Criticism...Take it or leave it?

Part of personal growth is reflecting on your patterns of behaviors, seeing things from the perspectives of others and accepting criticism. But how can you tell when you should take criticism to heart or tell the person to take their criticism and shove it? 

Here are a few questions to ask yourself when faced with the challenge 

1.   Who said it? 
Is it someone who you respect? Who respects you? If you can’t answer “yes” to both, then it really doesn’t matter because it may not be constructive. If you don’t have a relationship (personal or professional) with that person where you feel valued, then their opinions shouldn’t be valued.

2.  What is their motivation?

Is it to help you grow in some capacity? Is it because you may be negatively impacting others and they want you to see it?   OR   Is it to diminish you?  To insult or embarrass you? To make you pause on your path to greatness because they are envious? Receiving criticism isn’t easy, and it can hurt the ego. However, ask yourself, does it hurt because it’s true, or because the person is a HATER? (NOT EVERYONE IS A HATER.)

3.  What is the frequency?

If you hear the same criticisms from different people, in different areas of your life,  repeatedly over a course of time, there may be some truth in the criticism and it may be time for you to pause and reflect. As you reflect, refer to your responses to questions 1 and 2. If 5 different people say it every day, and they don’t respect you or their motivation is SHADY, they can shove it. On the other hand, if it comes from a few who value you and want the best for you, it may be time to grow.

Woman Circle

If you know me, then you know I suffered loss at an early age. In the past I felt deprived times two for losing my mother at 4 and my grandmother at 13. But the older I get, and the more self-reflective I become, I realize that through some sort of divine design, I had the opportunity to be molded by numerous beautiful, powerful, loving Black women, a few who have been completely pivotal.

My Ga-Ga

Who I write about extensively in my memoir, planted the seed of self-esteem in me by making me feel everything I did was wonderful. Her love and nurturing built the foundation for the Queen of Self-esteem.

 My paternal grandmother

When I used to spend the night at her house she was hardly there at night. She was hanging with her friends. She was out doing her thing. You know why, because she had raised her 8 kids. In my grandmother I learned that there is no honor in self-sacrificing and that as a mother who took care of everyone else, there was nothing wrong in taking me time. Yasssss!  

My maternal aunts

My aunt Gloria

  The image that will never leave my head is of playing outside and seeing her come walking down the street in a business suit and sneakers with her shoes in a bag. I thought it was fabulous, she was career woman, a mom and a wife.  That image of her found its way in my subconscious. I could do it all if I wanted.

My aunt Saundra

 She was the original Carrie from Sex in the City. Always dressed up and going out. But she also had a career. What I remember most about my childhood was that she would have relationship, but when she was no longer feeling it, she would bounce, leave, come back home if she needed to. Through her I learned that you don’t have to settle. She never settled, she got just what she wanted in a man, and he supports her career.

My aunt Sharon

 As the youngest, she was the one who had the birds and bees talk with me and my friends. She was young, cool, and smart. Her man was fine, so what she said had to be true. Even more importantly, when I was 12, she took and in my room and taught me about breast self-exams. It was the beginning about me being hyper vigilant about my health.

My aunt Gwen a.k.a Two Cent

 She passed away suddenly at age 36. She taught me about the brevity of life cherishing each moment. As a fellow poet we shared a love of arts and music. To this day when I hear the reggae tune, "Baby Can I hold you” I think of her. She was not afraid of being different. Neither am I.

 Carol (Hoffman) Sullivan

I truly don’t think I would have made it out of high school or adolescence without her.  I was in such a dark, secret place but she brought me out of it with her wit, her intelligence, beauty and empathy. And she looked me. ME who looked like no one with light eyes and light hair. Such an important thing for growing girls to see. ( If you have a picture of her, I'll take it).

Natalie Dorm

As my tutor, she was not for me playing small. I was intelligent, and I needed to embrace it. As an adult and colleague, she taught me that being an educator means speaking up about what matters, how to make English class something students would grow to love if you aren’t afraid to step outside the box. After watching her, I never stayed in the box.

