1/4/16—Letting Go and Mattering

Usually about this time of year, you see a lot of debate. People don't like to do resolutions. Or they don't see the point of intentions or choosing a theme. But it works for me. And here are a few reasons why. 

First, I don't choose anything I'm not fully on board with. So while many choose happiness or joy as their word, I won't choose that. It's not that I don't want happiness. It's not that I won't experience joy in 2016. It's that I have other things to work on.  

But, and here's a very important consideration, if I were to choose happiness, I wouldn't expect happiness to just happen to me. I would keep happiness in my mind as often as possible and remind myself that happiness is a choice. And I would choose happiness over whatever else it is that I was feeling at the time. I would seek new things that make me happy. I would look for ways I sabotage happiness in my life. I would live my life in such a way that I'm prone to more happiness. I would WORK at happiness...maybe not 24/7, but, in general, I would be more aware of my state of being and how to change it to something more gleeful. 

I think a lot of the reason why people give up on choosing a word or resolution is either a) they choose an aspirational state they're not prepared for and b) hope that state happens to them without having to put forth effort. And sometimes, they c) just choose to work on too much. I know I've done that in the past...made a list of 10 things I wanted in the new year, then promptly forgot them all and gave up. 

So each year I choose one word and one phrase. The word is the thing I'm going to work on in the coming year and the phrase (as it seems to be turning out) is the thing I started in the past year and want to continue in the coming year. It's less of a focus than the word because it already has momentum behind it, though it always seems to support the word. The word, though, will become my mantra and I will create a habit of interrupting my thoughts with it as often as possible.  

Last year's word was "healing". And the phrase was "hold yourself to a higher standard." The four major happenings in my life of 2015 had both intertwined. There was a family conflict that helped me heal some things within and the way I dealt with it held myself to a higher standard. All the Florida trips—a total of four—I took in 2015 helped me heal fears around leaving my dogs and fears of traveling and also helped me hold myself to a higher standard. The "one better decision" practice I incorporated into my life also hit on both areas. And then, of course, the biggest healing of all, my hospital visit, helped uncover an issue I'd been suffering with for years and is opening new paths upon which I can hold myself to a higher standard in my life. 

Now it's time for this year's word. It's "letting go". Yes, that's two words, but it's the only "word" that hit on everything I want to focus on. It's the same as surrender...surrendering to the universe's plan and to whatever is washing over me at the time. But surrender doesn't quite hit on releasing, which might be releasing habits or dreams or attitudes that limit me. And releasing isn't quite the same as abandonment, which might mean walking away from unhealthy situations. And abandonment says little about shedding weight or fears or whatever. Only "letting go" can incorporate all of that. So for all the anal people out there who think I'm cheating, bite me. Which leads to my phrase for the year...

I matter. I matter, so I could care less what you think about my word...haha. What I want for myself matters. What I do and say matters. This is a phrase that already has momentum behind it in my life. All the healing work I did last year happened because I matter. I had been treated like I didn't matter by my doctor, so I got a new one. I made changes in my personal life to eliminate certain elements of toxicity because I matter. I allowed myself to "indulge my illness" and rest, because I matter. And moving forward, I intend to consult myself first and consider my wants, rather than just accepting something because others want it that way. I'm not saying I won't compromise. Of course I'll compromise and consider all points. But I won't be such a pushover anymore. 

"I matter" goes beyond that, though. It also speaks to how I present myself to the world and what I expect in return from the world. From the way I dress to the way I respond to the actions of others to the way I "show up" socially, I need to show I matter more. And not just for the sake of others so they're "on notice that Tierney matters and won't be a pushover", but also for my own sake because, between clients and dogs and attending to the needs of life, I tend to forget I matter sometimes. I also forget that what I do and say matters to others. 

I'm sure it sounds funny to people who are married and have children, but single people tend to put themselves last, too. I put my own self care to the side for all the million responsibilities of daily life. And, having been sick and unable to accomplish everything, I accomplished what HAD to be accomplished, which was basically my job and caring for the dogs. There was often no energy left for anyone or anything else. So I need to remind myself that I matter, too. This phrase, by the way, was inspired by Iyanla Van Sant. 

So I hereby welcome in my year of letting go, with some "I matter" on the side. There will be times I forget both things. There will be times I remember, but nonetheless hold on or act like I don't matter. But here's to all the times that letting go and mattering move me forward in life. With all I've been through physically, mentally and emotionally the last few years, I have a lot to let go of and a big deficit of "I matter" to replenish. And, I believe pursuing all that will lead me to joy and happiness. 

So this is why I do this every year—not to lure magic into my life, though that will undoubtedly happen—but to focus me in a single direction with one thing to work on and one thing to keep in mind as I do so. With that, I can create my own magic and grow in the ways I need to in order to become happy and whole. 

