Angry Ninjas

That’s the only way to describe it sometimes. That your body is being attacked by angry little ninjas. Dressed in an array of colorful ninja outfits, because why not.  Chronic pain sucks balls, just sayin’.

I had a lull in the pain, sort of. But I still had that touchy spot that if I laid just so on the bed, it would shoot down my leg. Now I’m back to mid lower back pain. My thighs today feel like I’ve hiked a mountain. Of course the hips hurt. And no, pain session would be complete without them stabbity stab stab in my uterus.  At least Advil will help with that one.  The rest, not so much.

Doing dishes yesterday felt like I was being stabbed between the shoulder blades. So I have to do them in small sessions.  It just makes me think of when I was going to the chiropractor for the first time, years ago. And she told me, no laundry (it was downstairs), no vacuuming, no doing dishes, no making the bed or changing the linens.  I looked at her and laughed. I told her if she thought “HE” (my not so ex) would let that fly she was out of her mind.  He was just short of expecting me to be waiting with bated breath for him to walk through the door with a glass of wine. He certainly expected dinner to be hot and ready on the table when he walked in.  Even though, it was never certain when he would actually walk through the door.

Anyway, I laughed and told her it wouldn’t happen. She asked me if I having a note would help. I told her if I had something in writing, it might. So she did give me a sheet with a list of things she didn’t want me to do.  Part of her restrictions was due to how out of alignment my body was. But she never told me if there was any other reason(s) why. Oddly enough, she never did lift those restrictions either.  After awhile, I just started doing some of those things again because well they had to get done for one thing. But I did rely on my dishwasher more. I wasn’t supposed to use the dishwasher except on special occasions.  Then what the fuck is the point of having one? OMG we used some extra water and electricity.  News flash….we probably used way less water with the dishwasher then we did hand washing.

I’m such a baby when it comes to pain. I have a low threshold for it, but hate to take anything at the same time. Especially when I don’t know why I am even hurting.  Then I just saw something the other day that was saying by taking pain meds, we mask the pain and may end up hurting ourselves because now we have numbed the pain receptors.

All I know is once I was told I had sciatica. YEARS ago, it was pregnancy related.  It would come and go, here and there. Now it seems to come more often. But there are so many other things that hurts.  Some just hurt, some hurt to touch. There are some nights that the blanket feels like it weighs a ton.  All I have been recently told was I have chronic pain.  I asked about Fibro, he said maybe. The more I research and look at symptoms, the more I think it is what I have.  There are things that started showing up years ago, that seem to be more frequent.  I don’t know if it’s all related or completely random.  Have I been experiencing it for some time, just in random spurts? Or is this all new now?  I have no way of knowing.  And the one doctor that I think might…maybe…could offer some insight, I can’t afford to see him.  So it all just sucks.  In the mean time, I become one with the heating pad.

Funny thing is, I didn’t even plan to write about pain today.  I wanted to write about how I have failed at writing the last what week now?  It’s not that I didn’t want to write, because I did.  I just was having that “no one wants to read your crap” moments along with this pain, I just felt like everything was so irrevelant and insignificant.  Like my words hold no value.

I did have a story title pop into my head.  But I have no plot, no characters to go with it. Not yet anyway.

The plus side is that I know at least one aspect of my pain will only be short term and I can take Advil for it.  The rest, I just have to surrender to it and ride it out.

The Why – Not Any Closer

I turned to Google today to look at a few of those links about finding your why.  So many have a take this seminar, take this class, take this quiz feel to them.  One was 7 of the most ridiculous questions, I couldn’t even read it.

I looked at some worksheets in Google Images. Many didn’t have a thing to do with finding your why, but everything to do with math equations.  Definitely wasn’t what I was looking for. But in the midst was one work sheet that asked you to list 3 things for each statement/question.  One question was What did you love to do as a kid?  If I think back, I loved drawing, coloring, and writing.  I always aced book reports and other report papers.  I’m sure most of my teachers were just looking for proper grammar and punctuation, spelling, and if I touched enough on the topic.

It seems most articles and posts on this subject relate to a professional life. There is even a TED talk, but I haven’t viewed that yet.

The answers I am looking for do not relate to a professional life or a career or business. My search for whys is on a personal level.  Just take writing for example.  I don’t want to write to achieve fame and fortune, to be published, see my name in print. Don’t get me wrong, if that happened, that would be fantastic and amazing.  But my desire to write I think is much deeper, I just don’t know what or why.  Perhaps I was a writer in another life?

