As you know, I participated in charity fashion show last week. I had mixed feelings about the fashion show part but strong positive feelings about the charity itself. The day started in the afternoon. We met at the venue for the show, practiced walking as well as entering and leaving the stage as a group.

There were about 30 female models and all of us were breast cancer survivors. Many of the women were pretty young. Some were middle aged women who had been diagnosed in their 20’s. Some women were recently diagnosed. One woman was obviously still going through chemotherapy. They were all friendly and appeared to have a good time. I enjoyed the camaraderie and the chance to meet some new people, a number of whom live in my neighborhood.

I am a bit of a ham socially, if I tell the absolute truth. I also enjoy public speaking and miss making research presentations at conferences. I am not the smoothest orator. As an “out loud thinker” I tend to revise what I am saying on the fly, sometimes mid word. And sometimes I repeat myself. This is also the way I converse. Somehow I nonetheless manage to communicate well. And even when I get nervous when public speaking, I usually get over it easily by saying something funny. Once I get an audience to laugh, it is much much easier to present because the presentation is so much more like an interpersonal exchange when people are paying attention.

But walking in front of people and trying to look pretty? That’s a bit intimidating. I love beautiful clothes. But I like what I am wearing to be a garnish rather than the main entree. I thought about my wedding and how incredibly self-conscious I felt to have all eyes on me.

I have done a lot of work to feel more comfortable with my own body, imperfections and all. And the challenge of this fashion show was not lost on me. This chance to challenge myself was one of the reasons I agreed to do it. Not the main reason, but a small reason. I knew I could do it if I adopted the right frame of mind and did my job.

I am pretty good at doing an assigned job even if I don’t like it or would never do it under other circumstances. I remember the first time I went fishing and actually caught something. I was 12 years-old and my family had gone to the trout farm a couple of miles away. This is where I learned that there is a fish food called, “Purina Trout Chow”. It’s pretty easy to catch a fish at a trout farm, especially using trout chow as bait. I am a sensitive person by nature. When I caught a fish and needed to kill it? I started crying, not a little but a lot. I was upset. My mom said, “But Jesus was a fisherman.” My reply? “Then Jesus was mean!”

Eight years later I was working at a daycare. We took the kids on a field trip to the very same trout farm! But I was an adult who was supposed to be a good role model for children. So I helped them bait their hooks, take their fish off of the line, touch the fish guts, etc. I just did my job.

For the fashion show I told myself that I was playing a role of myself minus my unproductive self-consciousness. It was easy to smile because I am a generally happy person with a nice smile. People respond well to it. I planned a couple of “moves” including a goddess-like arm raise to accompany the dress I wore that had a bit of a toga feel to it. The arm raise was inspired by Rupaul so to me, it was funny because Rupaul cracks me up.

I was happy with how I modeled. I smiled, I walked comfortably in heels, I showed off the clothes, and I used a little hip action and a few Vanna White moves, when appropriate. My hair and make up was done professionally and I was wearing pretty clothes that I liked. I felt happy and pretty. The experience also led to some deep reflection about my cancer, my life, and the preciousness of my life.

So all in all, it was a varied and satisfactory experience. Yesterday, I looked at the video my husband took on the night of the fashion show. I didn’t recognize myself. I was shocked by my appearance.

And that was the point at which I forgot my job as a mother. I blurted out, “I look fat!” I said it right in front of my 15 year-old daughter. To my recollection, I had never before made a negative comment about my body in front of my daughter. Reminding me that she really is my daughter, she took me to task for being a bad model of positive body image but she did it in a nice way.  I am really proud of her. In contrast, I was disappointed in myself for not treating myself fairly or with kindness.

I have been putting on weight lately and I went back on Weight Watchers right before I left for New Orleans. And I know that I am back on track. Honestly, I am only about 5-7 pounds overweight. It’s really not a lot. But it’s about 15 pounds more than I was prior to the winter holidays. That’s over a full dress size, well kind of. I usually wear dresses. And over the years, I have become a master at choosing dress styles that accommodate my historically variable weight. When I’m not wearing dresses, I wear spandex work out clothes and spandex is stretchy. It takes me awhile to notice that I’ve gained weight. Oh yeah, I had also stopped weighing myself. And even though I’ve continued to exercise regularly, I was eating more and more.

