I know it's ironic that on the day I'm writing about September being awareness month for Alopecia Areata I started my morning by having my scalp injected with steroids to help trigger hair growth in what is currently one of the largest patches I've ever had on my head. The AA theme this year is Look at Us! -- intended to be a rallying cry that shows pride and acceptance for AA sufferers -- and yet I plunked myself down into the dermatologist's chair and had him put steroids into my body in the hopes that it would help my hair grow back.
A contradiction? Yes and no.
Twelve years ago, when AA first waltzed into my life, I was pretty devastated. I watched in powerless fury as more and more of my hair came out in clumps in my brush, and bald patches took its place. It seemed never-ending to me, even though my AA was, and continues to be, mild compared to what other people go through. I learned to style my hair in ways that concealed it, came to hate windy days, and cringed when trains and other fast-moving vehicles whizzed past me, disturbing my coiff. Some years, my AA was really bad, and I lived with my hair in a bun. Other years, it was kind and left me alone, and lulled me into a false sense of hope ("Maybe it's gone for good. Maybe it will never come back.")
But it always came back.
In the beginning, I did the steroid injections because I was desperate to hold onto my image of myself. And hair was part of that image. Then, I began to worry that I was being too vain, too selfish. After all, it's only hair, right? And so many people struggle with far, far worse maladies.
Like my friend... I'll call her B. At a young age, B was hit with cancer, and went through round after round of chemo. Even though we always joked that B was a bit whiny with a low pain threshold, she showed everyone around just what she was made of: very stern stuff indeed. Her cancer went into remission for a while, giving her a break to focus on her young children. But then it came back full force. At just over 40, she's fighting for her life.
When I learned her cancer had come back, I went numb. I knew I should reach out to her, talk to her, tell her I love her. But I couldn't. I felt frozen (I'm so sorry, B). And so afraid. For her, and for me. If cancer could do this to her, and possibly take away her opportunity to see her children grow and thrive, it could for me, too. Each day is a blessing -- never take a single one for granted.
Learning about B's renewed battle with cancer made me think about how AA has affected my life -- and I realized it's so tiny, so minute in the grand scheme of things. Losing my hair is nothing compared to losing my health and possibly my life. And if, one day, my AA doesn't stop at patches and I lose all of my hair, then I will smile and cope. Just as B has done with a demon so much larger.
In the meantime, I will fight it. That means having injections if I feel I need them. I need to do what makes sense for me, to be happy and balanced. I know B would approve, and that's all the backing I need.
Happy Alopecia Areata Awareness Month, everyone. If you can afford to donate, your money can help children living with alopecia have a more normal life. A worthy cause :)
Tuesday, September 2, 2014
Sunday, April 6, 2014
Knowing when to NOT push your limits
So, I recently started running... again. Over the years, I've picked it up here and there for short spans, mostly in an effort to lose weight -- with the one exception of wayyyyy back in the late 90s when I was working out like a fiend and running 10K several times a week as a way balancing heavy weight sessions. Back then, I saw every workout as a challenge, attacking the gym or the road like a crazy lady. These days, I'm much more sedate, and am lucky to get 5K in at a stretch.
The step of signing up at the gym was an easy one. Here you go, here's my money. The next step was tougher: facing the equipment. For someone who used to spend hours a day at the gym, I had developed a love/hate relationship with the machinery there, and it all felt a bit like standing in the midst of a group of mean girls. Smiling or neutral on the outside, eager to dismember me on the inside. I think this is the main reason why I have had such a hard time committing to a regular fitness plan. Back in my gym rat years, I was so into it, so focused, that giving it anything less than my all seemed... wussy. It became an all-or-nothing scenario, and so I let the passion die completely rather than have a tepid love affair.
Anyway, so here I was, sticking my toe onto the treadmill. It was bloody, bloody cold outside and there was no way I was going to brave the insane weather, and something inside me wanted to run so I had no choice but to befriend the treadmill. I walked for about 5 minutes to warm up, and then noticed the girl next to me was running. Hmmf. Who did she think she was? Running. And at 6.5 km/hr.