12/28/15—Blooming in Winter

Tonight I was going to write my annual summary and choose my word and/or inspiration for the coming year. I was going to brag about how significant last year's word, "healing", was and my inspiration to "hold myself to a higher standard." Then I was going to declare my intentions for 2016, along with some advice on how to do this for yourself. But this isn't that post. So you'll have to wait. Or read last year's post. 

Instead, I'll tell you about today, a perfect spring day in the middle of winter. We have had a lot of spring days. I think it's only been what might be called "cold" once or twice this December. Which is what caused this beautiful rose to bloom in my front yard on Christmas Day. Crap is blooming everywhere right now. While we've had a lot of springlike days, none have qualified as perfect days like today, though. 70 degrees, livable humidity and a breeze strong enough to set all the wind chimes singing.

It's one of those rare days I regretted sleeping in. So I opened all the windows and spent the entire day outside. I thought since it was a spring day, I'd do a spring activity. So I weeded and cleaned up all my containers on my deck. There are maybe 35-40 containers, so it takes some time. It seemed to go faster than usual and I enjoyed it thoroughly. I'm always so far behind on stuff around the house that it felt great to get ahead on something. Even at my sickest, this is something I made sure to do every year.

Anyway, there was something about the breeze that evoked something in me. You know what I mean? The way the breeze felt as it touched my skin...the temperature, the humidity, the strength of the breeze...brought up a distant memory. The only thing is, I can usually put my finger on the memory at some point, but it eluded me this time. I sat out there with my hand in the dirt feeling this breeze and having this memory evoked, but I never figured it out. 

So I wondered if a breeze can evoke a memory from a past life or a parallel life. And I liked the thought of that. It felt like another, possibly better version of me. Or maybe I was remembering the memory I was creating...sort of like deja vu. All I know is that I was very peaceful and content. And I felt "normal" for the first time in a long time. Maybe today brought me back to where I left off before I spent years weighed down by sickness. Maybe I got through all the containers in just one day because it wasn't a chore for the first time in years. Maybe that breeze was a promise of more "perfect days" to come.

As I look around this year, I see roses, irises and azaleas blooming out of season. I see hardy annuals thriving in the middle of winter. I see my perennials poking their heads out early. Some may not bounce back from this after the freeze comes. And it will come, though maybe not as bad as usual. But that rose bush and my azaleas will do just fine. And today I got some positive signs that, even though I'm also blooming in winter, I'll do just fine, too. 

12/21/15—Decorating the Tree

Growing up, we always had a big, live Christmas tree. In fact, for a good part of my childhood we had more than one tree. There would be some sort of formal themed tree. It might have white lights and all gold ornaments or something like that...something very tasteful. And then there would be the family tree with the colored lights, tacky tinsel and all the mis-matching ornaments, each of which carried some sort of story. One of my sisters is so into trees that she does five every year. So I guess it's a thing in our family.

I only do one tree. And for the past four or five years, I didn't do any trees at all, primarily because it's hard for one person to set up a 6'-7' live tree all by themselves. And since I felt like crap most of those years, the tree never got done. It has now been almost a month since I started feeling better, so I put up a tree. I decided to be nice to myself and just get a cheap artificial tree that doesn't shed needles or need water or anything. As a result, for the first time ever, I had a tree set up in the first week of December.

I have a lot of ornaments. More than you can tastefully fit on a big, fat, live tree and way more than you can tastefully fit on a $30 pre-lit artificial tree from Target. My ornaments are more or less organized across a handful of boxes. There are three boxes with ornaments deemed "desirable" and a box or two of ornaments that are on the B Team.

In the B Team box you might find ornaments I once thought were nice, but now think are ugly. There might be a couple that are a little broken. And there are a few I don't even much like to look at. But I don't throw any of them away. They are pieces of my autobiography.

One of the best parts of having a tree, in my opinion, is putting the ornaments on. Because each has a story. My mother used to sit there as her six little slaves would unpack ornaments for the family tree and show them to her, one-by-one, so she could point to where we were supposed to put it on the tree...haha. And she would provide commentary like, "oh, that's the one you made me in second grade. Put it over there." Or "that was the one Winnie sent us." Each ornament held a piece of our family autobiography and its position on the tree indicated just how big a piece it held.

There have been years that I've purposely put ornaments on my tree that have sad memories attached to them. Maybe they were from friends and the friendship ended badly or something. But I would put them up because they were part of my autobiography—from a time and experience long passed, but still part of my makeup. Every year is a different combination of memories based on my whims when setting up the tree. And, of course, new ornaments enter the rotation yearly.

But, like I said, the decoration had kind of stalled for a few years. And I could see how much I had changed because I decided not to torture myself with any ornaments that held bad memories. Many of those ornaments are very pretty and were once favorites. They have sentimental value, but nonetheless make me think negative thoughts. 

