Writing My Life

September 22, 2012 By

At five, standing in my grandparent’s garden.

When I told a friend a while back that I’m in the process of writing a memoir, she asked me what it was going to write about. I struggled with what to tell her. I wasn’t very clear yet myself, but trying to find words that I thought would serve the purpose, I said, “Well, it’s about my life, how I came to be diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and how I’ve brought peace into my life.”

Sufficing as a fair to middling, but far too general a description, it didn’t answer the deeper questions that had been rolling around in my head when I started the writing. “What am I going to include?  What do I want to say and why do I even want to do this?  Am I up to the challenge of reliving some of the darker moments of my life?”

In my first conversations with myself about writing my life, I didn’t have a clue as to how to start.  So I started with stories as they came to me. I published some here, on this blog.  I wrote the happy stories, avoiding the dark stuff, not ready to spill the beans and their big stink. Slowly, I started allowing the ghosts waiting outside the door into my studio and began digging deeper, becoming more honest with and about myself.

Many have told me that I’ve lived a fascinating life and should get it all down on paper. They told me it would be helpful to others who’ve suffered through undiagnosed PTSD. Many people don’t understand that it can be caused by lesser events than living through a tsunami or being a veteran of a cruel and arduous war.

But my first concern was just getting it all out of my internal storeroom, knowing that once I started getting my shame out, I’d feel lighter and happier. I could downsize my memory bank, just as I was downsizing my belongings and living space. I felt that writing through my struggles, I could begin to put the fragmented pieces of my life back together, reaching a new understanding of who I am and how I got to be me.  I knew it could open up the doors I’ve kept locked for far too long and giving me a new perspective on where I’ve come from.

As I was trying to get started on this project, I was diagnosed with Endometrial cancer, which grows in the lining of the Uterus. I was told by a number of doctors that if one has to have cancer, this is the best kind to have. It’s easily treated, depending of course, on its stage when it’s discovered.  Even so, I was extremely frightened. Cancer is the killer in my family. Heart disease has rarely been an issue. All of my relatives, who have passed on, died of complications and the affects cancer had on their bodies. We’ve had cancer of the lungs, bladder, esophagus, nasal cavity, and colorectal cancer.  I found it disturbing to think that unless I’m run over by a dump truck or die of some other external cause, my life would most probably end in the same kind of suffering that my forebears in death went through.  I did not want that for myself.

Treatment for my cancer was a simple hysterectomy, removing all of my reproductive organs. As long as it would be gone, I didn’t care about the loss of parts of myself. At my age, I wouldn’t be needing them anyway. I now visit my Oncologist twice a year to be rechecked and to date there has been no reoccurrence. I’m told that the chances of it returning are rare and should it show up again it is treatable.

While spending several months recuperating from the surgery, I decided that there was no time to worry about cancer and its potential return.  I had no time to feel sorry for myself or the events in my life that had brought me to this moment. I wanted a new a perspective on how to proceed through the rest of my days. Life has been hard and cruel at times and I still bear the scars of child abuse. I’ve struggled with depression, extreme anxiety and spent years thinking of myself as broken and unfit. I learned about and began to accept that I’m an HSP, or a highly sensitive person. Whatever the cause, whether genetic or learned over time, I am an introvert, who has continuously tried to be the extrovert that I thought everyone expected me to be.  I was constantly at war with myself, feeling unworthy of the good things in my life, wondering what was wrong with me, and why I couldn’t reach my unthinkable dream of being just like everyone else.  In a word, Normal.

My cancer has given me a second chance at life. With the help of a therapist whose specialty was treating trauma, I had already begun the journey.  There was much healing to be done, both from the surgical standpoint and from years of blaming, hating, and abusing myself, because I was different and didn’t seem to fit in anywhere.

I can say with confidence that the most effective part of the healing process has been my memoir writing and allowing myself to relive certain aspects of life.  It has been difficult, but I’ve also discovered the many joyful times I spent with my parents, who unable to cope with their own lives, abused me and my brothers.  I’m learning about forgiveness. I’m learning to love myself and that I am worthy, and a good person.

