My POTS Story

An alternative title for this post could be "How a Parking Lot and Some Goats Led Me to a POTS Diagnosis."

For over a year-and-a-half, I had been dealing with a variety of vague and sometimes debilitating symptoms that I wrote off as fatigue, side effects from medications, or incorrect dosing of my thyroid medication.  During June and July of this year, I underwent a variety of tests that led to a definitive diagnosis of POTS: Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome.  My symptoms seemed to have awakened one day and progressively gotten worse with time.  When I reflect back on this year and last, I can recall particular days where my illness was becoming more and more evident.  I am thankful that a diagnosis came quickly.  And I am thankful for my parking lot at work and some goats at a local barn for leading me in the direction of a fairly fast diagnosis.

My first memories of POTS symptoms started early last year.  In 2016, I had decided to begin taking antidepressants for episodic hormone-related depression.  I tried a handful of medications at the end of that year, and finally began the medication I am currently taking at the beginning of 2017.  With that new medication came some nausea and appetite loss.  Some mornings I would feel sick to my stomach like I was going to vomit, and there were days I actually did vomit.  Around this same time, I noticed that I was experiencing increasing pain in my hands and wrists, particularly with gripping or over-use.  I found that if I minimized time on my iPhone, it seemed to reduce the pain.

Moving towards March, I began to experience debilitating fatigue.  I have to get iron infusions periodically because I am chronically anemic and my body doesn't absorb oral iron.  I thought that perhaps my iron levels were running low again.  What I came to find out is that my body had decided to suddenly stop processing my thyroid medication--which is extremely rare and had only ever happened in one other of my endocrinologist's patients.  For a person without a thyroid, hormone replacement medication is necessary in order to live.  My blood labs reflected a total lack of thyroid functioning in my body, which explained the debilitating fatigue.  Around this same time, my morning vomiting became worse, to the point that I was in my doctor's office one morning for an appointment and they had to give me a B6 injection because I couldn't stop throwing up.

Looking back, I think that March of 2017 is probably when my autonomic nervous system broke--the beginning of my POTS.  As the year went on, I continued to face nausea and vomiting, as well as the migraines that had become the norm over the past year or so.  I only needed to use five sick days during 2017, but I did need to go to work late or leave early at times due to my symptoms.  Towards the end of the year around November, I found that it had become increasingly difficult for me to wake up in the morning.  By that time, my iron and thyroid levels were in appropriate ranges, but I found that I would be running late to work every day.  Because I already started work later that the majority of campus staff, I had to park in a lot that was about a half-mile from my department.  In the morning, I would rush to my building and arrive to my office out of breath, sweating profusely, dizzy, nauseous, and feeling like I was going to cry.  I also began to notice how difficult it was for me to walk up the stairs in the building to my office, as I experienced heavy legs and a racing heart.  I blamed anxiety and depression.

Because of my challenges arriving to work on time and needing to park so far away from my department, I decided to pursue disability-related accommodations through our HR department.  I was approved for an even later start time so that I could walk to my building without having to rush, and also an extended lunch break so that I would have enough time to walk to my car, go home for lunch, return to campus after lunch, and walk back to my building.  The walking felt extremely challenging to me, but I didn't entirely know why.  I was a mostly healthy 31-year-old woman that should be able to walk the equivalent of two laps around a track, but why did walking make me feel so ill?

The accommodations coordinator with HR encouraged me to explore a disability parking placard with a physician.  I contacted my endocrinologist and was told that they have an office policy against approving disability placards.  I avoided talking about my need with my psychiatrist because I was having a hard time finding a reason why I needed assistance with walking.  My pain and exhaustion and weakness felt so real, yet there wasn't a clear explanation for my symptoms.  They seemed to be getting worse.  In fact, I remember being on the verge of tears on Christmas morning in 2017 while my family was opening presents because I felt so unwell.

Early in 2018 marks another moment in time that I can now look back on and recognize the increasing severity of my condition.  In early January, I felt like I had come down with the flu.  I felt more run-down than I ever have in my life, and that is a significant statement for someone with multiple chronic conditions that cause debilitating fatigue.  My glands felt swollen, I felt weak, my body hurt, my cognition suffered, I struggled to participate in work meetings.  The thing was, I was still able to go to work and appear fully functional, but internally I felt like I was slowly dying.  My endocrinologist suggested I might have the flu without a fever.

My symptoms started to resolve a bit the following month, and I discovered that I had been getting cross-contaminated with gluten and possibly dairy from a local pizza place.  I assumed that the symptoms I experienced for all of January were the result of my autoimmune response to gluten and dairy, and I thought that avoiding eating out would help my symptoms to resolve.  From March through April, I used three sick days at work, but in May is when my body finally said, "Enough."

