Category: chronic illness

Magic wrapped joy…

Published on by Mae @ Rainydayinmay4 Comments

Anyone who truly knows me can attest to the fact that i LOVE gifts. Long before anyone was publishing books about Love Languages, I was enamored by the mystery of a wrapped present. I loved the magic of giving them, even when I clearly knew what was inside. Emotionally, I engaged in the unveiling of the secrets, with the recipient. I am even an absolute fan girl of the empty wrapped gifts meant only to adorn hotel lobbies in December. I don’t know why.

I was just sharing a story, with a friend, about one Christmas when I was a little girl. My grandmother would put her wrapped gifts out weeks before Christmas and I loved looking at each one. While I obviously had a vested interest in the packages with my name on them, I held a pretty committed intrigue to each gift, regardless of who it belonged to. On this particular Christmas, my grandmother had a wrapped gift for me, in the shape of an octagon. It was roughly ten inches long, and octagonal around. I was enchanted. Every empty moment spent at her home, that season, became filled with me sitting cross-legged beneath her tree, that gift in my hands. What WAS it? What could it possibly be? I would rack my brain imagining everything I knew, shaped even remotely similar. I concluded it had to be a candle. A really large, octagon shaped pillar candle. The disappointment of receiving a candle for Christmas was real, but also much smaller than the satisfaction I would obviously feel, come Christmas Eve, when I unwrapped it and had been right.

If gift guessing had been an Olympic sport, I would have gone out for it EVERY SINGLE YEAR… (I also would have been disqualified in ’85 for tearing 2″ pieces off of the back of every present beneath my mom’s tree- the equivalent to “doping”, in this event)

Christmas Eve finally came. Our tamales were eaten, merriment was high and, as the youngest, my time came to begin the unwrapping festivities. I’m sure you will be surprised to learn that the amazing mystery gift was not a candle. In fact, it was two Barbie boxes taped together. (because Barbie boxes used to not be square) It was absolutely GENIUS and while I give my grandmother full credit for being the family Einstein of gift wrapping, she inspired my creative gift wrapping beast to emerge… (Yes, I DID learn it from watching her! Thanks, ’80’s, for the commercial sentiment that is applicable to so many things!)

So yeah, now that it’s a legit “love language”, it is safe to say that gifts are mine. As I’ve matured, my gift giving has too. i LOVE it. It is my absolute favorite thing, of all times. (EVER!!!) If I had the money and corporate sponsorships of Oprah, everyone would be getting presents, all of the time. I keep running gift lists for everyone in my life, from friends to family. I have a ridiculous number of loved ones reach out to me for guidance and direction year round. (I wouldn’t say I’m a gift expert, but I will say I am pretty ok at it.)

I’m not Oprah though. I’m not Ellen. I don’t have awesome companies giving me things to give to people I like. I have me. I have my starving artist budget. The plus side to this shiny (and yet equally dull) coin is that this means I am far more intentional about the gifts I do give. The less than fun flip side is that I don’t get to give a fraction of what I would like. (If you were hoping that this silly post might end with presents galore, it won’t. I’m sorry- but I do promise imaginary puppies for everyone!!!)

Take my husband, for instance. Gifts are NOT his love language. They are not something he cares too much about. He could never again give a gift to anyone and be absolutely capable of both sleeping at night, and seeing his reflection in the mirror… (I know, it sounds like I’m describing a MONSTER, but I’m not. Chw is a really great guy, he’s just a little flawed when it comes to presents. I have learned to accept him…) He also, hasn’t been the best gift receiver. Personally I feel that it may be my purpose, on this earth, to one day create a course helping weak receivers not shatter the hearts of the generous givers they love- because this is REAL. If you’ve never known such hell, count your lucky stars… Because when you pour all of your love (and thought and time, and therefore self) into the perfect gift, for it to end up shoved in a drawer or never worn/used- it kills… You just can’t please some people… (by no fault of their own, of course. They just don’t care. And are damaged. They may crush souls for breakfast, but I’m not here to judge. Whatever.) Even with this reality, I love him, so I continue to torture myself and therefore, for him, I have three gift lists…

