I Earned My Stripes

Image credit: @HerStryblg

“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!


I Gave Myself a Time-Out

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.

An Update on My Memoir

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.”

My 2nd Spoonie NaNoWriMo

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. 


Somehow

It feels only fitting, that my day-before-Thanksgiving blog post features Anne Lamott’s Somehow: Thoughts on Love.

The book was a birthday gift, given to me by one of my closest friends. I don’t know how you manage your books, but most of the time, the books that are most recently added to my want-to-read shelves (whether they be library books, or gifts, or books I bought or picked up at a Little Free Library), I don’t immediately read. When I select a book to read, it’s a bit like shopping from my own little library. And not until a few weeks ago, did I select Anne Lamott’s most recent nonfiction book.

My copy is full of sticky notes. This is a beautiful book, and if you enjoy Anne Lamott, I think it’s safe to say you will love this special collection.

Some of my sticky notes were placed because of the subject matter, because I found something Ms. Lamott wrote to be so true or touching. Other sticky notes were placed because I truly was amazed by the way she combined words; I don’t think anyone but Anne Lamott could have constructed some of these sentences. 

Here are just a few of my favorite passages:

“Love is caring, affection, and friendliness, of course, compassion and a generous heart. It is also some kind of energy or vibration, because everything is — the same stuff moving at different speeds, from glaciers to six-year-old boys.
“I wish the movement of love in our lives more closely resembled the grace of a ballerina, but no, love mainly tromps and plops, falls over and tip-toes through our lives.
“Love looks like us, and that can be a little daunting. Love is why we are here at all, on the couch and in the world with a heart for the common good, why we have hope, and a lifeline when we don’t.” 

“Usually grace in its guise as spiritual WD-40 gets in and loosens the tight knot that has formed in the tangled gold chain of my best thinking.”

“The reason I was nobody’s priority was that I wasn’t my own and never had been. It was time to lavish on myself the kind of focused care and affection I shone on everyone else.”

“Life becomes a lava lamp of memories of happier and sadder times, of what might have been, and of a fearful future, accompanied by the burbling sound of advancing time, of which one friend has almost run out, and of which I will too someday (supposedly).” 

“I have stated elsewhere that hope is believing this one thing: that love is bigger than any grim, bleak shit anyone can throw at us. And I believe.”

“If I can get word to my grandson from the other side when I am gone, I will whisper to him when he is in trouble to make a gratitude list – no snakes in the room, yay! – then do his chores, be kind to himself, be of service, get outside, and breathe. This is the launch code when under attack: gratitude, chores, chocolate, service, breath, nature.” 

“Love is how hope takes flight, in swamps and barren fields, arising in different frequencies, blending the way sound vibrations of different pitches organize music. With my failing hearing in our failing world, I try to listen for this song underneath the river of incoming date and my pinball machine mind and I find that it is always playing.” 

“Attics are so spooky, and I had to remind myself that courage is fear that has said it’s prayers.” 

“The sky takes you out into the cosmos, reminding you that you are very tiny but can experience celestial wonders and oceans of love here, even just slogging along together beneath a perfectly ordinary sky.”

Friends, tomorrow is Thanksgiving in the United States. Without a doubt, it can be a holiday with complicated emotions. To all my reader friends, those in the U.S. and those abroad, know that I am so very thankful you’re here, reading my words each week. Thank you!

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.

The Lives We Actually Have

Last week I wrote a personal essay for a submissions call. The prompt was New Year-related — about starting a new project, developing new habits, of making plans to live your dream life.

That last one — making plans to live your dream life — was the one that hurt the most. 

Because that doesn’t apply to those of us living with a chronic illness. 

Because no one dreams of a life with a forever-illness.

No one aspires to live each day with an incurable illness. 

And yet, that is my life. 

And though it isn’t what I dreamed of or what I would have chosen, it is my reality. And mixed in with the medications and heating pads, doctors appointments and physical therapy sessions are also moments of beauty and calm, of belonging and wonder, of a glorious full moon and a sink that isn’t draining.