I was at work on a Wednesday, three days before my birthday, and beginning to feel like I had during January.  I felt dizzy, feverish, sore, and unable to concentrate at work.  I called my fiancé in tears because I wasn't sure I was going to be able to drive myself home.  I stayed on the phone with him until I did get home, and he rushed over to pick me up to take me to urgent care.  The doctor I met with at urgent care tested me for strep and mono, but both came back negative.  She told me that I likely had some kind of virus and that I should stay home from work until Monday.  I e-mailed my supervisor and explained that I would need to take some time off, and that I wanted to discuss modifying my student caseload because I thought work-related stress might be negatively affecting my health.

I slept for the better part of the next two days, and on Saturday, my birthday, my fiancé and I went to a local farm so that I could feed goats.  I still felt fatigued, but improving, and knew I could handle a brief excursion.  However, what I didn't anticipate was that I wouldn't be able to move my dominant wrist by the end of the afternoon.  We had gotten groceries the previous day from Costco, so I thought perhaps I had injured myself while lifting something.  However, in the days that followed my pain continued to get worse rather than better.  I began to experience numbness and tingling from my hands up to my shoulders, and there were days at work that I couldn't do anything with my hands during my last two hours in the office because I was in excruciating pain.

At this point, I had continued to put off pursuing a disability parking placard because I couldn't mentally justify my need for it, even though walking some distances had become a challenge.  I also noticed increasing pain in my legs in the evenings after a walking-heavy day.  It felt like my ankles, knees, and quads were on fire.  I would cry after work when I got home because the pain was so unbearable.  So, between my leg pain and hand pain, I finally sought to find a primary care doctor in town.  At my first appointment with the new doctor, I broke down into tears describing to her how much pain I was in from walking and how ill I felt when I arrived to my office after the half-mile trek.  Without my asking, she immediately said she would approve me for a disability parking permit.

In the following weeks, I was given an ultrasound of the veins in my legs and arms and referrals to an orthopedic surgeon and a neurologist.  The orthopedic surgeon ordered an x-ray of my hands, which showed no osteoarthritis or evidence of anything abnormal.  The neurologist performed a nerve conduction test to check for carpal tunnel, but my nerves were functioning normally.  I described my symptoms to the neurologist's physician's assistant, and when she and I and the neurologist were meeting to discuss a course of action, the physician's assistant asked me to stand up and then attached the blood pressure cuff to my arm.  She shot the doctor a knowing look and then said to me, "You have POTS."  Apparently, when I had first come into their office, my blood pressure and heart rate were in perfectly normal ranges.  As soon as I stood up, my blood pressure remained about the same but my heart rate shot up 37 beats per minute.  The neurologist said they would continue with standard POTS testing just to be certain, but that it meant at some point my autonomic nervous system broke and that there would not be a way to fix it.  He also said he suspected fibromyalgia and chronic fatigue syndrome/myalgic encephalomyelitis (CFS/ME), but that further testing would be needed.  I was referred to a cardiologist and pulmonologist and ordered a variety of blood labs and an MRI of my cervical spine.

Testing with the cardiologist included an EKG, echocardiogram (heart ultrasound), Holter monitor, and tilt table.  The testing led to a definitive diagnosis of POTS.  The pulmonologist will be performing a sleep study, and he will be exploring sleep apnea, periodic limb movement disorder (PLMD), and chronic fatigue.  The MRI revealed a herniated disc in my cervical spine at the C5/C6 vertebrae, which has likely been the cause of at least some of my upper-body pain.  As for the POTS, that at least in part explains the pain in my lower extremities.  Essentially, my body has challenges with gravity, and so when I move into a sitting or standing position, blood pools in my legs and doesn't reach my brain quickly enough.  In response, my heart rate elevates significantly in order to get the blood moving as quickly as a possible.  When I am doing normal, non-strenuous activities, my heart rate might be the same as it would be for an adult of my same body composition doing vigorous aerobic exercise.  Essentially, my body is in an all-day workout.  At the end of the day, I find that my lower limbs tend to be uncomfortably hot and swollen.

As has been the case for the entirety of 2018, my symptoms seem to be progressively getting worse.  I have had three instances of near-fainting, one of which included a visit to the emergency room for IV fluids.  My body is happiest when it is laying down.  It struggles the most when I am standing for too long, walking for too long, in heat, walking upstairs, rushing, dehydrated, on an empty stomach, or not laying down periodically.  My doctor has asked me to increase my electrolyte and water consumption and wear compression garments.  I will be starting POTS medications in a few weeks.

I wanted to capture the challenges of the past year-and-a-half so I don't forget what my lowest POTS moments have felt like.  I am hopeful that with treatment there are better days to come.  But I also want this to serve as a reminder that it can be dangerous to write off symptoms.  I didn't realize what I was doing to my body until I was given a label.  Blood deprivation of the brain is serious.  I am so grateful that the physician's assistant had the wherewithal to check my standing heart rate.  My constellation of symptoms seems unrelated and random; they could have easily been the result of my pre-existing conditions and side effects from medications.  I feel validated.  My body is sick.  There are treatment options.  There is hope for the future.

