You have no items in your cart. Want to get some nice things?
Go shopping
Figuring out where to begin is a little bit like trying to herd squirrels. Squirrels on crack. In heat. During a full moon.
Fortunately, I have a little bit of experience herding squirrels—I led a middle school girl’s group for two years. With my daughter. And her similarly high-energy, low-attention-span friends.
I called it my Squirrel’s Group.
Leading that group? This would be what starting is like.
Ideas all clamoring to be heard above one another, each one yelling louder than the other and waving its arms and jumping up and down on the couch. All the different things I want to say, all bouncing-bouncing-bouncing around in my brain together, each talking a mile-a-minute keeping pace with the bounce-bounce-bounce-bounce-bounce. All of them cramming together into my car, the pitch getting higher as the volume gets higher as the intensity gets higher as the decibel level gets higher until I open the door and unleash them in their heightened state to the no-longer-quiet night.
With so much in my brain clamoring to be heard, it is difficult to know where to begin. So much I want to say, so much I need to process, so much we need to hear.
So I’m going to get us rolling by setting the squirrels loose and let them run about as they may. It may not make any sense, but it will be a hoot to watch.
These last four years of silence have seen my mind running in a million directions. I found myself rounding the bend of 45 and staring at the realization that the next mile marker for me is 50. I’m a woman. Time is not always kind to women. I find myself worrying at times what aging will mean for my career, for my health, for my aspirations in a world where men gain value as they age and women lose it.
I see coworkers and colleagues running hard and fast at a pace I cannot even DREAM of replicating, garnering the attention of those who have power to determine my path, and I find myself torn between honoring my body and pushing my limits in order to prove my worth.
I continue to amass my collection of ideas—written on napkins, texts to myself on my phone, documents filling up my computer—but by the time I get home from work I am spent and don’t have the energy to execute them, and I fear they will only ever be seed packets in my workbench drawer and never have the opportunity to be planted.
I look at my friends running marathons, completing triathlons, playing tennis, getting black belts, competing with Cross Fit—and I think about how hard it is just to get my own weak and fatigued and pain-wracked body through the day, let alone a workout.
I see my daughter’s friends getting senior pictures taken, making college visits, driving their own cars, attending homecoming, starring in the musical, having parties—and I grieve all these losses and more, both the big and the small.
I wrestle with the unspoken expectations that come along with being the wife and being the mom and chafe where they rub up against dreams and limit at times my ability to chase them.
I observe myself check out emotionally as I stumble under the weight of loads I was never meant to bear but have landed on my shoulders nonetheless.
I think about 46 years spent in a body I’ve never been able to understand, never been able to control, never been able to coax out of pain or illness or melancholy, never been able to trust, never been able to make friends with.
I watch myself spin in circles trying to figure out what is wrong with me, what is wrong with my daughter, how to fix us both, how to make school work for her, how to help her overcome this horrendous depression, how to find God in this, how to encourage us both.
I regard the scale, the number ever-increasing as the medications that minimize my pain unfortunately also maximize my waistline, and I struggle under the shame of knowing I am one of the many who lost it all just to gain it all back.
I observe my family engage as if I am an outsider—detached from their laughter in my deep fatigue and slowing synapses—and I wonder how my kids will remember me as they get older. Will it be the sick me, or the fun me?
I feel the frustration of medications that help one thing but mess up another. I go nearly crazy attempting to determine if there is a miracle diet that will return our bodies to health. I double over with grief each time my daughter comes face to face with her reality. I struggle to remember words, to make calculations, to put a name with a face. I consider living in quarantine because I pick up a full-blown plague every time my son comes home with just a sniffle. I fight to stifle a scream every time I hear someone say limits are made to be broken—that the only limits are the ones we create inside ourselves.
THIS is what is on my mind.
Pain. Ambition. Aging. Worth. Illness. Abundance. Limits. Faith. Loss. Calling. Health. Achievement. Fear. Mess. Functionality. Depression. Fatigue. Purpose. Perseverance. Doubt. Relationships. Suffering. Hope.
This is what God has put on my heart. We’ll cover it all. Eventually. God (and body) willing.
We’ll begin exactly where I began—examining what it means to live with something (or many somethings) of a chronic nature. We will talk, over the next few weeks, about:
- Living with Pain
- Living with Limits
- Living with Loss
- Living with Messy
- Living with Others
- Living with Purpose
- Living with Hope.
This is where we’re going to start our journey together. You’ll notice these topics are also the main categories under which we will be writing. Over time, if you click on one of them over on the sidebar, it will take you to all the posts under that category.
One more thing—as writing is how both Bub and I have committed to paying attention spiritually and emotionally, you may see unrelated posts pop up during the series. Sometimes you just need a writing therapy break, after all. But this series will take us through the month, so stay tuned.
All is quiet in my head, now. I can take a deep breath and enjoy the quiet. At least for the moment. The squirrels are tucked up in their nests and it’s time now for the raccoons to ravage my lawn under the cover of darkness. But that’s another post for another day.
I’m glad you’re here.
And I’ll talk to you soon.