 Dora Robinson 

She  taught me the importance of leadership and empowering other women. She did it by leading by example. She is the one who put me on my path of working with young people, simply because she wanted to help a single mom and college student who worked late nights at a gas station. She showed me how to play the game and  win!

 Marjorie Hurst

She is the one who, after a year of writing for her newspaper asked, “when are you going to make a book?” She planted a seed that sprouted into 11 publications to date. She also taught me the importance of networking. Had her son and I not been close friends, she wouldn’t have gotten my resume put to the top of a pile for what has been my career for 14 years.

Essie Lee

My eldest son’s grandmother taught me about resilience. We both lost our mothers at a young age and were raised by family. She was tough but loving, like me. When her son and I broke up, she gave me the best advice. She told me that even and especially when I’m feeling my worst, dress up. Never let them see you down. Today I still do it. When I’m sad,  or sick, lipstick and heels make it better, if only a little.

 Tammy Marie

My eldest son’s aunt helped me balance the tomboy in me as a young woman. As a woman 7 years older than me,  she taught me that even being a tomboy, I could still smell delectable, and turn on the sexy when needed. To this day, I sleep in nothing, but sexy clothes and I always smell amazing if I don’t say so myself.

 

 Of course, I continue to be shaped by women my age and elders from the present and past (perhaps I’ll share in another post). However, where I am right now, today, is because of the women who led by example. So how can I not? Cheers to #blackgirlmagic.

I, Wonder Woman

Finally, after 4 months I am able to sit down and write about what  was (I am claiming it) my last surgery. Honestly this one was so much more traumatic that all of my previous surgeries, so much so that I have avoided writing about it. There was no comical spin to put on it, and I still struggle finding  a positive spin ( other than the fact that I’m still alive).  Initially I was supposed to check in Friday, and be home by Monday, Tuesday the latest. I planned accordingly, making sure I did laundry, cleaned the house, arranged for childcare and pick up of my then 5 year old. In my  mind, I was thinking, nothing is as extreme as my previous surgery. That was 15 hours of surgery, this would be like 6, no more than 8. This was only my stomach, not my stomach and breasts. It would be a breeze, I was ready for it…or so I thought. My surgeon after all, told me she was the "Hernia Guru" and I love a confident women. I especially love that she showed up in a Wonder Woman surgical hat, and matching socks. Wonder woman is my ring tone, Wonder Woman is kick ass. We were gonna kick that hernia’s ass. And she reminded us of how Lucky a day it was 7/7/17 !!!! Then she started explaining things. As I heard the words epidural, catheter, my blood pressure shot up like 30 points on the monitor and I had to breathe it out. As afraid as I was there, was no turning back. 

My aunt took this picture as I tried to stay calm listening to the surgeon

The surgeon would make a vertical incision from the middle of my ribs to my pubic bone. In a procedure called component separation, she would cut muscles from my obliques on both sides, stretch them to build a new abdominal wall. Then, to secure the newly stitched wall,  attach a mesh all the way from my ribs to my hip bones before sealing me up. Below is a diagram.

Initially when I woke up, the pain was much more intense than what I thought it would be. So they drugged me up with Morphine, a few other narcotics that put me to sleep, but that was all they did. I was still in pain. They wanted me to ambulate, but I was in so much pain. When they allowed me to eat, I couldn’t because I was in too much pain. On top of that I had a fever for about 2 days.   On the 3^rd morning after my surgery, I attempted to give myself a sponge bath because I was tired of having people wipe my ass, and bathe me. I needed a new surgical binder that wasn’t stained with crusty blood. The pain was so excruciating that when my aunt (who thank God was also my nurse for the day) knocked on the bathroom door to ask how I was doing, I broke down into weak cry., a whimper. Boy, was it humbling to have my aunt, who used to change my diapers, have to bathe me…everywhere. 