My primary care doctor suspects that I may have an underlying connective tissue disorder, so more testing is on the horizon.  We also both suspect I may have mast cell activation disorder (MCAD), which would explain my frequent hives, copious food sensitivities, and general system-wide sensitivity to every environment, which has been getting progressively worse.  There are treatment options to help regulate my autoimmune disease, manage my migraines, and promote hormone balance.  I am moving towards healing.  But, that doesn't diminish the fact that these past many months have been hard and exhausting and at times I didn't think I could push forward.  I know many people wait years for accurate diagnoses.  I know I should count myself lucky to have doctors who believe me and are doing everything they can to help me.  It has taken a certain level of bravery to entrust myself to this process, and there are moments that I wish I could trade in my body for a different one.

But, the reality is that I struggle daily with chronic illness and that makes me who I am.  I do the work that I do with my students because of who I am.  Other people might be diagnosed with these illnesses and then not choose to do this work.  For me, I willingly accept these diagnoses because with them I choose to do the work that I do.  And it makes it okay to face these challenges because they are what allow me to help my students best.  And so I say to all of this, yes.  Yes.  It's okay.  This is okay.  I'm okay.  I'm okay because I can help others because of this.  I'm okay because I can better understand others because of this.  I want to help and understand.  I want to affect positive change for people.  And if that means being on the front lines of the chronic illness battle, I give my yes.  Yes, yes, yes.  I take this cup.  This is not easy, but I will let it be my truth and path and purpose.

The Day He Proposed

I haven't written in ages, and so I'm feeling a little awkward and clumsy as I sit here typing and attempting to process my thoughts.  This blog was once the online holding place for all of my deepest hopes, wishes, and dreams.  It's interesting for me to peruse old posts, as so much of what I wrote about was my desire to meet my life partner.

And then I did.

Writing was an excellent way for me to manage and articulate my worries about the future.  However, over time this outlet didn't prove to be enough, and last fall I made the difficult but necessary decision to seek treatment for my endocrine-related mood swings.  I've since discovered that much of the inspiration previously driving my writing was simply anxiety, and since my anxiety has now for the most part been quelled, I no longer feel the need to write.

The other purpose for my writing was so that I could anonymously share the secret parts of my heart that I so desperately longed to share with a significant other.  Now that I am approaching two years of being in a relationship with the love of my life, I share my secrets, visions, and longings with him.  I don't need to write about the hope of finding my "person," because I found him.

With all that said, I wanted to write a detailed account of the day my now-fiancé asked me to marry him.  The whole ordeal was a complete shock and I am still so impressed by the level of thought and care that went into planning--as well as the lengths he and our friends went to so that I wouldn't have any inkling as to what was going on.

Braden came into town for the weekend because one of my co-workers was getting married.  His work schedule changes every week, and I was excited to learn that because he wouldn't need to work until the following Wednesday, we would be together until Tuesday morning.  At my co-worker's wedding on Saturday, Braden had the opportunity to meet my other co-worker's husband.  Haley and Mike are close in age to me and Braden, and Haley and I had previously discussed the possibility of doing something together as couples.

On Sunday, Braden and I went to look at wedding venues in Cambria and rehearsal dinner venues in downtown SLO.  At work on Monday morning, Haley stopped by my office to ask how the rest of my weekend went.  I told her that Braden and I went to look at some venues, and then I showed her some videos and photos that we took.  We chatted about wedding plans and again about the possibility of getting together as a group with our partners at some point.  Braden had been at my apartment that morning (or so I thought), and he came back with me to work after I returned home to eat lunch.  I had student appointments that afternoon, and Braden was in and out of my office as I made phone calls.

At one point, Haley stopped by my office and suggested to both of us that we hang out with her and Mike sometime.  I told her that Braden and I don't always know what weekends he will be in town, but then she proposed the idea of going out that night.  Braden and I had previously made plans to see a movie and go for a drive, so when I turned to him he pointed out that we had made plans.  I was thinking how great it would be to go out with another couple, and so after telling him that those other plans could happen any time, he agreed that dinner would be a good idea.  Haley and I had been previously talking about the four of us eating at Big Sky Cafe in downtown SLO, and so she offered to make a reservation there.  I told her that by the time I get home, change, and then walk downtown, it would likely be about 6:30PM (which worked out perfectly according to Braden's scheme).  When we found out that the restaurant doesn't take reservations, Haley said she and her husband would get there early and hang out until our arrival.