Realistically, I looked pretty. That was that stupid negative tape in my head that was shocked into a reappearance. But I didn’t look the way I thought I did. And for someone who has a hard time keeping my weight down and further, is supposed to keep my weight down for health reasons, I scared myself a little.

I had mixed feelings prior to the fashion show and I leave it with mixed feelings. As Rupaul says, “You better WORK.” I still have a lot of that to do as I continue to work toward self acceptance.

FYI: This is the goddess pose I copied from Rupaul.

FYI: This is the goddess pose I copied from Rupaul.

When I talk to my husband, he often doesn’t answer. This is not new to our relationship. It has been true for decades but waxes and wanes depending on his stress level.

Sometimes, he is just spacey and lost in thought. Other times, he is feeling anxious. He is very sensitive to rejection at these times. I may actually be annoyed or mad at him. I may not be mad, at all and just trying to get the business part of our lives done and coordinate household responsibilities. I am an organizer and a “big picture” person when it comes to administering a household. John is not. After many years, he asked me to start writing tasks on a “honey do” list, a little white board in our kitchen. I don’t really like doing this. I think he would be more likely to remember to do the task if he wrote it down himself. For some reason, that is something he just won’t do. He wants me to write it down. Sometimes this feels like a face saving move on his part. I wouldn’t mind writing it down if I didn’t know that a number of the things I’ve written down, stayed on that little board for years. So it filled up with tasks, most of which never got done. And every time I worked in the kitchen, I would see it and it was a visible sign of my frustration.

I hate the silence. The non-answers that could mean many different things. But even when my husband is merely lost in thought, the silence hurts. Relationship intimacy doesn’t just come with the package, it is something that must be continually nurtured and protected. It is important for marital happiness, for sexual health, and for emotional well being.

I nag, it is true. It is not a super power but I am also not an evil villain. I often feel caught between a rock and a hard place. John tells me that he is going to do a task and then he doesn’t do it. An excellent example might be doing the dishes. I’d say that between 1/3 of the times that John says he will do the dishes before he goes to bed at night, I wake up to a sink full of dishes. About half of the time, most of the dishes are done but some are either still on the dinner table or on one of the kitchen counters. And almost 100% of the time, either the table, counters, or the stove top are dirty.

If I say something, he probably won’t finish the job because he’s already gone to work. If I need to use the sink, then I need to clean it out. Later, when we are discussing dishes, because they are never to be taken for granted because they are not yet a habit, I might clarify that what I am asking is for him to do ALL of the dishes and if the kitchen stove top needs to be wiped, I expect him to wipe it. By this time, I am at my best, using a businesslike voice and at my worst I am doing nothing to conceal my annoyance.

The follow up discussions almost never go well. John feels criticized. And you know what? I am criticizing. I am complaining about the job he did. I understand why he doesn’t like it but he often communicates to me an expectation that a loving wife doesn’t ever criticize or complain. Although I don’t think he 100% believes this, it is an ideal he has and I even think he believes it to be attainable. These are the the times when my husband’s dreamy romanticism conflict with my pragmatic realism.

Relationships are full of noise. Some of it is like beautiful and romantic music. Some of it is not. Some of it is disagreement, some is problem-solving, some is negotiation. Relationships are also full of silence. But this kind of silence, the not answering with clear words but instead answering with confusing actions or lack of actions, is not helpful. These are the times when I feel that I am to match his silence with my own. And sometimes that is what I do because I have already tried to make my point and failed time and time again.

These are the time I feel silenced, that my job is to pick up after the many unfinished tasks in my household and not say a word. Just do other people’s work and carry through on other people’s promises. There are times in my life I am resigned to this. There are times in my life when I know that my husband has many other wonderful qualities that compensate for these shortcomings.

