Aren't you a pretty thing, What's your name ...

“And they found that once the door of willingness was open, it could always be opened a little bit more.” ~ anonymous (paraphrase)

This has been an interesting month and few weeks. 6 weeks ago I had my final round of chemo. Since then, I’ve gone back to work, been leant a car, been on a non-date date that has dematerialized to nada, bought IKEA lamps to flank my new bedframe, redecorated, written Morning Pages, been to therapies, and signed up for a softball league.

I’ve sung with a friend’s band in public, and was good enough, which is good enough for me. I contacted my school about renting music and art studio space, finally continuing a line of communication that my gmail tells me I began with them literally two years ago. I’ve noticed I stopped reading fiction, and was pleasantly engrossed with my friend’s copy of The Art of Fielding as a diversion. I’ve watch a lot of t.v. on my computer, but I’ve also noticed that my dishes are getting done more frequently, without my demanding it of myself.

It is this last bit that I am hopeful about. That without beating myself up to change, patterns that had been entrenched will simply shift, and one day, I’ll just notice they’re completely different.

There’s a lot of demand on myself following all this cancer stuff. And even though my friends gently admonish/remind me that it’s unreasonable to think that I’ll change my life and my self and my patterns when I just finished fighting off cancer, there is the great part of me that feels that it is because I have just fought off cancer that I must change all these things – and tout suite.

Because there’s the linger not only of the disappointment of accumulated years of mediocrity, -- or if I were more fair to myself, hiding -- but there’s also the imperative of the cosmic clock that cancer has installed in my being – hurry up and fix yourself, you never know if I’m coming back, it intones.

Surely, no one is skilled at getting “better” under such pressure. And so, yes, I do have to let up on myself, but that’s one thing to say, and even act, it’s another to believe. Because there is also still the idea, fiction as it may be, that if I don’t “do this better”, this life thing better, that the cancer will come back. There’s also the idea, perhaps like many of this age/generation, that life is quickly passing and I feel like I’m barely oriented to the spinning orb we’re all attached to.

“Easy does it” comes to mind. I have enough collaged reminders of the word “Relax.” But the hyper-vigilance, and perfectionism, don’t have time for relax.

One way that today I am trying to counter-balance my crazy is to write this, write my blog, which because of my work schedule, and the rest of my typical morning practice, I’ve had to skip to be to work (relatively) on time. So, I got up a few minutes earlier, to ensure I had time for this, because, as you can see, I need some outpouring of the crazy, in order to be a little emptied for the sanity.

I met with my writing group yesterday. It was only two of us this time, but it was our first meeting since cancer, so it was a welcome return to normalcy. We spoke a lot about where we were in thinking about our writing, what we had to give to it, and came to the idea that perhaps it could be fun again, instead of something that feels like another job, as she put it. To play with it, instead of be beaten by it. Sounds a lot better, eh?

This precipitated the story I wrote yesterday, which I realize, I’ll just write as it actually happened, and put up here, because there’s a real version of that story, as I’m sure many of us have, and perhaps I’m simply better at non-fiction, or maybe that real story simply should be told instead of some fantasy version where the dorky girl gets the cool guy. In the real version, I assure you, she doesn’t.

But not because he didn’t show interest, but because she (I) didn’t pursue, in fact, she tried to disappear from his notice. Which I feel is pretty emblematic of my m.o.

Hiding. The thing that underlays all of this, me. Hiding from jobs, relationships, vulnerability, authenticity.

My therapist and I came up with some phrases after some work we did last week which are meant to counteract this habit and pattern of hiding, diminishing, and, perhaps, shame.

My feelings are valid.

It is okay to act authentically.

I will be safe and protected if I do.

I am lovable no matter my feelings.

I am pretty familiar with the diminishing part/habit. There are probably some more threads to untangle, but I’m less familiar with trusting that I will be loved and cared for if I express myself authentically. I am not familiar with trusting that I will be okay. To come right down to it, I’m not familiar with trusting. To a point, sure, but beyond that, when they say a leap of faith? I’ve already hooked up my carabeener and holster, because damned if I’ll let you drop me and be disappointed again.

The biggest fear, that I’ll be tricked into trusting. That I’ll be tricked, betrayed, after I have trusted. And that I’ll be shattered from it – something I fear I won’t come back from again.

So, how do you trust, when you’re terrified? When the thing you’re supposed to learn is trust, and the only way to learn it is by trusting? How do you unhook the harness, and say, okay, I’ll play, because I am tired of being diminished, and, truthfully, I’m tired of being suspicious?