Monthly Archives: September 2018

Autoimmunity, Reflection, Uncategorized

Mind the Gap

A few weeks ago I was waiting in the checkout lane at the grocery. Wearing one of my Boston Marathon shirts, the person ahead of me struck up a conversation. Asked me if I was a runner, if I’ve run the race. Yes I’m a runner, yes I’ve run the race, no I’m not running it next year. They asked what I was training for now and my response was nothing. I explained that I just run to run these days, without mentioning that four years of health issues have completely derailed any hope of significant racing for the foreseeable future. I guarantee that is not the conversation the stranger wanted to have when they decided to kill time waiting in line by talking to me. But I could tell they were flummoxed by the running-without-a-goal thing, which suggested that they have a very goal-oriented runner in their life (this fella told me he wasn’t a runner himself). It got me thinking once again about how different of a space it is to do something just for the sake of doing the thing, as opposed to as a means to an end.

Then last week, I had lunch with a former colleague. A delightful young woman who is going through a bit of a rough patch. Throughout the course of our conversation, it became clear to me that this path that I’m on was always going to be my path. The circumstances at my former employer are such that I wouldn’t have been there long-term, even if my health hadn’t taken another shit. When I left that job, I felt quite strongly that I was just holding the seat until this young woman was ready. It felt like the universe had a plan, but until last week I felt like that plan was for her not necessarily for me. That I was mostly a character in her story. Not considering that my time there was meant to be short because of my own plan, because of what was meant for me. Throughout our long conversation I became acutely aware of how we (society) think of everything backwards. If we do it “right”, we go through school, graduate, get a job, climb the career ladder, work for 30-40 years, retire (if we’re lucky), die. We’re also supposed to get married and have a family in there somewhere. Success = college degree(s), job, house, family, retirement. We get a little flexibility on the order, but there are boxes to check.

When my autoimmune condition first went off the rails, my husband, healthcare provider, and others encouraged me to take time away from work. Not just a week or two, but a real break. After all, it was work stress that started all of it so the suggestion wasn’t unreasonable. We still lived in Colorado at the time, and having a bunch of free time in what was still a fairly new community, with a hubs who’s gone a lot, didn’t sound that exciting. And I’ve always enjoyed working and gotten considerable satisfaction from it. I’ve been extremely fortunate to do work that matters greatly to me and in some way contributes to the common good. I wasn’t ready to let that go. Besides, we don’t have kids. If I’m not home raising a family, then I need to be at work “doing something” with myself. I took in all of the messages from society, internalizing them, believing that if I didn’t have business cards with some title after my name, that I had little to contribute. That I was of little value. Even though I envied people whose lives weren’t confined by the standard 9-5. People who through a combination of sacrifice, planning, and a bit of luck, had the nerve to craft lives that authentically reflected their own interests and priorities. People who said f-u to the status quo and had the chutzpah to create something different.

So when things finally got bad enough a few years later, in late spring 2017, I had a bit of an existential crisis when it became clear that time away from work was necessary. I really, really didn’t want to answer the questions of who I was without work. What I would become without the structure and focus a career provides. A big part of me thought I’d take the time to get my health squared and pick up where I left off. A tiny, unspoken corner of my brain dared me to use the time to redirect, to take the opportunity to create something that more fully mirrors my values and priorities. Not to mention that I needed to accept the reality that my body wasn’t likely to endure the levels of stress that it used to…going back to the status quo probably wouldn’t be an option. The longer I was away from work, the more I deprogrammed and re-examined what I believed about myself and what it meant to live a good, meaningful life.

Going back to school became the vehicle for the redirect. My compromise in wanting to continue my career, but realizing that I wanted more options. I spent much of the last 14 months away from work thinking and planning for what’s next. Even with running, I still had one eye towards getting back to racing, even though I do love training just for the sake of training. Even while I worked hard to be present and not worry about the future, I was still planning for the future, wondering when I could get on with it.