I see things like if you are attracted to certain fields like holistic healing, herbalism, and things of that nature, that perhaps you were a healer in a past life.  That’s just one example. So maybe if one follows that line of thinking, my strong desire to write is stemming from that.  The same could be said about painting and being an artist.  And yes, I am drawn to learning about herbs and holistic healing, too.

Maybe I will never know my whys of wanting to live a creative life. A life filled with writing and photography and paintings.  I just know it is something I want deeply. Or maybe, I will discover it if I keep searching or it will just come to me and answer the question on its own.

For now, I will just continue to strive towards a creative life. The rest will come when it comes. The answers will come or they won’t, dwelling on them won’t make them come to light any faster.  I might even discover the answers I seek in the midst of creating.

My Thoughts On Why and Feeling Fake

Before I go jumping down the rabbit hole that is the Google.  You know it is, just like Pintrest.  You look up one thing and the next thing you know you have spent hours looking at and reading up on various topics that has so deviated from the original search you can’t remember how you even got there.

Let me tackle the Impostor/Fraud/Fake syndrome. Yes, there really is something called Impostor Syndrome! But I’m not ready to travel down the Google highway of information on that just yet. I think I would rather address what it feels like to me.

For as long as I can remember, I have always felt I wasn’t good enough at anything. Even if I was really REALLY good at it, I felt like a failure. I was never encouraged to pursue anything. I think at some point every kid goes through the I wanna be a doctor, nurse, teacher phase at some point, however brief it might be.  In my case, when I said I wanted to be one of those things I was immediately told I couldn’t with a list of negatives.  When I chose to go to college, I was told why do you need that it’s a waste of time for a piece of paper.

When I chose to switch majors, my ex was upset because he wanted me to continue with business so I could/would work for him. When I was working fast food (I even worked my way up to assistant manager and rather quickly I think) I was told that the job was good enough for me. That it was beneath me to “flip burgers”  When I came back and said I no longer flip them, I manage the place I was told there was no difference.  I enjoyed my job and most of the people I worked with.  I feel like I was basically being told I wasn’t even good enough to flip burgers.

So now, fast forward to present day.  (I’ll skip over the other you’re not good enough crap for now).  I have been trying to write for going on 11 or 12 years now, even though I’ve probably be trying a lot longer than that.  Then I discovered art and art journaling about 8 years ago. I’ve seen all these beautiful and creative art journals and canvases. All these talented women that I admire. And I can’t help but feel like a fraud for calling myself an artist.

I mean, how can I call myself an artist or writer or photographer if I don’t do these things everyday. If I’m not consistent.  I’ve never sold anything, I’ve never been published.  How dare I think I am or can be any of those things.  All those years of conditioning that I’m not good enough or worthy enough to do or be something. Those are HUGE hurdles to overcome.  I am trying hard to push through, push passed it all.  It doesn’t matter if I have sold or even ever will sell a piece of art. I just want to create!  I could say the same about writing.

I’ve heard and read that it doesn’t matter if you do these things all day every day or if you do them a few times a week/month.  If you make art, you’re an artist. If you write, you’re a writer.  So I am trying hard to silence those inner voices that tell me I’m not. Those things people told me, that’s their story. It’s not my story.  Just because they said it, doesn’t make it true. It’s their truth, not mine.

Which brings me to the why.  I haven’t discovered my why yet.  All I can say about why is that it feels like things I “HAVE TO” do.  I don’t know how else to explain it.  It’s not a matter of being published, or famous, or printed, or displayed in galleries.  Perhaps it is something I buried long ago that is down so deep I can’t remember it.  Maybe if I dig deep in my memories long forgotten I will discover my why.

In my brief glance at Google last night, I saw several links to discovering your why. One was a link/article on Discovering Your Why in 5 Easy Steps or something along those lines.  Really 5 steps?  Just that easy? I kinda find that hard to believe.  But I will take a gander at some point.   It’s feels like its going to be one of those articles like 3 easy steps to making thousands with your blog or Instagram.  Let’s be real, if it were so simple everyone would do it.

It’s a cloudy, windy day. Waiting for the rain to come.  Seems like a good day to sit and think and try to find my why.

What Is My Why?