Because of the circumstances around my father's death, very little as far as old family ornaments still exist. One small tin of my father's childhood ornaments are all that are left and one of my brothers has those. I had them for safe keeping many years back and was too afraid to ever hang them because they're glass and, with dogs in the house, you have to be careful how you hang your ornaments. 

So my personal "tree autobiography" starts with my adulthood. Every year I hang at least one of the ornaments from my first adult tree. They are all crappy little ornaments—crappy because I couldn't afford to buy nice ones and little because, back then, I always got a tabletop sized tree. Those ornaments remind me how far I've come, but they also remind that having more money now isn't making me happier. Then there are some that were gifts or remind me of others. So my sisters and a few old friends are represented on my tree and I think of them when I hang "their" ornaments. Then there's this one ornament I thought was so beautiful that I went to four different department store locations to track it down. That one reminds me of when I had the energy to actually go to malls during the Christmas season. 

And while each ornament tells a story or marks some part of my life, the whole says something about me, too. Most are handmade and unique—no plain balls on my tree. So I clearly value handcrafts and art. Some ornaments are elegant, some are bordering on tacky (a mix of the two trees we had as kids and a mix of different sides of my personality.) And many of them are fragile and require extra care when hung, lest they be knocked off by chaotic animals. Just like me. :D

When you think about it, our "family" trees are a deeply personal item. And if you're like me, you probably see the tree in someone's home and just register the basics—the size of the tree, live or fake, the overall look of the decorations, the overall impression/style/taste—then you move on. We don't tend to stand at another person's tree and wonder about the stories behind any of the ornaments. Maybe if it's a really unique one, but not usually. And it's likely the stories are a snooze-fest for anyone but family anyway. 

And yet, when you stand before someone else's tree, you're nonetheless standing before these intimate artifacts from their lives...things with the power to evoke things long forgotten. "This was from our first Christmas together" and "I got that the year I moved here from Denver" may be what you say to someone who inquires, but what it evokes within you when you say it is often a story kept to yourself. So many clues to your life hang on those branches, right out in the open for everyone to see. 

Anyway, it had been years since I'd taken that stroll through my life and I'm so glad I put up a tree this year. I also bought a number of new ornaments that will one day evoke memories of this year and this stage of my life. This year's tree was a symbol of new hope for me and when I pull out the vintage ceramic bird light covers I found on eBay or the carved red cardinal, I'll remember this feeling. What does your tree this year say about you?

12/14/15—Choosing Love

When I was a little girl, I had a secret fantasy. While other girls dreamed of princes and weddings and happily ever after, I dreamed about being so rich that I could have a room with nothing but stacks of fine china and walls to throw it against. 

So many things made me angry. We moved every two years. I was bullied for being overweight. I had a big family, but often felt alone. I had a lot of responsibilities at a young age. My mother and I would lock horns a lot. I often felt misunderstood at home and in school. In high school, my mother became terminally ill. Personal accomplishments were expected, so they weren't celebrated. And I never felt I had a voice in any part of my life. I learned not to complain about anything. 

So there was nowhere for all that anger to go. There were times as a child it would overwhelm me and I would have "breakdowns" that nobody ever knew about. I had plenty of alone time as a child to come unglued with nobody noticing. It scared me, but telling anyone would be fruitless. I was already known for being dramatic and, like I said, we really weren't allowed to complain about anything. My mother was either working and couldn't deal with it, being an Air Force "first lady" and couldn't deal with or dying of cancer and couldn't deal with it. It was never a good time to have a problem. 

As I got older, a lot of things changed. First, I had a lot more control over my life and how many times I moved and how much my life would be disrupted. I got called names a lot less. I had a measure of professional success and felt noticed and appreciated. And, by the time I was 25, both of my parents were dead, so I created my own support network that would give me the affirmation or whatever it was that I needed. But more importantly, I found something bigger than myself to believe in and have faith in. 

At one point I realized that a lot of my anger came from things I had zero control over. And that anger was fueled by the fear of all the things that would be out of my control due to all the stuff I had no control over. And that made me feel very vulnerable. And, feeling alone as I did back then, I couldn't afford to be vulnerable. 

I reckon everyone reading this recognizes that last paragraph in some form or another. 

As we move along our spiritual path, we learn that life will always throw us stuff we have no control over. We learn that there is no situation where we don't have a choice, even though our options may not be options we can abide. And we learn to cultivate a practice of letting go and having faith. We learn how to transcend much of our anger and fear. Which doesn't mean it's ever fully gone. I always make monks an exception...haha...people who don't have to live in reality and can devote 24/7 to their faith and trust. But for most of us, fear and anger are things that are going to suck us in from time to time. 

I'm mentioning this because I'm seeing a lot of fear and anger these days. Ban Muslims! No refugees! Don't take my guns! You're threatening my rights! You're threatening my way of living! What they really mean is "I'm used to things the way they are—even though I'll concede it's not really working this way—and I am afraid of how things might change!" But they'll never say that because they're too busy being angry to see it. They're too afraid of change to even consider compromise. They feel vulnerable and don't feel like they can afford to be vulnerable. 

