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.

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.

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.

Self-Acceptance and Authentic Relational Connection

I have low self-esteem.  I feel both burdened and annoyed by this.  And, somehow, acknowledging that I don't feel very good about myself actually makes me feel worse about myself.  I peruse Google for tips on how to create healthy self-esteem, and for information on the emotional causes of self-sabotage.  I know there's no quick-fix when it comes to loving yourself; it's a slow and steady process that comes with time, healing, and probably help.  Sometimes I wonder how much of our sense of self-worth is affected by our language; because I have diseases, do I then see myself as inherently diseased?  I understand the disease label as an indicator of functioning that differs from "normal," but what is normal anyway?  And if the word disease didn't hold so many connotations of abnormality and brokenness, would the various days of my diagnoses have brought such sadness and disappointment?

Last night, I found an article that discusses our use of addictive behaviors to deal with loneliness and low self-esteem.  The author focuses in particular on eating, but the ideas extend to any practices that distract us from our own emotional turmoil, namely loneliness.

When you’re chronically lonely, just being around other people doesn’t fix it.  You can be married and lonely; you can be lonely in a crowd.  If you’re chronically lonely, what you lack is authentic connections with other human beings, and generally that’s because you block these connections by not sharing your authentic self.  Why?

People who are chronically lonely almost always have as a core problem that they don’t like themselves very much. The give-away is that they generally find it almost unbearable to be alone--especially at night when the distractions of the day are over and it’s quiet.  They may even dread turning off the light to go to sleep at night, and procrastinate on that.

Chronically lonely people often have an almost phobic reaction to being by themselves.  It feels like falling down a black hole--an awful "dust in the wind" feeling of utter emptiness and alienation from everything and everyone, as though you’re the only person on the planet.  If you live alone, you probably avoid going home at night because you can’t bear to be home alone with that feeling.  You call it loneliness, but it’s really something else.  It’s the horrors; it’s existential alienation.  The Big Empty.

Quiet evenings alone are often when emotional eaters binge, perhaps numbing out in front of the TV.  They may stay awake until so late that they practically drop from exhaustion, or they may use alcohol to go to sleep so they don’t have to experience their own thoughts lying in bed in the dark.

What is this about?  If you can’t bear to be by yourself, it essentially means you can’t bear yourself--you can’t bear your own company, you can’t bear the experience of being "you".  That is a huge problem, and it’s also a big block to developing healthy relationships.  That’s why it goes along with loneliness and people call it loneliness, but it’s not exactly the same as loneliness.

You can’t stand your own company without distractions because you don’t like yourself.  And because you don’t like yourself, you assume no one else will like you either, causing you to shun social contact, making you lonely.

Sheryl Canter argues that the only solution to chronic loneliness is authentic human connection, or finding people who accept and love you in your entirety--which I don't think can be done until we accept and love ourselves and truly believe we deserve acceptance and love.

The only thing that cures loneliness is authentic human connection.  That means allowing another to see you for who you really are and experiencing their acceptance, and seeing another for who they really are and accepting them.

If you don’t like yourself much, it can be scary to let others see the real you.  Your impulse will be to hide your real thoughts and feelings under the mistaken notion that the real you is unacceptable and will be rejected.  But you’ve got to get past this and take the risk because if you never let anyone see you, you will stay lonely.

My lack of self-love is not a new realization, and I have discussed it openly in the past.  However, this week was the first time that I allowed my low self-esteem to affect my relationships with other people--and drawing people into my inner-turmoil is not something I want or hope to do.  Primarily, I don't want to hurt the people I care about.  And, equally important, I don't want my sense of self-worth to hinge on a relationship with anyone, because: 1.) humans are imperfect, and eventually I will be disappointed; 2.) that is an unfair amount of pressure and an unrealistic expectation to place on an individual.

Several years ago, I had a vision of myself carrying around my heart in my hand, trying to pass it along to anyone who would take it.  In many ways, I think I still do that, desperately seeking a person who will see me holistically and love every part of me.  I know that approval, affirmation, and acceptance need to come from my relationship with God first and foremost.  Sometimes I am so overwhelmed by my own neediness and sense of waywardness.  He promises to draw near to me as I attempt to draw near Him, and that truth is my only comfort.

Psalm 139: 1-5, 16 (CEB)
"Lord, you have examined me.

You know me.

You know when I sit down and when I stand up.