Which brings me to the book The Lives We Actually Have: 100 Blessings for Imperfect Days by Kate Bowler and Jessica Richie.

You may remember that I’m a Kate Bowler fan. I wrote about her book Everything Happens For a Reason (And Other Lies I’ve Loved) back in March 2023. And I wrote about her book No Cure For Being Human (And Other Truths I Need to Hear) back in April 2022.

This book is different. The Lives We Actually Have is a collection of blessings. 

From the introduction:

“If we are very lucky, we have days lit up with fireworks. We have powerful moments of connection — to the world, to each other, and even to God — that dazzle us. Suddenly, beauty and possibility are everywhere. We thought we were living any old day, but no. We find ourselves amazed by the truths we didn’t set out to learn.”

“Contrary to most of the advice of the self-help and wellness industry, our days are not simply a reflection of our choices. We are not a tally sheet of all our yes and no decisions. We like to imagine that we are built out of every small choice we made.”

“We need a language of acknowledgment for the lives we have, not simply the lives we wish for. We need a spiritual account of time that is rich enough to name the breadth of our experience. Good. Bad. Difficult. Sublime. Mundane.”

“When I bless the actual days I am living, I suddenly find I have a great deal more to say that is honest. I am mourning. I am bored. I am exhausted. I am apathetic. I discover that I am freed from the need to declare everything #blessed. Good or bad, I don’t have to wait to say something spiritually true. I can simply bless it all instead.”

The book is a special collection, with some blessings that really touched me and others not-so-much. 

Dear readers, have any of you read this book? Was there a particular blessing that most touched you/moved you/comforted you? Feel free to share it in the comments.

Here’s a part of just one of the blessings that spoke to me:

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.

Bonus Time

“If you’re lucky enough to get that bonus time, what are you going to do with it?”

That’s the question on the back cover of Bonus Time, the novel I recently read.

Bonus Time by author Claire  Cook tells the story of three  friends — Glenda, Jan, and Harmony.  Women who have reached the ages where their days are not nearly as structured as they used to be, women who don’t have the same daily demands they once had. 

These are three spunky women who are older than I am, figuring out who they are when their days and their identities are not directly related to being someone’s wife or mother or employee. 

I won’t give anything away; I’ll just say that these three women get into all sorts of adventures and “trouble.” 

This week, I’m sharing a few of my favorite lines:

“For the most part, I embraced my wrinkles as the squiggly roadmap of a life well-lived.” 

“I sighed.
“As lives go, it could be worse. I’d been around the sun enough times by now to know that it could always, always be worse.
“And it could always get better. A lot better. And that part was pretty much up to you. You could sit around whining about what wasn’t working, or you could shake things up and reinvent your life one more time. I mean, at this point, who’s counting, right?
“The truth was that life was going to keep getting all lifey on you whether or not you were actively living it, so you might as well slather on some sunscreen and jump back into the fray.”

“ ‘ The focus should be on health-span,’ Harmony said. ‘Not looks-span or age-span or lifespan. Eat healthy. Stay hydrated. Keep moving.’
“ ‘Try new things, Jan said. ‘Keep learning. Use your acquired wisdom to make a difference. Have fun. Connect. Stay current so you don’t turn into a dinosaur. It’s not exactly drone science.’ ”

“ ‘Sometimes,’ I said, ‘I look at old pictures and I think how could I not have known how beautiful I was? I had absolutely no idea at the time. All I could see were an unflat stomach and jiggly thighs. I mean, how old do we have to be to let all that crap go, you know?’ “ 

“We were wearing yoga pants and T-shirts.
“Jan’s T-shirt said LOVE IS LOVE.
“Harmony’s said LITERACY IS NOT A LUXURY.
“Mine said THERE IS NO PLANET B.
“One of the true joys of getting older is not caring what anybody thinks about how you look. Which gives you the freedom to turn yourself into a walking billboard about the things that matter to you if you feel like it. Or not.”