I can not begin to understand all the pain that you have lived with but early April of this year changed my life forever. As I was walking, enjoying early Spring, anticipting summer and many, more long walks of 4 miles a day it came to an abrupt halt. How I love to walk outside. It’s where God speaks to me. It’s where I feel free. As I walked I stepped off a curb the wrong way– evidently, and a shooting pain ran from my ankle to my hip. I was unable to walk for over 30 minutes. I tried stretching nothing worked. I decided to hobble back to my car, that was quite a distance away. I was to find out in the weeks to come that I had triggered the sciatic nerve from my ankle to my hip. X-rays revealed bone spurs on my spine- most likely pinching the nerve. The step off the curb was not the problem it was just enough jarring , I guess for the spurs to close in pinch the nerve. At least that is what they think? Chiropractor, 3 x a week, physical therapy and drugs. Still I spent days at work in tears due to the pain. It affected my driving (my right leg)And I worried weather I would be able to step on the brake repeatedly in Cbus traffic. Sleepless nights were not helping with my emotions. Sorry this is so long. I am 85% better now and have begun to walk and even ride bike. Still pain every day but it’s a dull ache that never leaves. I was never able to empathize with physical pain others felt, until this. How I relate to all you write, except about your daughter. Thank you for your blog. I look forward to this journey with you. Love who you are!!!
So Often I Hear My Son Say That He Feels Like His Life Has No Purpose Other Than To Live In His Body Filled With 6 Autoimmune Diseases That He didn’t Ask For…And That He Couldn’t Have Prevented Even If He Wanted To. I Find Myself In Such Grief Because Of Him Not Being Able To Do The Things Other Young Men At 21 Can Do. And Not Only My Son, But Myself As Well. I Too Have Struggled For Many Yrs With Unseen Diseases That Cause Horrific Pain, And Very Little Has Ever Been Done To Make This Pain (Which Causes Anger, Grief, Sadness, And So Much More…) Go Away. 🙁
I Am So Grateful That You And Your Daughter Understand My Son And I, And That Even In The Worst Of Our Pain, Sadness, Anger And Grief…We Don’t Have To Sit And Explain It All To You…To Try To Make You Understand! I Pray That Soon, There Will Be Answers For All Of Us Out Here Who Have These Stupid Horrific, Painful Diseases To Which There Never Seems To Be Enough Answers Or An End In Sight.
Praying For Answers For Us ALL In The Very Near Future!
Amen to that prayer. I’m so glad this is a comfort to you both. I thought it was hard enough to deal with when it was just ME. Watching my daughter go through this KILLS ME. Praying with you for your delightful son to find points of joy in this season of life. And for you, as well.
Joyce, I had NO IDEA. I’m so sorry to hear that and sorry I wasn’t aware. I think when things change suddenly like that it is SO HARD. The radical shift in your life when it comes on out of the blue has to be a different but equally difficult challenge. I will be praying for continued healing for you!
thank you for putting words to so many of the thoughts in my head that I could not express. I cry out to my Father each day that I have to live in this broken body that I could have a different story. But THIS is my story. I would not have written my story this way. I would have skipped the parts where I feel like my body is not only failing me but my children, my marriage and my relationships. I would have deleted the parts where I go through each day fighting through a fatigue that grips me as sure as chains secured with locks and gorilla glue. BUT then I guess it wouldn’t be MY story. And He has the last word and my story doesn’t end here. I look forward to joining you and your daughter in prayer through this journey.
Lorie, I Have Always Loved The Side Of You That Has Always Been Such A Caring, Kind & Compassionate Lady. I Never Wanted Your Compassion To Come From Personal Experience…But I Am Finding That Almost Every Single Dr., Nurse & Medical Professional Who Shows Such Amazing Empathy & Compassion… Does So Because Of Their Own Personal Journey In Dealing With The Demons Of Pain. For The Most Part I Find That It Has Made Them So Much Better At Their Jobs.
Like You, Having Dealt With My Own Pain Issues Were Nothing Compared To Watching My Son Walk Through His Own Issues Of Daily Agonizing Pain. It Truly Kills This Mama’s Heart To See Him In So Much Pain, Knowing That The Dr.’s Have Told Him That Short Of A New Clinical Trial Filled With More Liver Killing Meds…They Can Do NOTHING More To Help Him. 😕 😢 It Seems Hard To Believe That In This Day And Age, With All The Medical Advancements We Have Out There…That I Am Once Again Faced With Hearing Another Dr. Tell Me And My Son, That They Have Come To A Place Where Things Will Stay As They Are Until NIH, Cincinnati Children’s Hosp., John’s Hopkins Children’s, Or The Cleveland Clinic Comes Up With A New Protocol To Help Put My Son Into Remission Without Destroying His Liver Or His Kidneys. You Would Think That This Was The 1920’s!! 😕 😢 It Shouldn’t Be This Difficult…It Really Shouldn’t!! 😢
That is so desperately heartbreaking. I’m so sorry, BJ. We will continue to be praying. LOTS.
Ms. Lorie,
You Have No Idea Just How Much Your Prayers Mean To Both Of Us!! Knowing That There Is Another Mama And Her Young Adult Child That Understands What It Means To Walk Through So Much Pain, Anxiety, Anger…And Just Sheer Frustration…Helps Us To Not Feel So Alone On This Journey!. I Would Not Wish For Any Mama Or Her Kids To Walk This Path. Thank You For Listening To Us With Your Heart! We Love You So Very Much! We Too Say MANY Prayers For You, And Keira, As Well As Tom And Your Younger Son Too! Because As You Know…This Journey Affects The Entire Family.
Absolutely.
Praising God with you that he is always the faithful hero of our stories!!!