Life

Finding, Holding, and Sharing the Light

~ crossroadtrippers ~ Leave a comment

A few years ago, I was writing for an online publication/page for people with disabilities, chronic illness(es), etc. I thought I had found my niche writing about the subject matter I had unfortunately grown accustomed to. I was proud when they posted an article I wrote about my mom and her journey through her search for a diagnosis after years of suffering and a major, quite rare, surgery. I had hoped the bulk of her difficulty would be over but she was since diagnosed with seronegative Rheumatoid and just last year, breast cancer.

She certainly has had her fill dealing with one health setback after another, but sometimes it helps one to know they haven’t been or aren’t laboring alone.

In my experience, one of the hardest parts of having a debilitating or life-threatening diagnosis can be the loneliness, even when surrounded by people. The loneliness is aggravated by the mental toll these illnesses can have on someone. It can cause those of us dealing with chronic illness, especially over a long period of time, to withdrawal, seem distant, and shy away from being around others. That doesn’t mean there isn’t a desire to have others around.

People often don’t know what to say when a loved one is dealing with a chronic illness or life-threatening disease.

It can also be hard to reach out and ask others for help because illness and disease can make those dealing with them feel unworthy of even the relationships they dearly desire.

Disease is a thief. It steals peace of mind, relationships, confidence, trust and so much more. It robs someone of their identity and replaces it with medical verbiage and symptoms. It makes someone feel worthless because their care may require more time, energy and finances. It can make you feel like you are someone you don’t even recognize.

When difficult circumstances  carry an expiration date, that can offer light on the horizon. But when it seems never ending, it no doubt becomes more than one can bear alone.

I hear people say, “God doesn’t give you more than you can handle.” I’ve never liked this saying. Life will give you more than you can handle alone. God made people to be social. He wants us to bear the burden of one another’s lives (Galatians 6:2). He also gives us His strength for us to get through the various trials life hands to us, trials that often outnumber our own strength. 2 Corinthians 12: 9-10 says, “And He said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for My strength is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore most gladly I will rather boast in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me. Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in needs, in persecutions, in distresses, for Christ’s sake. For when I am weak, then I am strong.”

My mom is near the end of her breast cancer journey, but I’d like for those who love her to continue to stand strong with her. I don’t feel like I’ve done nearly enough to support her through the entirety of her health setbacks. Even I, who has an empathetic understanding of what she needs during these times, have struggled to know what to say or do.

Just because someone doesn’t reach out for help, doesn’t mean they don’t need it. Just because they don’t share how hard it’s been, doesn’t mean it hasn’t been hard. And just because they haven’t been around, it doesn’t mean they don’t need you.

Her breast cancer diagnosis last year has even shaken my own faith. I often ask why there cannot be a light at the end of the long, arduous tunnel. She certainly deserves it. But that’s why it’s called faith.

Faith is a belief in something not always understood. Having faith doesn’t mean you somehow have the inroad to healing, health, and happiness. Having true faith can sometimes be trying. In the book of Malachi, the Bible speaks of Jesus as the “refiner’s fire.” What can try to destroy by fire, He uses to strengthen and “purge them as gold and silver (3:3).”

If you see my mom, tell her she’s His treasure, she’s doing an amazing job or just give her a hug. You can say a lot by not saying anything at all. Keep her in your prayers. I’m not going to stop praying for complete healing. I’m proud of how hard my mom has fought over the years and I feel absolutely blessed that she is my mom.

*d*

Filling Out

~ crossroadtrippers ~ 1 Comment

I usually don’t openly complain about my own body issues but I have them. I recently got a little annoyed while doing some online browsing.

I’m small busted. Not just small busted, I’m “God forgot to give me boobs” small busted. It’s been an issue with my self-confidence since middle school. As we all know, kids can be mean, downright jerks. To their defense, a lot of growing is about trial and error. Sometimes, that trial and error comes at the cost of others.

For me, I noticeably didn’t mature like the other girls in my class. I didn’t reach “maturity” so to speak until I was almost fifteen. It was too late for my new surge of hormones to grow the necessary parts to be attractive to most boys jacked-up on hormones my age. By that time, they had noticed all of the other girls were growing and I soon became an easy target for humiliation from a biological process I had no control over.

Memories of my awkward years are as muddled as my complexion at fourteen, but I will never forget boys wading up paper and throwing it down the front of their shirts to humiliate me. I was called names and reminded how unattractive I was because I didn’t have breasts at fourteen.