Even from far away, you comprehend my plans.
You study my traveling and resting.
You are thoroughly familiar with all my ways.
There isn’t a word on my tongue, Lord,
that you don’t already know completely.
You surround me--front and back.
You put your hand on me.
Your eyes saw my embryo,

and on your scroll every day was written that was being formed for me,

before any one of them had yet happened."

The Imagined Life vs. Real Life

I've struggled to live in the present for probably half my life.  Sometime during high school, as childhood came to an end and I propelled towards adulthood, all that demanded my attention seemed to exist in the future: test scores, grades, college applications, a bachelor's degree, a first job.  We were trained to do everything for the sake of what would eventually come, and so I think in some ways we were conditioned not to live in the moment, but instead to always be moving forward and looking to the next thing, the bigger thing, the better thing.

This week I've experienced a tumult of emotions, which I blame in large part on a mix-up at my local pharmacy.  I was unknowingly given the wrong thyroid medication last Monday, and for most of the week I experienced severe mood swings; they caused such a marked change in my disposition that I eventually had the intuitive sense to check the imprint on my hormone tablets, and thus uncovered the error.  It was emotionally exhausting, to say the least, but in combination with beginning to read Steven Pressfield's The War of Art last weekend, I've had some time to thoughtfully consider where I am in life and the direction in which I am and/or hope to be moving.

For the past several years, living an imagined life has been my default.  I think I've encountered so much pain during this second half of my life that I cope by dwelling in the land of imagination.  INFJs are naturally future-focused as it is, so I'm likely hard-wired to use daydreams as a sort of coping mechanism.  I've constructed fantasies about where I'll live, what I'll do, what I'll have, who I'll be with.  I've created imaginary depth in relationships with people I actually know, and dreamed of pretend scenarios that some part of me hoped would come true, if only to take me away from the life that I actually know.

Clearly, using imagination as a means of escape just signals a larger issue of not wanting to deal with my reality, the here-and-now.  Perhaps my imagination has bred a sort of hope that has made the pain of disease and illness bearable.  If that's the case, I can't be too hard on myself for finding a way of moving forward in what have been the most difficult years of my life.  At the same time, living so much in fantasy not only keeps us from progressing, but prevents us from appreciating the people and circumstances that exist in a given moment in time and space.  Incidentally, focusing on an imagined future has actually prevented me from advancing in life.  Now that I think about it, I suppose that I haven't wanted to move forward, as I'm sure that in many ways I maintain a fear about what is to come.  Will there be more pain?  Disappointment?  Suffering?  Disease?  Hopes squashed?  Imagining a future has given me a sense of control over the terrifying unknown.

What is to be done about chronic disappointment?  Normally I would say that a person has too many expectations.  I thought it was fair for a person to assume s/he would experience good health, true love, and vocational fulfillment, but now I realize that any expectation is already too many.  We can't know what life will bring us, what will be our assigned portion and cup.  I have handed my security over to dreams and fantasies, when I should have been entrusting my security to God.  Isn't it like us to trust our own imaginations over the sovereignty and loving-kindness of a divine and all-good Creator?  I find myself proving over and over that I lack trust and faith in God.  Fortunately, He continues to be good and loving and all-knowing whether or not I believe Him to be so.

I often say that I wish I trusted Him more.  And I do.  But more than that, I think I wish I knew Him more.  Because if I truly knew Him, I don't think I'd be afraid of Him.  Because I don't think I'm as afraid of entrusting my future to someone else as much as I am entrusting it to God.  Because when I entrust my future to God, it feels like I am inviting more pain and disappointment and suffering and disease and squashed hopes.  I know I'm partly jaded because of misfortune, but hasn't it been the very hand of God that has allowed my life to go on like this up until now?  And isn't it up to His sovereign hand what the outcome of my life will be in the future?  I wish I could say that I honestly believe that He uses all of our life experiences for our own benefit.  But it's difficult to truly trust that the enormity of my pain and disappointment has been a blessing rather than a curse.

It would be selfish and ungrateful for me to ignore the great amount of blessings in my life, from living in a beautiful location in a beautiful home, to having a loving and supportive family; from being the dog-mom to a most handsome miniature schnauzer, to having a secure job that I enjoy enough on most days to keep me going back; from having a master's-level education, to having access to healthy food and a healthy lifestyle.  When I consider the struggles of people around the world, mine seem so small.  But, my emotions are as they are, and because so much of my pain has been internal, sometimes the evidence of external blessings is clouded.