I jacked up my speed and broke into a run.
It felt great! I was cruising along, bouncing on the soles of my new running shoes, and keeping pace with the lovely gazelle next to me (who was about 10 years younger, I might add). The peppy 90s music on my iPod switched to a wild techno beat, making me pump my legs even harder. I felt completely empowered, strong and invincible....
For about 45 seconds.
A cramp flared in my left hip at the same time my heart shouted at me to stop. As gracefully as possible, I jabbed at the speed button many times until I came back down to a walking pace. As I gulped air and water simultaneously, the girl next to me hit the button to increase her pace, leaving me in the proverbial dust.
Amazingly, I went back to the gym after that. And again and again. But my workouts were a bit unpredictable -- sometimes great, sometimes not so great. It was frustrating to go there and not know just what to expect. I tried working some weights into my routine, but my body wanted to run. In my heart, I felt a need for the release of running -- to feel my legs move in that hypnotic rhythm, my breath coming in that barely discernible push that happens when you're truly in a groove and feel like you could run forever. I was drawn to the treadmill, and yet, I was starting to dread it because I didn't know if I could keep the pace, run the 5K.... out-do the people running around me.
And then, something happened that changed everything.
I went to the gym and, feeling a bit tired, set the speed low enough to run but some people would have considered it a fast walk, and I started running. I told myself I would run for 30 minutes. It didn't need to be the full 5 km, or the full hour, which is how I was measuring myself before.
I ran, and ran, and ran. I could have run for hours. At least, that's how it felt. In reality, I ran for an hour, and was so comfortable with the pace that I could waste breath lip-syncing to the songs on my iPod (I got a few odd stares when I started mouthing the words to Good Vibrations, I can tell you).
Was it a challenging workout that pushed me to my limits? No. Did it take me to the next step in my cardio level? No. Did it give me a good workout, make me sweat, and make me feel like a million bucks? Oh, yes. You betcha.
Close to the end of the workout, I asked myself, "Should I keep going?" (I honestly felt like I could have run for hours). My husband had the kids, there was no need to rush home. I could stay there and have an amazing run. What if I pushed the 5K to 10K?
Instead, I stopped the treadmill and stepped off. I wasn't breathing hard, my legs weren't burning, but I was done.
Why? Because it occurred to me that yes, taking that step to make fitness part of your life is important, but knowing when to stop -- when to respect your personal boundaries and sense of balance -- is just as important. For someone like me (all or nothing, competitive, etc.), this could be the key. So what if I'm a slow runner? I'm still there, putting in the time, pumping my legs, challenging my heart. Taking time to give myself what I need to stay balanced and energized.
And isn't that so often what we do in our lives -- forget the balance, and the kindness to ourselves? We get so caught up in juggling everything, including fitness, that we attack each activity like an enemy that has to be conquered. And if for some reason we feel we don't conquer it -- that we fail -- then we beat ourselves up over it, and even abandon it because of the guilt. Well, no more.
I'm really looking forward to my next run now. And to the mean-girl-treadmills at the gym: I'm not afraid of you anymore. Do your worst.
The step of signing up at the gym was an easy one. Here you go, here's my money. The next step was tougher: facing the equipment. For someone who used to spend hours a day at the gym, I had developed a love/hate relationship with the machinery there, and it all felt a bit like standing in the midst of a group of mean girls. Smiling or neutral on the outside, eager to dismember me on the inside. I think this is the main reason why I have had such a hard time committing to a regular fitness plan. Back in my gym rat years, I was so into it, so focused, that giving it anything less than my all seemed... wussy. It became an all-or-nothing scenario, and so I let the passion die completely rather than have a tepid love affair.
Anyway, so here I was, sticking my toe onto the treadmill. It was bloody, bloody cold outside and there was no way I was going to brave the insane weather, and something inside me wanted to run so I had no choice but to befriend the treadmill. I walked for about 5 minutes to warm up, and then noticed the girl next to me was running. Hmmf. Who did she think she was? Running. And at 6.5 km/hr.