Middle school is an awful experience for most. Most kids in their early teens are experiencing surging hormones that suddenly make classmates they’ve known since the age of five attractive, voices shaky, and body parts stuck somewhere between the little kid you thought you were and the adult you would be some day. Emotions were confusing and relationships didn’t seem as simple as they were once.

Nothing screamed awkward like the full page close up of fifteen year old me in the yearbook. I was the cheerleader that no one anticipated making the squad. My face was broke out and my insecurities seeped right through my crooked smile. Thankfully I didn’t find that gem until I was looking at yearbooks during study hall in the library my senior year.

If I had anything, I had hope. That hope came from the summer between middle school and high school. That happened to be the year I discovered padded bras. It worked. I got off the bus on my first day of freshman year and the change was noticeable. A boy in my class said, “Looks like you finally grew some”. The appearance of breasts are the only thing I felt that got me noticed. It wasn’t my face, I struggled with acne so bad that I had to see a dermatologist, it wasn’t my body, I was teased and called “monkey arms” in middle school, and it wasn’t my personality, boys didn’t want to get to know “that” girl.

Yes I was “that” girl. In eighth grade, I dated one boy. I really thought he liked me. He was on the football and basketball team and I was a cheerleader. I broke-up with him after I found out his teammates were making fun of him for being my boyfriend. He was too immature to stand-up to them and I was too insecure to see my own worth.

I’m 38 and I have never been able to see myself as beautiful because of my cup size. I thought once I graduated, I would leave the judgemental world of body shaming behind but that hasn’t been the case. Some women would use passive-aggressive tactics to tear me down using their obviously bigger bust size as leverage. In my head, I was not only unattractive to men, but to other women as well.

I have never really felt like a woman. I came close while nursing my children. While nursing I could fill out a size B cup. I at least looked like woman physically. I could put on a dress and not worry about the front falling forward because of the lack of assumed physical form, I could wear a bra without it riding up over the lack of breast tissue. I had confidence because I felt like I was the woman I was supposed to be. Nursing had it’s perks. Obviously for a woman who naturally had little breast tissue but for my children as well. I didn’t read the fine print when researching breastfeeding, “once nursing is finished, expect to loose breast volume”.

I finished nursing my last child in 2015. The fine print didn’t lie.

The years of teasing compiled on top of my own distorted view of beauty, has led me to where I am today. I am unable to see myself as feminine and beautiful.

I am aware that I have to be the change agent in how I view myself because years of reassurance has not helped my frame of mind. I just want to feel like other women feel. I want to be able to wear something beautiful and not have to worry if I will be able to fill it out.

This leads me to my annoyance. Valentine’s Day is approaching and although my husband and I never celebrate the holiday, I thought I would browse lingerie, specifically “lingerie for small busted women”. My search led me to several articles and every article recommended lingerie modeled by women who had average sized breasts.

“Nevermind.”

I want to wear something nice for my husband but nothing “fits” me. One piece lingerie is out of the question because the bottom half needs to be smaller than the top half. I can’t fill out even the smallest bras because there is always a fold where breast tissue is supposed to be. Nothing fits me. Nothing…..

In my desperation, I went to Victoria’s Secret to be fitted. The level of anxiety in someone else even coming close to seeing my upper half is overwhelming. I sucked it up because I was told they can find something for almost anyone. Guess who left without a bra? This girl. They couldn’t fit me. I was too small.

After that, I began to research breast augmentation. I made an appointment with a surgeon who had excellent reviews. I thought there would be hope for me to feel whole. Unfortunately, hope comes with a price tag. My appointment also came with humiliation. They take a photo so they can have a before prior to surgery (if you decide to go that route). I didn’t expect to have to stare at it during my consultation. I finally had to ask him to take it down.

I still hope I can pursue surgery but I also know I need to figure out how to change my frame of mind. It’s hard to do when I can’t even feel comfortable in a bathing suit. It’s hard to do when you’ve been made to believe one’s beauty depends on a natural process my body seemingly forgot to finish. It’s hard to see myself as beautiful when I feel like I have come short of expectations. How could anyone look at me and be satisfied knowing I will never look like a woman?

I may never figure it out. I hope I do, or I hope I can at least figure out how to feel better about myself.

Some women dream of fame, I dream of a “B” cup!

– D