She handled business and then an X-ray was ordered, and an enema… perhaps I was constipated (which is worsened by narcotics). While she set up my bed, I eased into the hospital chair. Suddenly I became overwhelmed with nausea and began violently vomiting bile. My aunt had to hold the bag, so I could support my stomach as it was jerking involuntarily.  Horrific pain. Apparently, I had an ileus, or what they call bowel obstruction. A serious one. It appears my digestive system had never fully awakened after surgery, which explained the reason oral medications were ineffective; they were not being digested. Everything was stuck in my stomach and esophagus. It made sense, I was swollen everywhere and my skin was clammy and discolored.

   Within the next 10 minutes my aunt was holding me down as another nurse stuffed a tube up my nose and into my throat while I gagged and cried. For the next 24 hours, the NG tube would pump my digestive track of everything and my stay at the hospital would be extended while my digestive functioning was observed. Which meant 24 hours of nothing, followed by 24 hours of liquids, and 24 hours on solids for a total of 3 more days.

Recovery at home was equally tough the first few days. Last time I had major surgery I had a live in partner who could help me. This time on I was my own with bathing (2 weeks before I took a real shower), letting things fall to the floor because I couldn’t pick them up, and the constant pinching of drains.  It was sleepless nights, and spells of helplessness The worst part was eating, because the peristalsis was excruciating, I felt like I could feel every bite of food work its way through my body for at least 2 days. 

check out the hernia through my dress.

                                   side angle of the hernia before surgery

              I found it so much more difficult to focus on the positive this time around. Yes the hernia was gone, but at that time it meant a shift in the type of pain I experienced. Because I feared any further intestinal problems, I rejected narcotics for pain management and stuck with ibuprofen and Tylenol. Ouch!

           

Over the last four months my body has been amazing all over again in regaining its strength and stamina. I’ve swallowed tears of frustration when I returned to my workout and couldn’t do anything, or I was so exhausted from jumping back into work, I’d get nauseous.  For a year and half I tried to cover this massive hernia, but now I’m trying to disguise my belly which now only looks about 4 months pregnant. It still feels tight and sore on extra busy days at work, and my ab power is severely diminished but I’m forcing myself to remain patient and remember that in due time, the swelling will decrease, the strength will increase, and while I’ll never be the same, I’ll feel confident in my physical appearance and power again. And if I’m lucky, one of these days I’ll see the lesson in all of this. I thought I mastered body gratitude, life gratitude, patience? Well, it's not mastered, but I've had many lessons. What do you think is the possible lesson? I Wonder.

Left top- hernia, Right top-1 week post op, bottom left- 2 weeks post op, bottom right- 2 months post op

When Black Women Lead

This will be a great opportunity to network, I thought, to expose my talents to professionals from a different demographic, i.e. White people. However, after our initial welcoming event, I wondered how I’d force myself to open to people unlike me. There were so many of them and so little of us (because you know we count in a room sparse with people of color). When we took our class photo I purposely tried to stand away from the other three black women, three Latino women, and the one black man, so it’d look a bit more …colorful. Still, as we prepared for our weekend retreat and official initiation into Leadership Pioneer Valley, I prepared myself to code switch. It’s what we do, change our speech style, volume, body language and vocabulary to mirror mainstream America. We drop the colloquialisms; avoid being our true selves to not offend, intimidate, or perpetuate negative cultural stereotypes. For some of us code switching is fluid and easy, and we never had to be taught; it was learned by watching. I was ready for it.

 To my surprise, the way our differences were brought to the forefront right from the beginning by executive director Lora Wondolowski, made me feel comfortable with just being me( in all my Black girl magic), without fear of making others uncomfortable or feeling like what I said or did represented all of us. This was just the beginning of the many lessons I learned throughout the 10-month program for emerging leaders in Western Massachusetts.  Without giving away all the details (because you should totally check it out yourself), I learned to listen more and react less. Through constant internal evaluation, that everything wasn’t crucial or warranted my input. I didn’t have to take over or take charge, but that I could earn be “happy enough” with the consensus. My strengths were validated and there were strategies I could immediately implement on the day job as well as in my entrepreneurial work.  In the end, it was way more than a list of new contacts, it was realizing how we all benefit from honest, uncomfortable discussions and the value of effectively using your voice. It was building collaborative relationships, friendships, and a new perspective of myself as well the Pioneer Valley.