I’m still at work on my memoir and cannot say how long it will take me to finish it. I need time to navigate through my memories and often need to take breaks between the intense chapters in order to reground myself. Being able to laugh at myself and to be joyful about my newest perceptions is constantly rewarding me.  When I’m finished writing my life and it hopefully becomes a book, I will be most happy if those who read my words will find within them, peace and a new perspective on suffering.

Are you writing a memoir or keeping a journal?  Are you finding it easy or difficult to write your stories?  Do you feel that writing about your life is an opportunity to heal the most painful parts of your journey? 

Filed Under: Books, Childhood, family, Gratefulness, Life, love, Memoir, Navigating Through Life, stories, Time, Writing Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,

Home

September 15, 2012 By

My home sweet home

“Home is not where you have to go but where you want to go; nor is it a place where you are sullenly admitted, but rather where you are welcomed – by the people, the walls, the tiles on the floor, the followers beside the door, the play of life, the very grass.” – Scott Russell Sanders  

Last Sunday, Bill and I returned from a trip to Niagara-On-The-Lake, in Ontario, Canada.  It is one of my favorite places to sneak away to.  It’s a beautiful small town on the western shore of Lake Ontario, which  hosts the George Bernard Shaw Festival every summer, and is also home to over twenty vineyards, where you can spend your days tasting superb wines.  This was only our second trip to this outstanding community, but it’s beginning to look like it could become an annual late summer destination for us.

We spent four nights at Brockamour Manor, a sweet B & B, where I’ve always felt pampered.  Having launched my gluten-free diet on the day we arrived, Colleen and Rick, the owners, quickly made adjustments to the breakfast menu for me, providing me with gluten-free toast to go with their delicious eggy dishes. On the morning they served pancakes, Colleen made gluten-free ones for me, topped with crushed strawberries and some maple syrup.  This is the only B & B to my knowledge where you’ll get dessert for breakfast.  My favorite is a rainbow sorbet pie, with a nut crust. I plan on making  that one here at home next time we invite friends for dinner. Fresh local peaches still in season, were served other mornings in a variety of ways.

We saw four shows at the Shaw Festival. My favorite was, A Man and Some Women, by British Playwright, Githa Sowerly.  We also saw the musical, Ragtime (fantastically great), Shaw’s own, Misalliance, and Ibsen’s, Hedda Gabler.  You can read Bill’s reviews on his blog,  View in the Dark.  We also had time and space to work a bit on our own writing projects, sip wine, take naps, go on morning walks, and enjoy well prepared food.  No stress. Just relaxation. My favorite kind of vacation.  I felt very much at home there.

What is home exactly?  For me, home has always been the place where I eat my meals, sleep, work, and share space with the people I love. Having lived in at least eight different homes by the time I was thirteen, home was where ever we happened to be. I found moving extremely difficult. It meant a new school and making new friends.  It meant I had to figure out where I was and how to maneuver in a whole new world.

My favorite home of all time, is the one I am in right now, in Charlottesville, Virginia.  I’ve lived in this area since 1985, but have lived in three different houses.  Each one was always perfect for us at the time, but as the years passed our needs changed. This last move, two years ago, was to downsize and place us in town within closer proximity to entertainment, healthcare facilities, and community.

I guess I’ve never stopped moving. As adults, we’ve moved as a way to shake things up in our lives as we’ve searched for our own end of the rainbow. Perhaps when you continuously move from location to location, it simply becomes what you do. It becomes your habit.

One of the things on my life long wish list has been to “feel at home” in the world, no matter where I find myself. But I’m beginning to understand and accept that it’s a wish that I will never fulfill.  I visit New York City, several times a year, but I rarely, if ever feel at home there.  For one thing, there are too many people to share a relatively small amount of space with. It is difficult for me sharing the sidewalks on Fifth Avenue around four o’clock in the afternoon when everyone in the city is on their way home from work. There is also too much noise, and the energy level in the city is way over the top. I can comfortably stay four nights without losing myself, but after that, my nerves begin to rattle and I get anxious.  Being an introvert, arriving home to the peace and quiet of this town in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains, is my reward for stepping out into the great big crazy world.

