I Have Breast Cancer

One day in the start of 2023, I was scrolling and saw that one of my Facebook friends had been diagnosed with breast cancer. Despite the fact that we hadn’t really talked since college, it still shocked me. She is my age with two young boys. People my age with two young boys shouldn’t have breast cancer. So I texted a mutual friend who was closer with her and asked, “Do you know anything about this?”

She shared what she knew about her diagnosis story with me. Looking back at our exchange, I simply replied, in all caps, “NIPPLE CHANGES?!” I didn’t know that was a thing.

So now I knew of this girl from college who was going through chemo, along with another close family friend who got diagnosed just two months after her wedding. That was two people my age—two too many—who’s lives were just like mine, until they weren’t. I know the timestamp for a mammogram is 40 years old and I was only 36, about to turn 37, but I had a feeling of, If them, why not me, too? I couldn’t wait any longer for a mammogram, so I didn’t.

The good news is scheduling a preventative mammogram is free with insurance and easy (I literally did it online, on my phone, with no referral needed). While I did have to wait about a month for my screening appointment, that was fine with me because I had no concerns. Just a bit of paranoia seeing young women around me just seemingly getting cancer out of nowhere.

The day of my appointment—Monday, July 10—came, and the mammogram was about what I expected, and also nothing like what I expected all at the same time. Regardless, 20 minutes later, I was on my way. Results came back the next day—Tuesday, July 11. “Unremarkable” and “clear” were words I saw in the report. The other term I noticed? “Dense tissue.” That said, all the faux worry that I had built up went away in an instant with my A+ report card. I texted it to my husband, and he replied: “Wonderful news!”

Two days later—July 13—I afforded myself the luxury of a late night bath after wrestling with my toddler to go to bed for a good 45 minutes. I was laying down in the tub, scrolling TikToks and something caught my eye that wasn’t a new dance challenge on my screen. It was actually…my nipple. My left nipple appeared slightly flatter than my right. I thought for sure my son had “squashed me” while he was laying on my chest making me sing the entire Trolls songbook for the last hour before he was eventually lulled to sleep. I decided to check on things in the morning, when I was sure they’d go back to normal.

Friday morning—July 14—I began my day by flashing myself in the mirror. Things looked…the same as they did the night before. At that point, I heard my brain whisper the phrase: “nipple changes.”

I quickly chased that with a hearty “Nope. No way.” I just had a clear mammogram mere days ago. This must be “what my boobs look like now”—a little smooshed. That’s motherhood and your mid-thirties for you.

Throughout the day Friday, “nipple changes” echoed more and more frequently in my head until I decided to call my OB’s office to set up a breast exam. The next available appointment was on Monday, which was fine with me—this was not urgent, if anything, it was silly. I went on to have a great weekend in Michigan with my family and thought exactly zero times about my nipple.

On Monday, July 17, I saw my wonderful doctor. I started my appointment like I do every time we see each other…by showing him recent pictures of Atlas, who he delivered, and waiting for some sort of quirky comment back.

“Oh, little surfer boy!” he said, right on cue. “So, why are you here?” he then asked.

“I feel so silly,” I said, as I started to explain my situation. I even peppered in a few “I’m sure it’s nothings” for good measure. All the while, he was looking over my fresh mammogram images, confirming they were, in fact, all clear. 

A typical breast exam followed. A minute or two later he said, “Well, it’s good you came in and that you noticed such a small change. Because you do have a slight firmness on the left side that’s not on the right side.”

The word LUMP was never used.

Still, I panicked. How did I miss “a firmness”? Like most women, I tend to feel around every now and again and nothing had yet to stop me in my tracks.

Moreover, how did the mammogram miss “a firmness”? If there was anything suspicious, wouldn’t my x-ray be lit up like a Christmas tree?

He drew up orders for a breast ultrasound and more mammogram images. Even though I was caught off guard by this, we both were relatively unbothered as he posed that it could just be a benign duct injury or clog of sorts.