At other times, I feel alone. I feel like there is work that I have to do and for which I will never be appreciated. If I say something, I get a negative response. If I am silent, I get no response. To have to have no routine between the two of us to take care of these things is a perpetual stress to me. Routines can make life a lot easier and require a lot less higher order thinking. I would like to preserve my mental energy for things other than working and reworking the daily household routine as well as keeping track of so much of the family’s schedule. People who do not have organizational skills like this, the skills for carrying out and managing the most boring and perpetual household tasks just don’t get it. They don’t get the value they don’t get toll that it takes on the very most developed part of the human brain. My husband and I do not have a traditional marriage but my brain works like a housewife’s and his does not.

When it comes to managing my cancer, I am even more alone. And that’s one of the main reasons that I blog. I don’t need my husband to attend my appointments any more. He has no idea what my schedule is like and how it impacts the rest of my life. He can read about it here but he can’t experience it. And when I talk about the anger I feel, the fears I have, or my annoyance with the inconvenience of it, I know he gets afraid. He wants to do something. And there’s nothing for him to do but there’s a great deal he could say.

I empathize with him, really I do. I empathize with him when I don’t know what to say to one of my friends with mets, when they speak of incredible pain or fear or anger. Every once in awhile, I think I rise to the challenge and say the “right” thing. Other times, I just do my best to communicate the fact that I care. It never seems like enough but I also know that I can’t solve the problem of cancer. I can just do my best to be present. Sometimes, and I’m ashamed to admit it, I feel negative toward my friends’ cries of pain. I have thoughts like, “She must have waited too long to take her pain meds.” It doesn’t happen frequently but at those times, I understand why so many of us have lost the support of friends and family. Our brain tricks us into blaming someone with a painful and life ending disease to protect ourselves from our own helplessness and guilt. At these time, I am forced to stare at hard truths about the vulnerability of life and that fact that people I love are in excruciating pain and experience incredible isolation.

I am a loving human being. I am also flawed. I do, however, commit to keeping present with my family, my friends in face to face and cyber worlds. In our relationships, I will make noise.

 

It was mid-August, 1990. I had just returned from a trip to Egypt and still had Saharan sands in the treads of my shoes.

The first thing I noticed was the air. It was so heavy it seemed wrong not to give it a name of it’s own. Humidity so high that if it were in a film, it would not only get a credit, but a stunt double.

People say, “It’s not the heat. It’s the humidity.” Having encountered North Carolina heat in August for the very first time only days after being in the African desert, I can tell you that there is a lot of wisdom in that saying.

“Welcome to the South” it said. “I will not go unnoticed!” Air is so thick that it blurs the crisp outlines around objects. Even the simplest sights become layered in mist that just hangs in place. The addition of a breeze would make it lose its power.

That is the hazy, lazy look of the South for many months of the year. And despite the haze, it is visually saturated with pigments, like vivid watercolor paints.

There is also the smell. At its best, it is a sultry blend of jasmine, magnolia, and nicotiana blossoms. The famous chef, Mario Batali, says that the best fruit for gelati is the fruit that is right on the edge of turning rotten. That is the way the South smells at it’s best. The maximum saturation of heady scent right before it passes the point of Heavenly to just rotten.

The South can be loud even in the quiet of nature. Mockingbirds sing an endless repertoire of captivating songs. I have heard cicadas singing at dusk, so loudly that they drowned out the actors during an outdoor performance of the strangest play I ever saw.

Last Saturday, John and I visited our 28th state together, Louisiana to hear our daughter sing in New Orleans. We’ve long wanted to visit this city for it’s history, music, food, and culture. As I walked around the city for the first time, I was struck by how familiar it was to me, a native north westerner.

I lived in the South for seven years at a very important time in my life. I have a number of dear friends in the South, some of them as close as family.

It was lovely to to visit my home away from home after all of these years.DSC00432 DSC00387 DSC00388 DSC00390

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I have so much to share when I return from my trip to New Orleans including connections with friends old and new, as well as lots of video of my daughter singing!

Stay tuned!

Anger is a stage of grief. And the grief stages don’t go in a lock step linear order. They swirl in and out. I have had difficulty managing anger in my past and it was typically rooted in anxiety and not feeling like I deserve to assert myself to others. I am not a wallflower by nature and there’s only so much time I can act like one. And then I get really angry.

