Being There

Sometimes it's just about being there when someone else needs you.  And listening with your heart.

I'm so grateful for all the people who were there for me and listened to me.
I'm so grateful for all the people who let me be there for them and trust me enough to speak when it's so difficult.

That's what it's about.

I WILL Change the World

As a kid, there were times I wanted to be famous.  I wanted everyone to know who I was and believe I was wonderful.  I wanted to make a grand discovery or create something breath-taking or just be so incredible that everyone had to know me.

I no longer have that desire.  Partly because I have seen what fame is like.  I truly believe most famous people are miserable.  They are still searching for approval.  They are still trying to fill that hole in their heart that says they're incomplete.

I'm not.  I am complete.  I am content.

But I WILL change the world.

I used to think I had to be famous to change the world.  Or that if I changed the world it would make me famous.  Neither of those things is necessarily true (although it can happen).

The best part of being sick (I call myself sick even though we can't figure out what's wrong; my body doesn't function the way it should -- to me, that's sick) is what I have learned.  I have learned to slow down.  I have learned to spend time with people.  I have learned to look them in the eyes and listen.  I have learned to hear the pain in their hearts.

And that's how to change the world.  Touch one heart.  Lift one burden.  Comfort one soul.  And the world is changed for the better.

I don't need to reach millions; I just need to reach one.

The Doctor Who Didn't Listen

Oh, how I wish I'd known then what I know now.

Ten years ago, in the spring of 2001, the world fell out from under me.  I was hit with unbelievable exhaustion.  No matter how I ate, how much I exercised, or how much good sleep I got I was so tired I couldn't function.  I couldn't parent.  I went to bed for about a year and a half.  More on that story another time.

After a few months (when I knew it wasn't getting better, and after much prodding from my husband and other friends and family) I finally went to my doctor.  I told him how tired I was.  I told him I couldn't get anything done.  His words are forever burned into my mind.  "You have five small children; of course you're tired." 

And that was it.  Since nothing showed up in a cursory glance, in a routine physical, there must not be anything wrong with me.  I had tried to explain that it was more than that.  It was more than tired.  I was not a human anymore.  I was a shell, a pile of skin and bones, walking around trying to participate in life.

He didn't listen to me.  I felt chastised, like how dare I waste his time?  I felt diminished, like a small child told to get over it because life is hard.  I felt like I'd been told to quit whining.  To suck it up and get back to work.

I would never stand for that now.  I would insist that he listen, I would repeat myself, I would tell him he misunderstood.  And if he still didn't listen, I would leave him and take my business elsewhere.

I was incredibly vulnerable at that time and did not know how to fight for myself.  I did not know I could insist on certain tests.  I did not feel safe questioning what he told me.  I believed doctors truly knew more about my body than I did.

I have had many incredible doctors.  Doctors who listened and cared.  Doctors who were more concerned about making me feel better than I was.  I have friends who are doctors.  I have a brother who is a doctor.  I have great respect for doctors.

But I no longer think they know more about my body than I do.  When I say something is not right, then it should be respected.  Even if I can't prove it or put it into words.  My doctor and I are supposed to be a team.  We are supposed to work together to find the solution.

I will never know if he could have helped me.  Maybe if we had run a blood test at that time something would have turned up.  Maybe I wouldn't still be fighting the debilitating fatigue 10 years later.  Maybe there were answers then that were too far gone by the time I found a doctor who would listen to me.

I will not allow myself to be ignored by a doctor again.  Ever.

Who Asked You?

I'm cranky today.  A little snarky.  Is it a good time for me to write a blog?  Probably not.  There's a better than average chance that I'm going to offend or hurt someone.  This is your warning.  Proceed with caution.

Don't you just love unsolicited advice?  The way everyone around you knows exactly how to fix your life?  No, me either.

Do I believe their intentions are pure?  Sometimes.  Do I think they are trying to be hurtful?  Not usually.  Do I find what they say to be helpful?  Very, very rarely.  Usually it comes across as self-agrandizing, holier-than-thou preaching.  At least to me it does.  Especially if I am really having a hard time.

I am not going to tell you how to talk to someone who's having a hard time.  That would be exactly the problem I'm talking about.  I am going to tell you how I would like people to interact with me when I am having a hard time.

1.  Don't assume you know what the problem is.  My life is multi-faceted.  What bothers me one day doesn't the next.  If you think that the one problem you know about is the only problem in my life then you are delusional.  One day it's my health.  One day it's my relationship with my husband.  One day it's my past.  One day it's hormonal.  And some days I don't even know what it is, so how could you?

If you want to know what the problem is (because you are concerned, not out of a morbid curiosity or need to know for your own selfish reasons) then ask me.  Talk to me.  Express your concern and your willingness to listen.  And be prepared for a brush off.  If you are not a person that I am comfortable talking to in that moment, respect that.  These are my feelings and I get to choose who to share them with.

2.  Don't you dare tell me that you know how I feel (or how I should feel).  You don't.  Even if you've had a similar experience, your life up to and around that point are not the same as mine.  You do not have the same temperment as me.  You do not live inside my mind and body.  You do NOT know how I feel.  Nothing will alienate me from you faster than that.

But it will ingratiate you to me if you admit right up front that you don't know how I feel.  Maybe you have an idea, maybe not.  Express your own personal sorrow at seeing me in pain.  Or express your frustration that you can't make me feel better.  Or express your willingness to listen.  Again, listening is the key.  Which leads to number three.

3.  Don't try to fix me or my life or my problem.  These are not yours to fix.  It is not your job to make me feel better no matter who you are.  And when you try, when you tell me how to fix it, you are saying that you have no faith in me to overcome it on my own.  You are saying that you know better how to live my life than I do.  I'm sorry, but there is no chance that when I reach final judgment I am going to be asked how well you lived my life.  It's my life to live and I need to do it.  I need to figure it out for myself.

Listen.  Just listen.  Cry with me.  Hug me.  Comfort me.  Whatever.  But don't try to take my problems away from me.  They are mine.  They are how I become who I am meant to be.  They are how I grow stronger.  They are mine and I will not surrender them.  They are a part of me and I am less without them.  I need them.  And when I don't need them anymore it will be because I overcame them.  I chose to give them away.  I got everything I needed out of them and gave them back to God.