Expanding

Comfort zones, we all have ‘em. They come in all sizes, shapes and are full of bullshit. Very real BS but BS just the same. These boxes we put ourselves in are meant to protect us but I think they keep us from fulfilling our destinies. We get so comfortable where we are that we confine ourselves in these walls. We look out but allow fear to keep us from breaking down these barriers.

Some of us are able to gently expand our walls, maybe do a remodel or two. Many feel the walls closing in but lack the confidence to push back. It’s not an easy transformation but it’s worth it. Expand because it’s freeing. Expand because it makes you feel amazing. Expand because you deserve to be true to yourself. If you’re not, who will be?

I just drop kicked a huge wall and I’m still high from it. There’s nothing quite like saying fuck it, this is me and I’m proud. I challenge everyone to go and break down a piece of their wall or obliterate it like I did. You can do it!

This week

What an incredible week I’ve had. I’ve been able to participate in new things that made a difference in lives. Does it get any better?

The first thing was I was able to play a victim for a forensic photography class. I have always wanted to do this and jumped at the chance. The opportunity came from my volunteer work with the local rape crisis center. The forensic photography class was for the medical examiners to help them learn how to take better photographs of the physical evidence. The make-up work that was done was amazing. I really looked like I had been through hell. I had a bite mark with a hickey on my neck, a huge bruise on my face, a bruise on my arm, scratches on my leg and a stab wound.
It was a learning experience for me to. I learned many things that will help me to be a better advocate. I was also able to give feedback to the examiners on what made me more comfortable and the entire experience easier on me. It may seem funny that I was uncomfortable but I was. Having people taking my picture brought out my vanity and insecurities.

After I finished there I was able to leave in full make-up. I thought that would be fun. I was looking forward to seeing people’s reactions and then explaining what I had been up to. My first stop was to work out. That experience was exactly as I expected and I had fun messing with my workout partners. The second stop was different and another learning experience. I needed to attend a meeting and I arrived late. Being late caused me to be unable to explain my injuries and led to a lot of stares and whispers as friends and acquaintances tried to determine what had happened. It didn’t take more than a couple of seconds of walking into that room for me to realize I was uncomfortable. I did not want to walk in front of everyone to sign in. I didn’t like that I had to sit with the beat up side of my face toward the entire room. I didn’t like everyone staring and continuing to try to ask questions. I noticed I was hesitant to participate as I did not want any extra attention. I also found myself trying to move my hair to cover my bite mark because that would’ve been the most obvious sign that these weren’t just injuries but that someone had done them to me.

What this made me ask myself is “what do survivors do?” I was lucky enough to be able to go home and wash all my injuries away. They are not. They have to live with them and face the world every day. Do they hide? Do they try to cover them? How do they handle the stares, questions and whispers? It’s just another way of them being victimized and forced to relive the assault. Luckily, most of them (at least the cases I’ve handled) did not have external marks or injuries. Not that they are lucky but at least they do not have strangers staring at them, whispering and wondering.

I submitted all my thoughts, in much more detail, to one medical examiner and to the crisis center. I hope that my insights will make a difference and we will be able to better help women, men and children through an extremely difficult time. I feel blessed for having this learning opportunity.

Today, I participated in a search for a missing person. A woman went missing a little over a week ago and a search party was formed today. It was an interesting experience and much less exciting then they show on TV. There were over 160 of us and we split into several teams and spread out to look for her. We were briefed on how to look, what we were looking for and to be sure to look up in trees too. Thankfully they did find her but sadly it was her body. They do not believe there was foul play involved. The positive thing is that the family and friends will now be able to find closure. I wish all people that have lost someone tragically could find that. I wish them well and hope they are able to move forward. I’m sure it will be a rough road, especially for her children. I hope the family and friends pull together instead of pointing fingers and that they are able to achieve peace.

What Really Matters

When I was a child, I used to love to lay out a blanket, get all my favorite items and pretend it was my own apartment. I would take over a section of the living room, pretend my dolls were my kids and play for hours. I couldn’t wait for the day I would grow-up and have my own apartment, family and be able to make my own rules.

