“Once, when my now sixteen-year-old son was a little guy and in a Target dressing room with me, he asked about the ‘stripes’ he saw on the sides of my stomach. I told my son I had those stretch marks because my body had stretched and grown so he could stretch and grow inside of me, before he was ready to be born. I liked his word — stripes. Much better than “stretch marks” which sounds like something a favorite sweater might have after many years of wear and wash. Even now, all these years later, I smile when thinking of my son’s innocent comment — stripes. Something I had earned. Like badges of honor.”
I would imagine most women have a story about their stomachs. Or breasts. Or bottoms. Or all of the above.
HerStry has published mine, and the paragraph above is an excerpt from that personal essay. You can click here to read my personal essay, “I Earned My Stripes,” in its entirety.
And to my dear readers, I’m wishing you a happy, merry, joyful holiday season! And, if you’re not a holiday-season-celebrator, I’m wishing you a happy, merry, joyful Wednesday!
Why am I smiling? Because I'm proud of myself. Giving myself a break was, is, a big deal.
For some reason, this week’s blog post felt hard to write. I think it’s because there’s so much going on — within our home, within our family, within our world. And sometimes, it just feels like a lot. Like too much, actually. Like I really wouldn’t mind if we could somehow press pause on the day, and I could just have a day to try and catch up. Catch up on emails and podcasts and magazines. Catch up on sleep and watching laugh-out-loud movies.
Of course, life doesn’t work that way.
But last week, I did do something that was my version of a brief pause. A kind of time-out.
Last Wednesday morning, I went to physical therapy. The session went well, and my physical therapist was pleased with my progress. When it comes to walking on the treadmill, both my speed and my stamina have increased over the months we’ve worked together. Those improvements don’t necessarily transfer into less pain; however, those improvements do mean my legs, especially my left leg, is “strong enough.” Because the week before physical therapy, while I went for one of my neighborhood walks before my son’s dismissal from school, I had an “incident.” I was in the middle of walking around the block, when a sudden pain shot through my left leg. It was the type of pain that made me stop and look around, searching for something I could lean on. The type of pain that brought tears to my eyes. I paused for a couple of minutes, but then what else could I do but continue walking? I had to get back to the car. And I did. (I also had really bad pain the rest of the day.) It was super scary, honestly. When I told my physical therapist what had happened, he of course had no magic solutions to offer. But he did tell me that my body is strong; I’ve been doing the work. And even though the pain felt awful, even though I limped the rest of the walk back to the car, I got to where I needed to be. My body, my legs, are strong enough to do what I need them to do.
But, my body is also tired. And sensitive. And worn-out.
So Wednesday afternoon, after physical therapy, I did something I don’t usually do. I didn’t come right home so I could get back to work on getting things done on my to-do list. I had a post to work on for MomsLA.com, greeting cards to write out, gifts to wrap, bills to pay.
But instead of coming home, I took myself to our neighborhood cafe. I ordered a cafe mocha, sat at a table that was neither in the shade nor in the sun, and I read two chapters of my novel. (By the way, reading Katherine Center’s The Rom-Commers and really enjoying it!)
It might not seem like a lot to some people, but for me it was. It was me taking time for myself. Doing something because I wanted to do it. Not because I felt I should. Or because it had to get done. But because I wanted to do something purely for the pleasure it brought me.
And I’m so glad I did!
How about you, dear readers? What was something you did recently just for you? Feel free to share in the comments.
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.
I wanted to use this week’s blog post to give you all an update on my memoir.
I have been querying literary agents on-and-off since March. Some agents respond to your query with either a yes or no, while other agents will only respond if they are interested in reading more from you. I have received some form rejections as well as some very nice, encouraging rejections; however, no literary agent has said yes, or even a variation of yes — as in, I’d like to read more before making up my mind.
Which means I now go to plan B — researching smaller publishing houses. These independent presses do not require an author to be represented by a literary agent and accept submissions from the writers themselves.