Two days later—Wednesday, July 19—I went in for the follow up imaging. I was very calm about things, even bringing my work laptop with me so as not to skip a beat while making “double sure” this was nothing.

I just had a mammogram. It was all clear. played on repeat in my head. To me, that was worth hanging my hat on—along with the rest of my clothes, as I stripped down into a floral, oversized robe.

This time, the new mammogram images were centralized to my nipple—which is a sort of barbaric hell you shouldn’t wish on your worst enemy. Then, I moved on to the ultrasound portion of the appointment and was done five minutes later, with no complaints other than it tickled—especially when they imaged underneath my armpit. My next step was to wait in the lounge for my turn to meet with the radiologist, a standard practice for anyone coming in for additional views.

A few minutes later, a nurse came to the waiting area and said the doctor was ready to talk to me about what she saw on the images. I don’t know why, but that choice of words didn’t sit right with me. I figured, though, it was a neutral enough line as we made our way down the hall to her office.

The doctor joined us a few minutes later. The first word out of her mouth was “Unfortunately”—and that was the first moment of the rest of my life.

I blacked out immediately, and so the majority of the rest of the conversation is a bit muffled in my memory. But I recall all of the following words and phrases: “solid mass”, “abnormalities”, “lymph nodes”, “concerning”, and “suspicious”

I don’t know how, but I found my voice again—enough to ask two questions. (Okay, three. The last being: Can I call my husband?)

1)    First, “Why didn’t my mammogram show this?” Answer: because I have dense breast tissue. It’s like a deer was in the middle of the road on a foggy night. You can’t see it, but it’s there.

2)    Secondly, “Are you saying I have cancer?”  Answer: “I’m saying I don’t know what it is,” she said with expert political correctness. “That’s why we have to do a biopsy next.”

The nurse was standing by with big puppy dog eyes ready to help me get scheduled for the very next morning—Thursday, July 20. For those keeping track, it was just one week from noticing my nipple looked a little odd, to getting a solid mass and a suspicious lymph node biopsied. I’ll spare notes on that procedure, but it’s exactly as fun as getting a needle to the nipple sounds.

This brings us to Monday, July 24—the day the biopsy results were in.

Today is the day I find out if I have breast cancer.

That was my very first thought when I woke up that day. Not something I thought I’d ever say to myself, especially just a couple weeks after my 37th birthday.

Not long after I got up from another sleepless night, around 9:30am, my phone lit up with a call from my doctor—the same one who did the in-office breast exam exactly one week before. He’s a soft spoken guy, but when he said my biopsy came back as Stage 2 Invasive Ductal Carcinoma breast cancer with a spread to my armpit lymph node, I heard him loud and clear.

But…I had a clear mammogram.

But…I don’t smoke.

But…I barely drink alcohol.

But…I exercise almost daily.

But…no moms, grandmas, or aunts in my family have any history of breast cancer.

But…I’m only 37, not even the age they recommend starting to take breast health seriously.

But…

But…

But…

But none of that mattered. All that mattered was that I had breast cancer and was already set up to meet with an oncologist later that same day.

I can’t stress enough how accelerated this timeline was.

  • July 6: My 37th birthday — not a care in the world

  • July 10: Preventative mammogram appointment — still not a care in the world

  • July 11: Mammogram clear — definitely not a care in the world!

  • July 13: Notice my nipple looked flatter than normal — a little odd, but not concerned (see above)

  • July 14: Call to make a doctor’s appointment — feeling ridiculous, this is probably nothing

  • July 17: Breast exam — still feeling ridiculous  (see above)

  • July 19: Breast ultrasound — feeling unbothered, but good to be safe

  • July 20: Breast biopsy — feeling surprised it’s gone this far, but hopeful for a benign explanation

  • July 24: Officially diagnosed with Stage 2A ER/PR+ HER2- breast cancer with lymph node involvement — feeling utterly shocked

 Talk about things escalating quickly.