I have not felt a lot of anger since my cancer diagnosis nearly two years ago. But today, I am so incredibly angry. I have gotten through some of the most stressful few weeks of my life being relatively reasonable and calm outside of an eye tic. I don’t blog about EVERYTHING in my life. I’ve got to tell you that the stress has been big but I THOUGHT I was managing it.

Then I got a stupid cold! Right before I leave for New Orleans on Saturday to visit the city and see my daughter sing. I see this as a once in a lifetime opportunity. I have never been to the city and I have never seen her perform in such a setting.

The trip almost didn’t get scheduled at least for John and me to be able to attend. There were financial issues that needed to be addressed. It is very expensive for me to take off time from work not to mention the cost of air travel and hotels. Then there was a whole issue of my seeing the trip in a much different light than John did for awhile. Without going into a great deal of detail, I saw this as a chance for us to have much needed time together. It took awhile for us to see this similarly.

Then there came the fashion show/charity opportunity, which turned out to be far more of a commitment than I had realized. I turned my schedule upside down and was able to get everything done including my work.

Then I got a stupid cold. An annoying stupid cold. I rarely get sick unless I travel. My typical pattern is to get sick within three or four days of a trip, assuming that it involves air travel. Airplanes are floating germ boxes if you ask me. I get sick about a third to one half of the time. Now I am sick before hand. The whole thing will be in full bloom by Sunday.

Again, I rarely get sick but when I do it can be severe. I was a premature infant and was born with respiratory distress. I have residual respiratory issues. So although my immune system is strong, my respiratory system is compromised due to probable damage including collapsed alveoli and missing cilium. Alveoli help us breath. Cilium help move fluids out of our body.As a consequence, my body relies more heavily on coughing to move fluids. So I cough A LOT when I am sick to the extent that after 27 years together, it still freaks my husband out, especially when I wheeze and gasp for air. My daughter also gets alarmed. The parents of my patients get alarmed. You probably get the picture by now. My cough is alarming to people. The only way I can describe it is that at its worse, it sounds violent. I can’t tell you how often I am asked to reassure people that I am not dying when I am in the middle of a coughing attack. By the way, this is not a time to ask someone to talk with you, especially when I am wheezing. I have attempted to use the logic that if I am coughing it proves that my wind pipe is open, but this has yet to convince anyone.

So now I am two days from getting on planes and having people think that I am going to die in my seat not to mention my fears that despite all of the hand sanitizer that I use will not protect others from catching this stupid cold from me.

Body, I can forgive you for getting cancer, as long as you make a firm purpose of amendment (the nuns taught my mom that apologies don’t count without one) but if you think you can keep me from seeing MY kid in New Orleans, you have another thing coming.

I my job as a child/adolescent psychologist, I work with a lot of distressed parents. Parents who do not think they can possibly take on more. And I often ask them to take on more, for the health of their children.

I see families in times of great stress, divorce, illness, etc. Sometimes, a major barrier to making necessary life changes is anxiety. The anxiety that comes with running on the treadmill and losing sight of the fact that if your child if suffering, you need to find a way to exit the treadmill in order to meet their needs.

The children with whom I work, by and large, require much more time and energy than most children. I can empathize since I am in a similar situation as a parent. These children, even when given extra time and treated with appropriate love and parenting skill, can be rather unpredictable. Parenting can often be unrewarding. And the treatment plan can be daunting.

Yesterday, I found myself in the position of spelling things out for parents who had lifestyles that didn’t meet the needs of their children. And I’m talking about lifestyles that might change, not families in desperate financial circumstances. I found myself saying, “You need to work less hours so that you can spend more time with your child and be more involved in treatment. If you need to move mountains, move mountains. We are called to be our best as parents, when we feel at our worst.”

Interestingly, I felt more comfortable being forceful like this when I thought it was merited, before I became a parent. Then I became a mom and it became a bit more difficult to ask a lot of parents because I understood how hard it could be from first hand experience. It wasn’t like I was totally different as a therapist, but there was a perceptible shift, which I noticed.