In a previous blog, I wrote about how I believe our behaviors come from one of two places—love or fear. There is value in both. But I find my life is lot happier if I make the lion's share of my moves from a place of love. And love includes trusting in the universe. Embracing change. Letting go and letting God. And trusting that our prayers are being answered, even if it doesn't look that way. There's a difference between "letting go and letting God" and just laying down and letting the world walk all over you. But fearful people don't know that, no matter how much they say they have faith, because they're not Actually letting go. They're not actually trusting. Instead, they're holding on to fear. 

Lately I've been feeling a lot of anger and, yes, fear over the way people have been talking in our country. I feel like I'm being pulled down into that vortex that so many in this country choose as their life. And I know this is about fear, because I'm angry. That's my clue. And I know I feel out of control, because what if this wonderful country I live in becomes overcome by fear and hate? There's nothing I can do to stop it. Because fearful people can't be reasoned with and they bring such darkness and alarm to any hint of change, that we can't ever seem to try anything that could make us happier. 

You wouldn't know it by observing us, but we're #15 in the world in terms of happiness, which is measured by things like economy, life expectancy, freedoms, etc. Number 15 is pretty good. It puts us in about the top 5% of the countries and regions covered by the poll. But I think if you measured it in terms of a love/fear quotient, we'd land much lower. 

And the thing is, we have so little to be afraid about. The last war that took place on our soil was 150 years ago and we fought ourselves. We've never been invaded by anyone. We've always been the invader. Historically, we've known no famine. Our economy is on the uptick. There's very little foreign terrorism or violence in our country—almost all of it is Americans killing Americans. At various times in history we were warned about what the Italians and Polish and Germans and Asians and Mexicans would do to our country if we let them in, and nothing ever happened. And yet so many in this country are terrified. In fact, we act like such assholes because of it that it's a wonder Canada and Mexico haven't joined forces to smack us down. We haven't gotten nearly our share of things to legitimately be afraid of based on the way we've treated others in this world. We are fortunate beyond our means. 

I know what I need to do to get myself back on track. I need to disconnect from the sources of fear and move back towards sources of love. And if you're frustrated and pissed off, maybe you could do the same. It begins by asking yourself simple questions, like am I making this decision out of fear or love? Am I entering into this conversation out of fear or love? (hint: most debates come from fear) Am I doing what I'm doing out of fear or love? The more we move toward love...toward God or Jesus or the universe...the more blessed we become. I know this from personal experience. Living from a place of fear isn't freedom. It's not constructive to yourself or those around you. And it's really just barely living. 

This isn't about people who have different opinions than me. It sounds like it to the defensive and fearful...haha...but it's not. We all have opinions and preferences. And we could all make up stories about where ours come from. I could say my obsession with sweets is about love. I love sweets. But if I'm honest with myself and look deeper, there's a lot of fear in my "love" of chocolate, because I usually crave it when I'm angry, stressed, bored or unhappy. So that's all I'll say. Ask yourself whether what you're doing, saying and thinking is coming from love or fear, and put your knee-jerk "I'm perfect and everyone else is imperfect" attitude to the side long enough to let the truth shine through. 

We only get this one chance to live. Let's do what we need to do to live it from a place of love. There is no law that can be made, no president that can be elected, no circumstance that you could come across that could MAKE you live in fear and anger. It's an internal thing that only you have power over. You can choose love or not. You see it all over the globe in places where war, famine and poverty reign and there are still people choosing love. It is your mightiest power. It's your security in times of uncertainty, if you let it be. Know you have the power and choose love. 

12/7/15—Sharing Five Things About Happiness

Odd piece of trivia: people tend to like enumerated lists of things. So if you get an email with a subject line that says "Five Things Weird People Do," you're more likely to open that than an email that just says "Stuff Weird People Do." 

Before you protest and tell me all about how you'll read any email with "stuff" in the subject line, there are, no doubt, exceptions. And you, a board-certified snowflake, may be one of them. But it's just one of those things the advertising industry does research on, then pumps into my head. So I thought I'd share it with you. Because tonight I'm really tired. And instead of writing a brand new post from scratch, I'm going to share a classic one with you—Five Things To Know About Happiness. 

1. Happiness Isn't All It's Cracked Up to Be. You very well may be happy right now and not even know it. It doesn't necessarily come with a balloon and streamers attached. It's not necessarily something you get in exchange for something good you've done. It's merely a feeling of remarkable wellbeing in body, mind, emotion, and/or soul. And by "remarkable", I'm not talking "rare". I'm talking, "hey, I'm remarking that I'm happy!" (Notice the lone exclamation point?) So it's not quite joy or bliss (which *do* come with streamers...AND a few extra exclamation points). Happiness is just a nice smile that comes from within. :) 

2. Happiness is Not a Destination. It's part of the journey. There's never going to come a day when you're "Happy. Period." We all have ups and downs. We may be happy in one area of our lives and less than happy in another. It's not a place to land and plant roots. Nor do you want it to be. Because happiness should never become mundane. If it's how you felt all the time, it wouldn't be such a gift. 