It was at lunch with my former colleague last week that it hit me. This is “it”. There is nothing to “get on with”. Even though I have worked hard to be present this last year, my mind still naturally goes to what’s next. It’s not simply the messages society sends, some of us are hardwired to be goal-oriented. I am one of those people. So even while I’m trying to be fully here, fully present, part of me is still peeking around the corner wondering what’s next. When can I get back to “real” training? When am I healthy enough to go back to work? If I don’t stop wondering about what’s next, am I missing the magic of today? The magic of this gap that I’m in? What if in my urgency to “get on with life”, I don’t sit still long enough to marinate in this experience, in this moment? What opportunities or idea will present themselves if I patiently sit still, because I patiently sit still?

I missed a race this weekend. Most every year, I meet up with some of my Boston Marathon friends to run the Reach the Beach relay in New Hampshire. I had to back out this year due to digestive issues interrupting my training. (Yes, these digestive issues are related to everything else.) As disappointed as I was, it was just one more disappointment in a long line of disappointments, so whatever. But it did motivate me to finally tackle fixing my diet once-and-for-all, as food has been a contributing factor to all of my woes these last few years. (There’s a considerable body of research that discusses the connection between gut health and autoimmunity, this is a good primer.) I’m working with a new dietitian and I might write more about that later, but this is not about that. I thought that finally resolving my diet issues was to be the “win” from missing the race. But then my little sister, who was due to deliver her baby boy on Mon. Sept. 17, had him a few days early, on Wed. Sept. 12. The same day I would’ve flown to Boston to meet my friends. Because I missed the race, I was home to meet my new little nephew on Thursday. I was home to spend a few hours with them on Saturday, the day they came home from the hospital.

The last 14 months have essentially been one big gap for me, one big pause. While I have been able to continue running, the volume is much, much lower than normal for me, and racing has not been a priority. There is no point to it beyond general fitness. My career is on indefinite hold. While it’s taken me most of that time to settle into the pause, to lean in to the uncertainty, I’m happy it’s finally happening. I’m grateful that I didn’t stumble upon something else that rushed the conclusion to this time. It seems a bit ridiculous that it took over a year for me to relax into it, but considering that I’m mildly anxious by nature and am far more comfortable in motion, it makes sense. So I’m going to spend the next few months working on holding still. Rather than minding the gap, I’m going to stand in it, marinate in it. I’m going to resist the urge to metaphorically move just for the sake of movement. I’m going to do the hard work of navigating the last remaining lifestyle changes to fully reclaim my health and well-being. And I’m going to continue asking myself what is valuable and worthwhile, challenging my own beliefs and asking myself difficult “whys”. Whatever comes next, whatever I reach for or say “yes” to, needs to be a loud, whole-hearted yes. Not just a “maybe”, not just a “should”.  Looking back, I think “should” ruled my 20s and 30s. YES – a yes in all caps – is going to be my 40s. YES to work that matters and speaks to my soul…and doesn’t vampire my health in the process. And YES to training, races, and activities – hiking, skiing, snowshoeing – that invigorate and motivate me. And this gap, this pause is the path to YES.  It’s not the path I would have chosen or selected, but here we are. I’d best make the most of it.

Messenger
by Mary Oliver

My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird—
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.

Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect? Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,

which is mostly standing still and learning to be
astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,

which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these body-clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over, how it is
that we live forever.

Uncategorized

Taking Up Space, Quietly

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Yesterday Oiselle, a brand that I adore, relaunched with a blog post and video. Both were aspirational, inspirational and reminded me why I love this brand so much. Not only do they make kick-ass running gear, their mission and values align with my own. A brand by women, for women, seems as important today as it’s ever been.

After watching the two-minute video a few times, a few phrases jumped out at me…”take up space”, “being told to stay quiet and small”. We hear in a lot of different places how women in our culture are conditioned to be quiet, to minimize ourselves to take up as little space as possible. This quietness and shrinking of our presence is often for the comfort of others. Our society frowns upon women who speak loudly, who demand to be seen and heard. It shames us for bodies that are “too big”, even if we ourselves feel those same bodies are just right. We are told to temper our anger, to moderate the emotion in our voices, to shrink our physical selves. The silencing of women happens at every level of society. It happens at work, where women are talked over in meetings and whose ideas are ignored until put forth by a male colleague. It happens on the internet, where women are harassed daily, simply for having an opinion and the audacity to share it. It happens in publications, where men’s stories are told far more often. A recent issue of one of my favorite running magazines featured only stories about men and by men. (White men, to make it even less inclusive. Yes, I wrote to them about it.) Another only does gear reviews written by and for men. In 2018. The silencing of women is systemic, woven so tightly into the fabric of our being that many will argue that it no longer happens. Even though there’s ample evidence to prove that it does.

