Tag: notes from an ex wonder woman

Posted on

When It’s About Food

Here we are again.  It’s the holidays and we are preoccupied with food – what to eat, what NOT to eat, how much to eat, and the anticipation of how much we won’t be able to eat after the first of the year, because of how much we will most likely be eating between now and then.

It’s times like these when I hear the voice in my head saying, “It’s not about the food.”  I couldn’t agree more, but I don’t have the nerve to utter that to anyone else I know.

Yes, food brings us together.  Nothing accomplishes that quite like food.  Okay, wine and all of wine’s tasty cohorts bring people together, too.  But would we not come together if we learned someone was too busy to produce the epic holiday spread and barely managed to hit the drive-thru at KFC after finding the last gift, and picking the kids up from daycare?  Would we turn up our noses at the chance of seeing her kids in their Christmas sweaters just because she has the nerve to serve Domino’s instead of some impossible smorgasbord that only those who live on Pinterest could pretend they prepare?

Yes, there are times when it’s about food.

It’s about food when I haven’t seen the 20 year old in a couple days.  I send Will a text that says, “Chicken and Broc,” and I am guaranteed that he will cancel plans and show up for dinner, even if he’s in the house for only 20 minutes.  He’ll be here long enough to eat two full bowls of my chicken and broccoli fettuccine, and give me a hug.  Add 15 minutes if he uses the bathroom and takes his phone with him.

It’s about food when Jen and I look at each other after a crazy day and simultaneously say, “Comfort food tonight?”  Then I pull out a can of seasoned black beans, make a pot of rice, and grab tortilla chips.  If I’m really lucky, I’ll find a bag of limp, but not-yet-brown cilantro in the veggie drawer.  (Confession: The only things in my veggie drawer are usually broccoli, almost-brown cilantro, bees wax and a carton of milk because there’s room to store the extra milk in there due to the obvious lack of vegetables.)  Jen sprinkles feta cheese on her pile of chips and nukes ’em for 35 seconds.  Then we grab our plates and settle on the couch to watch another episode of NCIS, and breathe a sigh of relief that we made it through the day.

It’s about food when deciding on Christmas baking.  This year we dug out the caramels recipe I hadn’t made since before the kids were born.  (He never liked my caramels.)  Jen and I stood at the stove drizzling the heavy cream and stirring until our arms gave out.  We laughed about the lawyer we read about in Magnolia who gave up his career to start a candy business.  We agreed he was smart for giving up practicing law, but decided he must have arms like Popeye by now.  (The caramels are velvety and extraordinary.  The only thing I’d do differently is leave some unwrapped to facilitate Jen’s consumption.)

It’s NOT about food when I pick my uncle up for our weekly breakfast.  We always go to the same place, and try to park in the same spot.  As we drive to the end of town, he asks where I’d like to go, and we laugh because we know we are always going to the same place.   The owners are kind and friendly and always remember his order.  Even if my toast is cold and the eggs are never medium, it’s about getting together and sipping the endless hot coffee and discussing the news or his girls or the weather.  We finish our last sip as he gets up to pay the bill.  He will say, “Did you know there’s a picture of your Aunt Pat up by the cash register?”  Of course I remember, but he loves to tell me every week.

It’s NOT about the food when family drives seven hours to get here to spend the holiday.  It’s about quickly throwing together a pot of spaghetti sauce and opening the wine and having another friend text to say she’ll pick up bags of caeser salad, which saves me another trip to the store.

Which, naturally, brings me to life.

Sometimes it’s about the food, like when you are trying to fill a void that only food can fill.  It’s about food when nothing else will do.  But a lot of times, most times, it’s about the people – friends and family.  And if food brings them together, that’s a good thing.  Most likely, tho, they were gonna come together anyway.  Except with 20 year olds, but that won’t stay that way forever, I hope.  I can always make chicken and broc.

 

Merry Christmas!