I have been seeing this come up a lot the last week or two.  In blog posts, in an online retreat, in a vlog.  Remember when I said if things repeat to pay attention, well seeing this as often as I have is leading to me to think I need to pay attention.

This will probably be on the short side since I need to head off to bed, but I want to at least get the rough draft thoughts out of my head so they don’t nag me.

So, like I said, this has been coming up often. In several places.  It made me take notice.  I’ve been asking why about a lot of things lately, since last month even.  But not about what is my why, more about why I feel the way I do about certain things, people, or events that happened.  I’m still trying to sort things out in my head, but I think I’m going to need to turn to the journal to get it out of my head and go from there. There’s just too much to sort through.

But then I started seeing this “what’s your why?” and it got me thinking.  Especially with the urgency I started feeling to get into my writing.  There is that part of me that feels like I really need to dive in and just write about “all the things”. If I use a notebook or journal, I can just hop from topic to topic as they come up.  But then at the same time, I am holding myself back. I know if I keep doing that, I will end up never doing any writing again for months.  The resistance is strong, I have to be stronger.

It’s an even bigger struggle for me when you have the “what are you doing? why are you doing it? what are you writing? why are you writing that?” thrown at you.  I know it’s innocent enough, and only me to tease or done in fun but it irritates the shit out of me. Then I just end up getting pissy and then I don’t want to write.

I guess I am very fragile when it comes to be creative and I don’t like being watched I supposed is the word.  When I am trying to be creative, I feel like I need to be in a bubble. And that it’s my bubble and just for me. Bah, I can’t find the words to say what I’m trying to say here.

Okay, moving on….back to the why.  For shits and giggles I Googled “What is my why” and holy crap there’s a ton of links. So I guess I know what I am doing tomorrow.  I’m sure there will be a part 2 to this post talking about what I might have discovered.

Another topic I want to blog about this week if I can find the words is about when you feel like a fraud or impostor. I’ve touched on this in other posts but I think I want to dig a little deeper.  This was also a topic mentioned in an online retreat session.  It made me go oh hey yeah I know that feeling.

So we will see what Google shows me on these topics and I’ll be dig down into myself to see what comes up.  Maybe it will be interesting.  Or scary as hell.

Today I Don’t Know What To Write

I feel like I’m blank today. Yesterday and the day before I had so many topics running through my head. Today I can’t seem to think of any.

I’m caught up on the Daily Granny. I have a pile of 16 squares sitting here.  I’m happy with most of them. I don’t know what I’ll do with them when I’m done. It’ll be the funkiest blanket if that’s what I do with them.

It’s a cloudy, rainy day.  Worried about friends and family back East where the Winter Storm Inga is hitting.  Georgia is under a winter weather advisory and wind chill one too. The impacts for the North East were still unknown last I saw.

I know I should be writing. I just can’t seem to pull a solid thought together.  For example, I was looking right at something in the fridge. The name glaring at me, yet I couldn’t put the words together to say what it was.  All I could come up with is the bottle of blue drink. It was blue Gatorade. But even with looking at it, I couldn’t get Gatorade out of my mouth.  It was funny but not funny at the same time.

I think what I will do while I wait for my brain to function properly again is making a list of potential topics to blog about. Then that way, maybe I won’t forget.  Worth a try at least.  The worst that happens is A) I lose the list somewhere on my desk or B) I have the topics but don’t know what to say.  Both plausible possibilities.

Then there’s the decisions about the fiction (fantasy) I want to write.  Do I just scrap all the things I’ve started? Do I pick the parts I like the most and make a new story? Do I tackle them one by one and see if I can finish them?  Do I just put them all aside for now and start something completely new?  Lots of choices. Lots to think about.

Off to ponder the list.

When Things Repeat, Pay Attention

If you have been following along, you know I have talked about choosing a Word of/for The Year. I started out with a list of potentials, ended up thinking it would be one not on my list. I thought my word was going to be “ENOUGH”.  Especially since I am trying hard to overcome the feeling of not being enough, doing enough, good enough, and all the other fill in the blank enoughs.  I sat with it a few days, when “SELF” came to mine. Perhaps this was it, I thought. I struggle with all the self stuff too. So I sat with this word and then guess what…another word started to tap me on the shoulder. What about me asked “SURRENDER”?