Fast forward several years. I’m now a grown-up, at least that’s what they tell me. I’ve learned being a grown-up isn’t always what you want it to be. This weekend I was supposed to be running at Disneyland. It would have been my third year doing the TinkerBell Half Marathon and the anniversary of my first half marathon. Sadly, I had to cancel. Cancelling cost me legacy (doing the same race since the inaugural for 5 years in a row). Cancelling wasn’t what I wanted to do but it was the right decision. After moping around for awhile and fighting the depression (more to that story later) I felt creeping in, I decided a weekend of hibernation was what I needed. Now hibernating isn’t easy when you have a child and a life that is usually running nonstop. The good thing – I already had 4 days off and was supposed to be out of town. Who would miss me?

It started off a little rocky when my munchkin decided he wanted to go to work on Friday. See, we recently opened a store and he loves working in it whenever he has a chance. So, he went to work with his dad. Sadly, this meant I had no excuse to stay home. Still fighting the black cloud of depression, I went to work and used it as a distraction.

During the day I thought about the best way to lick my wounds. Throughout the week I had been thinking of when I used to lay out the blanket and pretend to be a grown-up. All I wanted to do now was pretend to be a kid. What better way than to go back to that time. I decided that on Saturday I would lay out blankets (a few as I’m older and need more comfort than I did). I also added a bunch of pillows and eventually a futon mattress. Our dogs were happy to have extra snuggle time and it was great to have the closeness of each other. We slept, talked, snacked, watched movies, knitted, read and just enjoyed each other. It wasn’t the weekend I had planned but what I gained was something more magical. I will cherish the memory of these 3 days. I introduced my son to something I loved as a child and spent time just enjoying my family. Yes, I will be sad when I don’t get legacy. Yes, we would’ve had a wonderful time at Disneyland. Yes, I’m still bummed I didn’t run my 11th half marathon. Yes, I would love to have another medal hanging on my wall. BUT none of that is as important as the bonding time I had with my son. I will never regret this time.

Infertility

This was originally written in February 2011, nearly a year after the loss.

I watched a show the other night that dealt with infertility.  A woman had gone through IVF but the embryos that were transplanted were not hers.  There was a mix up at the office where the procedure took place and another couple’s embryos were implanted.  She decided to carry the baby to term even though it would be her last pregnancy.  She then had to give the baby over to the biological parents.  I was asked if that was something I would be able to do.  I believe it is. 

My husband and I have tried to have a second child for nearly 8 years.   We’ve survived 2 miscarriages and 2 inseminations that did not take.  I choose the word survived with care but I believe that survive is exactly what we did.  I know that I was so caught up in my own pain, and still am that I don’t see what he is going through.  It’s been nearly a year since the last miscarriage.  It was a horrible experience that was my worst nightmare.   I had a difficult time with the first one but I didn’t realize just how much it had affected me until I got pregnant the third time.  It took 5 years for me to get pregnant after the first miscarriage.  During that time I thought I had gotten past the loss.  That is until the first time I went to the bathroom after I got a positive result.  Then I realized that every time I went to the bathroom I was afraid to wipe.  I was afraid there would be blood on the paper. 

As soon as I found out I was pregnant I made a doctor appointment.  I was so concerned that I would have issues and given my history the doctor was willing to see me.  On a Tuesday, we went in for an ultrasound and to meet the doc.  He looked for the baby and we saw him/her.  He or she looked like a peanut.  So, we started referring to him/her as peanut.  We weren’t able to see or hear the heartbeat but he said it was probably just too early.  So they scheduled me to come back in a week and to get some blood work done to check my HCG levels.   

