I have a FB page for this blog. It currently has two likes, one of which is mine.
This is my blunt way of pointing out that I have not shared this blog or the FB page. Part of me just wants to keep this to myself and to work everything out on my own. That part is overruled by my desire to educate. (I will get to the educating, really I will!) Part of me is scared. For the most part, I was very honest about what my diagnosis and treatment were like. I started out that way with the aftermath of it all, but gradually I clamed up. There is so much inside me that I need to get out. I am scared that it will be too much for people. I am scared that my friends won't want to read it. I have enough vanity that I am scared that I will have no one reading my blog. It is much easier to just not let anyone in.
Being vulnerable, being open to rejection, is part of the letting go that I have to do this year. I have to do this for my sanity, for my kids, for my husband, for my happiness, and for so many other reasons. I read something on FB today that sums up what I've been doing this year:
"More than just feeling like a bad person, the labeling made it harder for me to connect with people. I’d meet somebody and wonder whether the look in their eye meant they thought I was a bad person. About a year or more of that and I just wanted to stay away. I’d become like Lucy, running off to the bedroom. All the scare tactics were working. I was being driven out of community. Like I said earlier, when we don’t believe we are good or lovable, we isolate." - Don Miller in Scary Close
Please don't take this the wrong way. I don't blame anyone. I don't think anyone, other than me, did any labeling. I have isolated myself. With the second diagnosis, with all of the unknowns, I put a label on myself. I have an expiration date. Why would anyone want a friend with an expiration date? A friend of mine told her sister about me when we were becoming friends, right around the time of my recon surgery. Her sister asked her about becoming close to someone that will probably die early. She said that it was scary, but she also said that it was worth it. I only focused on the first part of her answer. I convinced myself that it isn't worth it for others to be my friend. I have driven myself out of my community. I have isolated myself and I am so very lonely.
I know I'm not the only person feeling this way. I get such an emotional lift when I read about someone who has gone through what I'm going through. It is amazing to know that I'm not the only one. Part of my reason for sharing all of this is the hope that some day, someone will read this and not feel so alone.
Apparently I am a sucker for quotes right now. This 3rd post was supposed to be my timeline for treatment, etc. for the intro to my chapter of the book (go read the first two posts if you have no idea what I'm talking about). Instead I am making myself incredibly uncomfortable. I am going to share this post, this blog, and the FB page with my little corner of the world.
The way I've been doing things is not working. I want so much to change. So here goes!
(Ugg - I just reread this and it totally sounds like I'm asking for a pity party. Please don't do that!! I'm not. I need to work so much crud out to get my head on straight. This is honestly where I'm at. I am lonely. I have isolated myself and I hate it.)
Do you have the friend/neighbor that is always selling something? Advocare, LeVel, 31?? Do you find your self crossing the room to get away from them so that you can avoid their sales pitch? I feared becoming that person. I feared people would get tired of my posturing. All that miracle baby stuff. But I continued to wear my history on my sleeve. I do embrace pink. I am an advocate for the 3Day. I remind friends to get check ups. And over time I have learned that I am the first person friends turn to when they get a bad mammogram. They feel safe in the midst of my passion and compassion. But I have also blended my identity to be basketball mom, mortgage banker, and PTA mom. In the end I live a life of purpose and people gravitate to that if you let them. I understand the emotions that facilitated your isolation. Unless you are a chemo mom with a miracle baby I don't know that you can really understand our community. We revel in each other's joy. But we are also witness to so much loss. This is your life. I applaud that you can recognize the need for change. I pray for you daily. May the coming year(s) be loaded with joy and positive energy. But never quit being you. The world needs more Jennifer's who truly are driven to make a difference. - Robin Cordry
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