HO BOY! That’s like a really huge word. It’s big, it’s deep, it’s intimidating. At first glance, I would associate it with “giving up” or “giving in”.  But I had this feeling it meant more than that. I did not look up anything about it, but I did just sit with the word for a few days here.  I keep thinking, what does this word SURRENDER want with me?  Surrender to what, to who?  How?

Then I was scrolling through Instagram and came across a post by someone I follow. Her word is SURRENDER. And she was saying it’s not giving up or being passive. Her words in the rest of her post rang true for me.  As I am writing this, it occurs to me that these three words tie together for me.  SURRENDER to SELF and being ENOUGH.  It doesn’t mean I am giving up on anything. But instead, I need to Surrender myself to self love, self care, self awareness, self trust, to being enough as I am, to being good enough, etc. To Surrender to the Divine, the Sacred, to the Path I need to walk, to my intuition.  I need to SURRENDER to my desire for a creative life, to my writing, to my art, to my photography, to my MUSE!

I can’t control it all, try as I might.  I have to let the Muse lead. To Surrender to trusting my gut again.  Surrender to my true and authentic self.

Things that have been repeating, over and over: SHOW UP, SHOW UP, SHOW UP! Do the work and show up.  Surrender, you can’t do it all and be all for everyone without being and doing so for yourself first. Let go, Let go, Let go….things that aren’t good for you, things that don’t serve you. Stop listening to everyone else’s narrative.  Their story is not your story.  Owls hooting outside at night, Hawks screeching during the day. And a question I’ve been hearing from a couple of different blogs, “What’s Your Why?”

I’m trying hard to pay attention. To see the signals, follow the clues, heed the calls.  I am learning how to trust my intuition again. Learning to listen for Muse and what she has to say.  When my Muse grew silent after my Babci died, I think I got angry. Angry at both one for leaving and being silent, the other for dying and leaving me.  Time to let go of that anger at both of them.

Be Still, Listen, Observe. Breathe. Show Up. Do the Work. Surrender.

Gotta Find My Writing Groove

I don’t know it suddenly feels so urgent to get into a good writing habit, to get into a groove.  I have written on and off for years, maybe 35 give or take.  2004/2005, I guess is when I decided to maybe take it a little more seriously.  But I never could get into a proper habit.  Back then (04-05) I was raising my girls, home schooling, taking care of my Babci, being a Nanny to the daughter of a doctor friend of my ex.  My time, was late night. Which didn’t help with the Nanny part, there were mornings they dropped her off way earlier than the agreed upon time.  But that’s besides the point.  By 2006, my Nanny days were about over. (Her calling me Mom did not sit well with the parents. But then that’s another story for another time.) Babci died that Thanksgiving.  So that year kinda sucked donkey balls!

I tried hard to get back to writing, but grief hit me. It took out my inspiration and writing became a struggle.  As I have written before, I have attempted NaNoWriMo every year since 2005. Some years saw a few hundred words, other years I broke the 1,000 mark or even 3,000.  I’ve won twice.  I know some will say, any words written are a win but not always.

I can’t for the life of me figure out why it is suddenly so important to find my niche.  Which is hard.  If I get up early, I would be chastised for doing that. If I stay up late, it would be the same.  Writing during the day, especially if I do it on the computer I get teased for the “tap tap tap” of the keyboard. I feel like I can’t win. But at the same time I am encouraged to write. I mean I was gifted a beautiful handmade leather journal and quill pen for my birthday.  So it makes me feel supported and unsupported at the same time.  I’ve never used a quill and ink, even though it is my second one! And the other dilemma is WTF do I fill up that beautiful journal with?  It’s too lovely to ruin with nonsense, babbling, or complaints about shit that pisses me off.  I would love to display my quills, but the cats would try to eat them.

So what’s a girl to do?

Then….then there’s the issue of WTF am I going to write?  I have so many, well maybe not that many….November projects started. That’s what I will call my NaNo attempts from now on.  November Projects. Things I have only written in the month of November.  A lot simpler to refer to.  Then there are my “other” ideas that I haven’t started. I think I can combine some of my November Projects into a story. A few of them can all work together if I just change out or eliminate or rework characters.  Then there is the “family story” I want to write.  About my Grandmothers, their survival in some trying circumstances. But I have no one to ask about the the finer details, the facts.  A lot of my mother’s mother stuff is secret and I don’t know that anyone in the family ever knew the story.  I don’t want to spin a tale about her, but I don’t have enough for anything biographical. It was never really talked about.