“This is something we’ll need to take care of,” my doctor said matter-of-factly.

I paused to think of my son, not even two years old yet. The source of all my pride. My biggest joy. My best work. The missing piece who transformed Matt and I from just a couple, into a full-blown family. At the same time I was taking this call in my office, Atlas was scribbling on my carpet with a yellow highlighter, none the wiser that the doctor who brought him into this world just set off a nuclear bomb in his mother’s.

“I agree,” I said back with a quiet confidence.

“Soon after we get off the phone, you’ll be receiving a call from our Nurse Navigator. She will get you set up with your oncologist.”

Like clockwork, when I hung up with him, the Nurse Navigator rang.

“I can get you in today,” she said. “With the Medical Director of Oncology.”

Despite this all happening really fast, and completely out of nowhere, I was so relieved to be paired—immediately—with such an esteemed doctor. I learned that same afternoon what my treatment plan would look like:

  • 16 rounds of chemotherapy. I’ve completed 8 so far. If all goes to plan, I’ll ring the bell on December 22, 2023.

  • A double mastectomy with lymph node removal in January 2024.

  • Several weeks of daily radiation treatments.

  • Breast reconstruction surgery.

  • A complete hysterectomy. I learned shortly after my diagnosis that I am positive for the BRCA2 genetic mutation, which gives women an incredibly high likelihood of breast and ovarian cancers.

  • 10 years of drug therapy.

This is a lot. But I’m taking care of it, like I agreed to. No matter how devilish the treatment is, and it is, I will send every bit of it back to hell. Believe it.

I have kept this news mostly to myself for 98 days. After telling a small group of close friends and family, it became evident how traumatic it is to share, how shocking it is to hear, and how difficult it is to process. But now it’s almost the end of Breast Cancer Awareness Month, and I need to step up and share.

I can’t stress this truth enough: it is only because of “some girl from college” (who has become my close friend now) deciding to “share on social media” that she had breast cancer, that I ever learned that a nipple change was a sign of malignancy. I would not—I repeat, I would not have gone to the doctor for a breast exam otherwise, especially since I had a clear mammogram just two days before. Her sharing her story saved my life.

So, here I am, doing my part to spread awareness, and more importantly, spread action. Examine your breasts today. Look at them in the mirror. Have your partner look at you. If you don’t know how, or don’t want to do it yourself, make a breast exam appointment with your OBGYN. Schedule a mammogram, no matter your age. Waiting until 40 would have killed me.

How to Help

If you’ve made it this far, you may be wondering how to help. As a fiercely independent person, help gives me the ick! But I’ve learned I cannot do this alone and my greatest needs are meals and childcare. If you’re local to the Chicagoland area, you can sign up to drop off a meal, or just make a donation by clicking here.

This is the only post I will do about my situation until I have a story to tell from the other side. So, thank you for reading it. Please share it with someone you care about—your mom, your sister, friend, neighbor, co-worker, etc. Maybe it’ll find its way to the right person, at the right time, who finally gets a bath to themselves and notices something weird about their nipple, too.

I’ll see you on the other side.

I Didn't Get Your Email

A few weeks ago, I made a shift that feels big to me: I no longer check email on my phone.

While I didn’t delete my email apps completely—you know, in case of emergencies—they have been moved away from my home screen, dismantling my muscle memory to click the little envelope icon around the time of my first morning pee.

I did this after getting my millionth stressful email on a {insert: night/weekend/holiday/date with my husband}. Whatever it was that particular day sent me into a frazzle because of my inability to process the message as anything but urgent. The situation ended with me feeling guilty, stressed, but above all, like nothing was sacred.

And I was sick of it.

For the first time ever, I had this undeniable yearning to protect my time, space, and energy when away from my desk. I needed a boundary from the always-on digital world and realized that no one can, or will, draw that for me, but me. So I did just that.

