no unhappy memories of Halloween as a child (which I can't say about other holidays), so it probably became one of my favorite days for that reason.
However this year, unfortunately, I created a bad memory all by myself, without anyone's help. A friend from high school whom I haven't seen in about 7 years happened to be in town and stopped by the party right around the time it was winding down. We started catching up about people we know in common and I ended up making a snarky comment that, although it was true, would have been better left in my own head. The friend, as it ended up, was still rather close to the person I made the comment about and although I am sure they have not thought of it since, my actions haunted me for the rest of the weekend.
What upsets me most is that I gave the wrong impression of who I really am now. I am not actively a hurtful or shallow person, but that is what I sounded like. I have come too far from the horrible days of high school, always being talked about by the girls in my class, to have acted like them the first chance I got. I am not that person and I realized in that moment that the things we say and the way we portray ourselves cannot be taken back. More than anything I wish I could remove the foot from my mouth.
I spent the next day tortured by my comment, feeling disgusted with myself. After talking to the true compass that is my mother, I realized that I can't and won't always say and do the right things, and to wallow in self-loathing won't make me any better a person. Later that day, while watching my totally un-guilty pleasure The Biggest Loser, I heard one of the trainers pep-talking a contestant that had an incessant need to please and act perfectly, which inevitably lead to a snowball effect of feeling like a failure. "People are terrified to mess up or fail because they think they have to be perfect to be loved. Failure is what teaches us to be better people. Failure makes us more lovable, not less." (I'm paraphrasing my homegirl Jillian Michaels. Off topic, Biggest Loser just isn't the same this season without her.) That comment really had an impact on me. For so much of my life my self-worth has been measured by how much or how little I mess up, stick my foot in my mouth, or fail at being the person I really want to be. Hurting someone's feelings or realizing I've embarrassed myself by saying something I shouldn't have stays with me. I can easily recall plenty of times that I've said something inappropriate or hurtful, and my heart will race and my cheeks will flush, even if it was years ago. Even worse, in true Southern form, I constantly have to fight the urge to apologize for every word I've said and opinions I've voiced. My college roommate and best friend Rachel once told me if I didn't stop apologizing for everything she was going to give me the silent treatment. If my family had a "cuss jar" for every gratuitous "I'm sorry" we would have enough savings to vaccinate a small island or invest in one of those drive-though zoos.
These times that we say or do the wrong thing are inevitable, but I think how we choose to rebound from them is the real measure of failure or success. If I continue to dwell on how I missed the mark on representing myself, I will really fail, because I will be wasting the best of me, stagnating in the past. The best course of action in this scenario is to be mindful of how my open-mouth-insert-foot moment made me feel, and I can try not to replicate it. I also can't let all the fun memories I made that night be overshadowed by the one low point. I had so much fun with our friends and the night was a success and the true pity would be if I didn't let that be the thing I remember.

