When Your Walk Becomes a Crawl-Keep Crawling
It feels like a shitstorm. A fecal low-pressure system. The ca-ca has hit the rotary blade. Violent winds of poo. (Not to be mistaken for gaseous emissions from everyone’s favorite bear, Winnie.)
Welcome to my life these past several months. To recap:
Jan 2021-separate from husband of 32 years and move to a new city
Nov 2021-divorce finalized
Jan 2022-breast cancer diagnosis
Feb-ish 2022-discover more breast cancer in the other boob
Apr 2022-double boobectomy (that’s “bilateral mastectomy” in medical parlance.)
May 2022-begin chemotherapy
July 2022-end chemotherapy
July, the next day-sell home in a wink
The mobile home park where I live is closing, and I could sell my place now or later on down the road for a fire sale price.
Not having an income over the past several months, it seemed prudent to choose option number one.
I hung out the for-sale sign. It sold within a week.
So, one week after chemo ended, I am packing up the comforting nest I’ve built for myself over the past year and a half. In the flurry of all this, I had to re-home my beloved cat, Ruthie. Then just yesterday, I receive word that the new home wasn’t working out.
Cue to another bucket full of tears, and hand wringing. I honestly didn’t think I had anymore tears left in me.
Thanks to the intervention of friends and my beautiful sister, we found a new home for Ruthie.
Now I’m back to packing boxes and stuffing my stuff into a stuff-age unit. Oh, I sold my car too. It was that or pay to park it for the foreseeable future.
Other changes have been of the happy variety. Enter Tom. A dear friend who has become my beloved life partner. It is he who has stuck with me through this whole breast cancer nightmare. I am beyond lucky/blessed/grateful for his presence in my life.
We plan on hitting the road and returning to Tom’s home in Michigan to be snowbirds. (That’s Michigan in the summer, Arizona in the winter.) We kick off this new chapter next week, a few days after my final oncology appointment.
The happy stuff aside, can I get an “ENOUGH ALREADY”? This brief synopsis of my life this past year doesn’t even begin to color in the legion difficulties of lesser magnitude.
I feel like I have been on the receiving end of a baseball pitching machine gone manic. I’ve given up trying to swing my bat in an attempt to knock these unwelcome fly balls out of the park.
And this is why I always marvel when I hear someone say, “you’re so strong!” or “I couldn’t do this.”
I don’t feel strong. Especially when I feel like crawling into a fetal position with a bottle of merlot while the baseballs continue to pummel me.
And the “I couldn’t do this”? Well, it’s not much of a choice if I don’t want cancer cells migrating to my bones or brain. I’m also fond of the idea of staying on this side of terra firma.
I’d like to grow old and watch my kids’ lives unfold. I’d like to be with Tom for many, many years of happiness. I want health in my body and a life of peace and joy.
This has been hard, hard stuff. I am also SOOOOOO very much aware that some women have gone through much worse. But sometimes my empathy works against me, as I will diminish the pain I am experiencing.
No, I’m not fleeing a war-torn nation with just the clothes on my back. No, I didn’t have an aggressive cancer with a poor prognosis. And yes, I know things could be much worse.
I must not diminish the fact that all this has been fucking hard. I’d really like to get off the crazy train and just lick my wounds for a while. (And trust me when I say those wounds have left some impressive scars, both physically and emotionally.)
This School of Suffering is teaching me valuable lessons.
First, my friends and loved ones are my greatest treasure. They have carried me through these difficult times with their words of love and encouragement. And yes, reminders that I AM strong (even if my emotions are screaming the opposite.) This also includes the amazing community of breast cancer patients and survivors. The level of love and encouragement these women give is holy and sacred.
Second, great love and great suffering are intertwined. My favorite Franciscan, Richard Rohr, has taught me this great truth. But it is this season of suffering that has driven that truth deep down into my heart.
I am learning that self-love and self-compassion are the most effective and most transformative approach for navigating life’s battering. I cannot minimize my pain when it arises. I need to sit with it as I would a small child seeking comfort. I believe this allows me to be more loving and compassionate toward others.
Third, surrender is another power tool. Starting with letting go of the notions of how I thought life would work out.
I sure as hell didn’t plan on becoming a 58-year-old divorcee with a breast cancer diagnosis and shaky finances. I didn’t plan on a lot of shit that’s been put on my plate.
Finally, when your walk becomes a crawl, keep crawling. And if that is too much on some days, it’s okay to pause. (It’s also a good time to call a friend or even put the word out in your social media circle for support.)
Even with all the difficulties, life is an extraordinary gift.
Max Ehrmann understood this when he wrote Desiderata. “With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.”
Theresa Winn is a certified life coach and spiritual director. She confuses people when she talks about God and then drops the f bomb. Her next book, “Bye-Bye Boobs-Breast Cancer, Boobectomies and Badassery” is in the works. Consider buying her a coffee or a bottle of three buck chuck from Trader Joe’s.