And I've arrived at this point in my writing without any conclusions.  Except that I know I want to be more present in my life, in the here-and-now.  And I do still have hopes for the future.  And if I am going to make an effort to stop living an imagined life, that means all I can do is entrust the outcome of my life to God.  And my one true future hope is this: that He will fulfill His promise to do more in my life than I am capable of hoping for or imagining.  My hope is to truly internalize, despite whatever circumstances I encounter, His divine goodness and love for me.

Upon further contemplation, I realize that my greatest gift as of late is vision for the future.  Not that God has imparted me with specifics on where or what or who, but I feel deeply drawn (perhaps called) in a direction.  And I don't think I would be moving in this direction had it not been for the very experiences I've endured.  I have always said that my one desire in life is to help people.  Now it is my desire to see my experiences, particularly the painful ones, act as the platform for my destiny and purpose.  If I am a lump of clay in the process of being made into some useful piece of pottery, then my trials are the tools that are shaping the form I am to become.  I believe that my pain is deeply tied to God's designation for my life, and so I can see now how my disappointments will actually lead me to be a truer, more authentic version of myself--the divinely-ordained version.  Ultimately, I cling to the belief that my pain will be the most profound source of my abiding joy.

I am a survivor.

That moment when you remember how your professors radically changed your life...

That moment when you're reminded of the vision you held for your future...

That moment when you realize you're a survivor.

Today is the 16-week anniversary of my total thyroidectomy, and thus my 112th day of being cancer-free.  These anniversaries are largely non-monumentous.  Every few weeks, I take a photo of my scar and post it on Facebook with a caption about which anniversary I've reached.  The photos always garner "likes" and comments, and they're a small and simple way for me to celebrate.  I have also been turning these photos into "covers" for my Facebook profile, after I add to them the statement "I am a survivor."

The fact that I'm a survivor has been a conscious reality since the day I was diagnosed with cancer.  But I have given the title (survivor) little meaningful thought in the past few weeks.  I don't know that I really considered what the word meant beyond the fact that it made a statement about my having battled cancer.  However, something in me shifted tonight as I read those words.

I've been struggling a lot lately with trying to figure out the future.  I realize that working in retail is unsatisfying and impractical for the long-haul.  I want to contribute something to the greater good of mankind--research, teaching, love.  I want to make a difference in the world.  As an INFJ, my heartstrings are always pulled in so many directions.  I read an article recently that said that career options for INFJs are always simultaneously exciting and heartbreaking.  As idealists, the world of possibility is thrilling and produces in us all sorts of fantasies about the future.  However, all of those possibilities are also crippling, because we come to realize that to pursue one pathway is to sacrifice another.  We can't do everything.  And so at once none of the options are appealing any longer because we can't do all of them in one self-designed career (wouldn't that be nice?).  It's frustrating.

So, I've been dealing with all of that INFJ confusion--the appeal and drawbacks of every job out there.  Add on top of this the fact that INFJs often feel misunderstood (and often are misunderstood) when sharing their intuitive insights, so people write off this deep analysis of future options as crazed neuroticism.  The INFJ then packs up all this thought and places it back into the very personal introverted intuitive luggage, and once again starts mulling over the more "conventional" options, because those aren't considered "crazy."

And then I get to throw an autoimmune disease, endocrine disease, MTHFR gene mutation, and histamine intolerance into the mix of my endless thought processes, which does result in a certain amount of crazy as I try to create a game-plan for my future.

The past few weeks I've been revisiting the idea of pursuing a Ph.D., as I think it may be one of the only career paths that affords me the level of freedom and time for contemplation that I'm seeking.  The struggle I have been facing with this idea is what kind of research agenda I would propose in my personal statement.  I want to write something honest and compelling, but to be honest would be to say that I really don't know what I want to do doctoral level research on.  Earlier tonight I read through old personal statements and academic essays, and then found a letter I wrote to my professors when I graduated from Cal Poly.  The letter mostly talks about how their mentorship and guidance is what made me want to become a professor in the first place (over eight years ago), and how I wanted to inspire my future students in the same ways my teachers inspired me.