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.

Accessing Parenthood

In 2019, I wrote a personal essay titled, “Paying the Price,” and submitted it to the Pen 2 Paper writing contest, a “disability-focused creative writing contest.” That year, in addition to submitting in the Nonfiction category, I also submitted my essay to the Oleb Books Personal Essay category, meaning my essay, if chosen, would be included in an Oleb Books Anthology about parenting and disability. 

Five years later, I am so proud to share my essay, “Growing Up with Me and My Invisible Disability,” has been included in the recently published anthology, Accessing Parenthood: Stories By and About Parents with Disabilities.

During the last five years, my essay has been slightly edited and re-titled. (I admit — titles are not my strength. The editors politely informed me I needed a different title, one that would “add some pizazz that will pull readers in and make them curious enough to read on.”)

A few details are no longer accurate — namely the ages mentioned and the fact that our Los Angeles Clippers now play at Intuit Dome. 

But the emotions and the lessons learned haven’t changed.

Here are just a few passages from my personal essay:

“If I agreed, made the plans, and went horseback riding, would I be demonstrating the valuable life skills of perseverance and resiliency? Was my let’s-do-it attitude fortitude or stubbornness or stupidity? Was my go-getter-ness a refusal to submit to my disease or a life-affirming decision to go out and do things that might seem scary, hard, and uncomfortable?
“I didn’t know.
“I did know I wanted Ryan to grow up believing in himself and believing in the value of trying new things. Many things — food, music, places, experiences. Because they’re new and different. Because he’s curious. Because he wants to find out for himself. 
“I wanted Ryan to grow up living his life.”

“Through my actions and my words, I am trying to teach Ryan the broader definitions of strength, perseverance, and bravery. And along those lines, I’m trying to teach by example broader definitions for disability, pain, and handicap.”

“Maybe I hadn’t planned on being a mother with an inivisible disability, but it doesn’t change the way I love my son. Maybe I am teaching my son lessons I hadn’t expected to teach him. Maybe Ryan’s levels of patience, empathy, and sensitivity have grown exponentially while he’s growing up with me and my invisible disability.”

You can find out more about this unique collection by clicking here

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 Mind Is Full

I had a “difficult” doctor’s appointment last week. 

Actually, I’m not sure difficult is the right word. 

Let me set the stage:

This was my three-month check-in. Basically, because of the medications I take, I need blood drawn every few months. Though I had a 9:00 am appointment, with an 8:45 check-in, my rheumatologist was running late. 

The doctor asked some general questions, but I had come in with a list of concerns and some questions of my own. 

I told my doctor about my fatigue, about waking up feeling unrested regardless of what time I go to sleep and how many wake-ups I have each night. He told me to go to bed earlier and to keep the same sleep schedule seven days a week. I told him neither one was going to happen. (Why wake up at 6:00 am on a Sunday when we have nowhere we need to be at a specific time?)

I told my doctor about the pain. The pain that I carry around every single day. The pain that slows me down, weighs me down, and often makes me feel like I’ve got a wad of gum stuck to the bottom of my shoe, making it difficult for me to walk as effortlessly or as quickly as I would like. 

I also told my doctor about my physical therapy and the progress my physical therapist says I’m making. 

“He says my endurance has improved since we’ve been working together,” I told my rheumatologist. 

“I go for a daily walk, and I use my pedal machine twice a day now,” I said proudly.

“What are you doing while you’re pedaling?” he asked.

“I read, usually. But sometimes I listen to a podcast or watch something on YouTube,” I said.

“You need to stop multi-tasking,” he said. (You may remember my blog post from January, when I wrote about my doctor’s appointment then and Dr. P’s unhelpful suggestions.)

“You need to really focus in on your leg,” he continued. 

I looked at him. Bit my tongue behind my mask. 