Then as I have mentioned, I want to write about my life thus far. But when I think about it, it seems like my life was and is too boring for anyone to be interested in reading about. I don’t feel like my survival parts are riveting enough to make a difference.  And with feeling like so much of my memory is blocked, I don’t know if I could get anything out of my head and onto paper.  I used to pride myself on how well I remembered events and details.  I don’t know where in my life, I don’t know what the turning point was. But somewhere along the line, in adulthood I think. Memories suddenly started disappearing into a vault tighter than Fort Knox.  I know they are there, but they are blocked.  Most likely by some trauma that triggered the block.  But I couldn’t tell you what that trauma was either.

The question still remains though, why the sudden urgency?  I don’t have an answer to the question. Where do I start? Which one do I tackle first? I don’t know that either.  But it feels like this urgency is growing so strongly that I have been having weird dreams for the last three or four nights! I don’t recall all the details, but some seem to stick out.

The first night was a dream where my ex wanted to give us another go and brought me to a different house from the one we lived in.  He “let me” pick out a room that I could have to myself for a studio or whatever. Then he was trying to be intimate and was brushing him off as I wanted to part of him.

The second night I was dreaming of being hugely pregnant.  In the dream I had giving birth to two other daughters who appeared to be about 3 and 5 years old with long curly blonde hair and wearing light blue pinafore dresses. But I didn’t have them with me, it was like someone else had them.  I was in labor, but not in labor at the same time.  I was trying to find a name for the “baby” I was waiting to birth and was told I could not name it Thomas, yet I didn’t know what the sex of the child was.  At the same time, even though I appeared to be heavy with child, I didn’t feel like it was a child I was waiting to birth.  It felt like I was waiting to birth a dream of some sort.  At some point, I remember thinking in the dream if the girls were real or perhaps were the children I miscarried earlier in my life.  Or were they dreams that I let go of because I was too afraid to chase them. I never did see myself give birth or know what that “pregnancy” was about in that dream.

The third night.  I was part of a stake out. Trying to capture someone or group of someones.  There was a team in place, with a van outside a very run down house.  The team decided to leave because they were sure that the subjects would not make any attempts if the van was parked outside the house.  So they drove off with the promise of remaining close by to move in for an arrest.  I was told to turn off lights so it wasn’t too bright in the house. I remember looking out the huge picture window and seeing the moon, it was so large it filled the entire window and looked close enough to touch. I could have stayed staring at it the whole time, but I couldn’t. As I went to an upper floor, and heard someone make entry to the house.  I attempted to hide. I made up to the attic level but that lead to having to drop down into another room, which lead to additional rooms filled with old toys and antique furniture. The further into these rooms I went trying to find a hiding place, the more I realized if they found me I would have no chance to escape. It was like rooms were within rooms. I could hear the “bad guys” searching for me.  As I kept searching, an infant appeared in my arms and I had a Doxy with me.  I began thinking how can I hide now and keep them silent at the same time. They will give me away. I woke up from this dream still trying to find a hiding place.

Last night, I was part of group of people playing some sort of game.  It was almost like being in a live action video game. We were on a path that led to a desert like area where we had to pick up a quest.  I don’t know how many of us were there, but from the quest point we walked through was a sandy like path, through some rain forest type area, and ended up on a beach that had a hotel.  We checked for the day and I was going through my bag where I was finding old uncashed checks. I was considering if they were still cashable, but most were more than 3 years old and I didn’t think I could. Well then my partner came in and asked if I was ready.  When I looked up, I realized I was with Dr. Spencer Reed.  (if you watch Criminal Minds, you know who that is).  Hey can’t beat being with Reed 😀 And then I awoke from that too.

All just crazy crazy dreams the last few nights.  I don’t know if they are just crazy or if there are perhaps some messages in there.  If I dwell on them, it will drive me bonkers. But I can’t help wonder if there is something triggering my wild dreams here.

The Thoughts I Have Pondered

So, here it is something like a week since I last posted.  It isn’t that I had not wanted to post, I just couldn’t focus to write a post. This is probably the first day that my pain isn’t at around 7 or 8 if you use that pain scale I posted last week. I went from being closer to a 6 to on the verge of 9. Sitting – hurt. Standing – hurt. Laying down – hurt. Clothes – hurt. It all just fucking was painful! Then I’d wake up feeling like I was so stiff I wasn’t sure if I could move without hurting more. The thought of putting on “real clothes” made me hurt LOL.

