I have been waking up in the morning feeling almost normal, fantasizing about getting ready for a full day of massaging people like I used to. I am not sure I will go back to my career of massage if I do fully recover, at least not to the capacity I was doing it before but it’s fun to think I could. Of course my gas tank is not that of a Prius, it’s more like one of those cool vintage cars made of steel that are about 10 miles to the gallon if I am lucky but still...My energy is there and I am doing more things like taking my dog on longer walks, singing karaoke for about a half hour, keeping up on the dishes and practicing my bass guitar. I want to add to my list but it’s better to leave a little bit in the tank rather than coasting on fumes.
I have been thinking about my mom a lot. I have had plenty of time as you can imagine, to work through some of the sticky cobwebs left behind by our complicated entanglement. I could always see the potential in her that she ultimately wasted waiting for someone to rescue her, not realizing that she was the only one who could do that. I have been the opposite, I spent a lot of my time not wanting anyone to help me, thinking I could do it all by myself…A chip off the old block, we both were extreme in our own ways. I have learned that I need help and to accept it when offered by my friends and family, though I really try not to burn my loved ones out, I would do the same for them if circumstances were different, I would prefer to take care of others but I must allow myself to show my vulnerability and to accept the love offered, a hard yet beautiful lesson and one I must continuously learn.
I used to be really angry at my mom but I find that anger has turned to sadness for what never was. She was a beautiful though very flawed creature who was horribly neglected and abused by her own mother, she didn’t have a toothbrush until she was in foster care at 16 years old and that was the least bad thing. She never stopped longing for love and reassurance from her own mother and abuser who never ever gave it to her and when my mom called her during one of her drinking binges and asked her “Did you ever love me?” She replied “No.” So in a way I was lucky, I know my mom loved me even though she was damaged. She never beat me, though she was a yeller and to this day the one thing that will set me off like a sparkler in a forest during the summer is if someone screams at me…Clearly I am damaged as well, just in different ways, if I was a plant I would be a succulent. This all being said, I forgive her for telling me all of the horrible things that happened to her, making me a confidant before I could even tie my shoes. Was I born an empath or was I made into one? I sponged up her trauma and made it my own, it has taken me years to peel that out of me and clearly I am still doing that.
Nobody truly knows why cancer manifests in certain people and doesn’t in others. There are people who live their lives eating bacon and smoking everyday that never succumb to a horrible illness and others who seemingly do all of the right things to be healthy yet they get some insidious disease. My theory is that there is a perfect storm of environmental issues, deep seated trauma and a genetic predisposition that flips a switch that causes some cells to go batty but what do I know?
Until next time ❤️