After work, Braden and I returned to my apartment.  It was really hot that afternoon, so I changed and put my hair up.  I kept saying that I felt sticky and wanted to wash my face, so Braden kept saying I should go ahead and wash it.  We finished getting ready, fed Tobin and took him out, and then left for downtown.  As we were walking to the restaurant, I had my compact mirror out and was inspecting my face and telling Braden I felt ugly.  He reassured me that I was beautiful.

When we arrived to the restaurant, Haley and Mike were waiting for us at the bar.  My former college roommate, Rachel, was at the restaurant working that night.  I greeted her and formally introduced her to my co-worker and her husband.  Our group of four was seated, and we reviewed menus while chatting.  Dinner was fun and relaxed, and I didn't suspect that anything out of the ordinary was going on.  Once we finished, Braden suggested taking a walk around the downtown area to show them the rehearsal dinner venues we had looked at.  Initially I felt a little uncomfortable asking Haley and Mike to do this, since Braden and I are planning to have an extremely small wedding, but I knew I couldn't take back Braden's suggestion at that point.

We showed two different locations to Haley and Mike, and the second left us right next to the mission.  While I hadn't been thinking about it at the time, the plaza in front of the mission is where Braden and I held hands for the first time on our first date.  The four of us chatted for a few minutes, and then I told Braden that I was cold and we should head back to my apartment.  We said our goodbyes and parted ways.  Braden wanted to run up the steps to the front of the mission quickly.  On the previous evening, he had been asking me questions about its history, so I assumed he wanted to read the historical landmark placard posted near the front door.  It seemed like normal Braden behavior, so I wasn't suspicious.

Once we were near the front door to the mission, I started to become a bit suspicious.  Braden kept trying to strategically move my body and keep me facing certain directions.  There was also a homeless man sleeping on the bench there, and Braden kept trying to push me towards the man, even though I was trying to walk around him so as not to disturb him.  I made a comment about this, and Braden said he hadn't even seen the man!  For an MBTI sensing type, that was uncharacteristic for him.  Then Braden wanted to walk down to the creek on the opposite side of the mission plaza.  Once I started to become suspicious, I think I went into shock, and the rest of what transpired that evening felt like an out-of-body experience.

Braden settled us next to the rock wall above the creek.  I noticed that there was an iPhone resting on a ledge filming us.  I was so caught off-guard at this point that I couldn't process what was going on or even articulate to Braden what I was thinking.  He then made a comment about me not being a sensor (I'm an intuitive type), and signaled with his eyes towards something on the rock wall.  When I turned, I saw a black velvet ring box.  I immediately turned away and asked Braden, "Is that what I think it is?"  I was marginally confused by the packaging, as the ring I picked out comes in a light blue box (though Braden had previously commented that he didn't like the packaging).  He then told me there were six of them, and I turned back to observe the six boxes.  Braden told me I needed to open them. 

Each of the six boxes contained a note from Braden about our relationship, and each one mentioned Tobin (my first love!).  Braden had me read the notes aloud, but I honestly wasn't comprehending anything that was written on any of them.  About halfway through, it finally dawned on me that Braden fully understands how important Tobin is to me--and that is something I wrote about here only ten months before we met in person.  When I got to the last box, I kept telling Braden I was afraid to open it.  I told him I thought there was some chance I was being "punked."

After opening the sixth box, Braden was trying to turn the flashlight off on his phone, which he had turned on so I could read the notes in the boxes.  I told him to just put his phone in his pocket because it was making the moment very anticlimactic!  Braden then launched into a speech about our relationship, and told me that he was forgetting most of what he had planned to say because he had been sick for days about the possibility of slipping up and giving away the secret.  When he finished the speech, he led me over to the top of the stairwell near the wall, and he was in full view of the iPhone camera when he knelt down.  I was weeping at this point, and then he asked me to marry him!  He continued to kneel there, and so I told him that he needed to put the ring on my finger.  We were both shaking and nervous.

I told Braden that I had a feeling that he had ordered the ring.  However, I suspected that Braden had ordered the ring at the beginning of August, and with a one-month turnaround time, the ring wouldn't get to him before the beginning of September.  Clever man that he is, Braden knew that I was very aware of the timeline for the jeweler and that I checked her Etsy shop every day to check if the engagement ring and matching wedding band had been bought.  He asked the designer to expedite making the ring so that it would arrive ahead of her stated turnaround time.

I kept asking Braden whose phone was filming us, and so he called the "owner of the phone" out of the bushes.  I initially couldn't tell who was hiding, because the two individuals were wearing hats and concealing clothing, but then realized it was Haley and Mike!  We all hugged, they looked at my ring and offered congratulations, and then we all said goodbye for the night.  Once we returned to my apartment, Braden showed me the e-mail and text exchanges between him and Haley.  He had been planning the whole thing for weeks, including drawing maps of the downtown area as if he were planning a military attack.  When I thought he had been at my apartment that morning, Braden was actually scouting the downtown area to make sure that he was familiar with all of the important locations.  Haley and Mike had done the same thing on the previous evening.