3. Happiness is a Choice. In most moments, you can choose to be happy. You can choose to see your situation as a gift. Sure, if the bad guys are chasing you with guns, it's hard to be happy. Unless you like that sort of thing. But most of us lead pretty tame lives. And we can choose to let some inconsiderate person, for example, ruin our day. Or we can choose to focus on the positives, see how good we've got it and let our bodies and minds flow with gratitude. Now, chemicals in our body can make our moods shift. But even those, we can choose to improve through exercise or pharmaceuticals or whatever. But still, we're all human, so there will be times it won't be a choice. But many times it is. And since I promised you only five things...

3a. Gratitude is a Direct Route to Happiness. Want to be happy? Count your blessings. We are all so incredibly blessed and we don't even realize it half the time because we're looking at all the areas where life has fallen short of our expectations. Well what about the vastly larger number of areas in which it has met and exceeded...or at the very least mirrored the effort we put forth?

4. You Can't Know Another Person's Happiness. So stop looking over the fence and thinking that person is happy! C'mon...think about all the times you walk around with a smile on, even though you're less than happy. Well, newsflash. Everyone else is doing that, too. In fact, some people are significantly better at looking happy than you are. The Dalai Lama is probably the happiest person on earth (that I know of, at least) and even his moods modulate. Besides, he's waited on hand and foot, worshipped far and wide and hugely respected. He was literally born to be a leader and a holy leader. But he was a leader in exile most of his life and his people were oppressed...all this happening to a very compassionate man. You want his problems? I didn't think so. So be careful what you're wishing for. 

5. Happiness Shouldn't Necessarily Be Your Goal. Contentment should. See, the ultimate goal in life is supposed to be balance, right? Well, happiness is weighted to one side of the spectrum. It's not in the center. And the things beyond center are harder to maintain. Not only that, but in order to have balance, things that are weighted to one end eventually have to be mirrored by things weighted at the other end. But contentment is at the center. It's satisfaction. It's upturned lips and a relaxed brow, but not quite a full-on smile. With contentment, there may be things in your life that are less than hunky dory, but you'll take it. Because it's pretty good overall...pretty good for a Wednesday. It's the wellbeing without the exclamation point. And it feels really nice. And, with the right mindset, you can maintain it longer. 

11/3015—Becoming a Badass

What I'm about to say is very important for me to say. But more than that, it's very important for anyone who has a chronic illness or who is suffering from a "mystery illness" that hasn't been diagnosed yet.

For the past three years that I'm aware of, and including incidents that go back maybe seven years or more, I have been living with untreated asthma. There are three components to asthma. One is that your airways swell, making it harder to get oxygen in your body and distributed to muscles, your brain, your heart, your blood—all the places we need oxygen. That's one part of the disease. Another part is that, on top of that, your swollen airways constrict...the muscles tighten, making the airways even smaller. Then you start making phlegm and you cough and wheeze. I never had the coughing and wheezing part, but I had the other two. 

Just one of those two things—swelling or constriction—can make your life miserable. When you have those two things together, you have a full-blown asthma attack. People die from untreated asthma attacks. And when you don't die from it, you're slowly being choked to death. If you can't get enough oxygen into your lungs, every other body function suffers. If there's not enough in your blood, your heart has to work harder to move what you do have around. If your muscles can't get enough, your body is weak and doesn't bounce back very fast. Your metabolism slows. If you can't breathe when you're sleeping, you don't get enough rest, nor can you get quality rest.  And if you don't have it in your brain, you can't think. Simply put, we need oxygen to function. Most people's blood oxygen levels are in the 95%-100% range. We have no idea what mine were since 2013, but in the hospital, under care, recovering and pumped up on steroids, I was lucky to hit 85%.

I'm explaining all of this because everything is different today, a week later. EV. ERY. THING. I mulch mowed my leaves yesterday. Normally, that would be all I could do in a day. I'd collapse and it would take at least 24 hours for me to get up enough energy to, say, rinse the dishes in the sink. That sounds dramatic, but it is absolutely what my experience was for three years. Some days I would be awake only long enough to do work for my clients and I would sleep the rest of the day, because I couldn't get enough sleep. But yesterday, I got tired, yes. But I bounced right back and had energy to cook dinner, build a fire in the fire pit and do some cleaning. Holy crap! I couldn't have accomplished all that in a week some weeks!