 

Posted on

Cat Wisdom

We were only gone four nights.  We got home earlier than expected, driving a little too fast, because we missed Pansy.   We raced in the door, leaving suitcases in the car.  “Pansy!  Pansy!  We’re home!!” This time we didn’t get the silent treatment.  She wasn’t mad at us, like she was the last time we were gone.

(The perfect number of days to be gone is five, both for Pansy and for us.  Is it possible to visit NYC and be home after four nights?  Asking for Jen.)

The next morning, it was back to scrambling:

“Where did we leave off in history?”

“Can you make an appointment with the orthodontist?”

“I’ve got two appointments on Wednesday.  If Will gets you there, I could pick you up.”

“I gotta get the leaves raked before the snow flies.”

“Can you help me a little with my Halloween costume?”

“Let’s do that right before dinner.”

During this exchange, Pansy was hanging out by the cabinet that stores her treats.  She was meowing at us, trying to get our attention.  I wrote something on a list, and walked over to get her a couple treats.  She didn’t want any.  She just wanted our attention.  I went back to my list saying something about having to get to the office.  Jen was going over her school list and finding where we had left off in the history book.

“Meow, meow, meooooow.”

“I know, Pansy, but I gave you a couple treats.”

“Meooooooow.”

Just then Pansy jumped up on the counter.  Above this spot, I have a mishmash of Post-its.  Some remind me to have Jen check into Red Bubble; start her portfolio; or make a list of her commissions.  There’s also a recipe for window cleaner, and a couple motivating quotes.  There are at least nine Post-its attached to the shelves above the counter.  They are losing their stick, and sometimes I bump one when I go to put an essential oil back on the shelf, or reach for a glass.  It floats to the floor, and I pick it up and place it next to the others, hoping for one more day of stick.

Pansy was reaching up to get at the notes.  She sniffed a couple, but targeted one in particular.  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the note flutter to the floor.  Pansy jumped down and walked by her treats, on her way to the living room.

The note said, “Pace yourself.”

 

 

Posted on

Where’d She Go?

As he turned the key in the lock he said, “Anyone want to go across the street for a drink?”

One said, “What a day!  I’m game.”

Another said, “I’ve got time for one.”

Two more said, “I’ll meet you,” and “I’ve gotta text my husband first.”

She said, “Sure.  Why not?”

 

After the drinks were sorted between them, they started in about the clients they had, and any progress they were making with those clients.

He took a sip of his beer, looked across the table at a male coworker, laughed and said, “If she didn’t have such great legs, I’d have passed this client off to you.”

She saw the two women at the table look down, cringe, and sip their drinks.

She thought of saying something snarky about clients and legs, but she wasn’t quick enough.

The male coworker said, “I’ll be happy to trade.  The gal I’m working with isn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer.  I’m having to explain everything to her.”

She exchanged glances with the women at the table and considered introducing the concept of mansplaining, but she didn’t get the chance.

 

One of the female coworkers was able to get a word in and said, “I got a call from a potential client who asked me to refer him to one of the guys in the office.  When I told him I’d be happy to help him, he said, ‘I appreciate your gumption, honey, but I need to talk to someone with experience.'”

She said, “So what did you do?”

“I passed him off.  I’m too busy to scale that mountain.  Who needs that kind of crap?”

One of the guys said, “So who did you pass him off to?” because he clearly didn’t get the point.

 

She threaded her hand through the glasses to grab a handful of peanuts and noticed one of the male coworkers staring at the waitress’s ass.  She kept her eyes on him long enough for him to realize he’d been caught staring.  She said, “So how does that compare to what you have at home?”  He threw up his hands in that way guys do when they’ve been caught in the act, “What?  I’m a guy.”  He grinned, “I can’t help it.”  Then he looked at the other guys at the table, “Right, guys?  We’re wired to look.  It’s what we do.”  Then the three males laughed the kind of laugh that comes with confidence, security and place – a laugh that the three females at the table had only rarely expressed.  A laugh had with your best girlfriend, while driving away from a party you didn’t want to go to, to begin with.

