Cleaning house

 It is day 73 since the "incident. That is a lot of time to reflect, imagine, think and evolve. The days are long and mostly quiet. The flurry of pro-biotics, IM injections, coffee and planning, happens in the morning, then I choose a project and try to apply myself to completing it. Most of these are "fold laundry" or "make bed". Then I walk, do yoga and rest. That is my day. 

During the past 73 days, I have had lots of time to ponder my childhood, think about how I am responding to my current dilemma, and how much of my response stems from my "self" and how much stems from my "conditioning" as a child.  This is of interest to me because Gene and I have now spent years in therapy and the path always leads back to childhood.  I rarely have allowed myself months of time to explore my unconscious messages and family "norms".  But, being in "forced seclusion" seems like an opportunity to do some "work". 

So here is a quick synopsis of my awakenings. My mother had a hysterectomy when she was about 60, Gene and I visited her in the hospital and I never knew what she was in the hospital for. This was my mother. she never spoke the words hysterectomy, uterus, vagina, menstruation or penis. She was a professor of maternity nursing, and I had to read pamphlets, tampon boxes, ask my friend's mothers and boyfriends to educate myself on the topics my mother taught to others, but not to me. Strange, right? 

I don't want to repeat that "norm". I have talked to the bigger grandkids about my surgery, told them why I had to go back to the hospital, showed them my battle scars and have tried to avoid the "C" word (cancer) for fear they might think I will go as quickly as their dear grandfather, who just left us last summer.  We will face that topic if we need too.  I am willing to answer any of their questions and we discuss poop and farts a lot.

My dad was equally silent on most topics related to commitment,  relationships,  and honesty.  He never hit me, though I know his father used his fists to manage his 10 brothers, my father made the decision to not accept that "norm". Well, that isn't entirely true. He did strike my brother. 

Maybe it was being female that let us avoid the physical discipline. When I was dating, I can remember meeting guys and maybe going to get a taco or something, and if they, as much as, grabbed my arm too firmly,  I would never go out with them again, I had a very firm line that said, "no one has the right to grab me". That has served me well, and I hope I passed that "norm" on to my children, and now their children. 

My dad had another norm that has bubbled up from my young unconscious. This one is more about what is allowable in relationship. He believed in fun, flirting, keeping secrets and making jokes when he was caught. This "norm" has come to my attention as I grow older. I remember keeping my father's secrets for him. I was never brave enough to call him out. 

My dad's "norm" set me up to be vulnerable to accept behaviors that may not have been good for me. I am a woman of tolerance. But, as I dig into my past and begin to name and process what happened to me. I have built a vocabulary for what is happening today. The little moments of discomfort, are being translated beyond the vail of denial, and becoming feelings or experiences.  This process of healing deep wounds is not always pleasant. Especially for those closest to me. Things that I might have ignored 6 months ago, are now named and discussed. Sometimes ad nauseum. Poor Gene. 

I believe the process, of processing, comes from the combination of, fear of death, plus time, plus boredom, plus needing others to care for me, plus therapy. You mix it all together and you get a sort of urgency to "clean house" before you die. 

I realize now, how casual I have walked through life and how powerless I have felt when it came to designing my future. Now, every day, I feel a bit more raw and more powerful. I find myself taking the bit between my teeth and expecting results. After feeling so threatened by my own body, I am ready to feel alive in every corner. My yoga practice has become more about, what I need, rather than, what I want. My mindfulness practice is more about what I feel, rather than what I think. And with 5 more weeks before I can drive myself, I believe there is plenty of time to wake up fully to what comes next. 

Whether it is facing cancer or taking Kylie to Italy, I am excited about changing my narrative and leaning into living a life that serves me better.