Of course I complained to my doctors. My trusted doctor...I held on to him for too long. I would go in and he would tell me that of course I'm exhausted, I'm morbidly obese. And I am. I'd love to pawn that off on some disease, but the truth of the matter is that I have a) unfortunate genes in regard to my metabolism and, here's the real reason, b) an unhealthy attachment to chocolate and sweets. So if it sounds like I'm excusing my weight at any point, I'm not. But I have been working with a nutritionist for years and I changed my diet and couldn't lose a pound. I would exercise more and couldn't lose a pound. I would tell my doctor this and he would say I have to try harder. I'm just not pushing myself enough. He said I was depressed and suggested I might be a hypochondriac. And hey, I get that. That's one way to read to read the situation. But that wasn't the case. So I would try harder and still not get results. 

What I didn't know then that I know now is that I would go into a full-blown asthma attack almost every day trying to exercise for my doctor...trying to do the right thing...the thing my doctor told me...the very thing that, but for the grace of god, could have killed me. There wasn't a day in three years that breathing wasn't hard for me. There wasn't a week that would go by without full-blown, untreated asthma attacks, each of which, if as bad as what ended me in the hospital, could have killed me. Hindsight is 20/20, but my doctor was giving me deadly advice, because he wasn't willing to look past my weight. And I got a new doctor. 

And here's the deal...any doctor that looks at me is going to see the obvious. I'm nearly 6' tall and over 100 lbs overweight. I'm a huge woman. Any doctor is probably going to rule out asthma, because I never coughed or wheezed once in all those years, despite having smoked for half my life. So I wasn't presenting the way I should. And, to a degree, any doctor is going to question the veracity of my complaints because of my size and that damn needle on the scale that would not move. So I get it. 

But the thing is, my complaints were never different over the years. I can't count how many times I said to doctors "there is something else going on here beyond weight. Something else is wrong." And, oddly, the week before I went into the hospital, my primary care doctor said "let's just try you on albuterol (an asthma inhaler) and see if that works for you when you're having trouble." And one thing led to another and I never got that prescription. My new doctor was looking for answers, but in the nine months she's been my doctor, things were a little better. I wasn't having full-blow attacks very often. I don't know if my body adjusted or maybe my new thyroid medications helped alleviate enough that, while I was still having trouble breathing, I wasn't having attacks day after day.

Anyway, now, with all that background, I can get the point of this post. For years, I was told I was lazy. Not trying hard enough. I was fat shamed. I was called a hypochondriac. I had a doctor throwing antidepressants at me because I would cry about how much I was suffering and how he wasn't listening. Outside of that guy, I know how society in general looks at a woman my size. There is absolutely no one who can look at me and not say "I wonder if her energy issues have anything to do with her size." I get it. I really get it. But add that up and pile it upon someone who has been merely surviving for years, and it takes an emotional toll. 

So I wouldn't complain as much as I wanted to, because the overall consensus was that I was a fat, lazy whiner. And I started asking myself "can I try harder? Have I just become lazy? Is it possible I'm depressed? Is this just normal for people over 50?" And I started doubting that thing inside me that kept saying "something else is wrong here. There's something really wrong." I knew I wasn't able to do the stuff I should be able to do, and I gave in to the belief that I was weak, lazy, a complainer, in denial about my efforts at weight loss. I lost or was losing my ability to believe in myself.

While the spiritual part of me was probably in the best shape of my life, keeping me positive and seeing blessings, my self definition and self esteem was at a low point. As a writer, I've had a successful career, imo. I'm able to be self employed doing something I love. I win awards. And on top of that, I'm a published author, an expert on tarot, a tarot teacher, a blogger. I'm not lazy and I'm not a loser. In fact, my ambitions reach beyond what I have already accomplished in my life. I believe I can do big things. 

But I was beginning to believe that those ambitions were beyond me. I was beginning to believe I'd lost my chance to accomplish what I came here to accomplish in this lifetime. This goes beyond depression. Maybe I was depressed, I don't know. But this went to the very core of my self beliefs and my mission here on earth. I can't tell you how upsetting, demoralizing and sad it is face having to put your dreams for yourself to the side, possibly for the rest of your life. It attacked everything I believed in about myself and how the universe moves through people. It was more devastating than the disease itself. 

Now, in the wake of last week's hospitalization and FINALLY being treated for this disease, everything I thought about myself and worried about myself is out the door. I'm not a fat, lazy, complainer. (Well, I am overweight, but I wasn't sick because I was fat. You don't get asthma from being fat.) What I am, instead, is a fucking badass. 

Really. You put a 100lb suit on any human and take away their ability to breathe for years and I'd wager few would come out of this as well as I have. There is no amount of words that can express the constant pain, exhaustion and fear I've been managing, all while serving my clients, writing my blogs, staying positive, maintaining relationships and keeping things like mowing and dog care and the everyday chores of life done. In fact, I didn't even know until I felt the absence of it, but I've been in a state of low level panic/fear for years..."what if I have an attack? Will I be able to make from the car to the store? WTF is WRONG WITH ME???" I get why I doubted myself. I think anyone would. But all along, I've been a fucking badass.