Bravery

One year ago yesterday I received a call that changed my life. My mother called me in the middle of the afternoon to say that she couldn't talk but that she wanted me to know she was driving my father to rehab. I didn't get any other details; all I knew was the thing that I had prayed for every day since I was old enough to understand what rehab is, was actually happening. Yet all I could feel when I heard those words was horrible sadness. I couldn't stop thinking about the fact that my Dad was about to be dropped off at a rehab center, stripped of all his belongings and humiliated. I knew enough to know that this center was no Malibu Promises, where he would receive spa treatments as an incentive not to drink. This place was a different kind of "come to Jesus". All I could imagine was that it must feel like being booked into jail, for an unknown sentence. I felt overwhelmed with guilt for praying for this and an urge to protect him from pain (all those good emotions that are products of an alcoholic childhood) and I couldn't handle it. Mixed in with my pity for what he was about to endure was skepticism and the fear of becoming hopeful that this would work. What a roller coaster of emotions are attached to loving a substance-dependent person.
One year, one day, and a lot of pain and growth for everyone later, my dad is a year sober and we have never been so close. If you would have told me a year ago that I would have a family that I could trust, a family with a sober father, I would have been really hurt and offended by your optimism. To be honest, the fear that one sip of vodka could take all this away in an instant is constant, but I can't waste the happiness that he has given us by constantly wondering if this is the calm before the storm, or just a cruel taste of what life can be like when my dad is sober.
Although my fears are valid, and are unlikely to cease, I can't determine the future, and more importantly, I can't prevent him from drinking. To dwell on the fear of loss would also be a discredit to the amazing amount of work he has done and he is continuing to do. Instead, I would rather try to emulate his bravery. He woke up every day for three months, away from his family, work, all comforts and had to spend it facing the reality and magnitude of his disease. He admitted it to work, to friends, to the entire family, to anyone and everyone, without shame. To me, there is nothing more honorable than admitting you need help and actually finding and utilizing it. I have spent the better part of my life trying to make my father proud and now I am full of pride in him.
When I think about my family, bravery is what comes to mind. My sister is never afraid to stand up for what she thinks it right, keeps going for what she wants, and she has no qualms about herself. No matter how much I beg her to grow out her hair or joke about her refusal to learn how to apply eyeliner, she is steadfast in who she is, and I respect that about her. Knowing who you are and being proud of it is a special kind of bravery that few people have, and I am lucky to have an example of how to really be your own person.
It would take a whole day to write all the ways my mother is brave. If I think about it for too long I'll get misty eyed and it would be pretty embarrassing to start crying in physics class (that's right, I'm not paying attention...again). She has stood with my dad for over thirty years and has never stopped fighting for our family to survive. After raising two kids and giving all her energy and time to others, she was brave enough to find her passion in art, and started giving back to herself the attention she has given others for so long. She and I share the same fear of failing at our passions, having put ourselves out there and invested out hearts, but she never lets her fear conquer her. My mom is the person who taught me that the only way we can ever fail is by never trying.
Bravery has many forms, but when I reflect on what it means for my family, I think that it isn't about being fearless, but rather doing what is hard despite fear. I hope that I can live up to the example set by my family. Tonight, looking back on the year we've had and the blessings that have resulted from bravery, my cup runneth over, and I couldn't be more grateful.

Little victories!

I did it! I ran my first 5K yesterday in 40 mins and 9 sec, which is pretty slow, but, holy moses, I did it! I have to say it was one of the coolest experiences I've ever had. Thousands of people turned out for the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure and it was moving to see how many men, women and children were there to celebrate breast cancer survivors and remember those they have lost to the fight. I knew that adrenaline would be pumping through me, but I had no idea how exhilarating it would be to run in a sea of pink. There were so many people dressed in tutus and capes and costumes, keeping it light and joyous. I ran the race next to a U.S. Army soldier who wore full combat fatigues, with a pink helmet and a fake pink uzi (his loaded backpack slowed him down to my snail's pace). Just watching him fight through it motivated me to keep moving.
There were so many moments while running that I desperately wanted to stop but I couldn't stop thinking about how I would feel if my mom, sister, or friends had breast cancer. I thought about the people I know, and friends of friends, battling this disease, and everywhere I looked around me, people had the names of their loved ones pinned to their backs, and I just kept going. It was emotional and moving and so enjoyable to be out there on a beautiful day, running with strangers, all of us fighting for the same thing.
Around 1.5 miles my IC symptoms really kicked in, but I just kept telling myself that there were women with actual cancer running, and if they can do it, my bitchy bladder can do it too!
I am so grateful and pretty proud of how I lived my life this week. I didn't let the mountain of schoolwork I had to do send me into a panic spiral and I tried to put my huge exam into perspective. Trying to actively control my stress really helped keep my IC symptoms under control and I like to think that I achieved my goal of not lashing out against those I love when things get tough.
Managing my schedule day by day and attempting not to think more than a week or two ahead is helping to keep me in the present. We have to find ways to make our lives manageable because there will always be a million things we need to do and personally, I don't want to wake up in 50 years and realize I merely "made it through" my life. By living day to day, handling things one by one and trying not to let everything snowball, is really giving me the ability to enjoy life more than I previously had. I hope I can keep it up!

Jealous.

This is the life.

Too bad I hate yoga...

Have you ever had a week where literally everything in your life is coming to a head? That is this week for me. I have so much I need to do at work, time intensive assignments and quizzes in every class, the second of three huge tests in a class that tells medical schools whether or not they should take me, and let's not forget that my "I can only run one mile without ralphing" self signed up to run a 5K, which I should really be training for! On top of that, after a few weeks of blessed relief, some of my IC symptoms are returning. Now, that sounds like the classic recipe for a major Anna meltdown if you ask me. However, this week a meltdown would just be an epic waste of time.