For as nervous as I felt that I may miss that Old Navy clearance alert, I felt just as free—for I knew my mental energy was not going to be compromised while out for a walk to get ice cream, while riding the Peloton, while watching trash TV with my husband. I could be fully present with the most menial of things, which made them feel intrinsically more exciting.

Millennials like myself grew up with the internet. From dial up, to broadband, to AOL, to social media, to google and more, we learned, acquired, and adapted as fast as it all came along—and still do. Now, I would bet that if we had to boil down our careers to just two words, most of us would say: “Answering emails.”

I love my job. And I love email, too! Some of the biggest and best moments of my life happened, and continue to happen, through the thoughtful exchange of an ever-convenient email. But my generation has evolved into a species where always-on is expected and I don’t know how or when I fully agreed to that.

I still sit in front of a computer most hours of the day. My email tabs are always up. If something comes in and I see it, I read it and respond usually right away. But redefining what my time away from this set-up looked like has brought me a simple joy that I both humbly and highly recommend.

In the middle of a pandemic?

One of my favorite things to do is answer any request I don’t want to grant with, “In the middle of a pandemic?” with a hefty dose of sarcasm.

But yesterday, I found myself saying that same phrase in a totally different tone after receiving the tremendous news from my agent that HUSBAND MATERIAL has earned out its advance! “In the middle of a pandemic?” I asked. This time, dead seriously.

So thank you for reading, supporting, and sharing! And if you haven’t read it yet, we’re celebrating by knocking the Kindle price down to $2.99 for the month. Get it here.

(Don't have a Kindle? Neither do I. Just download the free app to your device and you're good to go. )

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What I'm Reading: Somebody's Daughter by Rochelle B. Weinstein

One of my newest goals as we enter month-nine (it’s been nine months, right?) of The Q is reading more. This goal comes after the heals of spending the summer finishing writing my third novel. Now that it’s in my agent’s hands, I can afford myself the liberty of sitting behind a different screen: that of my Kindle. First read: Somebody’s Daughter, by Rochelle B. Weinstein.

Rating: 4/5 Stars

Premise: A teenage girl is secretly recorded performing a sex act and her world—and her family’s world—comes crashing down. Told from the mother’s perspective, here’s how this family handles it all.

Review: First, the book was incredibly well written, so kudos to the author and editor for a smooth book, start to finish. Regardless about how you feel about the content or the choices the parents made, at least you won't feel like you wasted your time.

All in all, I liked it. I felt truly sick to my stomach the first 30-50 pages of the book as we learn about the recorded sex act of the young teen, which I'm sure is the response Weinstein was going for. I don't have kids myself, so I cannot imagine how those with kids (specifically teenagers) could stand this set-up without a stiff drink.

My only issue is that I found the parental response to the situation unrealistic. I don't want to include spoilers in my review, so I'll leave it at: I just felt like the author was trying to have a kumbaya moment for all the wrong reasons. And maybe, just maybe, this situation doesn't warrant everyone getting a free pass to skip off into the sunset?

Still, what's impactful for me about this book is the way it demonstrates how times have changed and how "kids today" can be. Again, I don't have kids, but even at just the thought of having them...this book's premise will sit in the back of my mind for a long time.

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I Gave Up Diet Coke...Now Give Me A Goddam Trophy

Diet Coke used to be a grocery store staple for me. I'd buy 5 packs at a time if there was a deal. I'd drink it before I'd drink water. Sometimes I'd drink it instead of water. I would rather run out of toilet paper than be out of Diet Cokes in the fridge.

I used to work on the Coca-Cola account in college, and I learned people like me are called "Super Dailies"--the term for customers who are obsessed and consume more than one can a day. Cool.

On July 1st, I gave up Diet Coke. Or, more specifically, I gave up buying Diet Coke and stocking it in my fridge constantly. I've had it twice this month: once on birthday with my Jimmy John's, and once at a lunch with my agent (her treat). As a Super Daily, I can honestly say I never thought there'd be a time that I could go without it. It was my one "vice"--I barely drink alcohol or coffee, I don't smoke or do drugs. So what if I started my day with a Diet Coke so I could focus on my work and feel alive? Plus, everything tastes better with Diet Coke and there's no greater DC than the one from the fountain at McDonald's. Fight me.