What's incredible to me is that my conversations with Braden and Haley were so normal and natural and there was no hint ever of the possibility of anything strange going on.  They both did an excellent job with sticking to the plan and script, and truly delivering to me the most shocking surprise of my life.  I still watch the 47-second clip every day of Braden popping the question!  I'm so happy he had the foresight to film the event, as I was incapable of absorbing any details that evening.

God is My Centripetal Force

As I lay in bed and contemplated the state of my relationship with God, the phrase that kept coming to mind was "centripetal force."  I had a vague recollection of what the phrase means (something related to physics), but I wasn't sure if it would end up being the right word to describe the relationship that I hold so dear and yet confounds me in so many ways--and that has been rocked by pains inflicted by the church, my own uncertainties and questions, and years of chronic illness.

Despite past wounds, I still believe that God is good and is the truest, richest source of love.  I do not think of Him and the church as one in the same.  I think of the church as an organization made up of flawed people, doing their best to live out what they think is God's will.  Sometimes I think churches do uncover and encounter God's will, and I believe that Christians do a great deal of good in the world.  Other times, I think we fixate so much on our own agendas and belief systems that we lose sight of God's will, and thus start to construct our own versions of what we think His will would be.

A centripetal force is a force that makes a body follow a curved path.  Essentially, a centripetal force is the relationship between a central object and the object orbiting around it.  The force keeps an object circling its center.  When I think about my relationship with God, this seems like a very appropriate analogy.  Despite my waywardness and doubts, God continues to keep me orbiting around a fixed center--the fixed center that is Him.

Sometimes it feels like my life is one ongoing emotional upheaval.  It's emotion after emotion after emotion.  I feel as though I'm constantly checking in with myself about how I'm feeling and why I'm feeling that way, and at times the endless consideration becomes exhausting.  Sometimes it feels as though happiness eludes me.  No matter what or who I fill my life with or surround myself by, I seem to live with the subtle sense of emptiness or discontent.   I never feel fully satisfied.

And perhaps that is because I was not made for this world.  The centripetal force keeps me in orbit as I navigate a world of brokenness and pain, of beauty and joy.  Life sometimes feels so complicated; people are so complex.  Yet, I rest in a certain comfort, knowing that no matter where I am or what I'm doing, I am still in orbit as the hand of the Great Centripetal Force keeps me ever in His presence.  Despite my ever changing feelings and circumstances, I know that I can rely on His love, goodness, and faithfulness.

I pray He would help my eyes to be fixed on that central point around which I orbit, and not so much on ruminations about the path on which He has me.  I want to rest in the peace of knowing that He still guides me.

Bypassing the Process

As a goal-oriented, closure-seeking INFJ, the growth process can be challenging.  I want to have arrived now.  To know the lesson now.  To be aware of the ending now.  Submitting to a process is often a struggle for me.  I want to rush through all the steps to achieve a final product.  I forget that a solid building requires a sturdy foundation, solid wood, accurately-placed nails, and a host of projects that necessitate keen attention to detail.  You wouldn't want to buy a house that was built in a day (unless, perhaps, it was a tiny house).

I like when my life feels settled.  Loose ends make me anxious.  Ambiguity causes minor panic.  When circumstances are out of my control, I can get a little crazy--overanalyzing, ruminating, contemplating, plotting.  My mind goes into overdrive as I consider all the various ways a scenario could turn out.  And by worrying, somehow I think that I am taking control of the situation.  Too bad my worrying seems to muddle a situation more than remedy it.

I see a flaw in myself, one that alarms me and embarrasses me.  I care more about the end result than I do the steps taken to get there.  While I am a fan of self-discovery and the process of getting to know oneself, everything that happens outside of my own consciousness feels scary and uncertain, and that is when I stop being interested in processes.  I would rather immediately know outcomes than gradually progress through stages that I cannot control.

I know that not all growth can come from within.  We go through periods of growth as a result of circumstances, people, the environment, etc.  We are not immune to the effects and influence of the external world.  But so often I wish I could manage and dictate those effects and that influence.  I suppose what I'm really saying is that I'm afraid, and that I'd rather shield myself and avoid dangers than face a life of vulnerability.

Today, my friend told me that it seems as though I purposefully place myself in situations where I am shielded from the get-go, so that there is never the risk or option of being vulnerable.  I avoid opportunities to drop my shield, and instead cling to two types of existence: the internal world of my own consciousness, and the part of the external world where it would be unsafe for me to let my guard down.  I altogether avoid a third type of existence: the external world where it is safe for me to venture unguarded.  I'm not even sure I know how to be in the external world without a shield.