 

She said she had to use the restroom, excusing herself from the table, and leaving a full beer and a pile of peanuts in her wake.

She laughed in the privacy of her car, as she pulled out of the parking lot, saying to no one and everyone, “I don’t have time to scale that mountain.”

 

 

Posted on

Hold On Loosely

“Jesse!  Where’ve you been?  I hope you’ve been having some summer fun.”

“How are ya, Hank?  It’s been awhile.  I’ve missed you guys.”

“What’s new?  How are the kids?  How’s life been treating you?”

“I’m gonna need a beer first, Hank.  So far, this summer has been all about closing chapters.”

Hank reached for a glass, “Closing the right chapters, I hope.”

She sat on a stool and took a sip before the foam could run down the side of the glass.

 

Hank said, “I’m sorry about your aunt’s passing.  I’m sure that’s a difficult chapter to close.”

“Thanks, Hank.”  She took another sip.  “We’ve had some deaths this summer.  Too many funerals.”

Hank stood directly across from her, on the other side of the bar, “I’m sorry, Jesse.”  He wiped the bar while trying to think of what to say.  “And the other chapters?”

“Will moved out a couple weeks ago.  It’s time.  I’m excited for him.  He’s ready and wanting to be independent.  This chapter really sucks, tho, Hank.”

“Whew!  I got nothing for ya on that.  I could spout off all the cliches about a son leaving, cutting apron strings and the like, but that doesn’t make it any easier.  So, how are you holding up?”

“Honestly, my aunt’s passing hit me hard, and that was closely followed by Will moving.  For the first time, I seriously considered finding a therapist.  A year ago, my doctor had recommended someone for stress and anxiety.”  She laughs, “Last year was a cake walk compared to this summer.  But, anyway, I kept thinking I’d go through some papers and find the name he’d given me, but then life was coming at me real fast.  Another passing, some more family stuff…”  She reached for her glass, “I’d come home from the office, have a meal with Jen, and retreat to the garden.”

Hank nodded, “The calm spot in the storm?”

“Exactly.  I couldn’t write.  I could barely read.  I managed to cook a couple meals and go to the office and that’s about it.  Now, here we are, the end of July, and I’ve yet to make an appointment with a therapist, but my yard and garden look the best they’ve looked in the 12 years we’ve lived there.  I feel this compulsion to be working in the yard every day.  I keep apologizing to Jen, for spending so much time out there.”

 

Hank asked, “How’s Jen doing with all these closing chapters?”

“Art is her garden.  She is consumed with her drawing and painting.  I’m so thankful that art is her refuge.”

 

“When you are working in the yard, what goes through your mind?”

She laughs, “Everything and nothing.  I started out with a lot of questions.  ‘Why now?  Why this person?’ And then, ‘Is he prepared to be on his own?’  I wallowed in the pissed-off phase.  ‘Why me?  Just how much am I supposed to handle?’  Slowly, the thoughts morphed into, ‘Hello, Jesse!  This isn’t about you.’  I thought a lot about reinvention and what that means.  I got pissed off, again, at the Universe because it seems like all I do is reinvent, and then I realized that’s what this journey is about – reinvention.”

Hank smiled, “I recognize some of those thoughts.”

“I reminded myself of the stuff about young men and how it’s supposed to be difficult right before they leave.”

“Right!  Or they’d never leave!”  Hank washed bar glasses as he listened.

“I reminded myself that my aunt was far better off now than she’d been the last couple years.”

“And did that help?”

“I suppose those thoughts are part of the process, but they didn’t help as much as planting, pulling weeds, moving soil, cutting grass, trimming trees and sweating.  Those things finally got me out of my head and moving.”  She laughed, “Now I’m starting to worry about what I’ll do for therapy come winter.”

He said, “Maybe you won’t need any therapy come winter.”

