Everyone But Myself

It is absolutely appropriate to judge a book by its cover, especially when it comes to Julie Chavez’s memoir, Everyone But Myself

Between the title and the illustration on the front cover, you have a strong sense of what this book is about. This memoir is another example of an author writing the specifics of her life, and in doing so, making it universally appealing to others who “get it.”

In her note to the reader, Ms. Chavez writes: 

“Although the details vary, I’m not alone in this story. Many women ask the same questions I did: How do I respond to all the asks of the world without losing my sense of self — my interests, my desires, my dreams — in the process? How do I remain whole so that, underneath all the repetitive and the annoying and the boring, I can revel in the privilege and miracle of a perfectly messy life?”

Many moms, and I think women in general, experience this struggle; the need to care for others around us while not caring for ourselves. 

These are just a few of the passages that resonated with me:

“Since those early newlywed days I’d discarded heaps of useless advice and ideas, and I’d also learned the difference between distance and space. Distance grew from the accumulation of tiny resentments, the swallowed frustrations that are an inevitable part of coexistence between two imperfect humans. Space, on the other hand, was a necessity, creating room for our deepest needs: respite, rest, recovery.”

“I believed that I would be most fulfilled by being indispensable, that I was loved because I was needed. Protecting space for ourselves may be an issue for those around us, those who are accustomed to our endless availability. But it’s an act of self-care, of self-love, to say, ‘No, this space — this time — belongs to me.’ ”

“It was quiet. I found momentary respite from my world, from its loss and need and upheaval. It was just me, there with myself, the part of me that exists outside of my disparate pieces and roles and obligations and imagined obligations.
I’m enough, I thought. And I’m okay.
One step forward.”

“ ‘You’re handling a lot right now,’ Kim said. ‘I’m not surprised you’re feeling sad.’
These basic affirmations from Kim were invaluable. It was reassuring to hear her observations that my plate was indeed full, that hard things were justifiably hard, that what I was feeling or experiencing was normal. I’d done years of unappreciated work, and the person who appreciated my efforts least had been me. Kim was training me to see this invisible load, to count it as valid and worthy of attention and accommodation. She reminded me that it was normal to have bad days and normal to be an emotional, feeling person in a fucked-up world. Feelings weren’t an early warning sign I was an unbalanced nut. I was merely responding to the ups and downs of life.”

“The changes I had made were small but impactful. I asked for help slightly more often, and I said no far more often. I embraced rest and put some items on my to-do list purely because they brought me joy.”

“Even though I’d occasionally painted them as insatiable leeches, the people who loved me wanted me to take time for myself. They wanted me to balance my needs with theirs, to be well and whole. I was allowed to hand off responsibilities to my husband, my kids, and others, and I was even allowed to phone it in if that’s what was best for my overall balance and wellness.”

“Therapy with Kim helped me rewrite some of the stories I had grown accustomed to telling myself. She taught me that worrying didn’t necessarily make the future brighter, but it did make the present darker.”

“I was learning to ask myself the question I’d ask someone I love: What do you need? And then whatever answer arrived — be still, exercise, meditate, lie on the couch with a book, text Kim some depressed-looking bitmojis and ask if she has appointments available — I did it.”

Please note: I am including a link to buy the book that I’m highlighting this week. If you use my link, I do make a small commission on your purchase at no additional cost to you. I am working with Bookshop.org which also sends a portion of the profit to support local, independent bookstores.

My Rebellious Body

“You would think I would have this figured out by now. Figured out how to be me — a wife, a mom, a writer who only became a writer because I had to retire from my teaching career because of my invisible disability. But I haven’t figured it out. There is no manual, no cheat sheet, no YouTube video to watch to give me the summary I need, the way my son watches a YouTube video to review the section of The Odyssey he read for his English class.
“I’m making it up as I go along. Engaged in a fight, trying to rebel against this body of mine that is different now. Will always be different.”

The lines above are just a snippet from my recently published essay, When Your Body Rebels With Chronic Illness. You can click here to read the essay in its entirety. (Note: this piece was originally written a couple of years ago. I must point out that my son is now 16 years old.)

There Is No Magic Wand

Image Credit: Yoocan Do Anything

Back in January, I wrote about my word for 2024: Share.

(If you missed it, you can click here to read the post.)

And so far, I have done quite a lot of sharing — here on this weekly blog, on Instagram where I mostly share about books and my writing-related life, and in the personal essays which have been published in anthologies and journals, both in print and online.

This week, I am pleased to share my personal essay, There is No Magic Wand, has been published by Yoocan Do Anything

Here is a snippet:

I would stop by CVS on my way home and pick up the prescriptions my doctor had called in. I felt confident these new pills would fix the problem because that’s what medication had always done up until that point in my life. 
“I could not have known that when it comes to a chronic illness, such as my autoimmune disease, there is no such thing as ‘fixing the problem.’ There was no pretend magic wand I could wave and make things all better, like I did with my then-three-year-old son when he bumped into a corner of the coffee table. No one could kiss my left calf and make the hurt be ‘all-gone,’ like a Mommy’s kisses often do for their little ones.”

Click here to read the essay in its entirety.

Yes, And

Last week was a time of big emotions. A lot happened in my world and with it came a lot of mixed feelings.

My mom celebrated her 79th birthday on the same day my son celebrated his 16th birthday.

A former kindergarten student, a child I taught during my first year of teaching, looked me up online, found my website, and reached out with an email that made me cry. She wrote, “I wanted to thank you for being a great teacher and setting a solid foundation for my education.” Did I mention she’s now a teacher?

We had a family outing to The Huntington Library, Art Museum, and Botanical Gardens. A place we hadn’t visited since March 2020, a week before the world shut down because of the coronavirus. Only this time we visited with me in my wheelchair.

Our former next door neighbor, now 89 years old, remembered my son’s sixteenth birthday and called to offer birthday wishes. 

So, it’s been a lot. 

Something I have learned, through the work with my therapist and my years living with my autoimmune disease, is that it’s possible to feel two very different emotions at the same time. In fact, when you live with chronic illness, it happens quite a lot. At least to me.

I am currently reading The Lives We Actually Have: 100 Blessings for Imperfect Days by Kate Bowler and Jessica Richie. I try to read one blessing a day, though, I admit I sometimes forget and miss a day (or two).

This week, I’d like to share a bit of Kate Bowler’s blessing, “For Stretching Your Heart,” which I think explains these mixed emotions so well:

Yes, I have so much to be thankful for,
and this hasn’t turned out like I thought it would.
Yes, I feel moments of joy,
and I have lost more than I could live without.
Yes, I want to make the most of today,
and my body keeps breaking.
Yes, I am hopeful, and this is daunting.
Yes, I am trying to be brave, and I feel so afraid.”

Because the truth is — yes, things could be worse, and things could be better.

Please note: I am including a link to buy the book that I’m highlighting this week. If you use my link, I do make a small commission on your purchase at no additional cost to you. I am working with Bookshop.org which also sends a portion of the profit to support local, independent bookstores.