What is your signal to slow down and rest?

The last two weeks have been pretty busy, to say the least. Unfortunately, I have been back in my old habit of taking on too much, and I haven’t been following my own advice to slow down and rest. Sometimes old habits die hard, I guess.

Two weeks ago, I attended a somatic workshop with Women Generating, which was fantastic, but also intense. Then last weekend we had guests staying with us and hosted a pirate birthday party for my daughter and 15 of her friends. It was a lot of fun, but not what you might think of as restful. Then last week I started an intense coaching program through the Life Coach School (excellent), and I continued my new part-time corporate consulting assignment. Plus, I’m in the process of redesigning my website and re-engaging with my coaching business.

I’m tired just thinking about all of it.

On Friday night, I felt the familiar tug of something approaching exhaustion. I knew I was tired. I knew I was pushing a little too hard. I longed for a break.

I thought I could handle it.

But then I got a very interesting signal from my body. I felt a sharp, throbbing pain in my right breast, in the exact location where a cancerous tumor was removed in May. It happened intermittently throughout the evening. Each time, I wondered what the heck was going on.

Of course, there are always reasons NOT to take a break. That same evening, my husband was working on an intense project at work and I offered to cover the kids’ bedtime routine to support him. I did the dishes because I wanted to contribute to the household, which I hadn’t been doing as much recently as I could have. I hadn’t talked to my sister all day and didn’t want her to think I was ignoring her, so I called her. My coaching class involves a forum, where people post thoughtful, engaging messages all day, and I caught up on a bunch of them so I wouldn’t fall behind. I finally sat down around 9pm. And then later that night, each of my girls (separately) woke up crying, just as I was finally falling asleep.

When I finally got into bed for the last time, I paid close attention to the throbbing pain. I asked my body what was going on. I asked it what it needed.

The answer was crystal clear: SLOW DOWN. I thanked my body for giving me such a powerful and timely message.

For the next two days, I didn’t pay any attention to any of the thoughts clamoring for my attention (I’m going to miss out if I don’t keep up with the coaching forum! The kids shouldn’t watch too much t.v.! We should go outside and enjoy the beautiful weather–it won’t last!), and instead relaxed all weekend. We rested on the couch all day. We watched movies. We drank tea. We made blueberry pancakes. I took a delicious nap on Saturday.

Lots of sleep. Good, healthy foods. No agenda.

And you know what? I feel fantastic today. Totally refreshed and rejuvenated. Ready for the week (a slower, easier week).

What signals does your unique body and/or mind give you to tell you that you’ve pushed too far? If you’re anything like me, you get the signals long before you actually pay attention to them. Maybe you have thoughts that you’re doing too much and should slow down (check). Maybe you have a desire to take a nap in the middle of the afternoon and don’t (check). Maybe your energy starts to wane and you have less motivation to work out, but you do it anyway (yep, check).

If you don’t pay attention to the signals, as I didn’t, you end up feeling run down and eventually get a cold or worse. It’s like there’s an escalation procedure, where the messages start as whispers and then get louder and louder until they there’s no way you can’t pay attention to them (a la the proverbial brick wall). This progression of signals is unique to you–it won’t look the same as someone else’s. Some people might get a sniffle and then a cold. Others feel drained and then conk out for three days. Apparently I get a throbbing sensation in my right breast when it’s time to slow down.

If you learn your signals and you begin to heed them sooner so they don’t have to get louder to get your attention, you might avoid something worse. On the other hand, if you find yourself sick in bed (a wall), it’s likely that your body is helping you take the much needed break it has been asking you for. If so, ask yourself what signals you might have missed (without judgment or self-recrimination), so you can start to learn how to avoid the wall, at least some of the time.

Check and see how this “brick wall” phenomenon might be working in your life right now. Are you missing important messages that your body is trying to send you? Slow down and pay attention. If you do what those signals suggest (take a nap, snuggle up on the couch with a good book, get a massage) instead of pushing forward, your body and your health will thank you. Mine sure did.

Ringing the bell after radiation

I got a call from my dear friend from the cancer hospital, the one I call Fran--the same one who helped me understand how important it is to strip away all the bullsh*t. I haven’t seen her since the day before her radiation treatment ended because I was late. I missed seeing her ring the bell when she was done. I still feel like crap about missing that milestone in her journey.

Let me be clear--ringing that bell at the end of radiation treatment is a BIG deal. It signifies that you have endured 33 to 36 individual radiation treatments. It means that you have hauled your ass into the hospital for up to 36 days in a row (excluding weekends), including driving across town, weaving your way through a busy college campus, winding your way up to the section of the third floor of the parking garage reserved especially for radiation patients, walking across the hospital and down to the basement (a.k.a. dungeon), checking in and getting your parking pass, changing into the infamous drab, gray gown and waiting, waiting, waiting for your turn to get nuked.