I jacked up my speed and broke into a run.
It felt great! I was cruising along, bouncing on the soles of my new running shoes, and keeping pace with the lovely gazelle next to me (who was about 10 years younger, I might add). The peppy 90s music on my iPod switched to a wild techno beat, making me pump my legs even harder. I felt completely empowered, strong and invincible....
For about 45 seconds.
A cramp flared in my left hip at the same time my heart shouted at me to stop. As gracefully as possible, I jabbed at the speed button many times until I came back down to a walking pace. As I gulped air and water simultaneously, the girl next to me hit the button to increase her pace, leaving me in the proverbial dust.
Amazingly, I went back to the gym after that. And again and again. But my workouts were a bit unpredictable -- sometimes great, sometimes not so great. It was frustrating to go there and not know just what to expect. I tried working some weights into my routine, but my body wanted to run. In my heart, I felt a need for the release of running -- to feel my legs move in that hypnotic rhythm, my breath coming in that barely discernible push that happens when you're truly in a groove and feel like you could run forever. I was drawn to the treadmill, and yet, I was starting to dread it because I didn't know if I could keep the pace, run the 5K.... out-do the people running around me.
And then, something happened that changed everything.
I went to the gym and, feeling a bit tired, set the speed low enough to run but some people would have considered it a fast walk, and I started running. I told myself I would run for 30 minutes. It didn't need to be the full 5 km, or the full hour, which is how I was measuring myself before.
I ran, and ran, and ran. I could have run for hours. At least, that's how it felt. In reality, I ran for an hour, and was so comfortable with the pace that I could waste breath lip-syncing to the songs on my iPod (I got a few odd stares when I started mouthing the words to Good Vibrations, I can tell you).
Was it a challenging workout that pushed me to my limits? No. Did it take me to the next step in my cardio level? No. Did it give me a good workout, make me sweat, and make me feel like a million bucks? Oh, yes. You betcha.
Close to the end of the workout, I asked myself, "Should I keep going?" (I honestly felt like I could have run for hours). My husband had the kids, there was no need to rush home. I could stay there and have an amazing run. What if I pushed the 5K to 10K?
Instead, I stopped the treadmill and stepped off. I wasn't breathing hard, my legs weren't burning, but I was done.
Why? Because it occurred to me that yes, taking that step to make fitness part of your life is important, but knowing when to stop -- when to respect your personal boundaries and sense of balance -- is just as important. For someone like me (all or nothing, competitive, etc.), this could be the key. So what if I'm a slow runner? I'm still there, putting in the time, pumping my legs, challenging my heart. Taking time to give myself what I need to stay balanced and energized.
And isn't that so often what we do in our lives -- forget the balance, and the kindness to ourselves? We get so caught up in juggling everything, including fitness, that we attack each activity like an enemy that has to be conquered. And if for some reason we feel we don't conquer it -- that we fail -- then we beat ourselves up over it, and even abandon it because of the guilt. Well, no more.
I'm really looking forward to my next run now. And to the mean-girl-treadmills at the gym: I'm not afraid of you anymore. Do your worst.
Wednesday, April 2, 2014
The other side of the coin
Before my mother reads my previous/inaugural blog post, I'd better quickly follow with something a bit more kid-friendly. And Mom, if you are reading this, let me confirm: yes, I love the girls, and no, I'm not thinking of running away. Yet.
OK, so the flip side of the coin. (Martin, this bit is for you, because I know I scared you with the last franker-than-frank post). Children are messy, time-consuming, physically and emotionally draining, expensive, demanding, boogery and poopy and completely unpredictable, and (wait for it, Marty, this does turn around)... they are pretty darn amazing. If there is a single reason to have a child, it's this: They will teach you you things about yourself that you would never have learned otherwise, and you will be a better person for knowing. After all, isn't that why we're put on this planet -- to learn and grow?