He continued, speaking of the increased benefits I would experience if only I would do less, if only I would really “zero in” on my knee and my calf. 

“I think most families multi-task. I don’t know how to get through my day without multi-tasking,” I said.

I went on. “When I go for my walks, I’m not listening to anything. No AirPods in my ears. I’m just walking and staying focused on my surroundings. But at home, I feel safe in reading or listening or watching something while I pedal,” I said.

“You’re not getting the full benefits you could be getting when you do that,” he said.

“Actually, my physical therapist always talks with me when I’m on the treadmill. He said it helps to be distracted, it makes the time go by faster,” I said.

I tried again. “I am in some level of pain every day, all day. I don’t need to be any more focused in on the pain. In fact, I need a break from it. Reading a book gives me a temporary escape,” I explained.

Ultimately it didn’t matter what I said. Dr. P might be pleasant enough, asking about my family, wishing me a good holiday season. But the fact of the matter is he doesn’t get it. Because he’s not living with pain like I am. 

The appointment left me feeling dismissed and blamed. Like the reason I feel as lousy as I do is because I refuse to go to bed at 9:00 pm, or wake up at 6:00 am, or stop reading my novel while pedaling for nine minutes at a time. 

Even if I did those things, he and I both know my pain wouldn’t magically disappear. 

Daily pain is a fact of life for me. No need to concentrate on that sad fact any more than I already do.

To my chronic illness friends – have any of you had a similar experience? Are your doctors talking to you about multitasking and/or mindfulness? Feel free to share in the comments.

As a side note — the appointment made me think back to an essay I wrote several years ago titled, “This Is What ‘Mindfulness’ Looks Like To Me.” I encourage you to check it out. I’d love to know your thoughts about mindfulness.

 

About My Memoir-In-Essays

My Memoir-In-Essays is divided into three sections --
The Beginning, After the Very Beginning, and Not the End

This week, I’d like to share a bit about my memoir-in-essays. 

1.  I continue to query literary agents and have not yet had any requests for my manuscript. It’s hard, I admit, not to feel badly about this. At the same time, I know there are multiple ways to get my story out into the world. If it doesn’t work out with an agent, I’ll pursue one of those other possibilities (such as hybrid publishing or publishing with a smaller, independent press). 

2.  I am keeping the title private, for now. Just like when I was pregnant, we announced the gender of our baby, but kept his name private except for family and a few super close friends. So while I’ll tell you I have written a memoir-in-essays, I just don’t feel ready to share the title yet. Though I do realize I shouldn’t get too attached to my working title, because titles are often changed, for many reasons. (This has been the case for many of my personal essays which have been published over the years.) 

3.  Here’s my official pitch:  “… my story of becoming chronically ill, retiring from my teaching career, and living a life I hadn’t planned as a stay-at-home mom. The book is composed of personal essays and micro-essays written as short school assignments.”

One of the things that makes my manuscript unique is the inclusion of these “micro-essays written as short school assignments.” Teaching was a huge part of my life, my identity. And it is because of my chronic illness that I am no longer teaching. Therefore, there’s no way I could write my story about life with an invisible disability without including parts from my teaching life. 

When I taught fourth grade, my students and I completed a getting-to-know you questionnaire during the first week of a new school year. It was a short form that was a quick, fun way to share what made us each unique while also giving students the opportunity to learn about each other, and realize many of them shared common interests. 

I included this questionnaire in my manuscript, and this week I will share a bit of it with you, my readers. 

I Am A Person Who…

By: Mrs. Kennar

Directions: As a way to get to know each other, please fill out this worksheet. By writing honest responses, we will learn about our new classmates. In the process, I think we will come to realize that while we are each unique individuals, we have a lot in common. 

I Am A Person Who…

likes Nutella crepes

dislikes spinach

can recite the Preamble to the Constitution 

cannot throw a spiral

would never watch a horror movie

loves to read

How about you, dear readers? Feel free to leave a comment answering one (or more) of these prompts.