This is going to be raw and unedited. It isn’t going to make any sense. It just has to come out.
Today is the National Day of Prayer, according to hashtags.
It’s a rainy day in Georgia. My knuckles are round.
I’m a weird mix of faithful and godless. My faith guides my every move, but I don’t often pray.
Today, thunderclouds gather. Every time I go outside I see a bird sitting in the downpour, occasionally flicking its feathers like this weather is inconvenient.
My ankles don’t want to work. I need thick socks against the cold, but the only shoes that fit when my feet are this swollen are flip-flops. My therapist didn’t care, it’s not the first time she’s seen me like this.
“What is so terrifying about being seen as not having it all together?” She asked me this afternoon. I refused to meet her gaze with mine.
“It’s about being seen at all.” My smile was like 90% dark chocolate. “Having it together is another way of hiding, isn’t it?“
We talked about what would happen if I stopped cleaning the house before people came over for a visit. I didn’t tell her that the cats have fleas and the whole house is furry. That because we treated the cats for their fleas, the fleas are jumping onto people now.
I didn’t tell her that I light candles when people come over in case it smells bad. I stew in this air and sit in this space, and I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to tell anymore.
My labs are looking better but my doctor wants to treat my pain more aggressively – because if they don’t, my hands and feet will warp into permanent claws of pain.
I pray for the gay men in Chechnya. I pray for their parents. That there are people there who are helping them escape. Who are stopping this atrocity.
I catch myself balling up my fists when they hurt and I force myself to uncurl my fingers and wrists. I force myself to lay my hand flat against my thigh. It’s an act of will. Stubbornness.
I pray for the ACLU and anyone else who is going to fight that executive order signed today.
It’s what I did when I rode in the wheelchair through the airport. This illness is not me. It will not be me. It cannot beat me.
I really, really love my new job. My throat aches when I write this. They care about their values and their vision more than the bottom line. They care. They all care about the work and the goals and the cause. And there is a cause for the greater good. I’m so grateful to be working with these people.
I’m so grateful they offer health insurance.
I’m afraid of all of the traveling I have coming up, and of switching medications. I wonder if I can get a pre-emptive cortisone shot.
I’m worried I won’t be any fun anywhere.
I pray for the people who might not be able to pay for their healthcare after today’s bill. I pray for them to not be afraid. I pray for them to be well. That they will pay attention to the things they love and grow them.
I printed out a new 2017 calendar this afternoon, as if writing it out on new pages would help me make sense of what has happened this year.
Today’s a national day of prayer, right? I’m praying for the warriors.
In January, I called in sick because I couldn’t get dressed for work. I just sat on my bed and stared at my hands. They still don’t look recognizable. I mean, I am pretty used to them after five months.
I mean I am supposed to have my mom’s hands. My hands should look like I remember hers looking when I was a kid and I poked with my little fingers at her knuckles. In December, that’s what they looked like.
Some days, I try my wedding rings on again. Symbols matter. (But they don’t matter that much because I wouldn’t let Brett go get his ring when it flung off because he was feeding a reindeer last week.)
Feed what you want to grow. Pay attention to what you want to spend your energy on. Send love out into the universe.