Case in point: kids are 100% unsullied by marketing, peer pressure and all of the other influences that deliver conflicting messages to us about ourselves. Those things do come into play alarmingly early, but for my girls who are just 2, the only brainwashing they're getting is from Dora and Toopy, both of whom are always telling them how fantastic they are. So. No harm there (probably). They are happy little animals, running around without a care in the world, completely oblivious to what people think of them. They ask for nothing but love and affection and expect it will be given. Not for a moment do they worry that someone will see them as unlovable or unworthy of attention.
Fast forward to adulthood. Such a different scenario. Don't we all worry that people don't like us, or that we're ultimately unlovable, or somehow unworthy? Fundamentally, aren't we all seeking love and acceptance? I would argue that we are. So where along the line does that change?
A couple of years ago a friend recommended Eckhart Tolle's "The Power of Now" so I read it, even though I had a mental half-smile when I picked it up ("Oh yeah, another self-help book that's going to make me look in the mirror and tell myself how special I am and that I need to love myself before others can love me, etc., etc.). I have to admit, there were parts that made me roll my eyes (if any of my female friends have read it, I'm referring particularly to the chapters where he encourages women to embrace their feminine-ness, including learning to love your monthly cycle.... ermmmm, no.....). But there were parts that made me stop, close the book and think, "Hunh. Wow. He's right."
One part in particular was about the difference between our intrinsic selves and the selves we create through our interactions with people and the experiences that we go through. Your intrinsic self is different than Freud's "id" which is essentially the seat of your basic instincts. It's also different from the ego, which is the organized part of the personality structure. I'm probably doing Tolle an injustice by simplifying it this way, but I would define the intrinsic self as the soul in its most basic, eternal sense. It's who you are at the very core, and it doesn't change, regardless of what happens in your life. Your external self will eventually form and overlay your intrinsic self, creating a duality that can sometimes drive you crazy (which is why, when we talk to ourselves in our head, it's our "created" self that is trying to convince our intrinsic self, or vice versa, so we feel like it's a me vs. you scenario).
What has this got to do with kids and what they teach us? Kids are as close to their intrinsic selves as we get. Never again in your life will you be so close to this state, unless perhaps you become a Nepalese monk and dedicate your existence, perched on a mountaintop, to meditation and spiritual enlightenment. For the other 99.9% of the population, we can only learn and improve by doing what we can, each day and amid our many, many responsibilities as adults in a tech-powered society. Kids remind us that:
Happier. No doubt.
OK, so the flip side of the coin. (Martin, this bit is for you, because I know I scared you with the last franker-than-frank post). Children are messy, time-consuming, physically and emotionally draining, expensive, demanding, boogery and poopy and completely unpredictable, and (wait for it, Marty, this does turn around)... they are pretty darn amazing. If there is a single reason to have a child, it's this: They will teach you you things about yourself that you would never have learned otherwise, and you will be a better person for knowing. After all, isn't that why we're put on this planet -- to learn and grow?
Case in point: kids are 100% unsullied by marketing, peer pressure and all of the other influences that deliver conflicting messages to us about ourselves. Those things do come into play alarmingly early, but for my girls who are just 2, the only brainwashing they're getting is from Dora and Toopy, both of whom are always telling them how fantastic they are. So. No harm there (probably). They are happy little animals, running around without a care in the world, completely oblivious to what people think of them. They ask for nothing but love and affection and expect it will be given. Not for a moment do they worry that someone will see them as unlovable or unworthy of attention.
Fast forward to adulthood. Such a different scenario. Don't we all worry that people don't like us, or that we're ultimately unlovable, or somehow unworthy? Fundamentally, aren't we all seeking love and acceptance? I would argue that we are. So where along the line does that change?