So why would I give up that goodness? I had an unexplained pain near my groin that freaked me out. I had a hairdresser who told me she had a client who had a pain in similar spot and it ended up being Stage 4 cancer and that story always stuck with me. I knew that wasn't likely what I had, but it still scared me enough to bring my sorry self to a doctor. With all the press about "Diet Coke" causing this, that, and the other thing (read: stroke, cancer, dimentia)...I wondered if there was any connection between the weird way my body was feeling and all the soda I was drinking. So, I cut it out and the lingering pain went away like magic.

The first few days were not hard at all. Not to be dramatic, but my will to live was fueling my decision to go cold turkey. But later on in that first week, I had serious withdrawal symptoms--fatigue, irritability (just ask my husband!), and most of all a headache that settled in everyday around 1pm on the dot and stayed for the rest of the day despite taking Tylenol. It felt as if an ice pick was lodged in my head and there was no way around it.

About a month in, and all of that has gone away. I'm drinking more water than ever in my life (and I feel like my body is thanking me for that) and when I want flavor, I drink tea, lemonade, Arnold Palmers, and the occasional $5 latte. These things may have more calories than a Diet Coke, but I am very active and try not to obsess about ~100 calories here or there.

Other than generally feeling healthier because I know I'm not putting chemicals and food coloring into my body, my skin looks smoother, I'm less bloated, and my bathroom habits (which used to be comical) have chilled out since removing all the bubbles and caffeine. I'm also not eating as many junk foods as I used to like chips, fries, etc. because the soda made them taste better. I mean, who wants to wash down an entire bag of chips with a glass of sink water? A few crunches with my sandwich is all I need now.

I'm not the kind of person who is going to say: "I'll never drink Diet Coke again!" because I don't have to be the kind of person who never drinks Diet Coke again. In fact, the next time I have lunch with my mom at Cheesecake Factory (next week), I'll order one and probably have two refills while I'm at it. But I also know that'll be the only time that week I'll drink it because while it tastes good as hell, I simply just don't need it anymore. It's just “a want” like any other treat, but treats aren’t an everyday thing.

What I am most proud of is getting my mind to a place where it doesn’t think my body needs it. It doesn't have to be in my fridge for me to function. I don't have to spend $7 for a 12 pack that I'll blow through in a week. I don't need to have an existential crisis if a place only serves Pepsi (the devil). I just don't really care, which is sometimes the definition of self-care.

Suffice to say, if you find yourself thinking "Man, I drink a lot of soda," or are ever wondering if you could break your daily/super daily habit, take me as an example of someone who was flat-out addicted and was able to almost eliminate it and live to tell you about it.

40 Ways to Live a Full Life

I recently read a blog post called 40 Ways To Live A Full Life (And Leave Nothing On The Table) By Age 30 by Ryan Holiday. I loved each arching theme and wanted to reflect on a few of them based off the lesson I've learned and what I want to take with me into the New Year.

1. Do Ridiculous Things

This summer, I mailed a Nerf gun with darts to my boyfriend's work. With it was a letter. I was, in fact, challenging him to a duel. Whoever got creamed in the Nerf fight once home from work had to make dinner for the other. That was fun.

2. It's Not What Will Pay Me the Most, But What Will Teach Me the Most.

I do storytelling (or "live lit") shows about once a month or whenever I am invited. I don't make money off of these shows, there usually isn't a standing-room crowd, and a lot of time sthey are far away. But I enjoy doing them immensely. I enjoy the freedom to express myself.

3. Quit Dicking Around

I knew the first draft of my second novel was due to my publisher at the end of this year, so in June, I definitely wasn't thinking about it. In November, I was. Even though I procrastinated, I realized just how much life it gives me to get moving on the things I love.