When I finished reading the letter and closed it on my desktop, the first thing I saw was the cover photo I had posted on my Facebook profile earlier today.  It felt like the "I am a survivor" statement was boring a hole into my heart.  For the first time, those words made me want to cry.  They no longer just meant that I battled cancer, but that who I am in my very essence is a culmination of every event that has ever happened to me, both in the past and moving into the future.  I could easily say "I have hope" or "I have a future," and they would mean the same thing as telling people that I'm a survivor.

Writing this now brings to mind the verse that was a favorite for years and years--the one that all my friends knew I loved, and that caused them to give me knowing glances whenever we read or heard it.  It was my signature verse, for reasons that I won't outline in this post.  But, suffice it to say, the words still hold profound meaning in my heart, and are something I think I need a reminder of today.

Jeremiah 29:11

"'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future'" (New International Version).

or

"I know the plans I have in mind for you, declares the Lord; they are plans for peace, not disaster, to give you a future filled with hope" (Common English Bible).

I take the GRE in one week.  My prayer is that during the test, these words will be my companion:

I am a survivor.

I have hope.

I have a future.

I Am Valuable, My Life is Worth Living

I don't love myself.

It's a realization I've made during the past weeks, or perhaps months or even years.  I don't love myself or find value in myself, and so I haven't been taking care of myself.

I'm not usually the biggest fan of Joyce Meyer, but over the weekend I came upon some words she wrote that spoke to my soul.  We can't love ourselves until we are healed emotionally, and we can't heal emotionally until we accept God's profound and unconditional love.

The depression demon usually visits me a handful of times throughout the month, generally in relation to a combination between where I am in my hormonal cycle and how I've been eating.  Tonight I was trying on some outfits, and all I could think about is how fat I am.  I looked in the mirror at how big (objectively speaking) I've gotten in so many places, and it made me feel totally unattractive and undesirable.  Coupled with those feelings is my already low self-esteem resulting from knowledge of my diseases, and the belief that I'm abnormal and tainted and not someone who anyone would want to marry; I cry in desperation, feeling like an alien creature stuck in a life she doesn't want, but incapable of having anything more or different.

In reality, I'm only 20 pounds heavier than my "normal," a result of hormone imbalances, cancer, and a puttered-out thyroid.  However, I think much of my self-worth hinged on my thinness, and now that it's gone (objectively speaking), I don't feel good about myself.  Before that, I found value in academic performance and achievement.  Before that, the perceived strength and quality of my faith in God.  I'm not in school and I've moved away from my legalistic Christianity and into something that feels less certain and secure (the loss of legalism is a good thing, the loss of security is not such a good thing).  Without my previous appearance, or academic accolades, or the recognition of a mature faith journey, I no longer have anywhere to find value.  Except the value that God has inherently created me with.

So much of my life has been about performing and doing and achieving that I missed out on many years of just be-ing.  When I was a missionary in China, for the first time in my life I was surrounded by a team of people who spent time doing things they enjoyed, simply for pleasure.  That concept was so foreign to me.  I didn't even know what I really liked doing.  I remember starting to spend afternoons outside with my camera, and then I bought some paint supplies at a bookstore and painted some pictures for the first time ever, just because I could.  I bought fiction books.  I downloaded music and learned about different singers and bands.  I began to exercise and cook healthy foods.  I became less focused on the appearance of my life to other people, and made choices that brought joy to my heart.

I'm not sure what's happened in the past four years, except I think that somehow with my medical diagnoses I began to give up on my life a little bit.  I remember when I was first told I had Hashimoto's Thyroiditis and probably PCOS, my immediate thought was, "Well, I guess I'm not getting married."  Somehow a disease made me abnormal, and that abnormality made me unlovable, and to be unlovable meant I had no value.  I think that I've been caught in the web of this pattern of thinking since that day in the beginning of 2010.  I am abnormal, so I have no value.

It's difficult to come to terms with the physical ailments you've been born with--to know that God created you with these proverbial thorns in your flesh.  I know that we all have our weaknesses and idiosyncrasies and problems, but somehow because I now see that I am not and can never be perfect, I have lost all sense of self-worth.  Perfectionism is such a painful and exhausting addiction.

But then I think about how much God has created me to be able to offer to the world.  My emotional and spiritual and physical struggles are but fodder for the possibility of ministering to others--of feeding God's sheep.  My suffering makes me more real and authentic and genuine (I hope), so that I can be a source of comfort and respite and truth to the people around me.  And He has given me gifts, as a human be-ing, that are unique only to me.  And not only gifts, but a calling to which no other person has been called.

