The weather turned since the last time I wrote one of these letters to you. In just a couple months we went from temperatures in the 80s to frosty mornings and piles of multicolored leaves on the ground. You’ve changed so much, grown up so much, in that little bit of time.
You notice the change in the trees. You notice the weather. You notice so many things that just a couple months ago would have slipped right past you. I have to be a little more careful now. And watch my tongue. Not that I am the kind of person who would thoughtlessly say things in your presence that I wouldn’t want you to repeat. ahem.
The past few months have been pretty busy. Especially October. I’ve taken to calling it Pinktober, because breast cancer awareness month takes over everything, no matter what else we’ve got going on.
As if I wasn’t already all too aware of breast cancer.
I have a feeling that this is going to be a part of a new pattern in our lives, that we will need to learn to just brace ourselves for Pinktober every year. We’ll learn to let the wave of pink wash over us without dredging up too much trauma, while embracing the opportunities that come in at the same time. We need to remember that Pinktober is a time of reunion with those who have become close friends in this breast cancer battle, it’s also a time to celebrate life, and raise some money to help all those who will be diagnosed in the year ahead.
When I see myself in your mannerisms, the things you say, the way you turn a phrase, it reminds me that one of my most important tasks as your mother is to be a role model. And that responsibility has become a critical part of my decision making process.
Some people pay lipservice to the old WWJD: What Would Jesus Do? I take a different approach. When faced with a difficult decision, I ask WWIWGTD: What Would I Want Gem To Do? But I’m asking that question for real. I consider this question in all different aspects of my life from brushing my teeth even if I’m staying in bed all day, to how I interact with friends and strangers, to how I research and take a position on an issue, to how I react when people are cruel to me.
I don’t want to give the impression that I’m letting you make my decisions. I need to make choices that are healthy for me, and I want you to learn to make decisions that are healthy for you.
The net result of all this is that I am living my life more mindfully because of you. I’m making more thoughtful decisions. I’m taking better care of my body. I now respond differently when people try to walk all over me, and while some may not like that change, I know it’s a change that needed to be made.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen posts or tweets about breastfeeding over the past year that were not just touting the proven benefits of breast feeding, but taking a pointed, judgy stance on the issue. Statements about breastfeeding related facts might be buried in the article, but the hooks? the one-liners? they’re just polarizing rhetoric. They don’t come right out and state that you are a bad mom if you don’t breastfeed, but the wording draws the reader right to that conclusion. Some of the posts and tweets try to get funny with the issue, but they come across with the same message. They probably don’t even have a clue how their message is coming across.
There was another one today; this is an old one that makes it’s rounds every 4 months or so… “True Story: I don’t have to worry about toxins in breastmilk. And there’s never been a recall on my boobs”
My boobs were recalled while I was breastfeeding. And you can bet I lost a lot of sleep over how many cancer cells my baby ingested from breastfeeding before I knew I had cancer.
Dairy Free Fake Boob
Don’t get me wrong. I am completely in favor of breastfeeding. I believe it is the best source of nutrition and immunity support available to a baby. But there are as many valid reasons for not breastfeeding as there are in favor.
There’s no way I could list them all here – there are too many stories out there, and no way I can know them all. Breast cancer stopped me. How about adoptive mothers? Sometimes the breasts just don’t work correctly, they’re not able to produce. Have you ever wondered why the role of wet-nurse was recognized in cultures all throughout history? The world is full of incorrect ideas about AIDS and how it is spread. We stupidly avoid handshakes and hugs, while we overlook the fact that breastmilk is a proven means of spreading HIV. What would you do if you were a breast feeding mother, and found out you might have been exposed to blood borne pathogens at work? Would you stop breast feeding? It has happened.
Breastfeeding in public? I did it for 11 months. Not one incident. I did make sure that I wasn’t flashing around body parts that I wouldn’t flash around if there wasn’t a baby attached. No one was cruel to me about breast feeding in public. I’ve heard it happens, and that’s really too bad. Any awkwardness I experienced was on my own part, trying to figure out how to get the baby attached with limited visibility, etc… It wasn’t about anyone else. No, the comments came after I was no longer able to breastfeed.
If you’re a new mom, you do what’s right for you and your baby. That’s your business, nobody else’s. If breastfeeding is right for you and your baby – do it! If it’s not, don’t.