Admitting my reluctance to be vulnerable makes me feel vulnerable.  Or, perhaps I feel vulnerable admitting to the external world that I live a shielded life.  I say I want to change, but do I?  Dropping the shield means being exposed, and that is the thing I am most terrified of.  But what about being exposed is so terrifying?  The potential to be hurt, rejected, or abandoned?  Do I cling to familiar complacency because I'd rather know no change than risk being wounded?  Am I not harming myself anyway by avoiding growth?

And that is what it all comes down to--if I avoid the process, I avoid change.  I either want to see immediate results that demand no pathway of vulnerability, or I want to maintain the status quo.  Despite the fact that I claim I want my life to change, in reality I live in a way that reflects a desire to keep everything the same.  Don't rock the boat.  Don't stir the waters.  Just leave everything be.  Don't seek change--you'll just be wounded.  Stay in your comfortable little shell forever.

They say that with great risk comes great reward.  I am trying to think back on the greatest risks I've taken.  Has great reward followed?  Often, pain has followed.  And maybe that is why I am now scared to risk, because historically my risks have not always turned out as hoped.  But would I not take the risks if given second chances?  I think that I would, because despite the pain that has often followed each risk, growth has followed too.  And without those risks I would not be who I am today, and I am quite proud of where I've come from and who I've become.

I also must acknowledge that there will be times I take risks and embrace vulnerability, and it won't be pain that follows, but joy.  So while I certainly avoid getting hurt by shielding myself from risk, I also avoid potentially the deepest joy I could ever know.  And I am tired of living my life on the sidelines, longing for the kind of existence that embraces risk and all the joys and sorrows that come with it.  I want to dive into the process, and leave the safety of this shell I have so carefully constructed for myself.  I want change.

Isaiah 55:22 (NIV)

You will go out in joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and hills will burst into song before you, and all the trees of the field will clap their hands.

Change That Harms and Change That Helps

My emotions and thoughts are like race car tracks right now.  My INFJ dominant introverted intuition is in high gear; I'm ruminating about future possibilities.

I was recently contacted by my alma mater regarding a position that I had applied to weeks ago.  I never expected to be invited to do a phone interview.  I never expected them to actually like me during the phone interview and then invite me to an in-person interview.  I never expected to be contemplating moving away from my family right now, taking Tobin away from the only home he's known, and adding some unwanted chaos to a graduate student's already hectic life.

I've been thinking about fear, and how fear can sometimes keep us from doing what's best for us.  Fear can cause us to self-sabotage; it can make us doubt ourselves.  We second-guess our decisions.  We come up with mental justifications for why not upsetting the status quo is better for us--why change is overrated and unnecessary.

I am not fond of change.  In my life, change has always brought on an immense amount of stress, and has propelled me into some of my darkest days and worst autoimmune flare-ups.  Moving always makes me feel like I'm having a breakdown--mostly because I'm away from my family, my support system.  New jobs can provoke a lot of anxiety.  Navigating life with a full-time job, full-time graduate program, and full-time fur-child is something I'm terrified to do, terrified to even imagine.

Is fear ever healthy?  I think that sometimes our gut-level feelings can direct us quite appropriately.  Fear keeps us from danger and makes us think more carefully about decisions.  But fear can also be crippling, because we can imagine so many dangerous scenarios that they prevent us from acting indefinitely--from ever making any movement with our lives.

I don't know if I'll be offered the job at my former university.  But I do know that for the longest time I said that my dream job would be to work in this department at my alma mater.  And it seems as though this dream may come true much earlier than I anticipated.  But then I begin to wonder, is it really my dream?  Does my INFJ idealism build up these imagined scenarios to be better than they would actually be in real life?  Can my autoimmune-diseased body realistically handle this dream I've conjured up for myself?

I keep asking that God would only have them offer me the job if it's His will that I accept the offer.  But then I am reminded that God often doesn't work that way, and He may leave deciding up to me without giving me a clear sense of His will.  Perhaps either decision would be His will.  This is one time when I would need to make a decision that I can't simply back out of--I would be committing to a move and an apartment and a career and a new life.  And I worry that I'm not ready yet.

I keep repeating the lyrics of "He Leadeth Me" in my head.  It reminds me that God's hand is upon me and guides me.  I want to make a decision that's best for me and best for Tobin.  I don't want to do anything that will exacerbate my illnesses or make Tobin depressed or that I'll regret a few days or weeks in.  Change is scary.  I pray for myself the serenity prayer, that I would accept the things that cannot be changed, that I would have the courage to change in the ways God wants me to, and that I would know the difference between change that will harm me and change that will help me.

He leadeth me, O blessed thought!

O words with heav’nly comfort fraught!

Whate’er I do, where’er I be

Still ’tis God’s hand that leadeth me.

On the Brink of 30 (Sort Of)

I should be reading or watching online lectures for my classes.  Since I was instead binge-watching "Law and Order: SVU," writing a post seemed like a productive alternative.