5. Get Married. Be in  Long Term Relationship.

For a long time, I believed that your significant other should/could not be your best friend, too. I take that back. The most beautiful, kind, loving relationship I've ever known is also the sexiest, most passionate, fiery one, too. Find yourself a partner who can be both.

6.  Steer Clear of the Toxic

It's hard to cut people off, especially if you're like me and wish for a more peaceful solution. But what you wish for and what is reality are two different things. In rare instances, a happy medium isn't possible. Accept it and focus on the healthy relationships you do have.

7.  Keep a Journal

Three things you're grateful for. Three bullets about how you feel today. Three bullets of what you want to do about that.

9. Live in New York or Los Angeles (or a city like that).

I already live in (a city like that) -- Chicago, but spent almost 2 years living in Southern California. Glad that I did, if only for the weather alone. But I saw "what California did" to those around me and it scared the living hell out of me. Glad I got out.

10. Quiet Moments are the Best

Happiness is: fireplace on. Christmas tree plugged in. Movie on. Dog snoring. 

11. Have a Philosophy

For me, it's "I believe you can do anything." in the voice of someone else. When I imagine that coming from someone else, I can't let that person down, so I work harder; smarter.

17. Be Responsible

Having insurance and going to the dentist every six months is actually not a bad look on someone 30+.

21. Travel With Purpose

2017 marked the first year I traveled. I mean, really traveled. I went to Punta Cana and Maui a week apart from each other. I hiked my butt off in Seattle. I visited Texas for the first time. I flew Coast to Coast for work. 2018, I have my sights set on Europe. More to come.

25. Don't Waste Time Being Offended

You will never be everyone's cup of tea. Social media, etc. makes it easier for that to become apparent. Oh well. Revert to caring about the relationships that matter.

31. Read Books. Lots of Them.

As a writer, I don't have a lot of time to be a reader. But when my boyfriend suggested we read a book together (i.e., out loud, switching off each chapter), I was surprised by how quickly we were able to finish one and how excited I was to start another. Also, it was fun.

35. Know Your Why

My "why" became more apparent than ever when I felt like it was being taken away from me. I am a storyteller. My "why" is to make human connections with people who I otherwise wouldn't have the opportunity to sit and have coffee with. That makes me feel alive.

36. Know What's Enough

I used to never say no to a project. I liked being busy and the paycheck was an added bonus. For the first time ever, I'm finding myself turning opportunities down if they get in the way of time off, or if my schedule is too packed, or if I just don't want to do it. I have enough.

There are so many others in Ryan's original piece. I encourage reading them all and even doing what I did--reflecting on the ones that are most poignant to you. 

A Win for Passion

A year ago, if you were to ask me what I'd like to do on a cold, damp, windy November night, I'd say curl up by my fireplace and order cheese fries on GrubHub while watching a murderous episode of Dateline. That's a dream Sunday night if you ask me.

Last night, was a night like that: chilly, soggy, and blustery. But instead of reveling in the comfort of my highly-functioning HVAC system, I spent several hours of my night outside. Voluntarily.

See, I was cheering on the North Park Vikings, a collegiate soccer team that has advanced to the NCAA Sweet Sixteen for the first time in their history. I have no further sport-related commentary to offer about this monumental event so don't even ask, but my boyfriend is an alumni and assistant coach for the team. This is an incredible time for them and for some reason, I felt the excitement, too.

There's no part of me that screams "soccer mom." But sure as shit,  last night I found myself dressing in layers and packing a bag of blankets, hand warmers, snacks, and towels (you know, to wipe the bleachers down). And at the main event, I even jumped out of my seat at least six times (final score: 6-1, good guys).

Once the game ended, it took me three hours to thaw and just as long for my hat-hair to come back to life. What has gotten into me? Why did I brave the elements to watch some kids kick a soccer ball?

I realized then that when someone is genuinely passionate about something, it is contagious. There comes a moment when the sparkle in someone's eye about something is so compelling, that a person from an unrelated track in life picks it up, too. For no other reason than...they just feel it.