Class of 2017. A great group of people

Bad Ass Lora Wondolowski, executive director of LPV, handing me my diploma

 For more information about applying for to be a part of class of 2018, visit www.leadershippv.org

Check your Bags

 My work with young people who have experienced trauma has opened my eyes to the traumatic experiences that many adults (friends, family and strangers) have dealt with and continue to do so daily. This ability to empathize with their struggles has made me much less judgmental and a better listener and understanding my own trauma is why I choose to do what I do. I write about it in more extensively in my memoir. But there are so many people who have yet to address their trauma and it’s a detriment to their health and happiness. Some people drag their baggage around everywhere they go, some try to force others to carry their load. Then there are those who wear all of it like they are trauma brand models.  Oh, and let us not forgot who try to disguise the baggage as fancy accessories, concealing the pain and hurt. In the end, none of it does us any good. While everyone is not going to go for their checkup from the neck up as I previously suggested, there are steps you can take to begin to unpack.

1.   Be present-  Especially when you are about to make a decision. What is it you are doing or are about to do? Pay attention to your body’s physical response and ask yourself why. As someone who struggled with eating disorders in the past this has helped me significantly with my emotional eating.  I ask myself why I really want to order Chinese take out, is it because I’m stressed out about work, or a project? Possibly feeling resentful towards someone? Or is it because I’m hungry and I haven’t had any in a while and I really just want some beef teriyaki?

2.   Reflect instead of deflect- Particularly after a conflict or in a moment of regret. Have you looked at the situation from the other person’s perspective? Was there something you could have done or said differently (in my case it has been that maybe I shouldn’t have said anything)? Ask that WHY once more. Why did you respond that way? What were you feeling? Were you hurt or embarrassed? What were you trying to obtain in that moment?

3.   Reframe your negative experiences- I actually have a full workshop on how to do this. It’s basically the step following reflection. You try to determine the lesson in the experience and find a silver lining. You got laid off?  Perhaps it’s because it’s time for you to chase that dream you’ve been putting off? How has your pain helped you become stronger, or set a positive example of resilience for others?

Our baggage plays a major role and how we came to be who we are today but it doesn’t have to dictate who we will be tomorrow. That is totally up to you!

No Matter What They Say

Centered on the world's stage,

she sings to her loves and beloveds,

to her foes and detractors:

However I am perceived and deceived,

however my ignorance and conceits,

lay aside your fears that I will be undone,

 for I shall not be moved. - Maya Angelou

One of my favorite and most quoted poems. It’s been swirling in my head lately as I think about people’s opinions and how they should be handled. (The barrage of opinions on social media after  Beyoncé's Grammy performance started it all).

 As a self-proclaimed diva and Queen of self-esteem you can bet that I carry myself with an epic ( like EPIC) level of confidence. As an educator, mother and youth worker I am passionate and outspoken in advocating for them. As a black woman, I am adamant about using my art as activism.  All of this is subject to both celebration and misunderstanding. But if I responded to every single prejudgment, criticism, or straight  throw of shade, I would then be detracted from my life’s work. Instead I ask myself some key questions before responding one of three ways:

1.  Keep going ( ugh, it’s so hard sometimes).  Ask yourself, does this person’s opinion ultimately affect my life or my life's work?  There will be people who won’t believe in your dreams, there will those who try to compete with you, and there will be those who allow themselves to be influenced by other’s opinions of you.  If these people have no influence over your income, then keep it moving. As long as you are authentic, people will eventually see the truth past other people’s smoking mirrors, sabotage, and rumors.  In other words “Twirl on them haters”- 