I've had many thoughts swirling around my mind for the past few days.  It's funny how living on the brink of 30 makes you start to feel like there's an invisible, symbolic clock ticking over your head--reminding you that each year passes a little faster than the last, and that a decade isn't so much time after all.  Because I'm 29, I still feel safe and like my circumstances are socially-appropriate and like I'm being a typical 20-something.  Already, the mere thought of me being in my 30s makes me start to feel restless and vulnerable.  Perhaps I'm not so safe after all.

Sometimes it worries me that I've never had a serious romantic relationship as an adult that has lasted for more than a few months.  If you divide my age by two, that indicates about how old I was at the time of my longest relationship.  And that relationship was interesting in its own ways; I was very hot and cold with my emotions, and sometimes I would completely ignore my boyfriend.

As an adult, knowing that I am an INFJ certainly explains my relational history.  And also terrifies me, because I realize my own insecurities, expectations, and romantic inactivity are reflections of my personality type.  I recently discovered an article on Thought Catalog that explains what kind of romantic partner each Myers-Briggs type goes after.  As for my type:

"Who you usually go for: No one, because everyone is going to hurt you. Even the ones you’re only mildly attached to, especially the ones you really really like. Once in a blue moon, you’ll meet someone who seems to have the potential to never screw you over. And you’ll put them on a pedestal until, eventually, they’ll let you down too."

Truer words have never been written.  I can feel deep romantic attachments, and yet I am an expert at making sure those feelings are never revealed.  I am excellent at creating imaginary scenarios and idealized realities in my mind, and that's where I retain all of the emotional energy I should be expending in the real world.  Part of the reason I spend all of that time in my mind is because my primary MBTI mode is introverted intuition, so I sincerely derive pleasure from daydreaming.  But part of me is terrified of getting hurt, because of past disappointments and pains inflicted by loves ones, and also because I know the depth of care I have for those I hold closest to me.  And loving someone that much who is not related to me by blood (I know my family loves me unconditionally) is the most vulnerable thing I could ever do.  In the beginning, it was even hard for me to open my heart to Tobin because I know the potential gravity of my attachments.

With loving a person comes being let down by that person.  And as a values-driven, perfectionistic INFJ, it's easier to not love anyone than to welcome that inevitable disappointment.  Cue the author's words above.  I don't want to be elderly and alone.  I don't want to be a crazy schnauzer lady.  I make jokes about that possibility, claiming I'm a has-been who will be surrounded in my advanced years by my flock of schnauzers.  But it's just a defense mechanism--a means of hiding how much I really do want to get married and my insecurities over the fact that I'm almost never in relationships.

Recently, a group of my friends told me I need to put myself out there by getting involved in new activities and being present at more locations where I have the potential to meet a romantic partner.  The introvert in me shudders and laughs at the idea of trying to be more "out there."  But the turning-30 part of me wonders if that's what I have to do if I have even the slightest hope of getting married.  It would be so much easier if my life turned out the way I narrated in my sixth-grade autobiography, and I meet my future husband when we reach for the same bag of dog food at the grocery store.  Too bad I buy Tobin's food on Amazon.

Accepting Your Whole-Self

I found myself coming home in a bad mood for most of the week.  My supervisor tells me it's due to some unusual planetary alignment that's going on right now.  I blame my ongoing self-esteem issues.  And perhaps the fact that my job keeps me so distracted and so busy and from living out my innate MBTI preferences that I come home from work feeling like I've been living as a false self.  I have also been thinking more and more about relationships lately, and the fact that I would really like to get married--or at least have a romantic partner to share my heart and life with.

Getting older sometimes feels uncomfortable and sad and unsatisfying.  So many of my friends are starting families, advanced on their career paths, making their marks on the world.  Social media can be so dangerous because I find myself stalking contacts near and far, comparing my circumstances to theirs.  It's easy for me to momentarily forget my chronic illnesses and struggles and cancer in those few seconds of comparison that lead to a snowballing of self-doubt and self-deprecation.  I read somewhere this week that we should get off of social media because it's unfair for us to compare our own behind-the-scenes to a highlight reel of the people around us.

I've been feeling better the past few months.  Meaning, I've been taking better care of myself.  Meaning, I've had more energy to do my hair and make an effort with my outfits.  I've been trying to treat myself with much grace, not pushing myself too hard or expecting too much of myself.  I am just grateful to be alive and cancer-free and feeling mostly happy, and I don't want to upset what has become a semblance of balance.

At the same time, I realize that the person I present to the world is the person I present to the world.  Not a deep statement, I know, but what I mean is that people don't know about my inward struggles at first meeting.  All they see is my shell, a shell that often reflects the half-person that I often feel that I am.  A half-person because of fatigue, exhaustion, pain, depression, and insecurity.  A half-person because my energy is expended trying to support myself financially while dealing with constant emotional upheavals and health issues.  A half-person because I often have to put hopes and dreams on hold as I attempt to make it in there here-and-now.  A half-person because I spend the workweek functioning out of my inferior MBTI function.