When you finally climb into the machine and bare your chest while up to 10 people adjust you and mill about the room around you, you try to go away and not think about what’s happening to your body. You vacate the premises. The machine whirls around you, buzzing and zapping its toxins into your body while you hope and pray it’s doing its job but not giving you a drop more radiation than absolutely necessary.

And then there are the side effects of treatments that you deal with. Skin rashes and burning, peeling, tenderness, and general discomfort around the area. There’s the extreme fatigue, which is different from anything you’ve ever experienced. The kind that isn’t aided by sleep. The kind that suppresses your whole system to the point that it feels like there’s a veil between you and the world, but you don’t really realize it until the veil lifts about a month after treatment.

And the emotional toll. You wonder what treatment is going to be like, if you’re going to be able to get through it. Of course you can--you can get through anything--but at the outset, you don’t know this yet, so there’s a lot of fear. Fear of suffering. Fear of discomfort. Fear of death. Fear that the treatment won’t work and you’ll be back where you started. Fear of not holding up your end of the human bargain--whether that means making a contribution to society or doing your family’s laundry. You experience other feelings too--the whole emotional gamut--and without your normal faculties, everything seems bigger and worse than usual. Once you get a taste of what the treatment will be like, you start holding onto your precious energy for dear life, until you realize that the holding takes too much energy. So you let go and let the radiation have its way with you.

When I missed Fran’s bell-ringing, it would be an understatement to say I was disappointed that I didn’t witness my friend as she finished this experience. For her it was even bigger because she had also gone through chemo. She had been working her way through cancer treatment for almost an entire year. And she rocked it. She finished with flying colors. I’m so proud of her.

Fran (you know who you are), I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.

So back to the phone call. She called me the other day and told me on my voice mail that I never mentioned in this blog that I had rung the bell.

Huh, go figure. Because it was a big deal for me too. A really big deal. I did, in fact, ring the bell at around 10:30am on Tuesday, August 16. My husband, parents, sister and brother-in-law and another friend who had been through it before were all there to support me, as they had through the whole experience.

I made it all the way through cancer treatment. I rang the bell. I finished an experience that changed me from the inside out. I have learned so much from the whole thing, it’s hard to even describe. I’m so grateful for that.

But I’m still really, really glad it’s over.

Fran, this post is for you. Congratulations on finishing treatment, and I hope you are doing well now. I don’t have your number (it showed up as unknown on my phone), so please call me back and let me know how to get in touch with you. I have often wanted to talk to you and see how you are doing, so I was thrilled to get your phone call. I look forward to hearing from you again.

Joy Me Up

Upon arrival home from a family vacation earlier this Fall, we were all a little cranky after nine hours in the car on a gray and dreary day. To let off some steam, we went to the back yard, and my oldest daughter said, “Mommy, I want to listen to some music to joy me up.”

Joy me up! How clever is she? The phrase has stuck with me ever since.

Funny that she chose music as her joy “vehicle” of choice--she must be related to me. Music is one of the few things that can joy me up no matter what kind of mood I am in. Here’s a perfect example: in April, shortly after my cancer diagnosis, (you could say it was a rather gloomy time), I was watching one of my favorite guilty pleasures, Glee.

Rachel, one of the main characters, considered getting a nose job in order to be more appealing to the mainstream. In an effort to discourage her, Kurt, her gay friend, took her to the mall to listen to her idol, Barbra Streisand, who “redefined beauty and became the biggest star in the world.”

Rachel: Is she here?

Kurt: [with much disdain] No, we’re in a mall in Ohio.

[Ok, maybe it’s just because I’m from Ohio that I find this line completely hilarious]

Anyway, Kurt knew she would be inspired by Barbra’s ability to own exactly who she is and how she looks, without apology. So, he organized a flash mob in her honor.

Best. Scene. Ever.

Check out the official Glee video on YouTube here.

I saved the show on my DVR and watch it often because I light up every time. I practically giggle with delight because it’s all about celebrating the beauty of who you are, no matter what you look like--with a bit of tongue-in-cheek humor thrown in for good measure. And it’s set to a catchy, upbeat techno song. LOVE.

Seriously, I laughed so hard, I even thought about posting it on my Facebook page at the time. I didn’t. You know why? Because my previous post had announced my cancer diagnosis, and the conditioned part of me that cares what people will think told me that it was inappropriate to follow cancer with Glee. Interesting how we can filter an emotion (in this case, pure joy) through the lens of whether it is appropriate to feel it.

So anyway, I give you this now because it still joys me up, and I want to share my joy with you. Of course, if this particular clip isn’t your thang, I beg you to find something that is. Something that lights you up and makes you smile. Something that brings that sense of sheer delight.

Throw caution to the wind and feel it even if part of you thinks it’s inappropriate.

Let it... Joy. You. Up.


Here's Clara, showing us how it's done.