Big cities of any kind are not as inviting to me as places where I can connect to the natural rhythms of the earth.  I love being by the sea, watching and listening as the ocean pounds the shore.  The air smells and tastes salty. There are magnificent birds to watch as they make their living along the beach.  And walking barefoot in the sand is one of the most healing things I’ve ever experienced.  I almost always feel at home there.

Next month I will be taking my mother’s ashes, “home,” to Long Island. She was born there, and though she spent much of her youth in trauma ridden situations, it’s also where I believe she spent her happiest moments. Though as a family we moved from there to Vermont in 1960, she felt restless in New England and went back to the Island frequently to spend time with old friends and family.  When she moved here to Virginia after my father died, it was to be close to me and my family. She liked it here, but it wasn’t home for her.  Had she been healthier and younger, I know she would have moved back to Long Island in a heartbeat.

It will be a homecoming of sorts for me as well, as I was also born and raised on the Island. I’ve been back to visit once before and I love stopping to see the houses I once lived in and the schools I went to. But I love where I am right now and I consider this to be my home of choice.

What does home mean to you? Would you feel at home anywhere in the world? What do you love most about being home?

Filed Under: Childhood, family, Life, The Sea, Travels, Vermont Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,

Kickin’ Granny Out Of Her Chair

September 7, 2012 By

My Cross Trainer, Zelda. I bought her second hand five years ago and she’s saved me a fortune in fitness membership fees. I spend time with her when the weather is too hot, too cold, raining heavily or snowing. I have no excuses if I can’t get to the gym.

I’ve been noticing an increase in my aches and pains as summer has progressed.  One reason might be that I move less in the summertime.  I can’t stand the heat and humidity and have much less energy during July and August, when I typically spend more time sitting around and complaining about the weather, than I do moving.  My favorite place to be is outdoors, but the hottest months find me inside my air-conditioned home.  And though I’m grateful to have it, I feel guilty using it because it uses too many natural resources. I always feel much better physically and emotionally in the great outdoors, than I do when I spend my time in an artificially cooled environment, but when it’s really hot, I need it.

Another reason for my sore shoulders, creaky back and stiff hips might be that I’m getting older.  I’ll be seventy in November.  I hear from other aging people, including a few health care providers, that aches and pains are just a sign of  old age.  “Get used to it,” they  tell me. “It’s the way it’s going to be from now on.”  Others, who are older and more active than I am, tell me, “The more you move, the better you feel.”

I personally believe in the “the more, the better” theory, as in, “Use it or lose it.”  I  know that I can work through many of my aches and pains by walking, swimming or using my cross trainer on a regular basis.  And I know that if I spend too much time sitting around, I feel stiffer and in more pain.

I’ve also been told by my massage therapist and my Pilates teacher that my pain could be connected to old trauma that I’m working through as I write my memoir. They both know I’ve been struggling through some aspects of the writing and if I tell them I’m in pain, they’ll ask me what I’m writing about. Nine times out of ten, it is usually something terribly dark. When I’m working through those difficult passages my back and hip pain does seem to get worse.  I push through it, however, hoping that once I’ve finished the writing, I’ll be feeling much better.  In the meantime, I’m taking breaks from writing every hour or so to stretch the tension out of my body. It really helps.

I very much dislike the image that often appears in my head when I put the words, grandmother and aging together.  In the picture, I see an old white-haired lady, sitting in a rocking chair, on her front porch, watching the rest of the world go by.  That is not what I want for myself so I’m going to do my very best to make my last days anything but that.

I’m kickin’ myself out of my chair.  There will be no rocker for me.  There will be more stretching, which I’ve let go a bit over the summer because I wasn’t losing my “winter belly” fast enough.  I spent way too much time worried about my image in the mirror, rather than paying attention to what my body was trying to tell me.  All those times she yelling, “Stretch,” I wasn’t listening.