The bottom line is — I’m not giving up. I’m not stopping. I’m just changing course, because I truly believe in my book and I want to get my book into the hands of readers.
You may remember my October post when I described my memoir and explained that it’s divided into three parts. (If you missed the post, click here to read it.)
The first piece in the first section is a Letter to the Reader. The letter explains why I eventually felt compelled to write my memoir. For several years I refused to write about my “medical condition.” Notice I used the word condition and not illness or disease. I didn’t think my autoimmune disease was important enough to write about. Surely other people dealt with more life-altering, more painful, more scary health issues. And while that’s definitely true, it doesn’t mean my experiences are any less important or any less book-worthy.
So this week, I’d like to share a portion of my Letter to the Reader with you. You all are on this journey with me, and knowing you’re here, reading my work week after week, liking, commenting, sending me emails, supporting me is something I don’t take for granted. I appreciate you all. I hope you know that.
From my Letter to the Reader:
“This book is deeply personal to me. It has lived in my head and my heart for years. I have created it with love and respect, for me — and for you. “I was thirty-four years old, a wife, a mother, a daughter, and a teacher, when I became ill. I didn’t comprehend what a rare, autoimmune disease diagnosis would mean. I didn’t realize my life would forever be changed.”
“The book you are reading is the book I wish had been available to me. It is the book I needed to read. “It is my hope that readers who don’t live with a chronic illness will finish this book with a different perspective, an adjusted way of looking at people. A bit more patience and understanding for others. A realization that you simply can’t know someone’s hurts just by looking at them. “And for my readers who live with chronic illness and/or chronic pain and/or invisible disabilities, I sincerely hope that you read this book and feel a connection with my words. I hope, in these pages, you see a part of yourself, to the point where you can show an essay to a loved one and say, ‘Here, please read this. This is what I mean. This is how it feels.’ I hope, too, that reading this book brings you comfort in knowing you’re not alone. Many of us feel so desperately isolated with our medical struggles. It is an unbelievable comfort to find someone who ‘gets it.’ “I get it.”
Last year, I wrote about my experience completing a very personalized Spoonie NaNoWriMo. (You can read the post by clicking here.)
Here I must pause to give credit to my friend, Sandra Postma. It was because of Sandra’s Instagram posts that I created my own version of NaNoWriMo last year. I never would have done it without Sandra’s encouragement and her advice that as spoonies we needed to create our own personal versions of NaNoWriMo that work for us.
So this year, when October wrapped up and we made it through a relatively quiet Halloween (only one trick-or-treater this year), I knew I wanted to do my Spoonie NaNoWriMo this year, too.
I followed the same format as last year.
I completed a five-minute writing exercise each day. Sometimes that meant I used the time to generate ideas for an upcoming submissions call. Other days it meant I used a writing prompt to jumpstart my writing. And other days I used my five minutes of writing time like a journal, to record what I was thinking and/or doing that day.
And maybe, even more importantly, was the self-praise component. I took a few minutes each day to reflect on my physical strength and all my body continues to do, even though my levels of pain and fatigue are higher than last year.
But, if you look closely at the photo of my sticker-decorated November calendar, you’ll notice I missed one day — Thursday, November 28th. Thanksgiving.
I didn’t notice my mistake until the following day, and I must admit, I was disappointed and upset with myself for “messing up.” But it was done. I could have cheated, I guess, and done an extra 5-minutes of writing on Friday, November 29th and written down something my body had done on Thanksgiving Day. Then I could have placed a sticker in that empty calendar box.
But that wouldn’t have been right. The truth was, in addition to being busy cooking with my family, Thanksgiving was a day of complicated emotions. And painful knees. And somehow I had gotten distracted and forgotten to do my NaNoWriMo activities.
And that’s okay. Because I did my best.
And when I read over the self-praise log I kept throughout the month, there’s no denying I’m doing a lot and trying my best. Every single day.
WendyKennar.com 