But over the past few years, my husband and I have moved mountains, we have done our best as parents when we felt at our lowest. So now it all feels more possible. Tuesday, I told a mom, ‘Look, I understand that you might think, “Easy for you to say, Elizabeth.” Up until two years ago that would have been true. I am a parent just like any other and two years ago, I had to make major changes in my life because I was diagnosed with  breast cancer. And all of those changes were possible and had an incredibly positive impact on my family life.”

Some people may question my use of this kind of personal disclosure. I do so sparingly but with great sincerity and when I believe it will help parents gather the inner strength necessary to get off the treadmill that they don’t even want to be on.

When we feel at our very worst, it is often when we are called to be our very best. It’s not fair but it is real.

 

I am often told in the gentlest of ways, how important it is for me to rest and take care of myself. And the people who tell me this are very loving and very correct.

However, there are reasons that it is hard for me to sleep as much as is necessary. I do it but I’m not sure if most people realize the consequences. Or to put exercise into my daily life. And to take time to eat well. I suspect that a good number of cancer patients who are taking care of themselves have a very different life than the “well” people who do not perhaps put as much time into self care as they might.

I didn’t sleep well for 18 months. And the two years prior to my cancer diagnosis consisted of five courses of stress for every meal. Although prior to cancer, I had pretty much slept well, the rest of my self care was lacking.

Now, at typical weeks goes as follows. Whereas,  a year ago used to be able to get up at 6:30 am to exercise, I am not yet able to do that again. The earliest I am able to get out of bed is 8:00 am and that is when I have morning patients or when I have an early healthcare appointment. If I have no scheduled morning obligations, it is very hard for me to get out of bed before 10:00 am and sometimes I am not up until after 11:00 am. This means that in a 24 hour day, I am often in bed more hours than I am out of it.

Six days a week, I go walking right after I get up. Usually it is for an hour but of late I have been extra stressed and I often walk for two hours. But even on days when I walk for an hour, it means that I don’t start the working part of my day until noon on most days of the week. If it is a day when it is my responsibility to cook dinner, that means I have about 5 1/2 hours to work and that includes showering, dressing, and putting on make-up if it is a clinic day for me. I have found that lately, if I don’t need to go into the office, I may skip showing all together in order to save time.The point of this is that due to my increased sleep needs as well as my need to exercise regularly, I have a compressed work day.

But wait, there’s more! I also have an above average number of healthcare appointments each week. I see my psychologist every other week, I still get acupuncture every three weeks, plus I have the normal oncology and every day person dentist visits, annual physicals, etc. Oh yeah, I am also a mom and need to bring my daughter to her healthcare visits. Next week, I have three of my own doctors’ appointments and one for my daughter. There’s no way I’m going to be able to pull this off. So I’m going to need to reschedule my appointments for the dentist as well as for acupuncture. I am keeping my psychologist appointment because I am dealing with a greater amount of stress these days and that is not a ball I want to drop.

And some how during that time I will be working, getting ready for a trip, and getting fittings for the charity fashion show. (Alas, I did not know that I would be wearing multiple outfits, each from a different store in the Greater Seattle area. And there are times I will want to have with my family and friends. And times when I am unable to do much of anything besides surfing on the Internet.

I know that my days of needing 12 hours of sleep a night will likely decrease. I am also hopeful that my healthcare appointment frequency will decrease. But I also know that they could all increase again if and when I have health problems again. It has been nearly two years since my initial diagnosis. I would say that I wish I had known how long of a haul this was going to be but frankly, knowing myself, it was better not to have known ahead of time.

Again, the fact that I need to take care of myself is correct. It is right for me to do what I am doing. But when you tell a cancer patient to “take care of herself”, I want you to know what you are asking her to do. And if you can find a way to magically make more time in the day, you will be her best friend forever.