They both laughed.

 

“You know,” she said, “this morning that song by 38 Special was stuck in my head – Hold On Loosely.”

Hank grinned, “That’s always been a favorite.”

Jesse said, “I haven’t heard that one in a while.  Then, this afternoon, Jen and I were on our way to the store and it came on the radio.”

Hank reached for her empty glass, “That song fits except for the part about, ‘Don’t let go.'”

Jesse got up from her stool, “No kidding.”

 

 

 

 

Posted on

The Hovering Ex

You’ll know them by their charm.  The hovering ex oozes an excessively sweet charm reminiscent of the tooth ache you’d get from the bottle of Coke and theTwinkie that passed for lunch in high school.

He’ll feign interest in the “new” couch you purchased six months ago; the one that he sat on the last three times he came to see the kids.

He’ll gush over your daughter’s art, while not-so-subtly taking credit for her talent.

He’ll be too excited about mundane stuff – the end of the school year, the amount of rain in the last spring storm, or the tread on the tires he bought two seasons ago.  This is done to keep the conversation going.  This is about trying to stay in your house as long as possible.

He’ll buy you petunias for the window boxes even though the boxes are on the shaded side of the house.  You’ll be confused by this, but you won’t want to be in his presence long enough to ask why he brought you flowers.  He’s not even sure why he brought you flowers.  Call it instinct or desperation.  Call it a Hail Mary.  He’s grasping at straws and you’re the last straw on his horizon.

 

You are not impressed.  It’s been a long time since you were impressed.  At this point in your life, you can’t even remember why you were ever impressed.

Not only are you not impressed, you are repulsed.  All the petunias in the world won’t be enough to make you interested again.  A bigger house with window boxes on the sunny side would not be enough to make you interested.

And still he hovers …

 

Not all exes hover.

Many of the divorced are too busy running in the other direction to stop and look back at who they are running from.  Those who do glimpse in the rear view mirror run faster than the wind blows from the eastern slope of the Rockies.

But the older, unattached, male ex is going to hover.

He can’t help it.  His clock is ticking, much like the clock of a 38 year old childless female.

He’s getting on in years – way on.  He’s run out of time to attract a new source.  He needs someone to remind him to take his prescriptions, do his cooking and cleaning, and warm his bed.  He wants someone to listen to the 437th telling of the same worn out story.  His clock ticks to remind him that he may soon be in need of a caretaker, a listener and a maid.

 

As his car pulls away from the curb in front of your house, you laugh when remembering how he hated the way you cooked his eggs, and go back to planting impatiens in the shaded window boxes.

 

Posted on

Letting Go and Hanging On

Did I tell you my back quit hurting?  (Not to make it all about me.  ; )

I talked about chronic back pain on the other blog, where I also wrote about listening to the body when it screams at us (pain!) in an effort to get our attention.

I distinctly remember when the pain started – three months into the last relationship.  (Hello, RED flag!)  The pain ebbed/flowed/annoyed me through that relationship, the breakup, living at mom’s (sorry, mom, but you know what I mean), and through starting a new job at an office that was not a good fit.

I knew the back pain was about stress.  I thought I could push through with yoga, valerian root, whiskey and walking.  Sometimes those things helped, but the pain was still there, waiting to get my attention when I refused to see the stress for what it was.

I started at a new office the beginning of December.  Two weeks ago, I noticed my back had quit hurting.  I didn’t say anything to the kids because I didn’t want to jinx it.  I kept doing the yoga.  The holidays gave me an excuse to drink whiskey.  (In case you’re wondering, I have never combined whiskey and valerian root, though I’ve been tempted.)

Recently, I lifted a heavy object, as a test.  I anticipated a stab.  I thought for sure my back would scream at me.  And, nothing.  No spasm.  No twinge.  Nothing.  I was able to put away the artificial tree without so much as a wince, except I did feel a little guilty about putting Christmas away so early.