I think about so many people He has placed in my life, people who love and value and appreciate me for who I am and nothing I've done.  People who have loved me through the ups and downs of my autoimmune disease, the good days when I've been kind and grateful and warm, and the bad days when I've been depressed and cranky and cold.  People who have loved me through my cancer, showering on me their support by way of an outpouring of financials gifts and notes of encouragement.  People who have continued to seek out relationships with me, even when that seeking out is very much one-sided.  All of that love and support and seeking speaks volumes about the love of God, and if the people in my life have valued me in this way, how much more does my Abba Father lavish His value and love and pride on this little creature He has created--me?

Earlier this year, I began to see a counselor to help me with PTSD from a near-fatal car accident I was in two years ago.  During our first session, she gave me a list of positive self-affirmations and negative self-talk.  We discussed some of the phrases from the list that I want to come to believe to be true.  I no longer see the counselor, but I have since begun writing these positive phrases in my journal.  I think there is a lot of power in claiming these affirmations in my own writing in my own personal journal.  I also began to rewrite some of the affirmations as truths about God (i.e., God is in control; God can be trusted).

I haven't been very consistent about going to the gym since my cancer surgery, but tonight, amidst a mini emotional meltdown, I knew I just needed to get out of the house and focus my mind on something other than my own unhappiness.  As my endorphins kicked in and I actually began to feel the cloud of depression lifting, I began to say to myself, over and over:

My life is worth living.

And then I added to that:

I am valuable.

And so I pumped those elliptical pedals and chanted to myself, "I am valuable.  My life is worth living.  I am valuable.  My life is worth living."

I have begun to make a list of things I want to commit to doing every day and/or every week in order to nourish my body and soul.  If I feel trapped in my life and want things to go differently, I am the one that needs to take steps to change what is changeable.  I am going to start taking care of myself because I am valuable, and my life is worth living.

He made me valuable.  He gave me a life worth living.

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

The courage to change the things I can,

And the wisdom to know the difference.

Entrusting My Care to His Hands

No one tells you that when you're diagnosed with cancer, so much of the emotional turmoil and overwhelming nature of the situation won't have to do with the diagnosis at all, but with all the planning involved in having cancer.

My brother commented that it seems unfair for people with cancer to have to plan and pay when they didn't choose illness and all of its life interruptions.

There's the taking time off of work.  Getting shifts covered by co-workers.  Making calls to your insurance company (I thought I hated them before--true medical crisis takes hatred to a whole new level).  Coordinating finances with medical providers.  Tracking down a clear retainer to use in lieu of your nose ring so the piercing doesn't close while in surgery (wait, that one's just me?).

I stare at my computer, switching back and forth between my online banking homepage and my insurance company's summary of benefits.  I try to figure out how this is all going to work.  Why doesn't anyone tell you how expensive and annoying cancer will be?  It's so distracting that you forget why you're making the calls and perusing the websites and adjusting work schedules in the first place.

I contacted my boss earlier to let her know that I will be having surgery on Monday, and that I will need to take next week off if it's not a problem.  Her response made me cry, because it reminded me that this is about my cancer.  She told me she's proud of me and that I'm going to kick this thing's butt.

I was thinking about my sweet Tobin, and how much money I've spent on him over the years without ever batting an eye.  When it comes to caring for him, money is never a question or issue.  I'll do whatever it takes.  And then I realized that I need to extend that same grace towards myself.  I am worth excellent treatment by a skilled physician.  I am worth the cost.  Why do I place his needs so high, while so easily discounting my own?  Why do I apologetically ask my manger for time off to treat my cancer?

Reaching out to people for financial assistance has been hard and good.  Hard, because I feel guilty asking people to help me fight cancer.  Good, because it forces me to not fight cancer alone, which I would be prone to do.  I would isolate myself and place the burden on my own shoulders and not want to inconvenience anyone.

But I realize that instead of being inconvenienced, people experience great joy in providing support.  When it comes to those we love, we think about doing the best for them no matter the cost.  I think sometimes I approach God in that same way, feeling like I am an inconvenience and burden or not believing in the gravity of His love for me.  Having Tobin has allowed me to see that my love for him is not only mirrored by God's love for me, but that God's love is so exponentially beyond the love I'm capable of giving anyone or anything that it's truly beyond my comprehension.  And He is the one in whom my well-being and care is entrusted.