There’s the:

  • ridiculously boring stuff he actually wants that, in my opinion, make for really crappy gifts. (a tire gauge? really? Nothing says Merry Christmas, you are the love of my life like a tire gauge- am I right?)
  • awesome gift ideas that he should love, yet fit within my crazy small budget.
  • the ten million dollar list of things that i KNOW would make him blissfully happy, (Apocalypse Tesla? YES! Your own Japanese Steakhouse, on call, in your own kitchen? DONE!) but that I also know I will never get to give him, and that’s ok… It’s still fun to dream, and the dreams that really make me happiest are the ones when I imagine I get to give really wonderful gifts to the people I love…

Take my podcast, for instance. Every single guest I talk to, I think of the perfect gift for them. I can’t buy it for them, but I deeply wish that I could in an overwhelmingly powerful way, send them a creatively packaged present, after we chat, so that they could hold how much I value, respect and appreciate them, within the palm of their hands.

Perhaps loving via gifts, is less of a gift itself… I don’t know. I am a tortured, writer soul, i am no expert. What I do know is that Christmas is around the corner and so many of us go above and beyond (heart wise, time wise, stress wise, and financially) and it isn’t healthy. This season that we are approaching is the most depression filled, suicidal season within the average calendar year. While there are many factors at play here- finances and the expectations around our capabilities concerning our money/spending/gifts/travel are huge. It doesn’t have to be that way. I have something coming, that can help… If you aren’t on my email list- sign up to stay in the loop because next Friday a few great things are happening. Relevant and timely things… (Just keep in mind, I’m not Oprah!)

Back to that Octagon Christmas… While I remember the amazement I felt, discovering what the package was- I couldn’t begin to recall which Barbie’s they were. I can’t tell you anything else I unwrapped, that year. I have literally zero recollection of what Santa brought Christmas morning. I am forty-three years old, and do you know what I DO remember? The beauty and the magic of that gift. The mystery, and the weeks of wondering, which led me to absolute joy.

The moral of this story: The JOY is in the giving. (the second, somewhat deeper moral: If there’s no joy in the process- it’s not right and you need to stop.)

the simple pleasure…

Published on by Mae @ Rainydayinmay8 Comments

The world loves for us to apologize, doesn’t it? I don’t mean being remorseful over making a solid mistake, I am talking about the practice of feeling so incredibly pathetic and inadequate that we apologize simultaneously within a strain of honesty. In fact, we are so skilled at this subtle art of sorry that we don’t even have to utter the word… We deliver the message within tones indicative of the inevitable disappointment that we are surely bestowing upon those around us. A coworker may ask where we want to grab lunch and we know full well that we can not afford to go to lunch, and also that we brought leftovers from last night. So, instead we might scramble for excuses, as if having tight finances somehow makes us less than. We turn down the slice of cake with apologies about our diet, shame about our intolerances, etc. We do this with the small things, and the larger things. I’m sorry I dated people before I met you, I’m sorry that I can’t have a baby, I’m sorry that I have issues tied to past trauma… While we should become well practiced at being remorseful for hurts we’ve caused, there is never a reason to apologize about ourselves.

Take note- you probably subtly apologize forty times, in a given day. Ashamed you drank that coke, embarrassed you chose that movie, a mix of both shame and embarrassment that you love that band… Will people ridicule you for it? Maybe… But so what? We can’t all love the same things.