I feel like this is going to be a true test of the changes I am trying to make in my attitude and the way I live my life. I don't just want to get through it without killing someone, I want to succeed at managing my stress. That means I am going to have to make every moment count and have purpose. I need to prioritize, keep a cool head and be extra careful not to turn into Medusa when, inevitably, something doesn't go how I need it to. I have to set aside my graduate degree in procrastination and face work that I don't want to do head on. Through all of this, and most importantly, I want to remain kind to my friends, family and J, and remember that the universe doesn't revolve around my world.

This being said, I need to stop writing and get to work! At least Aggie likes to keep me company while I study, although her side-eye tells me she is "sooo over" biochemistry too.

It all comes out in the wash.

My apologies again for such time between posts. I know you guys are just waiting for each new post like it's Santa that's coming! At least the reason for my absence is a good one; my sister is in town and we have been having so much fun, I haven't had time to write, (or anything to complain about enough to try to find the positive in the negative). I find that I am inspired to write when something goes wrong in my life, and then when I am able to put it in perspective I feel like that is worth sharing.

Tonight I sat in physics class (the least favorite part of my week) feeling mutinous against my professor. A problem has come up with the online homework interface we use and instead of doing her part and finding out how to fix it, her response to me was that I should contact the company and let her know what they say. Sure, no problem, there is nothing I love more than paying a small fortune for a class to do your job, and I have bundles of free time! So, yeah, I felt a touch bitter and that quickly escalated into fear and panic that I will fail this class due to unfair grading and a giant conspiracy to ruin my future as a physician (insert a seriously overdramatic damsel in distress moment here).

I decided to take a deep breath, face the inevitable and log on to our class website to check my grades. At this point I am still planning my impassioned speech to the dean about the unfairness of this class. I give really good principled speeches in my head. To my great surprise the test that I thought would ruin me has magically turned into a 95 due to a seriously generous curve. As I came down from my damsel's tower, (and off my soap box in the dean's office) I started to feel a little bit ashamed of my overreaction. I just let myself get so bent out of shape over something that is not that big of a deal. Even if I get a few bad homework grades and my frustration continues, chances are things will all even out. Physics probably won't kill me. Probably.

The more I overreact, the more I have noticed a bit of a trend going on in my life that can be summed up as, everything comes out in the wash. What I mean is that eventually, everything tends to even out. Whether it's class, work, housework, family, life in general, the good things and the bad things at least attempt to cancel each other out. As a science student you would think I would have noticed the correlation between chemical systems' tendency to maintain equilibrium and life's tendency to give us some semblance of balance. That's not to say that often it feels as though life has delivered more than we can handle, but is it possible that maybe we could handle it all a little better if we reminded ourselves that we can?

I tend to spiral into panic when things are out of my control, as those who love me know all too well, especially when the situation is particularly unfair. Whoever said that life isn't fair was right, but that doesn't mean I like it. I forget in these moments to stop and remember that, as my mom says, nothing is forever. Maybe things won't be fair or get better tomorrow, but I truly believe that the universe doesn't allow us to suffer or spiral or strain forever. Eventually something or someone will show up on the scene to restore equilibrium. The key is to get our heads out of our asses long enough to see what's arrived. You can't ever see the light at the end of the tunnel if you are facing the wall, and don't I know it. I think I've spent the better part of my life staring at that wall, as if some sort of life coach hieroglyphs are going to appear. It usually takes someone like my mom or J to yell at me from the end of the tunnel, to make a change.

This is easier said than done to those out there who are really hurting, really feeling overwhelmed by their current situations. I've been there; I'm practically paying rent there, and trust me, trying to convince yourself at that moment to believe the lyrics of an Annie song is next to impossible. But if nothing else, when I've stopped sobbing pathetically and I let myself be reminded that nothing is forever, it feels better to believe that maybe tomorrow things will even out, and maybe even surprise me with greatness.

Living your truth.

