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.

Cancer's Lessons on Love

I think for many of us, the word cancer conjures up images of hairless scalps and hospital rooms and colored ribbons and walks for cures.  We think of kids with leukemia and women with breast cancer and smokers with lung cancer.  In terms of media and popular representations of cancer, there is a group of people that seem to totally be skipped over--those from 15 to 39.  Until I was diagnosed, I didn't realize that as a 28-year-old, I thought of cancer as some far-off thing that might happen to me much later in life.  I think I somehow subconsciously thought that if cancer didn't affect me as a child, I would be safe from it until I was elderly, or at least more advanced in age.

Even though I've only known about my cancer for three days, my perspectives regarding and perceptions of the C-word are changing.  I'm learning that it's not all chemotherapy and hospital stays and planning for the end.

What I've discovered after three days of knowing about my cancer (and I write this to sound like a generalized experience, but know that it is actually specific only to me):

1. A diagnosis makes you an insomniac.  You find yourself up at 3AM trolling the Blue Shield and American Association of Endocrine Surgeon websites, trying to find a skilled doctor that is part of your insurance network.  Or, you start Googling the scientific words they used in your biopsy report to figure out what the hell they're actually saying about your cancer cells.
2. You will find yourself in the bathroom a lot.  It will feel like you're getting an ulcer.  Food won't agree with your stomach.  You'll wake up and run immediately to the restroom.  You'll realize that at a time when you should be taking the best care of yourself ever, you end up making poor food choices because the bad foods comfort even if you can't digest them.
3. You will become an experienced ugly-crier, complete with snot over-production, mascara-stained cheeks, and whaling sounds.  The hardest moments will be when you find yourself alone and in a quiet place.  Those are the moments when you don't feel like you have to hold it together or be strong for anyone, and all you'll be able to hear amidst the silence is your conscious reminding you, "I have cancer."

But, in all seriousness, I think the reality of my condition hit about 30 hours after I learned about my diagnosis.  I was driving home from work, and I just started crying uncontrollably.  All day I was assisting customers with their needs, focusing on solving problems and finding what they were looking for, while being totally distracted from my own woes.  But it's once I got in my car and didn't have to smile anymore or be helpful or take care and be supportive of anyone else that I felt the weight of the world on my shoulders.  It's hard to muster up strength to meet people's needs when really you just want to collapse for a while and let someone carry you.  In some ways, going to work has been beneficial because it does serve as a distraction, but I think it's going to take time for me to learn that it's okay to go home and be weak.  He is sufficient to be my strength once I'm not distracted, and He's given me my family to share in His duty of carrying me through this without my having to feel guilty.

And I think that's the hardest part.  Realizing that despite the fact that you're stronger than you ever realized, you're simultaneously weaker than you every dreamed possible.  I guess that's the beauty of His power being made perfect in weakness.  He provides you with strength and hope and courage and tenacity, while also bringing you to terms with your need to seek help and accept compassion and rely on others without being able to offer anything but gratitude in return.  You will likely see an outpouring of love, and all you can do is accept it and realize you deserve it because you're invaluable and that people don't expect you to feel indebted to them in any way.  I guess I'm discovering that cancer teaches you about love.

Sharing Our Lives Beyond the Keyhole

Some time ago, I read an article that compared our observing other people's lives via social media to seeing someone's life through a keyhole; we have a very limited perspective of what actually goes on in that person's life, and by and large those observations are of positive events (marriages, births, new jobs, moves, etc.).

In thinking about what it means to be authentic, I recognize that true authenticity means sharing the not-so-good along with the good.  When we "keep it real," we tarnish the façade of a perfect life and remove the possibility of even creating that notion in the first place.  In cultural studies, we often talk about how the abnormal is only defined as such by its relationship to the invisible, unmentioned "normal"--the diseased in relation to the healthy.

When we make our struggles less private, we make them less powerful.  My logic in this is twofold.  Firstly, oftentimes our experience of suffering is tied to some sense of denial.  If we keep the struggles a secret, they seem less real to us.  It allows us to keep from acknowledging the true condition of our lives.  Secondly, we usually cling to a lengthy set of assumptions regarding how people will view our diseases (which, in itself is a word rife with negative meaning).  We give in to the idea that we are abnormal, and hence reinforce that "abnormality" by separating ourselves from "normal" people and hiding the suffering we endure.

For the past few years, I know that I've begun to increasingly hide out in my suffering.  My mind goes through a similar script: "They just won't understand," "I'm different than people my age," "I'm weird," "I don't want to deal with all the questions," "It's easier to just stay away."

Additionally, I think that for me hiding out is a way of ignoring my real circumstances.  I think back to how life was 5 years ago, 3 years ago.  Since I'm not happy with how things are going now, hiding allows me to distract myself from what's going on and save the need to give a lot of explanations to people, even those I once considered myself close to.

But, lately I've been thinking about how stupid it is to hide what's going on in my life--to attach all these negative meanings and beliefs to things that are, truly, so small in the grand scheme of things.

By keeping it real, I can share things like:

• I take 32 various pills/capsules throughout the day (mostly vitamins and supplements).
• There is a list of something like 30 specific foods/food groups I cannot eat.
• I've gained 30 pounds in the past year and 9 months because of thyroid and reproductive hormone imbalances.
• Many people my age are married with kids and a mortgage, but I had to move in with my parents because living on my own almost killed me.

There is something powerful about making these truths un-private, and acknowledging the reality of my circumstances.  By saying, "Yes, this is my life.  This is just the way it is," I think I somehow take a little more control of what's going on, and it removes all those voices telling me I'm weird, different, abnormal.  It empowers me to make changes where I can, and in cases where I can't, to recognize that my diseases place certain limitations on my life but none that make me need to isolate myself from other people.

About 6 months ago, at a particularly dark moment in my autoimmune experience, after reading that article on social media and keyholes, I wrote a haiku entitled "My Grass Isn't Greener."

What if my keyhole

Didn't entice the viewer

Filled with emptiness

The reality is that each of us struggles and suffers.  We all encounter trials and tribulations.  None of us is perfect, and I think most of us experience feelings of being abnormal and not belonging.

So what if instead of sharing with one another only our keyholes, we share with one another our lives beyond those very limited views?  What if we become truly authentic, and keep it real by owning up to what's really going on in our lives?

I wish we lived in a world where the focus wasn't so much on fitting in, but on being as genuine as we could possibly be.  I know that the plastic bodies, veneer smiles, and hot cars will never go away.  But it's nice to envision a place where people feel free to share their not-so-good parts, and those not-so-good parts are viewed no differently than the "good" parts.

I wish we could see one another holistically.  I wish we didn't have to live in fear of one another.