As I often do, last night I turned to Google for advice.  It's become a sort of Magic 8 Ball for me as I navigate a life of ill-health.  When I did a search for "come home feeling bad about myself," the first search result was for an article from Tiny Buddha called "5 Tips to Stop Making Comparisons and Feeling Bad About Yourself."  Sara Davies' 5 tips are:

1. Appreciate what you do have.
2. It's not a fair game.
3. Things aren't always what they seem.
4. If you must compare, compare to you.
5. Accept what you can't change and change what you can't accept.

The third hit from my Google search was for an article on Psychology Today entitled "Social Media Makes Me Feel Bad About Myself."  I do largely blame social networking for providing the ability to compare and assess ourselves in a matter of only a few seconds.  If we slowed down to thoughtfully consider our self-talk in those few seconds, I think we would be both ashamed and surprised.  I'm guessing that for most of us, the self-talk involves a lot of negativity, either because we envy the people around us, or because we make ourselves feel better at what others lack or where others are at in life.

Aside from social networking, I also find that having young co-workers has unearthed some personal feelings of self-doubt and comparison.  Mostly because being around them immediately propels me back a decade, to a time before diagnoses and cancer and living a strict life.  I am reminded of the freedom I had back then, the sense of choice and opportunity.  It really felt like the world was my oyster, and I looked forward to travel and relationships and adventures.  I was naturally self-confident, and I enjoyed being involved in social groups, discovering new cultures around the world, and meeting potential romantic partners.

As I've gotten older, my social groups have mostly disappeared, I haven't been able to travel, and romance has not been a top priority.  Now that I'm finally feeling interested in having a boyfriend and possibly getting married at some point, I realize that I feel as though I lost an entire decade.  Illness was my boyfriend.  Medical treatments were my adventures.  So, not only do my young co-workers remind me of what felt like a simpler time, but they also provide me with the opportunity to live the years that I feel like I lost.  And, of course this is somewhat problematic, because I really can never get those years back.  And based on brain development and life experience, I am further along than them in almost every way.  But it seems as though my circumstances are more akin to theirs than to the circumstances of people my own age.  I am mentally and emotionally more developed, yet the external reality of my life is almost exactly the same as theirs.

And this is what frightens me about the possibility of ever meeting a partner.  How will he perceive me when he meets me?  Will he judge me as the half-self I present to the world?  How will he know what I've been through and why I am the way I am?  Will he understand my circumstances?  Am I in a place to meet someone?  Can I be emotionally available to someone?  Do I need to lose weight to meet someone?  Do I need to be financially self-sufficient to be with someone?  Am I pretty?  Am I thin?

I know that I have a lot to offer someone on emotional and intellectual levels, but I fear that my circumstances and present-day realities will prevent me from finding love.  But, is that a legitimate concern or just my own insecurity?  I realize that opportunities to meet people my age in this area are few, but even if I did go somewhere else, how and where would I meet someone?  The older I get, the less and less likely it seems that those questions can be answered.  I know that God can work beyond my comprehension or planning, but I also realize the danger of expecting Him to do work while I choose not to be proactive.

I think for me the biggest hurdle is my own self-esteem battle, and for that I know I probably need to return to counseling.  Chronic illness seems to infiltrate every component of life, and perhaps most strongly affects a person's self-perception.  It's hard not to see myself as damaged goods or high maintenance or too much for someone to want to deal with.  I keep thinking, "I'll wait until I'm thinner.  I'll wait until my cute clothes fit.  I'll wait until my upset stomach issues are resolved.  I'll wait until I'm on my own.  I'll wait until I have a real job.  I'll wait until..."

But if I keep waiting, I fear I'll look back on most of my life as years lost.  I don't want to perpetually feel ostracized from my own age group.  I don't want to have to revert back to a time of lesser maturity in order to feel comfortable with my own life.  I want to learn to move forward in my life at my age in a way that accepts my experiences and circumstances.  I want to have confidence in what I have to offer the world and a potential partner.  I don't want to feel like I have to fix myself, but I want to learn to accept myself as I am in the here-and-now.  I want to extend grace and love to myself always.  I want to trust God, and also see myself as He sees me.  I don't want to look at my life as a mistake or disappointment, but I want to dwell on the ways in which my struggles have shaped the person I am.  I want to be un-apologetically me.  And I don't want to rate myself according to the Joneses.

I'm going to try to be more conscious of my self-talk.  I'm going to try to stay away from social media stalking.  I'm going to try to focus on a more meaningful relationship with God.  I'm going to try to live as a whole-self, the self that He created me to be.  May He give me self-compassion in the process.