Song Suggestions:

 Jill Scott- Hate on Me

Queen-Janelle Monae

Fake Love- Drake

          No time -Lil Kim

2.   Clarify - If I think your opinions matter, I first ask myself why it matters. If it’s because I truly value you or because you in fact can help me with my mission, then I will make an effort for you to get to know me better or to explain my perspective so that we can come to  a mutual understanding. I have to say this is one of  my least used responses because frankly, I find it time consuming if you clarify yourself to the wrong people.
     Sometimes your clarification doesn't have to be direct. It can be more indirect- in the form of a major statement- ( as poet my clap back game is major). I look at Beyoncé and how she responds to haters through music videos and live performances- in that I can show you better than tell you manner. Yasssss!

   Song suggestions:

            Tru-Lloyd

             Apple Tree- Eryka Badu

                     Hate it or Love it-Mary J. Blige

                    Woo-ha Got you all in check- Busta Rhymes

3.   Reflect ( Also hard as hell) –  10 years ago I’d give you the side eye and stank face all rolled into one if you suggested I reflect on others' opinions. I mean, to actually think that 10 people use the same unflattering word to describe you is tough, but necessary...if you want to grow. Sometimes I reflect and I’m like WRONG ( it's about them not me), and other times I’m like, DAMN they’re right! And then I make a conscious decision to work on it if it is something I care about.  It requires pushing your ego all the way to side and sometimes it sucks.

Song suggestions:

Strength Courage and Wisdom- India Aire

Man in the Mirror- Micheal Jackson

I Remember Me-Jennifer Hudson

Everything is Everything- Lauryn Hill

Twirl on!

Body Image Revisited

The body image saga continues.  If you’ve read my memoir then you know that starting as early as 11 years old I struggled with body image.  I thought I was had finally conquered it in mid twenties, even if I was close to 250 pounds. I mean I deemed myself the Queen of Self -Esteem! For about 10 years after that, I was in a really good place. I had mastered posing so that the camera hit all of the right angles. I had come to love all of my flaws, finally accepting my lumps and bumps, and really focusing on what I loved about my body. Then 2015 came and I’d have to come to accept a new body. Just as I’m starting accept the fact that I have no feeling in my breasts (which I have now decided to call NOOBS -new boobs), and get happy that the foot and a half long scar across my abdomen is fading,  my incisional hernia enlarges and that’s ALL am able to see. I’m cognizant  of it all day long. Aside from the extreme physical discomfort, I find myself double checking mirrors and buying shirts that disguise the massive bulge protruding from my right lower quadrant. I haven't been this self-conscious when getting dressed in so long, it feels awkward. But it’s really because I do in fact feel self-conscious. And why? I  have yet to understand why this insecurity has crept back in my psyche. I mean before the surgery I gained like 50 pounds, and after the surgery I walked around for 6 months with no nipples or areolas? Why am I tripping?  I had no answer, so last week I decided to get back in the gym ( I have to keep it extremely light until and even months after my next surgery). It made a world of difference, because after one session, I was reminded of just how powerful and amazing my body is. Each chest press made me feel more and appreciative of my body and its journey. It reminded me that this shit is temporary and aesthetic. What matters is keeping it healthy for its next healing challenge! Here we go!

4 Lessons from 2016

If I had to sum up this year for me in one word, it would be TRANSITION. 2016 was full of changes for me wrapped in lessons, successes and blessings. To start off with, I ended and 8 year relationship (not  BARACK OBAMA  though I am devastated) with someone who I was engaged to, lived with and had a child with.  This was difficult because my decision wasn’t based on something catastrophic, dramatic or scandalous. I didn’t catch him cheating, he didn’t hit me. I just realized that some of our beliefs were so inherently different it affected how we dealt with each other, parenting, goals and overall views on life.  At first I thought, what would everyone think…his family, my family, and the naysayers? But then I had to listen to my inner voice which loudly and repeatedly told me that  he was brought into my life for a reason and a season, but not meant to be my mate for a life time. Imagine trying to articulate that? This was at the beginning of the year, and still we are transitioning from cohabitating fiancés to co-parenting friends.