Yesterday the world lost not only a visionary in Steve Jobs, but a decent human being who understood what it means to really live. I don't claim to be an expert in the teachings of Mr. Jobs but it is hard to find argument in one of his quotes: "Your time is limited, don't waste it living someone else's life." Could this possibly be the answer to the age old question, what is the meaning of life? I think what Mr. Jobs meant, in part, is that the meaning of life is to live your own truth. Not just having the career you dream of, or the partner who completes you, but really navigating life via your own compass. For me, living the life that is mine means attempting to make my actions mirror what I believe is good and true. I fail so often but maybe the journey is the real goal. I think Mr. Jobs understood that success isn't measured in dollars, grades, prestige or how many Twitter followers you have but rather the legacy of actions you leave behind you. I hope that when my time comes I can go in peace knowing that I lived my life, my truth and, like a good girl scout, left the campsite cleaner than I found it.

It is horrifying to me that he was forced by his body to leave a family and a world he had such an impact on, so young. At the risk of sounding pathetically trite, I am so damn sick of cancer. Breast cancer, pancreatic cancer, skin cancer, colon cancer. Every expletive I know but have the maturity not to type (shit, who are we fooling?) comes to mind. The good news is I feel like the tides are turning and the rest of the world is really getting fed up too. Stand Up to Cancer and other foundations are kicking ass, stem cell research is booming, in other countries at least, and people everywhere with cancer are deciding to live as hard as they can, as long as they can. The attitude is changing from devastation to determination, cancer fighters are getting scrappy and I love it. Even as I am watching TV, a Warriors in Pink commercial is on!

I don't have cancer, by the grace of God my family is healthy, but so many people I know and love are fighting like champions. The least I can do is support them, so I am doing the unthinkable, putting my words to action and getting off my lard ass to run in the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure. I literally can't wait to get out there and be moved by the survivors, the families and the thousands of men, women and children who are coming together to say, "We've had it!". I am so excited to be a part of it and I hope that I can make all you women proud by finishing!

To feel or not to feel...

My apologies to my loyal followers, (all five of you), for my lack of posts. The day before yesterday was spent marathon studying from 6 a.m. to 6 p.m. then being brutally assaulted by a mental minefield of an exam. When I got home the only thought I could form was, "Must make face meet pillow." Then last night as I was about to start writing I was hit with a very strange mini-bout of what seemed like food poisoning. For whatever reason the blog-gods did not want me posting, but today is a new day!

I wrote almost an entire post this morning about a negative interaction I had with someone yesterday, and in a move that can only mean growth, I deleted it. Yesterday is over and today is my last day of school before a two day reprieve and my sister coming in for a visit! Our relationship has changed so much over the past year. We used to be so at odds, so hurtful to one another, and now I can't remember the last time something hateful was said. I am so very grateful that we are becoming closer, and even more grateful that on her one week of vacation she wants to come see me. My biggest sisterly faux-pas recently is that I very carelessly scheduled a class during Survivor, when we are supposed to have a standing date of texting one another about 100 times per episode. Mom, you may hate reality TV, but it has brought your girls closer!

I am especially grateful for my health this morning. Particularly because whatever bug had ahold of me last night has departed, but generally because all day yesterday I received news of friends of friends who are suffering so greatly. I think it is important for me, as one of the 3 million women in America with IC, to remember that I have the right to whatever emotions come up about my diagnosis, but I have the responsibility to put my struggles in perspective. I do not have cancer, diabetes, Crohn's, etc. that affect the people that I know and love. I have a pissy little problem, but I have my health.

Lately, I have not been in much pain, which is a wonderful side effect of the cystoscopy I had. They said I could go without pain for three months as a result. This however has led to a struggle lately to find what to write about, because I am wondering if writing about something that isn't affecting my life the way others are suffering is petty and trivial. Is writing about my journey with a disease that hasn't dramatically affected my quality of life selfish? I don't know. This may sound absurd, but it is almost as if I feel guilty for being well right now, or like I need to actually be suffering to have the right to be writing a blog about this disease. Does anyone else feel like they don't have the right to be vocal when they are having "a good day"? Has our society dictated that with all the suffering out there, we can only emote when things are shitty?

It seems to me that there is a thin line between gratitude and guilt, and we Southern women have worn that line permanently into the ground. There will always be someone who is suffering much more than us, but I don't think that means we have to feel guilty for trying to process our own lives as they come at us, day by day. We have to find the protected space in between gratitude and guilt, so that we can come to terms with our own tribulations while keeping the trials of others in our thoughts, prayers, or whatever else allows us to feel empathy. I really just want what I express in this space to be about knowing you are not alone in your struggles, whether you are sick or not.

Letting what you give be good enough.