Of all the amazing things the human body can do, this is one that the human spirit can do. 

For example, I sometimes wonder how and why my boyfriend never misses a storytelling event of mine. Sure, it's polite to support the things your significant other is a part of, but I think it goes beyond a simple call of duty. I believe that my passion for the craft and the gusto I put behind each word might actually be some pretty exciting stuff.

Everyone has a passion like this--be it soccer, storytelling, whatever. And when you open up about the things you love to do, authentically and unapologetically, you light the world up. We need more of that. Let your life's passions ooze from every orifice of your body, and see who shows up to witness it firsthand.

You might be surprised to see what people will give up an episode of Dateline for.

 

Take A Lap

Well, I made it all the way around the sun again.

In the past, these birthday blogs have been a summary of the life lessons I’ve accumulated over that particular year, which is a fancy way of saying: a recap of all the times I’ve fucked up and what I learned from each episode. But the older I get, the less I’m fucking up (finally). I’m starting to figure things out, become the person I am meant to be, and live that life confidently. 

That doesn’t mean this last year was devoid of a blooper reel. You know, the moments of pain and struggle that can make you feel like a stranger to your own self.

But this lap around the sun proved to me that moments of pain and struggle are scary, but okay. They’re okay because they create boundaries regarding what you will and will not accept from that point forward. In that sense, the pitfalls are actually the pivot points that move your life in a better direction.

Recently, I saw a chalkboard sign outside a coffee shop. Instead of a flowery Pinterest quote, it had a single, unassuming question: What has been meaningful to you this year? I liked it because it was a departure from the trendy, meditative crap that’s absolutely everywhere these days. Instead, this sign inspired mindfulness in a bullshit-free way.

I thought about this sign immediately after seeing it. Then again for many days to come. Now, the question floats into my head every now and then and it each time I answer it, it makes me feel alive and in touch with my own life story. Because answering that question truthfully forces you not to discount the troublesome times. Things that are meaningful in life aren’t always positive. But shortcomings have a way of evolving into something bigger and better over time.

So, yeah. I took a lap around the sun but I didn’t get burned. Instead, I got in touch with what has been meaningful to me and it illuminated my world as I know it.

Cheers to 31.

Not Strong

Unless it's No-Shave November, I don't pay much attention to "themed months". But recently it came to my attention that May is Mental Health Awareness month. I found this out when a former classmate of mine, always known for being hilarious and popular, posted the reminder as his Facebook status. 

In it, he said the pressures of always being "the good single dad" in the neighborhood, as well as the funniest person on Twitter, can sometimes get to him, but it's okay to not be okay--and to talk about that.

I've always prided myself on "being strong." Stronger than anyone else in the room. But when there's no one else near me, and I don't  have to be the captain of the cruise ship, something comes over me. Hint: it's the temptation to lie on my bedroom floor in the middle of the day and literally-cannot. This, ladies and gentlemen, is what giving into anxiety looks like.

Unlike my classmate, I may not have to fake a smile while running carpool or deal with the pressure of anyone actually reading my tweets (unless they are about Harry Styles, then it's a different ball game), but there are things in my life that choke me out more than they should. There are DIRECTV bills to dispute, impossible deadlines to meet, difficult people to please, places to be that I don't necessarily want to go, dogs to walk in the rain, etc. 

As insignificant as any of those seem, let me assure you that "being strong" sometimes doesn't even begin to make a dent in any of that.

But what I've learned is that strong doesn't mean you are a 24/7 QuickStop, servicing all things for all people. Being strong doesn't make you a vending machine that hums with the light on and never gets unplugged. Strong also doesn't mean you can't ever be sad. It doesn't mean you can't struggle. Or that you have to do everything alone. Or carry all of the weight, at all of the times.

And most of all, strong is not powering through, it's working through, so that you can in fact come out a bigger, better person. 

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to be late for therapy.