As an female-identifying introvert, reconciling where I personally fit into the conversation has been difficult. I spent most of my 30s working to understand my introvertedness, and learning to harness its power. I’ve argued with a number of people, most often men, that my quietness is an inherent quality, one not shamed into me by society. There is ample evidence that I was a highly-sensitive child, going back to when I was an infant. I’ve always been quiet and somewhat shy, and no longer feel the need to apologize for it. Rather than view my sensitivity and introvertedness as qualities to overcome, I embrace them. I know they make me an exceptionally good listener and incredibly perceptive. I often pick up on things other people don’t. I’m sensitive to the energy of people and places. I don’t speak to make noise, I speak when I have something to say. At work, our society values male, extroverted leadership. Understanding my own power allowed me to be successful “despite” my female quietness.

When I read/hear pieces that encourage women to take up space, or that frame quiet and small as something to push against, my immediate reaction is defensiveness. I’ve had the opposite problem, working hard to honor my quietness, to ground in my sensitivity. (Sensory Processing Sensitivity has nothing to do with feelings. If you are unfamiliar with the term, go here to learn more. Also, I wrote a blog post about my experience with it last year. ) Living in a highly extroverted world, I’ve worked hard to harness the value of my inherent quietness, and to appreciate that I don’t take up as much space as most people. I quite honestly do not want to be louder, to have a bigger presence. I used to feel like there wasn’t a place for me in these sorts of conversations.

But as I’ve spent the last few days ruminating on the Oiselle video, I realized I’ve been thinking about this all wrong. When the collective we creates space for my sisters – literal and figurative – to be their bold, bright selves, we all are lifted up. My quietness will be fully honored when their loud, bright lights are fully honored. It’s as though we all are being made to wear the same jacket, and it doesn’t fit any of us. Because as I’m being told to talk more, they are being told to talk less. As I’m told I’m too quiet, they are told they are too loud. How all of us use our voices is being controlled. As the great civil rights leader Fannie Lou Hamer put it “nobody’s free until everybody’s free”. So these ~800 words are me taking up space. Adding my voice to theirs as they demand to be heard, shouting in the best way I know how. (Because I’m certainly not going to be actually shouting. #nope)

In a gentle way, you can shake the world. ~ Mahatma Gandhi

Reflection, Uncategorized

An Unexpected Detour

I wasn’t going to write about this. I really, really wasn’t. I still don’t want to write about this, but the words are vibrating inside me, retaining all of their power while they knock around inside my head. Putting them here somehow renders them powerless, a process I won’t pretend to understand. In an attempt to avoid writing this, I did some drawing this afternoon. I don’t draw. It didn’t help. So seeing as how I want nothing more than to be released from the grasp of these words, I will put them here.

As I wrote about a few weeks ago, I was to start grad school at the end of August. Going back for a second masters degree 18 years after completing my first. I was nervous but excited. After 14 months of sitting on the sidelines while getting my health issues straightened out, I felt ready to get back out in the world. I relished the opportunity to learn some new stuff and take my career in a different direction. I expected to feel uncomfortable and out-of-sorts the first week, as the “how” of learning has changed dramatically since I last took classes, and there’s no getting around the age difference between me and most of my fellow students. I knew I’d feel itchy and uncomfortable, my task would be to ensure it didn’t snowball. I felt prepared to keep my brain on task, and to not think too much.

Orientation went fine. I met a few incoming students, learned how navigate the library’s website. Observed a few of the students freaking out, listened to several of the faculty tell us how to be good scholars. First day of class arrives and I’m nervous. Nervous is fine, nervous is normal. It felt weird to be on campus, but after thinking about it for months, it was good to finally be “doing the thing”. I took each day as it came, careful not to think too far down the road, or to worry about things I didn’t need to worry about yet. At 42, I’m intimately aware of my own landmines, and felt I’d done a solid job of covering the bases. I thoroughly enjoyed being “Erin’s sister”, as being the oldest I didn’t get to be someone’s sister going through school. As each day wore on though, I found myself ignoring a growing sense of dread. I told myself it was nothing, it was simply insecurity and fear. My professors were kind, engaging academics. My classmates curious and inquisitive. WHY AM I UNCOMFORTABLE?