Getting used to all of the people (even strangers) who suddenly thought my body and my baby were their business was the biggest adjustment for me through pregnancy, and motherhood. Just draw a bubble around yourself, and imagine all the comments and criticisms just bouncing off that bubble. You see, no one is really an expert. Parenting is on the job training, and the skills required are different for each child. That lady who just came over and said she raised 13 kids? She’s not an expert, either. Not an expert on your baby, anyway.
Love your baby. Wake up every morning, and try again. Everything is going to be ok.
I like to joke that no one really knows what I look like without a camera in front of my face. I’m THAT girl at parties: the one who hides behind the camera, capturing moments more than participating. The one who rarely actually appears in photographs…
Put Mom in the Picture
When I was first diagnosed with cancer, this really bothered me. For the first time ever, it was REALLY important to me that I have photos of myself, and photos of myself with my husband and daughter.
I wanted my family to have them – not just in case I died, but also to mark who I am right now, because I’m evolving. My looks are changing daily as my hair grows back. My outlook is changing daily as well; each new day brings a new challenge, and something else at which to marvel.
I’m trying to teach myself photography, and in that process, I spend a lot of time studying the work of some of my favorite photographers. Each has their own unique and identifiable style. What I’m learning is that a picture doesn’t just tell you about the subject matter in the frame, it tells you a whole lot about the photographer. You can see moods, attitude, approach… you can see respect, affection, and love.
The photograph is a record of the world as I see it
That realization eased my mind a bit about my absence from the photographs. I understand now, that I am in all those photographs that I have taken.
The photograph is a record of the world as I see it. It’s an opportunity to look at life through my eyes, to see what I see.
My hope is that someday in the future – when my daughter is 13/16/18/whatever, and mad at me because I wouldn’t let her stay up late/take the car/have my credit card/whatever – that she will, every once in a while, glance at one of the millions of photos I’ve taken of her, and see that the person behind the camera loves her with everything she has to give.
I can see my attitudes in the photos I’ve taken. I can see the difference between the photos taken to simply to document a place, thing, or an occasion, and those that seek out the magic of the moment. Mood, attitude, and approach do make a difference.
The camera bag of my dreams
Long before I had a real DSLR camera, I had my eye on a camera bag. Not just any camera bag, a beautiful camera bag from Epiphanie Bags.
After I was finally able to get my good camera this summer (with some help from my mom – THANKS MOM!), I bookmarked my dream bag, and revisited regularly. But purchasing the bag was out of the question. The price was prohibitive.
Not to long ago, I even posted the link on Facebook with the words, “sigh… someday.”
A couple weeks later that bag appeared at my door.
But here’s the thing: I didn’t order it.
I don’t know who sent it to me. It was delivered by the UPS guy with no note attached.
I laughed, I cried, I jumped up and down and squealed, even scaring my baby a bit till I convinced her it was a happy dance. I am completely in awe of this bag, and the kind, anonymous, generosity that caused it to become mine.
A Sense of Gratitude and Magic
I tear up every time I look at the bag, I also stand a little taller with that beautiful braided strap over my shoulder. That kindness now travels with me everywhere. Each time I reach for my camera, I am reminded of this generosity, and as I look through my lens at the world, I do so with a sense of gratitude and magic, and I hope that will show in my photographs.
Thank you my friend, whoever you are. You have given me so much more than a gorgeous bag to cradle my camera. Bless you.
Yes, I’m the shy girl. You, in the back, that just snorted – I heard that.
People who have known me for a long time may not realize how shy I can be. But the truth is, especially in cocktail hour, conference-type settings, I’m awkward silence girl. These events stir up all kinds of anxieties in me. I sit there and rack my brain trying to think of something to say – and the harder I think, the longer and more awkward the silence gets, which makes it even harder to think of something to say. It’s a deep, and endless spiral. And that’s if I manage NOT to blurt out something stupid, or nonsensical, or inappropriate, or offensive.
Conversing is so different from writing. There’s no opportunity to edit while you are speaking. Time delays are built in to written conversations, and expected, even when chatting or tweeting. But when you’re in a live, real world conversation, all bets are off. You’re out there, on your own, flying without a net.
Wine helps. A little.