Just Stop

It's an incredibly challenging time to be alive. And trust me, that's not a political statement.

I'm managing more work than I've ever taken on, all conveniently bound by ironclad contracts that make slacking off or even asking for a mere extension damn-near impossible. Additionally, my 12-year-old dog was vomiting for a week straight, I'm playing landlord to multiple properties that are thousands of miles away, and for the first time in my life, I'm doing things like "forgetting to eat lunch" which is a huge red flag for someone who finishes one meal thinking about the next.

Here's the sick confession though: I kind of like it. The chaos, that is.

I feel alive when I'm busy. When I'm firing off emails and turning in work. It's the reason I can't meditate or take a vacation without wifi. And for the most part, I handle it all well. "High functioning" is what the therapist calls it.

But I'm still human. And the same thoughts that keep you up at night are the ones that keep me up at night. I just have a triple order of them, which is only a good thing when you're talking about French fries.

That said, I haven't slept much lately. Every night, I lay awake in my bed planning my next move, trying to get ahead of tomorrow, and attempting to answer a myriad of questions that flow in while the rest of the world winds down. And then I wonder why I'm exhausted and defeated in the morning.

But last night was different. In an unprecedented moment of clarity, I said just two words to myself as I crawled into bed: "Just stop."

Just stop because tomorrow isn't here yet; now is here. And now is bed time.

Just stop because you don't have the answers to the questions. And they won't come to you between now and 7am.

Just stop because the scenarios you are going over in your head are out of your control. And no amount of ruminating changes that.

So just stop before you even start. And go to sleep.

It was like five-second truce I made with my inner self and I couldn't have been more OK with it. I put the phone on the charger, turned my white noise app on, gave my dog a smooch and shut my eyes. I had the best sleep I've had in months.

There's a degree of peace you need to make with yourself, on your own time, in your way. It's like a deal you have to strike, especially when times are tough. For me, that'll likely never come through things like meditation retreats, traditional prayer, or even regular exercise.

But I have been newly-enlightened by the concept of "just stop" and am ready to make that part of my fresh start. 

 

 

 

 

 

Give It A Year

I'm of the minority, but I loved 2016. I achieved my life long dream. I spoke to my family almost every single day on the phone. I moved 60 seconds away from a frozen yogurt place. But the year wasn't free of challenges; especially toward the end. And while "another year" doesn't mean there's some scientific change in the air, I welcome the opportunity to audit how I'm going to do life moving forward. Three thoughts:

Make Mentally Sound Decisions.

The nature of my life (re: crazy) means I'm near-constantly making decisions. From what to eat for lunch, to what word to type next, to what seat to select on an airplane. But as of late, decisions have felt more complicated and complex than ever, which makes me want to do nothing at all. So, in 2017 I will no longer worry about making the "right" decision or the "wrong" decision. And when a decision feels "hard" or "sad" I will push through and make the choice that causes the least impact on my mental soundness. 

Deal with Negativity Appropriately.

When someone brings negativity into a situation, I circle around like a Life Flight coming in for landing. I immediately ask: What can I do? How can I help? What can I change about myself? No more. Negativity is what happens when someone cannot process challenge. It is not my job, it is not my bag to pick up, it is not my cause to take on to figure out the way. It is my empathy that is needed. So in 2017, I will protect my most valuable resources - problem solving, true compassion, charity - for when they are thoughtfully needed, and I will exercise empathy more freely than before.

Dismiss Fear.

I was with a friend recently and caught myself saying, "I would do THIS, but what if THAT." Translation: "I would [do this thing that makes total sense], but what if [something uncomfortable happens]." I was letting fear, some inanimate object that doesn't even exist in the universe as an actual situation, dictate my actions. When I saw it like that, I became repulsed. I'm stronger than that, and I know it. So, in 2017 I will acknowledge my fears, but then I will dismiss them and I will just DO. I will write the sex scene into the book. I will travel to the place I've always wanted to go. I will not apologize for being myself. 

How about you?