On Friday afternoon of the first week of classes, I sat down at my computer to get started on assignments for the second week. Already assigned a crap-ton of reading, I also had two papers to write. I opened my computer to see an email from one of my professors with an update for Tuesday’s class. For some reason, it cracks me wide open. With a rush, all that I’d been hiding from throughout the week came to the surface. I spent a good ninety minutes feeling like I was losing my mind. For someone who is rather even-keeled and not prone to dramatic displays of emotion, it felt like someone else had taken over my body. I was angry, sad, frustrated and embarrassed. I realized that I was so focused on getting through the week, that I’d missed some pretty big signals my head was trying to send me. In all of my efforts to “be present”, I never once glanced up and asked myself how it was going. If I had, Friday afternoon likely wouldn’t have happened. I was so invested in making this happen, that I never once considered the possibility that it might not be a good fit. So when the whisper that I ignored all week long finally became a roar on Friday afternoon, it knocked me on my ass. I have a horrible habit of overthinking everything, but the advantage of it is that I’m rarely surprised. Not much happens that I haven’t already thought about, already considered. But I didn’t do that this time. I didn’t let myself consider the hundred directions this could go. So when confronted with thoughts that I don’t want, thoughts that don’t fit in with how I constructed this, I’m paralyzed.

I spent most of that weekend zoned out on the couch watching terrible TV. (Side note – I recently read a book that broke my habit of watching tasteless reality shows on Bravo, but seeing as how I still don’t enjoy getting sucked into a scripted series, I moved on to some paranormal stuff on the Travel Channel. So now rather than chuckling at rich people being ridiculous, I go to bed each night hoping my house isn’t infested with demons. Whether or not this is progress is debatable.) The main goal being to quiet the noise in my head enough to get to the root of what going. Seeing as how I’m not yet fit enough to go out for a 15-20 mile run, which used to be the best way of silencing the noise, for now I settle for terrible TV. Many wasted hours later, I realize that the graduate program isn’t a good fit for me. In all of my efforts to “be present and not think too much”, I missed some red flags. I accidentally severed the connection between my intuition and my thinking brain. Left with no other way to get my attention, my intuition screamed loud enough it caused a physical reaction.

So on the Monday of the second week of classes, I withdrew. I felt terrible about it, realizing I took a spot from someone else, and realizing that something I’d been REALLY looking forward to wasn’t going to happen. I knew that withdrawing was without a doubt the right decision, but I still felt a loss. I liked my fellow students, I liked my professors. I would’ve enjoyed getting to know these people better. And even though I only attended one week of classes, I had quite a bit of reading to do that first week. I enjoyed what I was learning. After the dust settled, I realized that I was on the right path, I just had the wrong program. In earnest, I began researching online programs. I never considered that I might be better off in an online program, as I’ve always been someone who really enjoyed being in the classroom. And with my sister having recently completed this same program, it seemed natural that with this being a shared interest, that I would enjoy it too.

I’m grateful for my intuition screaming loud enough to get my attention, as uncomfortable as it was. Even though I’m in my 40s, this experience taught me that I need to trust myself more. That when I’m really uncomfortable, something is up. I think for someone like me, who’s just generally uncomfortable in new situations, even when they are wonderful situations, it can be hard to distinguish between the two. What’s good uncomfortable and what’s bad uncomfortable? But this little episode taught me the dangers of disconnecting from one’s self. Fortunately, the remedy in this situation was pretty simple. Withdrawing from the program this early in the semester comes with no penalties, financial or otherwise. Had I waited longer, that certainly wouldn’t have been the case. Not to mention, the consequences to my mental and physical health would have likely been significant. And I can still go back to school, get a second masters. Only the “how” will be different than I envisioned.

Oh, and I’m going back to making numerous contingency plans. I will gleefully plan for every possibility, the hundred different ways it could go. I’m already in the process of applying to one program, with two others on the back-burner. I’ve even got my eye open for interesting work. I’m reminded that happiness in life doesn’t come from walking away from who we are, it comes when we most embody our truest selves.

It is not worth the while to let our imperfections disturb us always. ~Henry David Thoreau