I have to start this post by stating that I am exhausted tonight. Nothing about today felt humorous or super enlightening. Today was just one of those days without enough hours. It's hard on days like these to be satisfied with what you gave. I began beating myself up mentally about an hour ago about not accomplishing everything I should have today, but I was able to stop my running brain, slow down, and be proud of what I did do.

What I am proud of today is that I conquered the mountain of excuses I have built for myself, stopped everything I was doing and I went for a good run. I have always been one of those people that sort of thinks that if God meant for us to run he would have given us four legs and a spine parallel to the ground. I also silently judge (i.e. die of jealousy) my beautiful friends that run everyday like it's a sport. Oh, it is a sport. Shit. I hate running for a number of reasons, mostly because I'm awful at it, but the real reason I let myself get out of it daily is that I really loathe the pain of a bouncing bladder and I am terrified of getting miles from home with nowhere to pee. One of the joys of IC is that you always feel like your bladder is going to explode. About a month ago I had to sprint into the bathroom of the local grocery store that is, I kid you not, less than 500 yards from my house. I only made it three minutes into my run without feeling like I might burst. As soon as I got another 500 yards, it hit again and I had to turn around. Guess I should have known right then that something in the milk wasn't clean, huh? So, I have given myself a legitimate excuse not to run, jump or do anything that makes me want to pee. I have let myself become apathetic, docile and totally miserable with my cottage-cheese ass. So today after realizing I could balance my computer on my super toned buddha belly, I got my head in the right space and I ran as far as I could before the "Oh shit, get me to a bathroom!" set in. To my surprise I made it a mile without stopping, and better yet I made it the mile back home without hauling ass into the grocery store. I even took Roux for a walk afterward. To most people that's nothing, but for me it's big. So today, I am accepting that short workout as a job well done. Tomorrow I will try again, and that is all I can ask from myself.

Never being satisfied with what you accomplish is a dangerous path to walk down, and chances are you will end up on that path alone, because it is exhausting being around someone who is never satisfied. All too often I let myself fall into that trap, beating myself up for not being on top of my game all the time, or not rising to the occasions I should have. Let's be honest, most of the time we are hard on ourselves because we are afraid of facing the disappointment of others. But come on, no one is on top of their game all the time and more often than not we are going to fall short of our own expectations and those of everyone else. Enter, Miami Heat. All I can really do is try not to give less than my best effort, and be satisfied with what that is, and be proud of what I've got.

Kissing Negative Nancy goodbye (sorry to the Nancy's out there, the silent victims of alliteration).

Today marked the beginning of the one week a year of nice weather in New Orleans. A cool breeze is blowing and the humidity decided to take a sick day for once. It's saturday and I feel like I should be out pretending to exercise or letting my dog Roux know what outside looks like. Instead, I am stuck to a desk studying my least favorite subject in the world: physics. I have a major exam on Monday and so far this week I have let this whole "recovering from anesthesia" thing be a perfect excuse not to study. So here I am, window open, breeze blowing in, pouting because I have to study instead of enjoying the outdoors.

This is a prime example of my tendency to be a pissypants. Lately I've been ruminating on the changes I am going to have to make in my attitude in general, let alone my attitude about IC, in order not to become a miserable cow. I, like so many, have a tendency to complain...a lot. I have known this about myself for years. In fact it's the one thing I hate most about other people (obviously because I hate it most about myself - thanks freshman psych!). With this new diagnosis of IC, which implies a lot of future discomfort, it is going to be dangerously easy to slip on down that bitch slope. It's an actual reason to complain, and if you are a complainer like me and have an actual reason to complain...hold on to your hat. It won't even take effort to find something to whine about.

The thing is though, I don't want that to be me. I don't want to be one of those people that everyone hates to be around. I want to become a person who elevates the mood of those I surround, not send everyone on their way thinking, "Man, she's obnoxious." The first step is admitting you have a problem. So here it is, I am a whiny biatch. Now that I've admitted it and realized that I have been handed Grade A fodder for my grumpiness, I need to work extra hard to be aware of my attitude.

So yeah, it sucks that I'm not sitting outside at my favorite bring your pup bar, sipping a pint, but you know what sucks even more? The fact that most women around the world don't have the privilege of schooling, bettering themselves and actually achieving their dreams. So today I am completely grateful that I am stuck inside studying physics. I am especially grateful that IC may have been the wake up call I needed to change my attitude about everything.