More wine helps a little more.
Even more wine helps me nap right where I’m standing.
Unfortunately, most conferences start before the cocktail hour. But seriously, I do need to learn how to participate in a conversation without that kind of lubricant.
How do you do it? How do you keep a conversation going? Even if it’s with someone you’ve been dying to meet for years. Especially if it’s with someone you’ve been dying to meet for years.
How do you bridge the gap between standing alone in the center of a packed room, and walking up to someone, or a group of someones, and saying “hi” – and then what do you say next?
My pulse is racing while I write this. It’s a terrifying prospect for me.
I spent the day Saturday at Bloggy Boot Camp Seattle, which was, in a word, Awesome. But it was also, among other things, a networking event: talking required. I learned a lot – but of course, one of the biggest benefits of such an event is the opportunity to meet other bloggers. That meant sticking my hand out, and walking up to someone to introduce myself. And I did it! Most of the time without tripping over my own feet, or getting too terribly tongue tied.
There were still those moments where I stood in the middle of the room and surveyed groupings of people deep in conversation. What were they talking about? Could I easily join this conversation? Was anyone else also looking for someone to talk to? Or were they, like me, pretending to look busy so they didn’t look pathetic in the middle of the room silently trying to figure out who to talk to and how to start a conversation?
One of the brilliant bits of planning on the parts of the amazing ladies who organized this conference, was assigned seating that changed with each presentation. This meant that every couple hours or so, I was at a different table with a different group of bloggers, and it made it so much easier to make introductions, start conversations, and meet a larger number of people.
And the people who attended this event were just wonderful. From the moment I showed up to check in, an hour late (another story for another time), I was overwhelmed by just how amazing and, more importantly for me, approachable, everyone was. Superstar-blogger MamaKat has been one of my blogging heroes for years, and she got up and gave me a giant hug when we finally met at the conference. JennyOnTheSpot sat down next to me at lunch, and actually got me to talk a bit about myself to the table.
So many amazing people, and I’m still a little start struck and in awe of the entire event.
I learned a lot, too. Not that I have actually applied anything I learned yet. For instance, Danae Handy and MamaKat led an amazing breakout session on writing. They didn’t just tell us to apply the narrative arc to everything we write; they actually showed us how to apply it to a blog post. For instance, this infernal post that you have been reading forever because it just wont end (thank you for sticking with me, by the way) would fit beautifully into a hero’s journey format.
I would be the hero (I like the sound of that), and my quest would be to summon the courage to make more connections (and maybe even friends) at a networking event, the antagonist would be my shyness and insecurities, my allies would be the other amazing people at the blog conference and the speakers who all seemed to do a great job of building my confidence as well.
I would build the story in ever increasing waves of tension as you follow along through my attempts to initiate and navigate through conversations, and triumph with me as I leave the conference with a head full of great ideas, a belly full of wonderful wines, fists full of schwag and the business cards of other bloggers, and most importantly, my confidence through the roof. In the end my anxiety would be vanquished, and I would be the queen of the bloggers (or at least the queen of CoffeeJitters.Net) and then my allies would be rewarded with loads of link love (which I’ll try to do anyway). Those things happened, I just didn’t write the post that way. But I can totally see now how that structure would improve this monstrosity.
See, I get it Danae. I really do. But, I also know myself well enough to know that any thoughts of rewriting this 1000+ word post are little puffs of nothingness that will never happen – especially while I”m in the middle of this 4000 mile road trip. So the post goes up as is.
The conference was worth every penny, and worth every moment of awkwardness. I feel a little more confident in what I’m doing as a blogger, no one bit me or gave me a why-the-hell-are-you-talking-to-me look while I was at the conference, I made some new friends, and now it’s time to put this post to bed and get some sleep. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us tomorrow. The next post will come from 600 to 900 miles away, and maybe from a different country. Not sure yet. We’re flying by the seat of our pants.
I like to think of myself as having superpowers. My favorite superpower is the ability to make things go away by not believing they are true. I’ve had a lot of practice using this superpower; I was diagnosed with stage 3 breast cancer while I was still breastfeeding my baby.
That was practice using this superpower, but no success.
One of the first things that hits you over the head with a cancer diagnosis, after confronting your mortality, is the understanding that you are not in control. Control is an illusion. This is a very difficult concept around which to wrap your brain.
