Grace to Accept the Things I Cannot Change

Eight years ago April, my mom asked me to come along with her to a doctor's appointment for some test results. Dad couldn't go, and the doctor recommended she have someone with her. I knew that was bad, but when she gave us the news that a routine CBC had detected leukemia, the same leukemia my grandpa had just passed away from, I thought I knew how bad it could get. I didn't know.

Saturday I was two days late, so I took a pregnancy test and it was negative. I was devastated. My tendancy to see the worst-case scenario surfaced, and I just poured out my grief: losing my baby, the possibility of losing my mom, the possiblity that I might never get to have kids, the possiblity that even if I do, they might never get to have the grandmother that Hayden has. My heart just HURTS.

Joe tried to comfort me, but he didn't understand. This was a revelation to me. Joe has road rage: he'll get (what I see as) irrationally upset about what other drivers do. If he has a bad commute home, he'll be in a funk for at least an hour after he gets home. This is incomprehensible to me: I just don't understand how he lets the behavior of other drivers affect him so much. I think this was a chance to let us be in the others' shoes. I let all these things I can't control affect me so terribly, and he can't see why I let myself get so upset over what might happen.

Not to say my grief is unwarranted, or that I don't need to work my way through it, but I understand a little better now. I need to find a better balance between honoring my grief and letting it overwhelm me.

Working My Issues

My sister is doing a series on her blog exploring her issues, which has made me realize that as much progress as I’ve made, I’ve still not dealt with all my underlying issues, because I AM still sabotaging myself by bingeing. I haven’t been talking about it, because it’s shameful, but keeping it a secret hinders my process. Monday I ate an entire quart of Coldstone’s Cake Batter Batter Batter. I only enjoyed the first ½ cup or so, but I ate the whole thing anyway. We don’t even need to talk about how many brownies I ate two weeks before.

The other Something Interesting (SI) going on has me also evaluating what I want and why I want it. That and the day I spent with dread in my stomach when I couldn’t find my keys reminded me of when that feeling was a near constant way of life.

I am socially stunted. Yes, I’ve made progress, and many of you might never know it, but I feel it. I spent so many years seeking the acceptance of my peers and being rebuffed at every turn. In the years when most girls are learning how to develop friendships, having slumber parties, passing notes and giggling in the bathroom, I escaped into books. By the time I got a new chance to start over in high school, I was so paranoid I couldn’t take advantage of it. The only attention I’d ever gotten from my peers was scorn, so being unnoticed was almost a relief.

The relief didn’t last long, though. I went through high school not really experiencing it. Imagine doing all the things you did in high school without the social connections: sports, band, yearbook, class trips, drama. Lunch was the worst. A whole cafeteria full of people and not one to talk to. That was the first time I remember using food to cope with my feelings, except then it was lack of food. I don’t know how my parents didn’t notice I wasn’t eating at school; I never asked for lunch money.

My first friends that weren’t family I made after I graduated from college. I’m still not sure I know how to be a friend, as the deterioration of the friendship that brought me out of isolation ended with the accusation that I was not being a good friend to her when she needed me. Others have drifted away, which may be the nature of some friendships, but just makes me skittish. Part of me doesn’t know why anyone would like me and I tend to harbor suspicion of the intentions of people who do.

I’ve come to embrace isolation. I have specific relationships that fulfill specific needs in specific situations, but most of these relationships are held at arm’s length. I understand that this is probably a coping mechanism for my fundamental insecurity, and I can’t help but believe the bingeing is also, but the connection is not as clear to me.

Fortunately, as much as I’m sabotaging myself, I AM making progress. My trainer said to me a couple weeks ago when she was correcting my technique for clean and jerk that I’m so strong, I’ve been getting away with flaws in form. I think I can translate that to my issues, too.