I used to work in my garden a lot. Along with reading and cooking, it was one of my favorite hobbies. A garden is not so hard to maintain if I work on it a little bit at a time on a frequent basis. The garden was my space. I appreciated being outdoors, having my hands in the ground, and watching the birds, the bees, and the butterflies along with the changes of the seasons. And people appreciated the garden. I designed it organically. I started with a few plantings and then worked my way around them. I chose plants that were interesting and pretty. I chose plants that attract beneficial insects and birds.

 

Then I had all of those stupid surgeries. I got behind on every imaginable household task. And I got really tired. My yard got overwhelming. I’ve got tired of the jungle of weeds. I am not a super tidy person but I have more of a love of order than do my family members. Consequently, my house is typically about 50 times messier than I would like it to be. I spend a lot of time picking up after other people and I do a pretty bad job of it because there’s so much picking up, putting away, and cleaning to do. My home office is in need of a clutter coach. Who am I kidding? My whole house is in need of a clutter coach.

A few weeks ago, I made a bold move. It was also expensive. I hired landscapers to weed my front yard. They weeded, pruned, deadheaded, and mulched. And it was like I could breathe again. Weeds started to pop up again in the last week. I was able to go out and take care of them because it wasn’t an overwhelming task. I spent a couple of hours in the garden today, including time chatting with neighbors, which is also an invaluable part of the gardening experience. It was an amazingly beautiful day and I had a wonderful time. This was the first time I’ve worked like this in my yard in nearly a year. It was like a resuscitation.

I hope that I will be able to continue working in the yard on a regular basis because it has been such a great love of mine. I can see how I feel tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. In the mean time, I hope you enjoy my spring garden!

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I dreamed last night that I packing up to leave my office at the University of Washington because I’d run out of grant money. That actually happened in 2007. I thought I was all packed and then found a bunch of cabinets full of things yet to be packed. I realized I had a plane to catch to go home to Seattle. I walked around the university campus and it was actually the campus of Indiana University. The University of Washington is in Seattle. Indiana University is in, you know, Indiana.

I walked around campus trying to get someone to help my move my remaining boxes before I was due to get to the airport. A couple of men offered to help me. I finally realized that I could not be in Seattle and Indiana at the same time. And how was I going to transport all of my office stuff back home and still make my plane. And then for some reason, the men and I walked into a building. The building exploded right as we walked up to the doorway, but some how we survived. Then I woke up.

In the dream, my assumptions about where I was, what I was doing, and how I was going to do whatever it was I was doing, exploded right in front of me. We live our lives according to assumptions. Those assumptions can be challenged in gentle but persistent ways. They can also be thrown on their head.

Until May 24, 2012, I assumed that I would not get cancer in my 40’s. I assumed as a woman from a long line of long lived women on my mother’s side that I would live a long life. I assumed that I would be alive long enough to raise my daughter and to retire in my 60’s or 70’s. (Note to hubby: Early 70’s, tops, and working part time.)

Then the assumption of health that supported all of my future life plans crumbled. I have worked to pick up the pieces, make new pieces, and reworked the foundational assumptions I have about my life. And all along, I have worked to be true to the person that I was before and not define myself only by fear and insecurity.

The early part of this process focused on physical reconstruction of pieces. Surgeons have subtracted and added in many iterations. When I was home following my mastectomy in August 2012, I was looking on Ebay for clothes. I had lost a considerable amount of weight and I do nearly all of my clothes shopping online. I came across this photo.

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The mannequin pieces do not fit together and the arms are placed on the wrong sides of the body. It makes the whole figure off. The large hands in particular reminded me of how drag performers can look. They have many feminine physical characteristics through make-up, body padding, binding, falsies, and good acting skills. But there are almost always clues. Things that don’t look quite right. Some drag performers take advantage of this to comedic effect. Grady West, who developed the character, Dina Martina, is a 50 something year old man with a pot belly and hairy back. He wears over the top feminine glitzy costumes that are several sizes too small and his dresses don’t zip up all of the way. Dina’s make-up makes Tammy Faye Baker look like a model for Pond’s cleansing cream. He uses the mismatched puzzle pieces to great advantage and his shows are hilarious.