The pain makes me unable to focus and form coherent sentences. I feel like I babble like a toddler some days when it’s like that.  But I can think. And I seem to do quite a bit of thinking.

One of the things I was thinking about was how much of my life was a lie.  I wondered if I grew up believing my life was something it wasn’t.  I wondered which parts of my life were lies. Which were truth. I wonder why now there is so much I cannot even remember, even if I look at a photo.  For instance, there is a photo of me and my mom at some semi formal gathering, a bridal shower maybe. Or a reception, I don’t know for sure. But, I have no memory of it that I can bring to mind even when I look at the photo. As I look at even now, I think maybe it was a christening judging by the ribbons we are all wearing. I don’t recall the outfit I am wearing. It troubles me some days that I can’t remember things.

I feel like my family was built on and held together by secrets. Lots and lot of secrets. Like finding out I had an older sister when I was 12. We were able to find each other, but her adoptive family wasn’t happy about it and our mother was absolutely livid that we connected. But we aren’t in contact now. Funny thing is she followed more in our mother’s footsteps than I did and she never knew her. But that’s another story.

As I have gotten older, the comments that were made in passing by people that I looked more like a sibling to my cousins (my father’s brother’s boys). They would say that one of them and myself looked so much alike, we could be twins even though he is a few years older.  It has made me wonder, on more than one occasion if we are not in fact siblings. I can remember my mother telling more than a few times that she and my father were not sharing a bed. That I was an “accident”.  My uncle used to say often that he wished he had married my mother.  But they are all gone now, yet even if they were here and I asked I would not get the truth I am sure.  The boys and I are not in contact at all. Two of them stopped speaking to me long ago. The we kept in touch sort of on and off, but have not spoken in a few years now.

I think about all the other relatives in the family, how so many have hated even despised each other over the years.  I am sure my one aunt passes away believing her in-laws hated her because she was Irish. They certainly weren’t too welcoming of her back then from the way I’ve heard it. My Grandfather did not want his children marrying anyone that wasn’t Polish. Both his sons married Irish girls.  His youngest married an Italian, but he was dead a few years by then.

And thinking about all this family crap, the secrets and the lies. Made me start to think about how ingrained some beliefs were.  How my grandfather (maternal) was seemingly racist against other nationalities, and that led to my mother similarly fashioned, she in turn tried to get me to hate too. He kept them from having friends and a life as best as he could. She in turn did the same to me. I never had a sleep over or a birthday party with friends. I didn’t go to a sleepover until I was almost 13.  Maybe I didn’t miss much. But I will never know.

I feel like I have some warped twisted truth that I believe about my family.  It makes me question everything I thought to be true at some point in my life.  I don’t know what I believe any more.

As look over what I have written, it all seems very rambling and confusing a bit. But that’s what happens when I think about this shit. My thoughts run off in a million different directions and I end up usually more confused and unsure of everything than when I started out.

I don’t know if I am trying to understand it all, if I am searching for answers that I will not find, or both.

Did I Get My Word Wrong?

I’m sure by now, you’ve heard about this word of the year thing. If you haven’t, well it boils down to that instead of making resolutions that let’s face it most of give up on by the end of the first week or month. (Or day LOL)  So there is this thing that people have been doing instead, and that is choosing a word. It’s different for everyone and where they are in their lives. Some people pick a couple of words or even a phrase. One year I chose Creative Alchemy.  It was something I wanted to strive towards, but didn’t happen. My struggle with living a creative life is real.

Anyway, towards the end of the year I started making a list of potential words. For a short time I kept coming back to ENOUGH. It seemed appropriate. But after a couple of days, it started to feel wrong. Then SELF kept coming to mind. That too, felt right. Self-love, Self-care, Self-acceptance, Self-worth…lots of SELF stuff I need to work on.

Then last night, the question kept coming to mind: Did I get it wrong? And SURRENDER keeps coming to mind.  But SURRENDER to what? To art, to writing, to living a creative life, to self? Surrender to the fact that I can’t be everything to everyone that they want me to be? So I have been mulling the word over in my head since last night.  Wondering if that should be my word and if it is, what am I Surrendering to?