I figured I was safe in telling the kids that my back pain was gone.  I did, and didn’t jinx anything.

 

All of this makes me think about resolutions and, conveniently, it’s the time of year when we might take stock in where we are and if we are happy – or at least not miserable – with where we are.

In 55 years, my success rate is abysmal when it comes to resolutions, partly because I rarely make any.

I’m not perfect.  I haven’t got it all figured out.  But I do a fine job of making myself feel bad without adding failed New Years’ resolutions to the mix.

I prefer to look back over the year and decide which things I will let go of and which things I will hang on to.

 

I will hang on to noticing when something does not feel right.  Whether it’s a conditioner or a brand of coffee, a book that seems too violent in the first 40 pages, an acquaintance that drains more than enriches, or a crappy pair of jeans that I never feel good wearing – I will let go of what isn’t good.

It’s in the noticing that something doesn’t feel right, that I learn to let go.

I will hang on to paying attention to my intuition, and let go of the stuff that does not feel good.

 

For Will:  I plan on letting go of worrying.  The worrying feels bad.  I’m tired of communicating those worries to the Universe, and to Will.  I know he is tired of hearing about it, too. (This one will be difficult, and all you seasoned parents are laughing at me because you’ve told me that, as parents, we are never done worrying.)  But, I will stop voicing my worries to him, and I will hang on to letting him know how much I care.

 

For Jen:  I will most definitely hang on to this connection we have, but I will let go when she strives for more independence.  Is that even possible?  I guess we’ll find out.

 

For me:  I will hang on to trusting myself.  I will trust myself to say, “No, thank you,” when something doesn’t feel right.  I will trust myself to let go of those things that do not make me wholeheartedly say, “YES!”

Oh, and I will let go of guilt (stop laughing!) and hang on to letting it be about me, once in awhile.

 

It’s going to be a good year!

 

Happy New Year!

 

 

Posted on

Yet Another Post About Self-care

As you stand at the kitchen counter eating toast and chugging coffee while paying the electric bill, the clock on the stove says you need to be in the car in 15 minutes if you are going to be at the office on time.  You still have to figure out what to take out of the freezer for dinner, run the curling iron through your hair, feed the cat, take out the garbage, finish the 15 year old’s school list and wake the 19 year old to remind him that he promised grandpa he’d mow the lawn today.

You’ve been up since 5:30 making lists, crossing things off lists, and doing the work you can from home.

What doesn’t get done this morning can be done on your lunch hour, unless you’re lucky enough to work far enough away from home that it isn’t practical to drive home for lunch.  In that case, I want to be you.

On your lunch hour you schedule appointments, return emails, check in with the kids to see how they are doing on their lists.  You make sure you have enough milk for tomorrow morning so that you don’t have to stop at the store on the way home.  Then you realize that you are out of spaghetti, and you’ve already taken the sauce out of the freezer.  Before jumping in the car to head back to the office, you rummage through the pantry and find some macaroni.  Spaghetti sauce and macaroni make goulash, for the win!  You still don’t have to stop at the store.

 

It’s the small victories that get you through the day.

 

After work there will be World History, polynomials, and helping with the sewing of the Halloween costume.  You will discuss what kind of tires his truck will need for winter and where to find the money for tires.  You’ve checked the forecast and know that snow is coming, so you’ll need to move firewood into the garage.  You’ll have to make a couple work calls that you were supposed to make earlier in the day.  Oh, and then there’s cooking dinner, too.

You stop for a second to check social media while the water comes to a boil for the macaroni.  You see a post about how important it is to take care of yourself – more on that tired old line about putting the oxygen mask on yourself first.  Your eye roll is audible.  You think to yourself, “Who has time for self-care?  If I take time to take care of myself, how will everything else get done?”  And then you realize that you take several minutes a few times a day to check in on Facebook, and kick yourself because those groupings of a few minutes here and there could easily turn into a solid half-hour of self-care.