Other drag performers aspire for “realness”, to be able to pass as a real woman. I was introduced to this concept when I saw the excellent documentary, Paris is Burning, which was filmed during the mid- to late-80’s in New York City. It was about the “Drag Ball Culture” in the city. (Remember “voguing”? It started there, not with Madonna.) I was fascinated by the communities that were built by the men in this culture. Most of them had been rejected by their families and by society, as a whole. But they made their own families with “drag mothers” and familial living situations. I thought the way that the men found a way to pick up the pieces and make news pieces to construct their own families was inspiring.

I know that there was a short time after my mastectomy when I was worried about “passing” for a real woman. But mostly, I have been trying to reconstruct the pieces of my mental life and to dance to the changing rhythm of my daily life.

Life has pieces that change. Life has pieces that need to be replaced. Life has pieces that are lost and cannot be replaced. But my life is whole and I belong here.

I am good at seeing patterns in my behavior, better than I was in the past when my cancer experience was new. I think I am leaning into an anxiety and grief spiral. I have been very stressed about situations that are mostly out of my control. My pattern is (1) define a current or anticipated problem, (2) develop a plan, (3) put the plan in place, (4) fall into a pit of varying depth and circumference, and (5) cope like crazy until I regain my footing.

Right now I feel myself transitioning from step 3 to step 4. But meanwhile, I am dealing with another problem. Time I spent taking care of the highest priority problem meant that I got behind in my work. Now I am shuffling around to put a plan in place for that.

Additionally, I agreed to participate in a breast cancer charity function. The proceeds go to patient assistance fund at Swedish Cancer Institute, which provides very practical assistance like emergency rent money, meals, and transportation to and from medical appointments to breast cancer patients. This is a very worthwhile cause that makes a real difference in patients’ lives, not to mention the fact that I am very grateful for the treatment I have received at the institute. Last year, this event raised $120,000.

I do have mixed feelings about the event itself, which is a fashion show. You know how I love wearing pretty clothes but also have major misgivings about the fashion industry. I also suspect that I’m going to have to wear at least a little something pink at some time but based on last year’s video, I see that pink is present but not omnipresent. The models are all normal looking people. The women are all breast cancer patients. The men are friends and family. Everyone looked like they were having silly fun. And the fun was balanced out by speakers talking about the real negative impact of cancer on patients and their families.

The rational part of me thinks, “Why throw out the pink baby with the bathwater?”  The good outweighs the bad of participation. I have wanted to get involved in a small cancer related charity and this is a chance for me to see if this is an organization with which I would like to continue to develop a relationship. There are lots of things they do and a variety of events that are put on over the year.

Did I say, I was starting to spin? I spun at least a full revolution on my walk in the woods this morning. I’ve started having abandonment fears. I have been stressed and relying on my friends to give ear to my distress. This morning I was worried about being a burden and losing my friends because the sum of the negative parts of my life are really scary. I know this is irrational but I also know that my behavior can still be motivated by irrational fear even when I am aware of it. This is when I start flailing and apologizing to my friends. I try to solicit their support in an overly sparing manner.

And the fashion show? I was worried about that, too. I was afraid that I would lose some of you out there because you would believe that I was “pimping myself out” or that I have been pink washed. Then I thought, “I just won’t say anything about it.” I wouldn’t be able to get the word out about the event so that the charity would make more money and more patients would get real, every day assistance. How silly and counterproductive. In my efforts to reduce the attention to the aspect of participation that I don’t like or am unsure about, I would contribute less to the part to which I feel clearly committed. And the biggest flaw in my “avoid it” plan was the fact that the only person I need to convince about whether this is right for me or not is myself.

When I was a little girl, I used to spin in circles until I got dizzy and fell to the kitchen floor. I would get up and do it over again and again. I remember how the pattern on our linoleum floor used to bind together into a blur. It was mesmerizing and fun.

I don’t spin for fun any more. But I still know how to get up after I’m done.

Lindbergh High School Reunion '82, '83, '84, '85

Join us this summer for our reunion in Renton, WA!

George Lakoff

George Lakoff has retired as Distinguished Professor of Cognitive Science and Linguistics at the University of California at Berkeley. His newest book "The Neural Mind" is now available.

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