I was told to not let red tape or insurance hoops stand in the way of the best care.  I'm terrified to have my surgery done on Monday, not because they're cutting me open, but because of the bills I know will be arriving in the mail in a few weeks.  But, I'm entrusting myself to the hands of the Greatest Physician and Provider, and trusting that He knows and sees my needs and already has a plan.

Jesus, calm my nerves.

Birthday Avoidance

I didn't remember that it was my birthday until a PCOS support group that I'm a member of e-mailed me at midnight.  Oh, that's right.  It's my birthday.

It seems totally strange to have forgotten one's own birthday.  In fact, when my co-workers, or family members, or even the ATM machine wished me a happy birthday during the past few days, I was almost startled by the words.  Oh, that's right.

I think I stopped celebrating birthdays after my 23rd.  It was during the year that I would turn 24 that I was diagnosed with Hashimoto's and PCOS.  I still remember the day my doctor gave me the news.  I decided to go shoe-shopping at Nordstrom Rack after my appointment, and I meandered through the aisles in a haze.  All I could think about was how my life would change and all that I would give up now that I was "diseased."

Last night, I had a vivid dream in which a doctor was showing me lab results that indicated high LH and low FSH levels in my blood (two reproductive hormones).  When I woke up this morning, I immediately went to Google and asked what those results would indicate.  It's PCOS.  I'm not sure if my subconscious was already aware of that information and was simply processing it in my sleep, or if my body is smart enough to know that its hormones are out of balance, and it's telling me exactly what's wrong while I'm dreaming.  Interestingly, in past labs my LH and FSH scores have always been normal.

So, when I woke up this morning I was only semi-aware of my own birthday, dwelling on my whacked-out hormones, thinking about the thyroid ultrasound I was about to have, and then I came downstairs and saw a birthday present from my parents atop the kitchen table.  I burst into tears.  Presents, with their wrapping paper and bows and cards with well-wishes, symbolize happiness and celebration, and I realized that there was little I was feeling happy or celebratory about.  Sometimes it just feels like this life is happening to me, and I've given up even trying to be happy or celebrate in the midst of it.  My mom tells me I'm depressed.  I know I am.

I kept forgetting my birthday because I didn't want it to happen.  I don't want to acknowledge turning another year older.  I don't want a reminder of my illnesses, and age, and current set of circumstances.  When I begin to ruminate about all those things, it just makes me hate my life, and instead of feeling grateful for gifts, I cry over them.

Today I've been receiving "happy birthday" messages on Facebook and my cell phone.  I started to contemplate the fact that people are telling me to have a happy birthday, but that they should more aptly say "depressing birthday" or "annoying birthday."  That's how I feel about my birthday this year.  Go away, birthday.

After I wiped away my tears and composed myself, I headed over to the local imaging center to have my annual thyroid ultrasound.  While I sat in the waiting room, I thought about how no one there knew it was my birthday and I wondered if they thought I looked sad (realistically, none of them were probably paying much attention to me).  I also thought about the fact that I am at least 20 (and probably closer to 50) years younger than the people I usually see in those waiting rooms.  It actually made me feel momentarily young.  But still diseased.

And then I was called in for the exam.  I think this was the fifth time I've had my thyroid and its nodules inspected.  Unlike the other inspections, today the ultrasound hurt.  I know that my thyroid's been inflamed, both because my doctor told me it is and because it's been hard for me to swallow and I just feel that it's enlarged.  Having the roller on the exam wand roll around my throat, pushing into the inflammation, I remembered why I woke up feeling so blue today and why I haven't been doing well lately.  Hashimoto is on the loose in my body.

When the exam was finished, I walked out to the parking lot, opened my car door, sat down on the driver's side seat, and pulled down the mirror on the visor.  I tilted my head back so that my neck arched, and I scrutinized the area where my thyroid lies hidden.  Yes, definitely swollen.  In fact, the one side that hurt the most during the exam was actually visibly larger than the other side.  Oh, that's right.  Hashimoto's.

Somehow seeing my enlarged thyroid actually began to put things into perspective.  I am sick.  I'm allowed to be sick.  I'm not crazy.  I'm not doing something to myself.  I have a disease, and right now this is what my body is choosing to do.