To make sure that all is well, I’ve recently had my yearly physical, a mammogram, a bone scan and had my teeth cleaned.  No cavities!  I met with my Oncologist last week and she once again declared that I am cancer free. I had my eyes checked as well and they are fine.  My glasses need only a tiny tweak, so I’ll  keep using the old ones till I can’t see anymore.  I’m happy and feeling great emotionally. Getting my story down on paper has been healing for me and sometimes I wish I’d been ready to do it a long time ago.

To stay as healthy as I can, my plan is to continue my exercise routine, but ramp it up a bit.  Gentle Yoga twice a week. Pilates once a week.  In between I walk what I call the “Big Hill” as often as I can and use my cross trainer, when the weather is too hot or nasty. I’ve just gotten myself a membership at one of the city’s pools and hope to add a swim session at least twice a week.  I’ll try one of their water aerobics classes to start.

I think I’ve lost most of my winter belly, now that fall is on it’s way, but intend to be more mindful about the amount food I’m ingesting.  And it’s time to think about foods that don’t make me feel so good. I very much enjoy a mostly plant-based diet, have recently cut out most of the dairy I was consuming and have now decided to go gluten-free.

I just finished reading, Wheat Belly, by William Davis, MD, and found it mind-blowing. We need to get used to the idea that over time, through hybridizing, we’ve come up with a new kind of wheat that is not good for us.  It may be more drought resistant and produce more grain per acre, but our bodies are telling many of us that they don’t like it.  Several people I know who have stopped consuming wheat have told me that their aches and pains are gone. Many also claim an almost instant loss in weight, which sounds great.  Two days ago I jumped off the cliff. I haven’t had gluten in three days and I’m feeling terrific.  My energy levels have been good and my back pain is  gone … at least for the moment.  I’m convinced I need to leave wheat behind.

Sugar has always been my worst enemy, but I seem to have it under control at the moment.  If I need to sweeten something I’ll use a natural product like raw honey or maple syrup. They’re still sugar, but at least they aren’t highly processed. I do not like stevia, which for some does the trick. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to give sugar up entirely, but at this moment I seem to be handling using less well.

I do not consider that I am on a diet.  I simply know that leaving some foods off the table and out of my belly, makes me feel a lot better.  I am overweight and losing some of that fat stored around my belly would be a good thing.

My biggest inspiration is my daughter, Lisa, who through diet change and exercise, has lost a huge amount of weight and recently finished her first Triathlon. She’s now an assistant running coach at her daughter’s (Zoe) school. And she will be leading The Wild Woman’s Wellness Tribe, next spring. Click here for more information.

My other inspiration is a woman I heard about while visiting Yellowstone National Park one winter. In her mid-eighties, she went snowshoeing every winter morning, as she had most of her life.  One morning she didn’t return.  Her family found her out on the trail, laying in the snow, with a smile on her face.  She died moving and engaged in something that she’d enjoyed doing all of her life.  That sounds like a pretty good way to go if you ask me!

I’ll likely slip and slide along the way, cheating from time to time. I’m in no way perfect and when I walk by Ben and Jerry’s, I may just have to stop by occasionally for one of my favorite treats:  Peanut Butter-Banana Frozen Greek Yogurt.  It can’t hurt once in a while, as long as I keep moderation in mind.

Filed Under: Healthy Living, Life, Memoir Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Another New Year

September 1, 2012 By

Photo by Barbara Germershausen, August 29, 2012

It’s been busy around C’ville this past week.  While the public schools opened their doors over a week and a half ago, last weekend, brought the University students back to town. Traffic is crazy and from now on, Fridays and Saturdays will be party nights at the Fraternities and Sororities just a couple of blocks away. Fortunately, we rarely are bothered by them on our street.  This weekend is the first home football game of the year and everyone is in high spirits.  As I write this I can hear the UVA Marching Band practicing just over the rise.  I love it!