A few weeks ago my bff K was here visiting, and she was teasing me (lovingly, of course) for being obsessed with the Masked Singer. She couldn’t believe it when we encountered another friend who also loved the show. She thought we were both crazy because that show “looks absolutely ridiculous.” Sure, I could have not watched it that Wednesday, since she was here. That isn’t the choice I made. I giddily sat down to watch, and she sat there too, and it turned out it wasn’t quite what she thought. She found it interesting, and though that’s awesome, I wouldn’t have been hurt if she’d hated it. Are you a 47 year old woman who still listens to Brittany on your morning commute? That’s cool. Are you a grown adult who keeps Otter Pops in your freezer? Is your favorite food Kraft Mac & Cheese, but you embarrassingly pretend it is Rack of Lamb instead? Are you obsessed with Dr. Pimple Popper and a closet watcher of those things that ooze? Also cool… Whatever it is, (within legal and ethical boundaries obviously, I’m not a maniac) it’s fine. Bottom line: Give yourself the freedom to be you as authentically as possible, every single chance you can.

My very favorite movie is a little known French film entitled Amelie’. (In case you actually haven’t heard of it- that was a joke. It’s a world wide, award winning movie.) In it, the narrator takes a moment to talk about the unusual things that each character loves and derives great pleasure from. I think about it often- what my things are.

Let me ask you now, what are those simple, every day pleasures that bring you the sort of happiness that money can’t buy? (these things, they aren’t embarrassing, they are not things to be ashamed of. Love yourself and embrace yourself, quirks and all…) So, seriously, right now- grab a pad of paper and make a list. Listen to that precious, inner you and what they whisper to you. It matters. If you feel so bold, reply to this email or leave a comment and share a few…

My simple pleasures that bring me a happiness money can’t buy:

  • lowercase letters where capital letters “belong”. It’s wrong. People judge. I don’t care. (Someone once told me it was a sign of a writer’s insecurity. Nah- it is just an odd thing that I take a thrill in.)
  • using the ellipsis…
  • the smell of fresh cut pears.
  • salt on watermelon.
  • K-pop & K-drama.
  • dogs. ALL. of the dogs.
  • shapes of clouds.
  • the smell just above my husband’s lip, but just below his nose. (it is my favorite thing in the whole world- and it is free!)
  • wildflowers.
  • walking barefoot in the grass/barefoot on the beach.
  • the sound of a baseball bat cracking as it hits a ball.
  • equally- the sound a paddle makes, as it dips into the water. (when I was a little girl I would “row” my hands in the bathtub over and over and over again. It both thrills and soothes me.)
  • that moment when you learn you have something unique in common with someone. (I wish I’d began a journal decades ago, collecting those moments.)
  • Entertainment awards shows.
  • researching who people are, behind their celebrity.
  • watching bunnies/birds/squirrels in the yard.
  • the smell of clean laundry.
  • a heavy quilt, at the end of a long day.
  • eating a soft serve ice cream cone with a spoon.
  • Monopoly. (Sorry- not sorry!)
  • And as previously mentioned- the Masked Singer.

Your turn…

Making Peace…

Published on by Mae @ RainydayinmayLeave a comment

Few women would admit to being at peace with their bodies when they are dwelling in a moment constructed of vulnerability. We pretend, sometimes. We curl the hair, cake on the mascara and do all of the things we can to make it seem like we’re so happy within our skin.

Essentially, I guess you could say we are pretty well versed at living the life of an Instagram Filter. Beneath that well manicured surface, (or maybe it isn’t well manicured at all, perhaps it is frumpy and careless because we’ve given up. Few people continue chasing something once the reality sets in that it is far more fantasy than truth.)

I have a beautiful friend who lost over 200 pounds. She was absolutely stunning before this transformation, and she is absolutely stunning now. While she has been fairly open about this journey, the most fascinating thing about sitting in her sideline is the way her self perception has shifted. She did not magically love herself and feel beautiful as soon as she reached a certain size. Isn’t this exactly how we imagine it would be? It has been a process for her, a journey… A daily walk, and she admits there are days when she still sees herself as unchanged.