I realized that instead of struggling against being sick right now, I think I need to just rest in the experience until a doctor helps me get things right.  Yes, my gland is inflamed.  Yes, I need to lose weight.  Yes, I'm exhausted.  Yes, I ache.  Yes, I have an autoimmune disease.  Oh, that's right.

I didn't choose this for myself, but this is my life.  And as much as I can ignore the fact that I have a birthday this year, I am turning another year older.  I am seeing a new doctor in a few weeks.  I'm going to talk to her about possibly switching to a different natural thyroid hormone.  I know this isn't how a successfully-treated person should be feeling.  And that is the one small hope I cling to--the belief that this is just a momentary lull in my treatment, and that things are bound to get better.  That next year they'll be better.

And so I celebrate, not for what is, but for what I am confident will be.  I celebrate the hope that next year I will remember my birthday.

The Slow Life of Recovery

A fellow autoimmune-disease-sufferer recently described the healing process as "slowing down life to a crawl and setting boundaries."  For a lifelong perfectionist and overachiever, the "slowing down life" part of autoimmunity can be wearing on the self-esteem.  Mind you, I have no trouble at all with the actual slowing down of life; I can lounge and binge-watch Netflix like any good couch potato.  It's the thinking related to the slowed-down life that sometimes gets me down.

I am fairly content right now with my circumstances, not because I feel like I am fulfilling my dreams and passions, but because I feel like I can breathe and wake up in the morning without wanting to die.  I know that sounds melodramatic.  But, I know that my autoimmunity has gotten the better of me when I struggle to get out of bed, when tears constantly seem to be seeping out of my eyes, when I stop being able to make decisions and feel like my sanity has left me.  My body becomes inflamed, my thyroid swells and affects my swallowing, my joints hurt, I crave sugar and fatty foods.  I can't sleep at night.

I recently made the difficult decision to leave a full-time job after only two months of employment.  I had been pursuing special education for the past few years, and I applied to jobs like the one I took in an effort to maintain a cohesive resume.  However, it only took about a month for me to realize that the job was killing me--really--and that I needed to seek other employment if I didn't want to end up hospitalized.

A retail position in my hometown providentially opened up right at the time I finally had the courage to give notice at my old job.  I was offered a new job that has nothing at all to do with my bachelor's or master's degrees and really doesn't formally require any specified education, but it doesn't add stress to my life.  In terms of the amount of mental exertion it requires and stress it causes as compared to my previous role, the position would be classified as slow--a slow job for a slow life.

It's actually been fascinating to see how my body has responded to stressful situations in the past few years.  Normally I shut down completely and have the urge to flee.  I am thankful that my body takes care of itself even when my conscious mind tries to push me beyond reasonable (for me) limits.  I dropped out of graduate programs, moved across the country and back, changed majors, changed jobs.  It may seem reckless and confused to an onlooker, but really the back-and-forth nature of some of my decisions and life activities has been nothing more than a battle between my body protecting itself from breaking down and my mind telling me that I need to live up to my own unrealistic expectations.

It is humbling working in a retail position with a master's degree in hand.  I am not making very much money (not even enough to meet my basic monthly expenses).  I live with my parents.  Sometimes I feel as though my intellect is atrophying.  But I'm breathing.  And I'm alive.  And I'm not just surviving.  I am still inflamed and my thyroid is still swollen and my joints still hurt and I'm still 30 pounds heavier than I normally am.  But I have hope.  It's going to be okay.  I'm going to be okay.

The same person that described healing as a slowing down of life also said that it is how we recover from autoimmune burnout that is most critical.  I can think about how I'm not using my graduate degree; or, I can think about how amazing it is that I was able to earn a master's degree despite the mass of obstacles I've endured in the past couple of years.  I can think about how I don't have a career and haven't met my earning potential; or, I can think about the ways in which my current job suits me and allows me the freedom and flexibility to sleep in and see doctors during the week because of my nontraditional schedule.

My fellow autoimmune-disease-suffer said that as our lives slow, we not only heal from years of exhausting our adrenals, but we discover our purpose.  And, according to him, it is after that simultaneous healing and finding purpose that we can thrive.  When my life is slower, my mind gets quieter.  And when my mind is quieter, I stop pushing myself.  And I listen to my heart.  And I let my body lead.  When my life is slow, the first threat of stress immediately gets pushed away.  That's how I know I'm not ready.  And somehow it's easier to listen to my heart when I know I'm in a season of waiting.  The perfectionist, over-achieving tendencies get shelved because I know there is nowhere to push myself.  I'm waiting.  I'm not ready.

