What do I have to say?

I've had the urge to write for a few weeks now. It's incredibly persistent and I've got the tools (mainly a laptop, but a pencil and paper work fine, too) to do so, but it's just not happening because I keep thinking: What do I even have to say?

I want to write a book. It's an item on my bucket list and doing this now feels right. I'm newly married, my career is stable and I can squeeze a few hours each week to devote to writing. (Also, I have a new puppy who loves to curl up in my lap and drift off to sleep. I couldn't think of a better muse!) But, really, what do I want to say? What can I add to the conversation of anything that has ever been written and published? What's my angle? What can I say that hasn't been said? 

Strangely, I'm not questioning if I am even a good enough writer because I've skimmed books by Stephanie Meyer, E.L. James and others. You see, I'm a librarian at a public library - I know the shitty writing people read. I don't want to be a shitty writer, but I think writing ability has little to do with being a successful writer and writing something everyone wants to read. There are PLENTY of unpublished amazing writers. 

I have a few topics for books swirling in my ever-shifting brain. I have some ideas written down, but now I just need to write. Right?  

For now, I will start by blogging more frequently. My husband and I got rid of cable, so I will have more time to read & write instead of keeping up with the Kardashians. The key is eliminating distractions. For a writer, it's essential. For a modern human in a high-tech world, it's challenging. But I feel so much better when I'm focused. 

Speaking of focusing, I finished some Truman Capote short stories this weekend. I don't think I've read ANY Capote works that I didn't enjoy reading. There are very few winter-things that I enjoy more than curling up with Capote, in print, next to a fireplace. I aspire to provide the same entertainment, thoughtfulness and pleasure to readers of my future stories/novels/novellas/books, etc. 

This is all I have to say . . . right now. 

Dreams

I often dream about my mother and sometimes she tells me about things on the other side. I don't know if they are real and I don't know if what she tells me in these dreams is true.

Dreaming "about" my mother are different from dreams when I feel (or think) that she is communicating directly to me. When she's really "in" my dreams, I hear a voice and/or have a feeling.

Side note: I know this may sound rather odd or ridiculous to some, but for those who are open and who understand, I am talking to you. I am talking to those who are open to the concept of there being something bigger.

In life, I loved being in bed with my mom. We would lay in bed and talk or watch TV. I liked sleeping next to her. I really miss that and I dream about her being in a bed a lot of the time.

In my dream last night, her body was in her bed, but we knew she was dead. My litle brother and I would go in her room and lay next to her and talk to her. We would tiptoe so as not to "wake her up." We knew it was weird and pointless, but we did it anyway. It was comforting because her body was not cold and we could pretend she was only asleep.

After two years of living like this, we knew that we had to bury her. We had to let go.

So we called the funeral home and told them we were ready. She had already been embalmed, so it shouldn't take too long, we assured them. My brother and I laughed because we had been going to the cementary all this time to "visit" her, but she had been with us all along.

Right before it was time for her to go, my brother and I went into her room and she suddenly started talking to us. She described where she was now and how things were where she was. She said her name(or someone else's name?) was Esther with a 'K'. She asked, "Isn't that strange?"

And then I opened my eyes.

2 years later . . .

From Facebook:

Two years ago today, my mother passed away. With every life change comes the constant reminder that she is not here. I am so lucky to have been raised by such a beautiful soul for the first 27 years of my life. When she was sick and nearing the end, one of the thoughts that kept passing through my mind was: "No, not yet, Mom. I'm just starting to really become a 'real' woman. I'm just starting to really grow up. I want you to be here for everything." Mothers can see things that you cannot see. I could not always see all that life had in store for me such as getting married, having kids, etc. From childhood to adulthood, she would remind me of all the great things ahead for me in life - long before I had any clue. When she was fighting cancer, and in a certain drug daze, she said, "I can't wait to babysit your children." And I felt ashamed because I knew she probably wouldn't be around to do that. Yesterday, one of my best friends had a baby and this weekend I’m throwing a bridal shower for another best friend. I’m overjoyed for both and excited that I get to experience this happiness with them. Life always goes on and these happy experiences are what it is all about. Life is beautiful, crazy, painful, blissful and magnificent. What I mean to say is, I am not alone and although a big piece of my heart will always be broken, my heart is still very full. Celebrate life today and always. 

Getting this out made me feel so much better. Namaste.

Forgiving myself.

Sometimes I think I'm a bitch. I am not my best friend. I condemn myself. I wonder why I'm so difficult. I wonder how I can forgive others for their shortcomings and then be so upset with myself. It seems unfair.

I think about Old Me. The Me from years ago. The wide-eyed Me. The hopeful Me. The Me who thought everything was in my control. The Me who thought love conquered all. The Me who always thought things would work out in the end.  The naive Me.

Well, it's not the end, right? I'm about to get deep here, but is it ever the end? Is there ever really a finite end to things? There's always something from something else. No thing just comes out of thin air and no thing just disappears into nothing.

So maybe things (life) will work out eventually. Maybe the Old Me wasn't so wrong. Or maybe it just doesn't matter.

My heart really aches these days. I'm a fighter and I'm strong, but sometimes being strong is hard. Ending a relationship with someone you love is hard. Losing a parent is hard. Losing a gland in your body due to a cancer scare is hard, too. (I've been having weird thyroidectomy remorse. It's really bizarre.)