We’re constantly bombarded with messages about how we are in control. Make a plan and execute it. Just do it. We are the product of our own choices. Metaphors abound: in the drivers seat, steer the ship, drive to success, master of your domain (giggle, snort – if you got this Seinfeld reference, you’re old like me).
There is a lot of truth in these ideas. We are the product of our own choices – to an extent. But there is so much we can not control. The child with neuroblastoma did nothing to deserve that disease. They did not earn it. Neither did I.
For all this time we spend juggling – super-moms with all their balls in the air at the same time – we also live with this fear that one dropped ball will bring them all down. If we miss a ball, a deadline, a dental appointment, 50,000-mile maintenance check, the world will keep on spinning whether we pick up the peices and run to rejoin the party, or throw our hands up in the air in defeat.
Some of the balls are going to drop.
I worried so much after my diagnosis: How am I going to effectively parent my child, keep up the house, finish my degree, and battle this disease? I realized that I could not keep all those balls in the air. I made a choice. I decided that parenting and health were my priorities, housekeeping would get attention as I had any to spare, and I took a leave of absence from school. A year later my daughter is happy and healthy as she enters her twos, I’m nearly done with treatment though still battling fatigue, my hair is starting to grow back, and in January I returned to school full time. But, my house is still a mess.
I’m still making choices about my priorities. My house still isn’t winning.
Martha Stewart has a large staff of well paid employees that help her pull off all that magic. I don’t have to be Martha Stewart, and most of us have no hope of having a large, well paid staff to make us look good. What you see is what you get. It’s just me, Baby. Lovable. Imperfect. Flawed. With mutant genes running amok.
I am letting go of the illusion of control
I don’t want to give you the impression that I’ve got this fatalist attitude where there’s not much sense in trying because there is no hope of success. I don’t believe that at all. I try. I work my butt off. I pour blood, sweat, and tears into motherhood, and everything else I do. But I’m learning to distinguish between the things I can control, and the things I can’t.
I can control whether I provide a quiet time and space for my daughter to take a nap
I can not control whether she goes to sleep
I can control the amount and quality of the food that I eat, and I can control the amount and quality of my exercize.
I can not control my weight
I can control my own reactions to my toddler’s behavior, and I can control whether she has been fed, and provided ample opportunity to play and rest.
I can not control whether she has a meltdown in public
I can provide sufficient towels and a bath mat
I can not control whether my husband soaks the bathroom floor when he gets out of the shower
I can fight like hell, do everything prescribed, and more
I can not control whether this cancer comes back
Life got so much easier when I stopped trying to unbelieve what I didn’t want to be true. I can’t control whether or not I have cancer, I can only control my reaction to that fact. A huge burden lifted when I stopped trying to control things over which I had no control. I can’t control everything. I don’t need to control everything. The fact that I don’t control everything doesn’t make me less of a person, less of a woman, less of a mother. It makes me human. It makes me vulnerable. It makes me brave and scared at the same time. It makes me real. And it makes me more empathetic to everyone else around me.
Sometimes, the best things in life are unplanned. Usually, the worst things in life are unplanned. Either way, survival, thriving, requires the ability to adapt. In order to incorporate this new reality into my life, I’ve got to accept it. The more time I spend thinking it just can’t be true, trying to control the uncontrollable, the longer it takes to find a way to make the best of the situation.
I used to work for a cruise/tour company that was smaller, and a bit more intimate than most. This gave us the flexibility to chase rabbit trails, and make impromptu itinerary changes to take advantage of opportunities as mother nature provided. The director used to say “we have an itinerary so we have something from which to deviate.” That’s a little closer to the way I live my life these days. I make plans and set goals, I work towards them, but I try to stay flexible enough to change as necessary. That helps with crisis management; it also makes it possible to savor rainbows, and jump on opportunities as they arise as well.
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This week, the girls at SITS are discussing perfection and the art of letting go. Join the conversation (Linky included). We’re also using #SITSLettingGo on Twitter.
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And the people who attended this event were just wonderful. From the moment I showed up to check in, an hour late (another story for another time), I was overwhelmed by just how amazing and, more importantly for me, approachable, everyone was. Superstar-blogger 