   The transition to living on my own after 6 years has actually been amazing. It’s given me the opportunity to really self-reflect and think , to take care of myself; to plan.  

 A few months ago, my oldest son told me I was going to be a grandmother in April 2017. This was like the official stamp on the end of an era. No ovaries, in menopause, I’m a grandmother before 40. This transition will be all about letting go and trusting that no matter what my baby will be more than okay, he’ll be great.  

 I also resigned from a leadership team at my day job and began a leadership program outside of my realm. Trying something new was easy; giving up something old was a difficult decision, but so worth it in the end. I was tired of fighting an unnecessary battle, one in which I was asked to go against the warrior and change agent I am.   

But instead of telling you ALLLLLL my business,  I’d like to summarize a few take aways from my last 361 days and hopefully they will speak to your spirit:

    1. Do not allow others to stifle who you are at the core. This includes friends, family, lovers, and employers. If you are asked to do something that is without a doubt contradictory to who you are a person, something that makes you feel guilty, strained, or at war with yourself- don’t do it. Life is too short to live with that type of inner turmoil. Be unabashedly, uniquely you.

    2.  F%CK WHAT OTHER PEOPLE THINK. PERIOD.  Don’t let other people’s fearful, judgmental ideologies dictate what you do.  Tell them to take their SHOULDS and shove ‘em.

    3.  Let go of the people and the things that don’t bring you joy. You can’t choose your family, but you can choose to love them from a distance. When you let go of the things that don’t make you happy, guess what happens…you get happy!

     4. STRETCH. Your thinking, your activities, your mind. Even if it’s a little bit at a time. Change is inevitable but  it is so much more enjoyable when you control it.

These steps are why, even though the devastation of losing Prince ( and OBAMA)  I was able to have an adventurous, happy and amazing transitional year.  What’s next for 2017? Stay tuned! 

Dance with My Mother

I’d be dishonest with the world and myself if I didn’t admit that occasionally I feel a sense of envy and hurt when I see the relationship some of my closest friends have with their mothers. They party together, gamble to together, or live across the street from each other. I can’t help but think that if my mother was alive, she’d dance with me at family parties; I’ve been told all my life that she could cut a mean rug!

Sometimes I wish that I could crawl up in the bed with her like I did when I was three and be vulnerable with her. I’m come along accepting this loss, using my poetry to deal with my emotions, honoring her with my pen name and a tattoo, and having a zest for life so I can live for both of us. Anyone who knows me, knows that I believe in spirit and that much like water, we humans only change form, but our spirits, our energy never really dies. I know her spirit is present, and I get little signs every now and then, but sometimes I just want that physical presence, arms to hold, neck to smell in an embrace. I even get the bigger picture, I wouldn’t be who I am if I hadn’t suffered the loss.  I wouldn’t have ever picked up a pen to process my feelings and written words that I can truly say have inspired others to write, reflect, or do better. I wouldn’t be the type of teacher or mentor who is on call 24/7 for babies. I wouldn’t have this relentless desire to inspire women and teens to take power over their futures instead of being consumed by the past. I know her time was limited, and her purpose was fulfilled in those 23 years (according to two different mediums and my own intuition), but sometimes it doesn’t make it any easier, and sometimes I become overwhelmed with emotions and tears fill up my eyes and I let out a broken cry. This is the reality. I never want to sound ungrateful, I’ve been more than blessed with an enormous family, surrounded by love and mother like figures, something I’m sure other people wish they had.  The older I get the more I come to understand the bigger picture, which is why 90% of the time, I can tell my story to a crowd without even a lump in my throat, but other times, l find myself wondering what would certain moments be like if she was physically there instead of just mentally. 