A couple of years ago a friend recommended Eckhart Tolle's "The Power of Now" so I read it, even though I had a mental half-smile when I picked it up ("Oh yeah, another self-help book that's going to make me look in the mirror and tell myself how special I am and that I need to love myself before others can love me, etc., etc.). I have to admit, there were parts that made me roll my eyes (if any of my female friends have read it, I'm referring particularly to the chapters where he encourages women to embrace their feminine-ness, including learning to love your monthly cycle.... ermmmm, no.....). But there were parts that made me stop, close the book and think, "Hunh. Wow. He's right."
One part in particular was about the difference between our intrinsic selves and the selves we create through our interactions with people and the experiences that we go through. Your intrinsic self is different than Freud's "id" which is essentially the seat of your basic instincts. It's also different from the ego, which is the organized part of the personality structure. I'm probably doing Tolle an injustice by simplifying it this way, but I would define the intrinsic self as the soul in its most basic, eternal sense. It's who you are at the very core, and it doesn't change, regardless of what happens in your life. Your external self will eventually form and overlay your intrinsic self, creating a duality that can sometimes drive you crazy (which is why, when we talk to ourselves in our head, it's our "created" self that is trying to convince our intrinsic self, or vice versa, so we feel like it's a me vs. you scenario).
What has this got to do with kids and what they teach us? Kids are as close to their intrinsic selves as we get. Never again in your life will you be so close to this state, unless perhaps you become a Nepalese monk and dedicate your existence, perched on a mountaintop, to meditation and spiritual enlightenment. For the other 99.9% of the population, we can only learn and improve by doing what we can, each day and amid our many, many responsibilities as adults in a tech-powered society. Kids remind us that:
- We are intrinsically good and deserve love
- We are intrinsically special and unique, and no one else is more special than me (just as special, yes, but not more)
- If you don't like what I'm saying or doing, move over... I ain't got time for you -- life is too fun to sit still
Happier. No doubt.
Saturday, March 29, 2014
First plane to Rio
I was pretty late to the Mommy Game.... 42 (and a half) when my twin daughters decided to arrive on the scene two months early. I won't bore you with the gory details of my three years of fertility-related gymnastics and less-than-glowing pregnancy (do feel free to email me if you would like a copy of that whiny manifesto), but I will say that, all in all, I'm now in a bit of an odd spot. Yes, I know you always hear about how women in in their 40s having kids "later in life" is becoming the new norm, but I don't personally bump into other me's very often, I can tell you. It seems like everyone around me belongs in one of 4 categories:
This is going to be such a non-PC opinion to express, so you may want to tune out here or flip over to a site bearing pics of puppies or something along those lines. And I want to preface my comments by stating that I love my children with all my heart and am eternally grateful that all of the fertility crap did indeed work, that the scares I had during pregnancy never materialized into anything serious, and that I got exactly what I prayed for. BUT.... no one -- and I mean NO ONE -- tells you the truth about having kids. Why? Quite simply, if they did, the human race would die out. Seriously.
There is nothing easy about parenthood. Nothing. When you're planning to have kids or are pregnant, people tell you: It's a huge responsibility, one that never ends once you have a child. And you kind of get it. You're like, yeah, I know, once I'm a parent, I'm always a parent, I'll always be thinking and worrying about my kids. They'll always be on my mind. But I'll deal with it. It's part of this new, wonderful phase of my life. The good will outweigh the bad. Right?
Oh, blissful ignorance.
Once you have a child, your world becomes almost unrecognizable. I'm sure there are some people out there who picked up their newborn, strapped it to their chest, and kept doing whatever they were doing (going to concerts and coffee shops, hanging out at markets and book stores) without missing a beat. Those people are not human. They are aliens, or robots, or alien robots. They must be. Because for the majority of us, a child takes your well-known world and suffuses it with a colour palate you didn't even know existed. They turn your sense of balance on its ear. They make you question your own strengths and weaknesses. In short, they come in like little tsunamis and overwhelm everything in their paths. Sometimes it's in a good way, sometimes it's not.
And you know what? It's ok to say that it's not all wonderful. It's human and liberating and acceptable to admit that sometimes you wish you could hop the first plane to Rio and simply leave it all behind.
