“I don’t even know how I am supposed to be.” I had asked him
how he was doing. He had just come through a traumatic life event and was in
that stage of not really knowing up from down. I had been expecting a more typical
answer. “I’m doing good.” “I’m getting by.” “Day by day.” Instead I got an
answer I had offered myself one time before. I wasn’t expecting that. Immediately, his
response jolted me back to 3 years ago a few weeks after my mastectomy. In that
moment, I was reading a kind note from a co-worker where she was telling me how
awesome I was doing considering what I had just done. I remember as I closed
out the email saying to Ron “Gosh, her words are so kind, but how in the world
does she know if I am doing well. I have no idea how I am supposed to be doing."
His statement is a deep one. And it brings up a few valid questions. Who has the measuring stick? Is it the first person who ever had mastectomy (failed relationship, death of a parent, lost child)? Is THAT the person I am measured against to determine exactly how I am doing in my moment? Is it the famous person now writing a book that I am measured against? Is it that I cry too much? Cry too little? Am I happy go lucky? Am I encouraging? Am I a Debbie-downer (sorry Debbie, whoever you are!)?
His statement is a deep one. And it brings up a few valid questions. Who has the measuring stick? Is it the first person who ever had mastectomy (failed relationship, death of a parent, lost child)? Is THAT the person I am measured against to determine exactly how I am doing in my moment? Is it the famous person now writing a book that I am measured against? Is it that I cry too much? Cry too little? Am I happy go lucky? Am I encouraging? Am I a Debbie-downer (sorry Debbie, whoever you are!)?
His 10 little words had me really dwelling on these thoughts of when am I “enough” of “whatever” measuring stick to be labeled as “ doing so well”? I can think back to specific moments when I myself felt as
though I certainly measured up enough to give myself a high five. I’d say this
last surgery was one of those moments. I had gotten over my fear of the scars
and felt more “together” than I had previously. While I had dread of the
recovery period, I didn’t have fear. There was another moment during my cellulitis treatment when I found out I was getting admitted. I was supposed to spend that weekend
with my family, so a hospital admission was far cry from those fun plans. Lead Plastic Surgeon told me I was going to need surgery, and despite that revelation of changed plans from fun to yucky, I somehow felt this inner peace. Mentally, I was together.
I can also look back and see times when I absolutely knew I had failed in "measuring up". Burned in my memory is an intense moment (you’ve heard me speak of this before) when I very much knew I was not doing so well. I didn’t need someone else to tell me, it was quite obvious in and of itself. It was a few days after my mastectomy and before I had started the reconstruction process. So in that specific time frame I had no breasts. One this given day, my mother was in the living room cleaning up this or that. Ron was somewhere else in the house having recently come in from work. I was alone our guest bathroom standing in the shower with my back to the shower head as the water fell over me. I vividly remember being frustrated with the vinyl shower curtain on my right side as it kept getting it stuck to my arm. I remember punching it multiple times with more forces than needed. I had a washcloth in my right hand and had just applied the soap to it so I could start the scrub process when with absolutely no notice at all I landed myself in uncontrollable gut wrenching sobs. There I was in the shower breast-less and without the mental capacities to understand why, and how, and where. At that very moment it all came crushing down, and I was acutely aware I was anything but ok. Somehow I managed to pull it together enough to finish out the task and get back to my bedroom, but I knew the only thing left to do for the sanity of myself and everyone around me was to climb straight in bed. Even without said measuring stick, I knew I was not ok. And everyone in the house knew it too.
I can also look back and see times when I absolutely knew I had failed in "measuring up". Burned in my memory is an intense moment (you’ve heard me speak of this before) when I very much knew I was not doing so well. I didn’t need someone else to tell me, it was quite obvious in and of itself. It was a few days after my mastectomy and before I had started the reconstruction process. So in that specific time frame I had no breasts. One this given day, my mother was in the living room cleaning up this or that. Ron was somewhere else in the house having recently come in from work. I was alone our guest bathroom standing in the shower with my back to the shower head as the water fell over me. I vividly remember being frustrated with the vinyl shower curtain on my right side as it kept getting it stuck to my arm. I remember punching it multiple times with more forces than needed. I had a washcloth in my right hand and had just applied the soap to it so I could start the scrub process when with absolutely no notice at all I landed myself in uncontrollable gut wrenching sobs. There I was in the shower breast-less and without the mental capacities to understand why, and how, and where. At that very moment it all came crushing down, and I was acutely aware I was anything but ok. Somehow I managed to pull it together enough to finish out the task and get back to my bedroom, but I knew the only thing left to do for the sanity of myself and everyone around me was to climb straight in bed. Even without said measuring stick, I knew I was not ok. And everyone in the house knew it too.
It wasn’t until recently that I could look back on many of
these moments and put much thought into an evaluation of how I was doing at any
given time in the process, but I do know there is this evaluation going on by
those close to you in the moment. Someone is looking at you deciding if you are
doing well or not doing well, accurate or inaccurate, that assessment is
happening every time you come in contact with someone who knows of your dilemma.
Someone holds a measuring stick and you either measure up or you don’t. And if someone else isn’t making you aware of
the measuring stick, you yourself know one exists and find yourself doing the exact
same assessment on your own.
After a lot of contemplation the last 3 years, and most
recently after this conversation with my friend, I’ve realized that not knowing
how you are SUPPOSED to be doing can be an unsettling feeling. You constantly feel
this pressure to be something in any given moment and you worry too much about
whether you measure up. You totally want to be the superstar. Some days you know
you succeed and some days you know you fail miserably. Other days you think you
are at the bottom of your bucket and a friend comes up to tell you how
encouraging you have been as they watch you navigate your issue. Perception
being their reality. There is no right way to do anything. There is your way. You need only measure up to yourself. Take that
measuring stick and fling it out the window with every ounce of energy you
have (ok, I want to say here that I realize there are times when people are in a really bad place and they need to get help, I just mean when you aren’t in any danger to yourself or others there is no right way to get over an issue). Instead, for me, I think it is best to just look at the daily/weekly/monthly trend and make sure you are moving closer back to your normal
with the passage of time. Accept that some days you may find yourself standing
in the middle of a shower in sobbing tears. Accept that other days you feel so
great you convince your husband to drive you to the donut shop. And realize that those days
may be back to back to each other. There
is no way to “be”. There is just where you are. And over time, you find
yourself moving from here to there.
“I don’t even know where I am supposed to be”. When we said it we had no idea what a blessing
that was. Not knowing the measuring stick sure does take the pressure off.
(Note: I don’t want to discredit that even the “smallest” of
things in life can cause PTSD. Don’t be afraid to find someone to help you
through it. No shame in that, dear friends).