Several years ago I lost 130 pounds. I’d had a medical procedure despite most of the medical professionals involved thinking it was a long shot. I felt desperate for change. Prior to the procedure I was not a soda drinker, I was not addicted to sugar. I lived on salads and smoothies, worked out regularly and did all of the things, but remained over weight. I was unhappy. I felt restricted, unattractive and sick over my patheticness with every breath. A few years before the procedure I had nearly died from Pneumonia and the biggest concern I had with bed rest was that I would put on more weight. My weight had ballooned up within the first 23 months of a hysterectomy. I was 24 years old and the whole thing was a shock to my system. (Additionally, I also had super crappy genes, so I guess maybe I was screwed either way.) Every time we relocated, a new doctor would take one look at me and decide I needed to go on a severely restrictive diet and take the weight off immediately. He/She would deliver this information clinically, making no effort to hide how deeply the disapproved of my lazy, sloth-like lifestyle. Then, as our visit would begin to develop, and the layers of my health history would unfold, their tune would change. Due to hormonal complications, there would be no weight loss, their words would be delivered with such compassion woven finality. Psychologically the best I could do would be embrace my body/self and love me for who I was. (The irony was lost on them that those very impassioned reassurances were trailing their emergent warnings about how terrible it was that I was overweight, mere minutes before…)

The surgeon wasn’t convinced my hormonal situation would allow longterm change after the procedure. I had been diagnosed with Fibromyalgia earlier that year and I knew that I needed to take some sort of action. I wasn’t in bad health otherwise. Perfect blood work, great heart. My (favorite) doctor would constantly reassure me of my perfect health.

All of this is important only because, as I said, I lost 130 pounds. I was 45 pounds away from the target weight I needed to be able to have surgery to repair the sagging skin. I was well on my way to everything I had ever wanted, and then my marriage fell apart. Smaller, (and if you aren’t familiar with WLS let me clarify- it is NOT an easy way out. It is the HARDER way out, but sometimes it is the only way out.) I did not love myself any more than I had before, I only liked the clothes I wore better. I still kept my eye on something that wasn’t where I was. My husband didn’t want me, and all of the years that I’d spent believing (to my CORE) that life would be so great if my jean size were smaller, had been wasted. If you’re wondering how this story ends- Well, the medical professional’s speculations were all right. The results of the procedure had tricked my body into a 30 lb weight loss almost immediately. Being 30 lbs lighter meant that I could be more active with significantly less chronic pain. I hit the gym 2 hours a day, 6 days a week. When I wasn’t at the gym I was either behind my laptop working, or being constantly active. It was so freeing to move without the pain I had grown accustomed to. The weight continued to fall off, though at a much slower pace. And then, it stopped. I plateaud for around eleven months, and then slowly the scale started to go the other way. Hormonally, they say, I regulated and well… Some days a walk around the block is excruciating.

This time, though I’m not happy about the weight gain, and I do wish I could even be back to the plateau size that I didn’t appreciate, I also don’t allow myself to refuse to truly live my life because of my weight. I think I am still holding in far more frustration than peace, for my body, but I am far better than I was. We’ve all got our thing, that justifiable (to us) thing which holds us back… and this truth is the same in all areas of our lives- physically, mentally, spiritually, relationally… We all have that thing that we use to excuse why we can’t simply accept ourselves, love ourselves, make peace and move forward.

In this week’s NEW episode, of the Collective Podcast, my cohost Nikki and I sit down to talk with author Lyndsey Medford about her book Making Friends with My Body and God, and the journey she took to get to that space of peace and friendship. She’s a lovely, brilliant woman with such a motivating way of facing what can be difficult things. Episode 52 is a great episode, and I can’t wait for you to get to meet Lyndsey. Hopefully you’ve read something here, or you’ll hear something there, that helps you take a step towards love for your journey.

the b word…

Published on by Mae @ Rainydayinmay4 Comments

There are fewer, (non-vulgar) words that cause such angst and division among women like the “B word”.

Not THAT one… Bikini.