It's ok to say it's not all ok. It's ok to not love being a parent all the time. I wish more people would say this out loud so the rest of us would feel less guilty. Because, quite frankly, I'm moving too fast right now for guilt. I can't let it slow me down. There's too much to do.
So to those of you who can freely enjoy your Saturday night (mine, by the way, was spent writing this while going in periodically to rock my child who, for some reason, is battling sleep with a ferocious tenacity) -- whether you're out watching a movie, enjoying a good meal, or maybe even having a luxurious weekend getaway -- I salute you. Don't let anyone tell you a life without kids can't be meaningful or rewarding. It can be. It will, however, be different than mine. And that's ok.
- significantly younger than me, but with children the same age as mine (which means these young moms have fewer wrinkles, less cellulite, and are many years away from fanning themselves with their notebooks during meetings because, dammit, did someone suddenly turn up the heat in here?)
- my age, with kids quite a bit older than mine (and some of these people have GRANDCHILDREN, I kid you not!)
- my age, but have made the conscious choice not to procreate (these people stand out by dint of their well-rested faces or by a tired but blissed-out expression that shows they obviously spent the previous evening at some incredibly cool wine bar, not worrying about getting home to the babysitter who is about to cost them a small fortune)
- my age or just slightly younger, who are still straddling the fence and wondering if they should take the plunge into parenthood. These are the people who listen to your stories ("She puked for 3 hours -- completely ruined my new duvet -- and then I finally got her into bed just before dawn... had about 2 hours sleep before I had to get up, make lunches, and get out the door to work...") with a glazed look of fear in their eyes.
This is going to be such a non-PC opinion to express, so you may want to tune out here or flip over to a site bearing pics of puppies or something along those lines. And I want to preface my comments by stating that I love my children with all my heart and am eternally grateful that all of the fertility crap did indeed work, that the scares I had during pregnancy never materialized into anything serious, and that I got exactly what I prayed for. BUT.... no one -- and I mean NO ONE -- tells you the truth about having kids. Why? Quite simply, if they did, the human race would die out. Seriously.
There is nothing easy about parenthood. Nothing. When you're planning to have kids or are pregnant, people tell you: It's a huge responsibility, one that never ends once you have a child. And you kind of get it. You're like, yeah, I know, once I'm a parent, I'm always a parent, I'll always be thinking and worrying about my kids. They'll always be on my mind. But I'll deal with it. It's part of this new, wonderful phase of my life. The good will outweigh the bad. Right?
Oh, blissful ignorance.
Once you have a child, your world becomes almost unrecognizable. I'm sure there are some people out there who picked up their newborn, strapped it to their chest, and kept doing whatever they were doing (going to concerts and coffee shops, hanging out at markets and book stores) without missing a beat. Those people are not human. They are aliens, or robots, or alien robots. They must be. Because for the majority of us, a child takes your well-known world and suffuses it with a colour palate you didn't even know existed. They turn your sense of balance on its ear. They make you question your own strengths and weaknesses. In short, they come in like little tsunamis and overwhelm everything in their paths. Sometimes it's in a good way, sometimes it's not.
And you know what? It's ok to say that it's not all wonderful. It's human and liberating and acceptable to admit that sometimes you wish you could hop the first plane to Rio and simply leave it all behind.
It's ok to say it's not all ok. It's ok to not love being a parent all the time. I wish more people would say this out loud so the rest of us would feel less guilty. Because, quite frankly, I'm moving too fast right now for guilt. I can't let it slow me down. There's too much to do.
So to those of you who can freely enjoy your Saturday night (mine, by the way, was spent writing this while going in periodically to rock my child who, for some reason, is battling sleep with a ferocious tenacity) -- whether you're out watching a movie, enjoying a good meal, or maybe even having a luxurious weekend getaway -- I salute you. Don't let anyone tell you a life without kids can't be meaningful or rewarding. It can be. It will, however, be different than mine. And that's ok.
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