When I feel uncomfortable emotions (such as jealousy, anxiety, anger, annoyance. . .) and then feel guilty about feeling those already uncomfortable emotions, I have to remind myself to take a step back. Instead of thinking about what others may say or think about my decisions, I focus on the truth:

I'm really doing the best I can and I'm only human.

In order for us to truly practice kindness and gentleness with others, we must practice those traits with ourselves. We must forgive ourselves. We must be our own best friends.

"Experience: the most brutal of teachers. But you learn, my God, do you learn." - C.S. Lewis

Chatarunga Dandasana (my first time)

tonight during yoga,
first time since surgery,
a voice said -
"you've been through so much. be kind to yourself. you're doing a good job."
no guilt. scale irrelevant.
it's okay.
i also did my first official chatarunga pushup - without putting my knees down first.
i am getting stronger.

Benign.

Results came back and my thyroid nodules are/were benign. I just have Hashimoto's disease and a goiter. I'm really very lucky.

All this news is good, but part of me is cautious and worried. Has a lot to do with watching my mother die of breast cancer at only 53.

Morbid thoughts: "Everyone gets cancer. You're safe - for now. There's many other cancers that you can get in your lifetime. "

Deep down inside, part of me thought that if I had thyroid cancer, I wouldn't/couldn't get any other cancer for the rest of my life. I'd get cancer "over with." Disturbing thoughts. Negative thoughts. I'm so morose sometimes.

But I will not judge my thoughts as positive or negative. I will let them be and move on. That's the least I can do for myself right now and always. Be kind.

I'm really very glad it's benign.

Enjoying the crappiness. (It doesn't really matter anyway.)

Shit. My clothes don't fit the same. I'm gaining weight. I'm 28. No, I'm not pregnant. I just had my thyroid removed. My slow and faulty thyroid has been the cause of so much in my life that probably matters so little.

Slow metabolism. Dry hair and skin. Weight gain. Fatigue. 

I am 20 or 21 again, right before diagnosis. Right before the pills. I am at the gym, I'm watching what I eat and I'm not losing. I'm not gaining, so I guess that's okay. I am sad. I feel depressed. Out of place. Lonely.

A few weeks ago, I had this overwhelming feeling of acceptance towards my body. It was really a euphoric breakthrough that was deep and real. I had just learned that I may have thyroid cancer and I'd have to undergo a thyroidectomy. I finally got serious about the best diet for Hashimoto's disease/goiter/hypothyroidism. Also, maybe this diet could help with my love-handles! A mostly veggie diet was leading to a soft middle section, so I started eating meat again in a big way by doing high protein/low fat/healthy carbs. It worked before when I was younger. It worked in a different way now, but I am also different.

Along with my body, my perceptions have changed. I've loved in this body in a pure way, I'd been loved in this body in a pure way, this body felt the pain of watching its first home and source take her last breath and, now, this body was going to go through more changes. (And there will be more to come in life. . .no list needed!)

Now that I have no metabolism and no real control over this weight gain (but an end in sight - THANK GOD), I am just enjoying the crappiness. Yes, I'm freaked out about feeling bloated and "un-svelte" in this body for a little while and of course I'm not eating pizza and hamburgers every night, but I'm going to experience this extra jelly the best way I can. Besides, it'll probably be gone in a month once I start taking my thyroid meds again and my thyroid level stablize.

While I was under anesthesia for the total thyroid removal, I dreamed. The surgery took place at the same hospital I'd been admitted to when I was 10 and had to get stiches on my forehead after a bike accident. My mom and I went to the emergency room alone and together. No brothers, no dad. She was nervous and worried at first. A lot was going on in her life. I was the calm one. When I came home after the bike accident, with exposed flesh and blood dripping down my face, she was hysterical.

"Your face! Your face!" She screamed.

"Don't worry, Mommy. Don't worry. I'm okay. . ."I assured her.

I was very self-conscious about my body at 10. I was made fun of for being fat. I was developing earlier than my peers. The doctor asked my mom if I started mensutrating yet. I cringed and felt embarassed. "No," my mom answered. "Not yet, but soon." I was confused. Did she know something that I didn't? The following summer she would send me away to sleepaway patrol camp with maxi pads "just in case." I was bewildered and embarrassed. I got my first period a few months after camp.

While I was under anesthesia, I dreamed of 1994 and 1995. I dreamed of elementary school. No worries except worrying about what would happen to my body during puberty. Worrying about not being in control of the things happening to it, but not really worrying at all because I couldn't help it anyway.

And, after regaining consciousness after anesthesia, I woke up crying. The cold post-op room. The beeping. The unfamilar faces. I wanted my mother, much like I did the day I got my first period. She was so happy that day and welcomed me to the club. She gave me a hug that night before bed. There were two women in the house now and she was so proud.  I didn't worry. It didn't hurt.

"I want my mom. I just want my mom," I said out loud. The nurse told me that she was out in the waiting room and I would see her soon.

"No,  I won't. She passed away."

The nurse may have muttered "sorry" or may have not. I don't remember. It doesn't matter.

Worrying about every pound I'm gaining doesn't matter either. Neither does worrying about my voice ever returning to normal. Neither does worrying about what's going to happen next. Neither does thinking about why everyone hates Anne Hathaway. All I need to worry about is taking care of myself and being well. I also want to focus on thanking people for their kindness, accepting the love I'm being given and giving love in return. That stuff matters.

Thanks for reading.