My mother, looking exhausted after giving me a bath

Jumping the Gun: More Fipple problems

It's almost six o'clock on a Saturday and I've just been able to peel myself off the couch...kinda. I was so excited to finally see my new fipples, which look like they will be great once all these stitches dissolve. This was exactly one week after my surgery. My surgeon removed all of the bandages and instructed me to lubricate all of my wounds.

With bandages...don't they look perky? Relax they'll drop some later, but they are smaller

He used skin from underneath my foob to create the fipple

Here I am all oiled up. Can you imagine wearing a bra over this?

He forewarned me that it would be tricky finding the right bra for now, and for some reason, I didn't quite absorb that until I tried to actually wear one. On one hand I was told not to wear anything that could flatten out my new nipples, like the sports bras and  tanks with built- in bras I've grown to love. Then with my lovely  stitches in the uncomfortable spot underneath my breast, no underwires, or hell, any kind of bra. With my green light to go back to work I surely couldn't show up with my headlights beaming. So day one I wore a cupped Victoria's  Secret bra to allow room for my fipples. Unfortunately my day was filled with anguish. Firstly, I was back to driving and turns and backing out hurt all over. Secondly, that expensive ass bra sucked! It cut right into my sore spots, and it wasn't as supportive as my surgical tube top, so every time I bent down...ouch.
 After work I did what he had suggested in the first place, I got some nipples protector cups; the same ones for breast feeding mothers. i wore those with my go to sports bra and it was a better. However, by the end of the day, I was sore from the nipples protectors. Those things are not meant to be worn for 9 hours! So here I am exhausted from only 3 days of work, and uncomfortable unless I'm laying with pillows propped under my arms. It's surprising and disappointing to me
because week one went so well with the bandages and the tube top. No bra= no support, bra= support but flat nipples, or support but pain to my stitches. So I'm laying here for this reason and because  I'm tired. It I may even be slightly depressed; not at my fipples, because they are awesome, but because I'm not 100% and everyone that knows me, know I hate to slow down. I just have to remember that this is temporary, and by summer I'll be more back to normal. Damn Patience!

Bittersweet Choices

   

     Even though I’m consumed with
 my dissertation, I am also

 preparing for the biggest, most complex surgery of my life; my mind and spirit are all over the place.  First off, I am beyond grateful that because of technology I am able to take steps to prevent the breast cancer that took my mother away at such a young age. But when I look at my toddler, I’m sad because my sister and I were so close to his age when she passed away. My baby is 3 ½ and he comes looking for me in the middle of the night. I couldn’t imagine not being there for him, and knowing that I was dying and wouldn’t get to see him grow up. My oldest son just graduated high school, and last week I took him to get his college ID. My mom missed that. My grandmother missed that. And so many other things in between. So lately I’m extra attached to both of them (even though the teen is totally not feeling mom). 

    Then I feel blessed again because it was my choice to wear 

my fabulous wigs, and to chop all my hair off, and it wasn’t the case for my grandmother. I remember coming home from school one day and she was sitting on the couch with a pile of hair in her lap. She explained to me that it was an effect of her chemo. Looking back, her wigs were in no way as beautiful as her once long dark hair.  And when it grew back, it looked a lot like mine does now, just gray. I have options, and it’s amazing, and it’s still scary and bittersweet.

      Then there's my mortality, something I struggled with so

much as a young person, so much that I refused to wear bandanna scarves because I remember my mother wearing them while she was in treatment. 

Now that older, and I’ve outlived my mother, it’s coming into a play again.  I’m going under the knife for 10 to 12 hours. YIKES!!! I’ll be in ICU;  in the hospital away from my baby for 5 days. I’ll have to look at my breasts without nipples or areolas for about 6 months. I will have a huge horizontal scar across my abdomen; I’ll try best to look at that with gratitude because I have a choice. That choice doesn’t involve radiation, chemo, or not being here to see my sons grow and evolve. I have a choice, but it doesn't mean I'm still not apprehensive.