I have had a lifelong flirtation with allowing others to define my reality. I think it's one of those things that comes from being human. Right now I know someone out there is beginning to doubt themselves and starting to believe the things someone else is saying. Maybe it has nothing to do with illness. Maybe you have an abusive friend or partner. Maybe you've just been rejected for a job. Maybe you've bought into society's stereotype of a fat person. Or a black person. Or a disabled person. 

Whatever it is that has you doubting yourself, hang on. Someone or something is counting on your total submission in order to control you. Don't let it win. Keep believing in yourself. Keep trusting what you know is true. You are not alone. Either a solution is at hand or the problem that leads to the solution is forming. Don't give up. Take care of yourself. Keep yourself safe. And don't stop believing in yourself. A week ago I was in an Emergency Room situation. Now I'm on top of the world. Things can change quickly and suddenly for the better if you're not able to change things for yourself. Your time is coming. 

During my story, I began to believe I was weak, lazy, depressed and unworthy. But now that this particular volume of my life appears to have come to a conclusion, I can see context and have perspective. And it turns out that I was fucking awesome and amazing through every single chapter. I just couldn't see it. I couldn't see all I was doing. I was in survival mode and my perspective was skewed. I think anyone would have been challenged by this. And, realizing that, I can't go back to the insecure, unsure person I was before I got sick. I now know what I'm truly capable of. And that is the gift of these crises in our lives. 

We can become trapped by our stories, and many people choose that through victimhood or giving up on ourselves or just not letting go and moving on. Or we can mine our stories for their gold and use them as a launchpad for the best ever version of ourselves. It's purely our choice. So the good news is, if you're currently in crisis, you will have an opportunity to rise above. The bad news is that you have to be willing to choose yourself first—before choosing your story, before choosing another person, before letting others define you—until. I now know how hard that can be, especially when you stop believing "until" will ever come. In retrospect, I can't believe I survived the past few years in such a way that, a week later, I can be ready to move forward and not look back. But I know if I could hold on long enough to get here, you can too. 

11/24/15—Getting What I Asked For

Last Sunday I wrote that I needed some new inspiration to make some of the changes I need to make in my life. On Monday, I got my fresh inspiration. It was a "be careful what you ask for" moment, as I had a severe attack of being unable to breathe. I tried to "just get better" until Thursday, when it became clear I had to see a doctor. I then ended up in an ER and spent the next three nights in the hospital.

This all goes back to my year and a half issue with breathlessness, weakness and exhaustion. I've written about all that before, when I ended up having to get a new doctor because my one at the time seemed insufficently concerned about my situation. I never got an answer to that problem, but it abated and, pretty much all of 2015, I've been healthy. Or healthier in that regard. 

But last Monday I had my most severe attack yet. And it came with body aches and a fever. I thought of it simply as a reprisal of the situation my doctor wasn't concerned about, so I didn't run to the doctor. And, sure enough, it started getting better. Then, on a whim, I googled "breathlessness and fever" and saw, over and over again, "get to a doctor." So on Thursday I did. And I was admitted into the hospital through Sunday, taking tests, getting poked and the like. 

My diagnosis is asthma, Not the heart attack, clogged arteries, lung cancer and other deadly diseases I'd feared. Asthma may not be the end diagnosis, but I'm going to live with it and an inhaler for a few months and, if it's cured, it's cured. But the important thing is that I finally got doctors who listened and so I finally found proof through a CAT scan that there really is something wrong. And so now I can find answers. 

A side blessing is that I also know for sure that the problem is not my heart, nor is it anything else more serious in the cardio and pulmonary worlds. I have a couple of smaller problems with my heart, but nothing that needs treatment...just yearly tests to make sure they're not getting worse. So all of that is a relief and a gift for someone who has spent the last few years fearing heart attack on a daily basis because of my "mystery disease" with symptoms that could indicate anything from depression to heart failure. 

But going back to the point of the post, I will say that the care of my body and home have been slowly going downhill for many years. A recent "theme" for me has been the realization that I've beccome comfortably numb, like the Pink Floyd song. I'm numb to how far the problem has gone and now I have a big hole to climb out of. Which is why I need inspiration to change. And this is the blessing of landing in the hospital. 

As I laid in my bed Monday night, getting out of breath every time I tried to turn over as if I had just run a mile, I was terrified I was going to die. Today I feel better than I have in maybe a decade. And not just physically, either. For at least ten years, I've thought the fog in my head was menopause, depression...whatever. 