Labor Day has always been my own, personal New Year.  January first is great, but it doesn’t hold the same celebratory meaning in my book.  As a kid I loved school and when the end of August arrived, I couldn’t think of anything else. Mom always got me a new dress and shoes, a few pencils, a notebook or two, and maybe a new lunchbox. I loved learning, except for math, which always made me “knots-in-my-stomach anxious.”

Even though I’m not going back to any school at the moment, I did get to soak in the excitement of just that earlier in August when I took my grandkids shopping for their back to school needs.  Zoe, especially was excited, just as I had been at her age.  But things have changed a lot since I was in grade school, when all I had to bring on the first day of school were my pencils, a notebook, and my lunch.

Zoe and Noah’s school provided them each with a list of necessities in July. It included rolls of paper towels, boxes if tissues for runny noses, tape, crayons, colored markers, pens, pencils, lots of notebooks, graph paper, loose leaf paper, pens, pencils, scissors, index cards, poster board, rulers, compasses, and I’ve forgotten what else.  I was in shock when I saw the list and I hope all that stuff is supposed to last the whole year. I had no idea what going back to school meant in terms of the dollars these days. Wow!

It’s also a new year politically speaking.  Political ads have gotten nastier and more money is being spent by both parties than ever before.  Even though I’m trying to stay away from getting involved, I caught myself yelling at the television the other night.  The dogs looked like they wanted to hide and Bill had a big smirk on his face.  I got caught!  This woman who pretends not to care, who smiles her way through the worst of it, got hooked. I don’t like it.

There is a wonderful story that most of you have probably heard, about a boy who tells his grandfather that there is a big fight going on inside of him and he doesn’t know what to do.  The grandfather explains that there are two wolves living inside of him. One wolf is hateful, and can cause wars inside of every person who walks the earth.  The other wolf is filled with love, peace, and tranquility.  When the boy asked which wolf would win the battle raging in his heart, his grandfather answered, “The one you feed.”

I choose to feed the wolf of love.  My ranting and raving at the television gets me nowhere and sends a lot of negative energy out into the world, which gathers with all the other negative energy, causing hatred.  I’ve renewed my promise to stay above the fray by blacking out ad time on TV and carefully screening all phone calls, especially around dinner time. I like to enjoy my food and digest it in peace. And, I’ve blocked someone on my Facebook page who is voting for the same candidate that I am, but who spews out hateful messages using extremely colorful language. I was planning on unblocking her once the election is over, but I’m rethinking that.

When It’s possible, I will have civilized conversations about why I’m choosing to vote for my particular candidate, and if it isn’t possible I’ll simply let it go.  I’ll write letters that may help to change someone’s mind. And best of all when the day comes, I’ll go out and vote.

Photograph by Barbara Germershausen, August,2012.

This past Wednesday, President Obama, visited our fair city. Traffic was a nightmare and getting anywhere was impossible.  I don’t do well in crowds, so I chose to stay home and watch on television as he spoke.  I was touched by many of the things he told his live audience of over six thousand people, especially the numerous UVA students who were there.  He told them that this election and all of those to come, should be more important to them than anything  else.  These young people are the future of this country and many of them don’t like what they see ahead. When a small group of protestors marched by and the audience began to chant, “Four More Years,” the President stopped them saying, “Don’t chant! Just go out and vote!”

So now you know who I’m voting for. As if you couldn’t tell.  It’s okay if you don’t like my choice but I’ll be delighted if you do.  We all have the right to vote and to choose the candidate we like the most.  I’d like to see all of us stop fighting and spreading hatred.  That goes for both parties.  Please, let’s feed the wolf of love.

My friend and yoga teacher, Barb Germershausen took theses photos.  She’s a volunteer at Obama’s campaign office here.  She got to stand in the front row, smack dab in front of him, and after he spoke, she got to shake his hand!