The day that my nightmare was realized I was alone.  It was a Friday evening and my son and husband had left town.  They often go camping for the weekend in a place where cell phones do not work.   I was concerned about the light pink blood on the paper but tried to convince myself that everything was ok.  After all, I had just had my second round of blood work done that day, my numbers were good and I wasn’t having any cramping.   I stayed up late that night arguing with myself.  By Saturday morning I was still spotting and sometimes it was light, sometimes dark.  I was spending the entire day either in bed or in the bathroom.  I couldn’t seem to stay out of there.   It was like a magnet.  Though it wasn’t rational I think I believed I could control the situation by going to the bathroom and constantly checking.  Around 2, I finally called in to the doctor.  He told me that if I was miscarrying there wasn’t much he could do at that time.  That I should just rest and if the pain increased I could consider going to the ER.  If I started passing clots then I should be concerned.  Otherwise, wait until Monday and talk to my normal doctor.  So, that’s what I did.  I waited, the cramps started, and I ended up in a lot of pain.  Yet I didn’t want to go to the ER.  After all, I couldn’t really be miscarrying if no one could diagnose it.  By late Saturday night or early Sunday morning, I was passing large clots.  I knew then even though I wouldn’t allow myself to believe it.  My husband came home on Sunday evening and I told him what was happening.  I really don’t remember his response.  I was so caught up in myself.  On Monday I called my doctor.  He sent me to get blood work and it was official.  I had lost another baby.  I was devastated. 

On that same day I found out that a good friend of mine had given birth.  I went straight from my blood draw to another hospital to hold that new precious bundle of joy.  I hid my personal trauma and beamed at this new little blessing that had come into the world.  He was so small, so perfect, so not mine.  Now, every year I will have this reminder of that dreadful day.  At least it will be a day I can also celebrate. 

So yes, I do believe I would carry someone else’s child to term if I was in the situation I mentioned above.  I don’t think I could ever abort a baby and I know what it feels like to lose one.  I don’t think I could but no one really knows until they face a situation head on.

You never know what you are capable of handling or doing until you are faced with it, even if it is your worst nightmare.

Going Public

Recently, some people have been (gently) pushing me to make my blog public. The thought of this terrifies me. I love reading other people's blogs and am amazed at their openness and honesty. I've not really changed my opinion of these people, but I certainly see them clearer. Publicly owning your thoughts makes you vulnerable and being vulnerable isn't something I embrace. Actually, it scares the shit out of me.

I'd love to have thousands of followers and still keep my anonymity. I mean, I love my 3 followers, but more the merrier, right?! I know some will appreciate my writing and some won’t. That's life. Let's face it, in real life I'm not everyone's cup of tea. It certainly won’t be any different in blog world. So what to do? Face my fear? Wait until I'm 100% ready? As if, that'll ever happen.

I've read over my previous posts and try to think about all my friends, acquaintances, etc reading them. My family would be shocked, by some, and some friends would judge. Of course, part of what I've been working on is not caring what other's think and just embracing me in all my uniqueness. I'm guessing that the friends that judge aren't really close friends otherwise, they'd already know everything.

It's interesting that every time I think of being judged, two people in particular stand out. Both are the sweetest, most supportive people to your face but the moment you turn around, they've got a comment or some sort of negative insert. No one is safe from their lashing. It makes me wonder how people can act that way. I don't understand it, maybe never will. I'm typically the type that will tell you what I think to your face or just keep my mouth shut. I don't like pretending. This is probably the reason I am so polarizing. People, love me or hate me, it seems. But people flock to the two women I mentioned. I mean flock! I'm not sure if it's because they are so out going, seem so supportive, or what the reason. I'm baffled.

People do not flock to me. Perhaps, my insecurities cause me to come across as snobbish or unfriendly. Perhaps, it's all me and not others. Maybe I'm putting out to the universe what I feel inside and therefore cause that reaction. I'd love to be one of those people that others flock to but not sure how to become that. I know when I have enough alcohol I feel that way. Perhaps it's because I let down my walls and just have fun without worry of judgment.

Oh what to do... perhaps I'll be struck with a bolt of courage and will share this publicly. Perhaps I'll realize to really be me; I have to do bulldoze this wall. Perhaps I'll get drunk and share it with the world. Perhaps I'll just slam the door closed. For now, I will leave the internal debate for another day and will go reheat my tea.