Turns out, that's what happens when you can't get oxygen into brain cells, just like the physical weakness is what happens when muscles and organs are getting oxygen in the 85% range, vs. the 100% range most humans get. It's very emotional to realize really how MUCH I've been suffering for so long and I was just accepting it as age or menopause or obesity or whatever because the people I relied upon to know that part of my life, my doctors, weren't too terribly concerned. To be fair, most people with asthma wheeze and cough from time to time and I never have, so that's why it eluded diagnosis before. 

So anyway, what this is all leading up to is that, in the hospital, I went "code gray"—a patient who has disappeared and can't be found. I was gone for 2.5 hours and everyone was looking for me. I, of course, knew I was being irresponsible. I was on a wireless heart monitor and I figured I had gone out of range. I knew I was missing my regular pokes and blood checks and whatnot. But the universe was infusing me with the inspiration I had asked for, and I had to drink it in. 

See, I have had a long love affair with walking. I lost 100lbs back when I was 30 through that love affair and kept that weight off for nearly a decade through that same affair. I would find long hikes in guide books and do them all. I would challenge myself on difficult mountain trails. I loved pushing myself to walk faster and farther. I powerwalked five miles a day in less than an hour...every day for 8 or 9 years. That's walking an 11-minute mile, which is pretty impressive. I was THAT girl. 

But, and this is all on me, my life changed and I wasn't so regular with my walks. I gained weight. And that was reflected in the clutter of my house. And then I started having trouble walking, which I now know is probably the asthma. Then it got worse. On a walk, one house length would look and feel like a mile. I'd only go out with my dogs on occasion and then rest each time they wanted to sniff. It was the only way I could get through a walk...resting every half block or  every few house lengths. I dreaded, hated, avoided walking. And that was emotionally painful for me. It was also physically painful as it would take all my energy for the day. My love was becoming a chore to avoid. My head was fogged. And all this affected my mental state and the state of my home. This was the situation I said I needed to change last week. 

So, pumped up on steroids, I was feeling physically better than I had in years—better than even before I started noticing an issue. And I wanted to go out for a walk. And I did. I walked around the entire hospital without needing to stop to rest. I went out of range of my heart monitor and I knew I probably had. But I didn't care. My precious love had returned to me and nothing could tear me away from being with it and being outdoors. I wandered back and forth on the hospital property, meditating, enjoying the fall foliage and wandering about, something I had been robbed of for so many years. And I finally rested in the parking lot that held the best view of the sunset. I drank it all in. I knew I needed to return, but I couldn't tear myself away. And then I was found by security and carted back to my room...haha. 

But what I found as a "Code Gray" patient was hope. A lost love. And, most importantly, inspiration. My heart had already been declared "healthy-ish". I felt like I had tons of energy. I knew I wasn't in danger, but of course my team didn't. They didn't know where I was or what I was doing. Also, it was cold outside and they were worried about that. But what I was finding in that walk was something far more important to my health than being upstairs, warm (I wasn't cold anyway) and getting poked and prodded. 

Of course being poked and prodded was what got me to this day. It's important. But in that moment I needed to drink in the inspiration that could carry me forward to the rest of my life. The inspiration I had asked for. The inspiration that could keep the small issues found in my heart from getting larger. The inspiration that could propel me to weight loss, both in my body and home. And it needed its due. It was too important to rush away from so that people wouldn't be mad at me or worried about me. It was the answer to a prayer I'd been having for years. It was my spiritual charge. It was a prescription given to me by a higher healer. 

Normally I'm all about following rules, being the "good girl" and doing what I'm told. I always end up feeling too guilty to go rogue in "official" situations like this. But a larger authority was moving through my life. In those couple of hours, I gave my will over to something greater. It was an out-of-body experience during which time I was no longer tethered to this form that had been broken for so long.

I've been home a day now and I can tell the air in my house is not healthy. I have three dogs, an XL order of dust and a lot of clutter that is spiritually choking me. I've known that for a while. But up until today, I didn't have the mental clarity or readiness to address it. I've been "comfortably numb" for years now. And I'm hoping this doesn't wear off before I get around to addressing it. When you've been sick as long as I have, it's hard to trust that you're actually well. I've had so many "false starts" on this journey where my health cleared for a day or two and then I was right back where I started. But now I have healthcare professionals who can't pass it off on my weight or age or female status anymore. If I were good enough to be my own doctor, I'd be a doctor. But I'm not. So I need that support. 

It's interesting. Knowing myself, I would have normally been restless, worried about my dogs, annoyed at losing my freedoms—a whole list of embittered responses to ending up in the hospital and losing so many days. But that never happened once. Because I saw it for what it was. It was the best thing that had happened to me in years. It was blessing directly from God and in quick response to a prayer. I've written here before that the answers don't always look like you'd expect them to. I asked for inspiration and ended up in an ER. But by staying open to the way grace is moving through my life, I'm seeing the breadth of beauty and eloquence of the reply. The universe's answer to your prayers could be moving through your life right now, similarly disguised. How will you turn to greet it?