Photograph by Barbara Germershausen, August 29, 2012

Filed Under: Life, love, Mental Health, Navigating Through Life, War Tagged With: , , , , ,

Change

August 25, 2012 By

Looking out my kitchen window, I notice the leaves on the dogwood in my neighbor’s yard are no longer their deep summer green.  They are blotched with spots of rusty-red and the tree’s tiny berries are beginning to blush.  It’s late August.  In a bit over a week it will be Labor Day and though the earth’s rotation around the sun won’t yet proclaim it to be autumn, there is an overwhelming and unmistakable feeling that summer is indeed over.  I call this time of year, Late Summer, a season unto itself.  It overlaps both summer and fall, and unlike spring, which pushes itself headlong into the heat, this season holds back, hesitating, as though it cannot make up its mind as to which direction to take. It brings us the warm spells we call Indian Summer, along with chilly days when I wrap myself in a sweater and don socks to keep my feet warm.  Evenings can be frosty and most nights I cover the houseplants that are still thriving outdoors during daylight hours.

I’ve been noticing small daily changes for several weeks now.  A brilliant red leaf on the stairs outside my studio has given away the slow shift of seasons. I look up and down the street for its origin, but can’t find the tree that has sent it my way. The days are shorter and the afternoon light has taken on a soft, golden glow as the sun steadily sinks a bit more to the south each day.  Shadows extend themselves as if stretching before settling in for a nap. The nights are crisp. I sleep with windows wide open, welcoming fresh air and the sounds of night into my room.  Every weekday morning at eight-fifteen sharp, I listen for the laughter of children as they gather just down the street, waiting for the yellow bus that will whisk them away to school.  I’ve missed their voices all summer and welcome back this joyous morning sound.

This is my very favorite time of year.  Spring is always absolutely gorgeous and the color is breathtaking here in Central Virginia, but it only leads to the sizzle of summer, which I am not a fan of.  I do love spring and in March, enjoy cleaning up the garden of its winter dreariness. I get excited as local nurseries open their doors.  I pick and choose what to add to that bit of emptiness over there, next to the day lilies. There are always places that need replanting and I am happy to do it as the energy of new life spreads across the land.

But in late summer there is a slowness that takes the place of that chaotic summer energy.  My body slows as well and by late afternoon my yawns grow wider and noisier.  I begin wanting to go to bed a little earlier than I do in summer.  And my choice in what to wear is beginning to change as well. I’m drawn to long pants versus cropped ones.  A light sweater or hoody in the early morning when I walk the dogs is now sometimes necessary.

My tiny vegetable garden still provides us with fresh tomatoes, sweet peppers and eggplant, while local apples are beginning to appear at the Farmer’s Market.  I already miss those scrumptious, juicy peaches I’ve turned into smoothies and eaten out of hand for the past few months and summer tomatoes will be gone once a hard freeze sets in.  Soon I’ll be enjoying winter squash and lots of roots roasting in a pan sprinkled with fresh chopped garlic and rosemary.  Hearty soups and stews are just around the corner. I always look forward to the peace and settled in feeling I have in October, but this year I’m having a hard time hanging on to that thought.  I’m never ready for the commercial race that will soon begin as we are coaxed into spending our money on the various holidays, stacked up like cord wood, between now and the start of the new year.  I am also not ready for the political fray that has already begun here in Virginia. We’re one of those swing states and our phones are already ringing off their hooks with calls from politicos trying to get our vote.  The local airwaves are filled with the images and words of both parties, dividing us even further, with their insulting attacks on each other. I have difficulty with negativity and this is certainly the season for it.  I will vote, as every citizen of this country should, but I’m not happy with what we have to endure in order to do so.

Despite all of that, I’m looking forward to the scent of wood smoke wafting through the evening hours as temperatures begin to drop … the crunch of falling leaves underfoot … and the continuous changes that each day brings as the season turns.  I wouldn’t be happy in a climate that always stays the same.  If we don’t have ice and snow, we can’t appreciate the warmth of June and July. And if we don’t have our sad moments, we won’t  know what happiness is.

Are you noticing the changes taking place around you?  What is your favorite season and why?  Would you be happy if everything always stayed the same?

Filed Under: Life, Navigating Through Life, The Garden, The Seasons, Time Tagged With: , , ,
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