And I think that when I am ready, it won't be my conscious mind pushing me anymore, but my heart guiding me into the happiest, healthiest places where my body knows it will thrive.

The Unhappy Mind of an Unhappy Thyroid

I sat in the family room with my parents while my mom read and my dad channel-surfed.  I had my dad check what was playing on a few of the T.V. stations that I usually enjoy, and saw that The Little Couple was on.  Some years ago I was a dedicated viewer of the show, so I felt sad to hear the recent news of Jen Arnold's cancer.  The show features the day-to-day experiences of two little people that are married, and Jen is the wife in the "little couple" duo.

After watching the show for a few minutes, I was awed by Jen's attitude.  She was born with dwarfism, underwent multiple surgeries and hospitalizations as a child, struggled with infertility, battled cancer.  She lives in a world where her stature makes her 'abnormal,' which adds to her slew of trials.  I began to think about how inspiring it is for people who face adversity to maintain positive attitudes in light of all the negativity they could focus on.  I can think of a woman I knew who has now passed from cancer, but while she was still alive and undergoing chemo, she exuded peace and joy unlike even the healthiest people I knew.

But then I started to think about maintaining a positive attitude when you have Hashimoto's disease.  You can tell yourself to buck up, or just think positively, or focus on all the good in life.  Hey, it's not cancer, right?  The fact is that autoimmune thyroid disease often robs you of the ability to be positive in the first place.  The depression, apathy, negative moods, feelings of worthlessness can be profound--and they are all due to the malfunction of a butterfly-shaped gland in the throat.

Perhaps that's what makes invisible autoimmunity particularly ravaging on the body.  Not only does Hashimoto's cause physical pain, exhaustion, brain fog, weight gain, but it also takes control of the very ways in which we think.  Even if we wanted to think positively in spite of our circumstances, we can't.  And the loss of control over our very perceptions of the world and ourselves makes us feel very helpless indeed.

I don't mean to minimize potentially fatal conditions by any means, but only to point out that autoimmune disease is a beast of its own.  Sometimes I'm hard on myself for not being more upbeat or energetic or productive or grateful.  I forget that my hormones are giving my body all the wrong signals, and my metabolism is sluggish, and I'm experienced chronic inflammation.  It's so good to be thankful no matter what a person's lot--but it's also okay to be sick and to validate very real experiences of suffering, without feeling guilt associated with not focusing on blessings apart from illness.

I think, for me, a loss of some sense of control over my body has been one of the hardest parts of battling autoimmunity.  Currently, I feel as though I've given up even trying to control the things that I can--and I find this makes my condition worse.  The elimination diet, and carb-counting, and exercise regimen actually give me greater health.  But perhaps some part of me is in denial that those things are a necessary part of my reality, and so I willfully choose to ignore them as a means of reasserting control over my life--which actually ends up leading to less control as I become sicker and my overall mood declines.

It's a tiring cycle, and sometimes I wonder if I'll be forever mourning the loss of what would have been a 'normal' life.  You would think that by now I would have come to terms with my reality, but I still think longingly about what could have been (or, perhaps even what I thought should have been).  The one chance I have of finding positivity amidst the struggles (a.k.a. controlling my mind) is to take control of my body and health in the few ways I can.  Even if I can't choose to be happy right now, I can choose to take better care of myself, which I hope in turn will bring with it the happiness.

Signs of a Bad Thyroid Day

1. Feeling like you'd rather die than deal with how you're feeling.
2. Goiter - swollen gland, scratchy throat, hard to swallow.
3. Everything hurts.
4. Sleep, sleep, sleep, more sleep...
5. Legs heavy, swollen, retaining water.
6. Not wanting to get out of bed in the morning.
7. Not wanting to get out of bed in the afternoon.
8. Crying because of how crummy you feel.
9. Crying because you just feel like crying.
10. Wanting to just take a vacation from everything because you're so tired.
11. Feeling hopeless that things will get better.
12. Feeling frustrated that those close to you just don't get it.
13. Feeling annoyed by lack of doctors' help.
14. Not being able to think clearly or focus.
15. Wanting to lounge around and mindlessly watch T.V. or Netflix all day.

My Sunshine

My spirit fading

The darkest night of the soul

He gave me Tobin