As you pour the bag of macaroni into the boiling water, you picture yourself lounging somewhere for 30 whole minutes.  It feels icky.  It feels self-centered.  It feels like you don’t deserve it.

As you stir the macaroni and turn down the heat to keep the pot from boiling over, you picture your kids taking time out of their day for some self-care.  Maybe she sketches or plays with the cat.  Perhaps he grabs a pole and heads for a fishing hole or plays pool with his friends.  It occurs to you that you wouldn’t think they were being at all selfish.  You would be glad to see them making their mental health a priority.

As you take turns stirring the sauce in one pan and the macaroni in another, you realize that they won’t learn to make themselves a priority if you don’t show them.

Posted on

You Can’t Save Him

I’d left the kids with him at the house.  I wasn’t going to be long.  I’d forgotten something and had to run and get it.  When I returned with the thing (whatever it was) that I’d forgotten, my hands were full.  I was carrying my jacket, a large bag, and the item in one hand, and struggled to open the door with my free hand.  I was fumbling with the doorknob.  Finally, I’d gotten the door to open, but I was concerned about it opening too far. 

I hurried to enter, worried I’d taken too long.  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a ginormous spider had come in when the door was ajar.  They didn’t see the spider as it scurried along the floor at the base of the wall.  Its two sets of legs were freakishly hairy.  Three large hairy legs ran down each side of its body, and its underside had a cluster of six smaller hairy legs.  It was large enough to make noise as it scampered, yet he didn’t seem to hear it at all.

I yelled to warn them. “You guys!!  RUN!  A spider got in!  It’s huge!  Run!!”  I saw my kids jump.  They didn’t turn to see the spider.  They took my word for it and ran.

 

(Later, when retelling the dream, I described the spider as the size of one of those plastic Melitta coffee filters.  It was “Twilight Zone” disgusting.)

 

Maybe he hadn’t heard me?  Maybe he didn’t believe me?  I yelled again as I ran toward him.  “Really!! That spider is HUGE.  You gotta run!”

As I came up beside him he got on the floor.  He did the crab walk like we used to do in 4th grade gym class.  He deliberately, without any regard for the spider, crab-walked across the room, IN THE DIRECTION OF THE SPIDER.   I couldn’t believe my eyes.  After my warnings and yelling and all the commotion, he actually got down on the spider’s level and moved toward it!

I could see that he was within a foot of the spider now!  He could SEE the spider.  What was he doing?  I turned to run and join the kids.  As I left the house, I looked over my shoulder and saw him pick up the spider, with both hands!

 

The next morning, as I poured a second cup, I told Jen of my wicked dream.  When I described my astonishment at his picking up the spider, she interrupted me to say, “But, mom, you can’t save him.”

 

 

 

Posted on

If Walls Could Talk

“They’re back!  Did you see that?  They’re unpacking!”

“Do you think they’ll be staying?  Oh! I hope so.  I’ve missed them.”

“How come they’re switching bedrooms?  How come Will gets the bigger room?”

“Haven’t you noticed?  He’s too tall for a twin bed, and there’s no way a queen would fit in his old room.”

“I suppose that makes sense.  He’s too big for the blue bathroom, too.  What’s she been feeding him?”

 

“Look at Jen!  She’s gotten so tall.  Where’d her long hair go?”

“Is she stirring paint?  I hope so.  I’m so tired of this brown.  Some new paint would cheer me up, cheer me up almost as much as seeing those familiar faces again.  They look happy.  Dontcha think?  Are they glad to be back?  Do you think this is a good thing?”

“There you go worrying again.  Just look at them!  Listen to them laughing!  Listen to the way they banter and giggle and tease each other.  They’re glad to be back.  I can feel it, can’t you?”

“I guess you’re right.  I feel the energy shifting in here.  It’s familiar.  I remember this feeling.  This is good.”

“Hey!  I like the colors Jen picked.  This will be fun and new and lighter.  Out with that brown.”