Half of women love them and can’t wait for sunshine and waves to don theirs. Some women, (fictitious, maybe?) solidify their bathing suit/bikini shopping as a true summer milestone adventure. The other half of us, don’t. Trying bathing suits on can be super depressing, but when you add in the idea of a bikini…

And it is an even harder thing because, though sometimes we women really feed our insecurities by the negative and mean things we are so certain the world around us is saying- when it comes to swimwear people do have opinions. Strong opinions…

Have you ever encountered one of those overly concerned types, who are so worried about your health/heart/lifespan/__________ that they just feel they must discuss your weight (or someone else’s) ? Maybe you are one of those people, feeling validated in your certainty that a person is overweight because they make terrible choices, are lazy, and you magically have just the right words to turn this all around for them? If this feels familiar, please enunciate the following words as you read them:

You do not know what you are talking about and need to zip it. Period. (if you’re like me, and you aren’t one of those “joy spreaders”, then soak in those words too, except replace YOU with THEY.) Why should you do this? Because it is true.

I’m not going to dive into statistics because we are all capable of googling and finding our own fact based research, but a few fun facts:

  • a seemingly fit, size four woman is absolutely capable of having raging cholesterol issues and developing type 2 diabetes.
  • If being overweight, (let’s all stop referring to people as FAT. no one IS fat, they have fat. We all HAVE FAT, and if you don’t, then rush to the doctor immediately because something is seriously wrong with you. Also, if you are a woman, read the book Why Women Need Fat, because it is both scientific and enlightening…) were an immediate death sentence, there wouldn’t be so many people who are overweight. Why? There would be a lot more funerals.
  • There are genetics, environmental conditions, hormones, stresses, economic issues and several other factors that play into what a person weighs.
  • It is ignorant to assume someone sits around watching soap operas and eating twinkies.

Ok, I’m stepping off of my soapbox, because none of that is the point. What is the point? you may ask.

Let’s stop looking at other people through the lens of what we imagine (or know) their BMI is. Let’s stop looking at other people through the lens of our discomfort over their skin color, size, disabilities, sexuality, gender, etc.

Behind all of those things that we allow to cloud our vision exists a person. A lung breathing, heart beating human being with their own stories, their own triumphs and their overwhelming struggles. Let’s start seeing the people. Size does not matter, color does not matter.

Let’s just love. Let’s act in love. Let’s move, and think and see love.

Love.

In this weeks episode (39) of the Collective Podcast, Myself, Maggie, Jennie and Marion are chatting about why the Disney Princesses may not be so bad, we’re talking bikinis, self love, accepting things about ourselves that we don’t love and what exactly Body Positivity is… It’s a great chat and we hope you’ll join us!

That’s not the worst that could happen…

Published on by Mae @ RainydayinmayLeave a comment

Rizzo sang all about the possibility of teenage pregnancy and how grim that outcome would be, in Grease. As a child of the 80’s, I ate an afternoon snack through many after school specials displaying the very horrible ramifications of a teen pregnancy. I even, SO MANY YEARS LATER, still remember a movie from the 90’s where Brian Austin Green played a teen dad and how very difficult his life was, because of this baby. We were a generation raised on the horrors of teen pregnancies.

With a childhood being shaped during the media onset and widespread fear of Aids, teen pregnancy still remained front & center in the worst-case-scenario educations so many American kids received. I remember encountering the rare teen mom, of my day, and becoming aware of how non mystical her life really was. The fear had shaped this idea so much larger than reality. While we were groomed in the fear of babies having babies, there were realities of sexually transmitted diseases that no one really talked about.

The special guest of this week’s podcast episode has an amazing story to share about one time decisions, choosing positivity and grace regardless of the struggles we have, and how teenage pregnancy is definitely NOT the worst that could happen…

Megan, a wife, mother, advocate and inspiration shares her story of living with HIV. She sets us straight on some misconceptions and really motivates me to not allow the negative aspects of life to keep me down. Follow this link to find the various options for listening, and then tune in to Episode {38}, and Megan’s incredibly brave story.