Maybe it was  triggered by me not writing yesterday. Or creating. It’s hard to focus on those things when you’re in pain. My back near my shoulder blades is the new pain point, standing for more than 10 minutes really makes it hurt bad. Then about mid back it’s been really touchy, like it wants to go out on me and mild spasms. Of course the lower back and across my hips is hurting. Sitting is quite uncomfortable right now in general. But I can’t get comfortable laying down. And I have to help out with his Mom. She is not to get up except for her 5 minute hourly laps around the living room/kitchen/dining room.

Stretching makes it hurt. Ice makes it feel even worse. Heat only helps a little. Tylenol and Ibuprofen barely touch it, if at all. And that’s all the OTC stuff I can take.

But back to the word. Or does it mean I need to Surrender to this thing of chronic pain (or Fibro, if it’s that)? I don’t want the pain to define me, and I hate that it is interfering. Some days it’s so uncomfortable and painful I want to cry, but the tears won’t come. But what good is it going to do to cry about it? I’m grateful that it isn’t worse. I know I have friends that are in a lot more pain than I am. Most days, I think I am around between a 4 and 6. I saw a different pain chart that goes from 0-3, 4-6, 7-10, 11-13, and 14+ is basically off the charts pain. Now and the last day or two, I am somewhere between 7-10. (image found on Google).


If you had told me I was going to live with chronic pain, I probably would have called you a liar.  Back when I lived in New York, I used to walk everywhere just about. From home to work or high school, then college was about 3-5 miles one way I think, but at least 3 for sure. I used to work fast food, so I was on my feet a lot. Sometimes 10 hours or more daily. When I lived in this one area of Central Florida, I began walking places again. Put my young one in a stroller and just go. Or hop on the bus and go to the mall and walk, at least it was indoors and air conditioned. Do something like that now, and I feel it for the next couple of days minimum.

So again, I ask is this what I am supposed to Surrender to if this is my word? I don’t want to give myself over to pain. I don’t want it to win and control or dictate my life. But do I have a choice?

I think I am going to sit with Surrender for a bit longer and see what happens. Maybe I will get some clarity.

The Day Nothing Got Done

That was my day yesterday.  It wasn’t not quite intentional. I did at least want to write, but I woke up with a headache that I was trying to prevent from becoming a migraine. Then add in some cramps, while the back and hips were trying to decide if they wanted to flare up again or not.  So creatively, I ended up doing nothing. And I felt guilty for it! That might seem silly, but that’s where I go to when I don’t do the things I wanted to or planned to do. Guilt sets in and I get hard on myself. Then I feel like a failure and a fraud. Like who am I to call myself an artist or a writer or a photographer (hobbiest still learning). Round and Round the cycle goes.

Learning how to NOT bash myself for not doing things is hard. But how do I create new habits, how do I live a creative life if I don’t do the work?  Did all of you creatives out there go through this? Is this what it is like in the beginning, when you  are starting to, wanting to get serious about living a creative life?  Is it supposed be hell? Hard? I suppose if it were easy, everyone would do it right?

So I am writing a post today. If I understand what Jeff said correctly, if you miss a day don’t stress about catching up, just pick up where you left off. So I will not stress to write 1000 words today.  If I somehow get there over the course of the day, GREAT! If I don’t, that’s okay too.  The point is I wrote today.  My goal right now is to get into a daily or almost daily practice of writing.  I did so well with Effy’s blog along in September. Didn’t do to bad in October, if I recall. And November was pretty good for writing even though not always on the blog.  I want to get back to that, like I was in September even if it was only on the blog I was still writing every single day.

Oh yeah so that Granny Square I was working on while we were waiting at the hospital. I kept going over and over in my mind where I might have goofed and for the life of me I couldn’t figure it out.  Then yesterday, a few others participating posted photos of their newly made squares and it hit me.  I finally knew what I did.  I feel kind of silly. Dumb. Stupid?  It might even be a little funny actually.  So there I was, trying to make it using the “easier” pattern. And I thought that was what I was doing.  It turns out, I was doing the other pattern (sort of) and didn’t even know it. I was doing the corners correctly, but not the sides of the square.  The only part though that I can’t seem to make workable is that last side where I have to join to the start so I can go to round three. Maybe if I take out a stitch? Maybe that will work.  I don’t know, but I can try.  If that fails, well I guess I am unraveling it yet again LOL. I have to make 3 in total to catch up to 1 a day.  1 per day minimum, though we can make more if we want to.

So lesson learned that day: Don’t try to be creative on very little sleep, no “real” coffee, and when your mind is elsewhere.

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