“I thought you liked the brown?”

“I did.  But now it’s time for a change.  Nothing wrong with a change.  You’ll get used to it.  You always do.”

“Where’s Nina?  Is that a new feline?”

“Didn’t you hear?  I heard Jesse say something about missing Nina in this place.  That one’s called Pansy.”

“Does Pansy ever leave Jen’s side?”

“Nope.  I think that’s the point.  I heard Will’s getting a canine.”

“Yay!  A dog!  That’s so good.”

 

“Look!  Will’s mowing the grass.  Can you hear the yard?  Even the yard is glad they’re back.  I’d swear the grass is smiling, even as he cuts it.  Oh!  That’s good.”

“He cuts the grass a lot faster than he used to.”

“No kidding.  He’s a man now.  He’s not a boy anymore.”

 

“Jen still does her art!”

“You mean painting the walls?”

“Not just the walls, silly, she still draws and paints on paper.  I can’t wait to see what she draws next.  I’m so glad they’re back.  Now we get to see what happens to these kids.”

“Do you think they’ll stay?”

“I hope so.  They had it real good here.  They’ll have it good here this time, too.”

“I heard Jesse say she’s never moving again.”

“Oh, no!  Will’s leaving.  Look at him!  He’s walking out of the garage.”

“He’s got a fishing pole!  Don’t worry.  He’s heading to the river.  He’ll be back.”

“Yeah!  He’ll be back in time for dinner.  Just watch!”

 

It turns out you can go home again.

 

Posted on

On Mixed Messages and Secrets

Her foot was in that temporary boot they apply when someone has broken their leg.  And because I knew her, I said, “Oh my! You’re the one who is always working out and staying in such great shape.  What the heck happened?”

She was in tears as she told the story.

I said, “Do you ever wonder why the Universe can’t deliver messages in a more gentle fashion?  Maybe you’re supposed to slow down?”

She wiped a tear and shook her head.  She’s not the type to slow down.  I probably shouldn’t have mentioned that.

And as I sat in the curtained room waiting for the results of the EKG, the blood work, the urine sample and the foot-long swab that actually fit up my nose, I wondered if the words I’d directed at her were really meant for me.

How many times have I written about stress?  How many signs have I received that clearly tell me to slow the hell down?

I guess I’m not the type to slow down either.

And so after being told that my heart was fine, I stood in the waiting room, watching for Will.  I’d insisted he drop me off, so he could get to school and focus.  But then he insisted on picking me up.  So much for his focus.  As I watched for his truck, it was my turn to cry.

The tears were a mix of relief, embarrassment, frustration, and defeat.

Will dropped me at home and went back to school.  Jen offered to cook me dinner, but I let her clean up instead.  (I can only admit to so much defeat in one day.)  We watched mindless television and waited for Will to get home.  I got sick of them asking me how I felt, but hugged them because they asked.

I slept the night through.

This morning I read a post about secrets, and how unhealthy it is to keep secrets.  I didn’t search out this post, it appeared on my laptop the way some gentler messages from the Universe do appear.

Soon after, my brother called to check in.  He listened.  He asked the right questions.  He re-framed what I told him.  He put a new spin on possible solutions.  He made my secret seem less foreboding.  (I realized that my big secret is feeling like I’m a failure.)  He made different choices sound less like defeat, and more like a new route to success.  His suggestions lightened my load.

Then I did the stretching and the poses and listened to the tapes.  My back feels better.  Of course it helps a lot that I’m not worried about the classic signs of heart disease in women.

But I see the pattern.  It’s what I’ve said so many times.  When I allow myself ease – the ability to slow things down, I feel better.  Duh!!

But admitting I can’t do it all is like some f’d up version of defeat or failure.  ‘Ease’ was not part of Wonder Woman’s vocabulary.  Imagine how much better she’d have felt if she had eased up on that belt a little.

Today’s lesson:  Do as I say, not as I do.  Oh, and get the stress test.