What does "doing okay" really mean?
Today I talked to a friend and asked her how someone was doing...someone she knows very well and who has also lost a child to brain cancer a little over five years ago. She told me that the whole family was doing really well and went into a bit more detail.
Then I started to think. If someone was asked how I was doing, they would probably also say that I am doing really well. After all, I "look" like I am doing fine. I go to work every day, I don't have swollen eyes from crying all day long, I take care of my family, I laugh, I decorated for Christmas, I started a scholarship in Joana's honor, I don't hide at home all day long...so wouldn't you say I am doing okay?
But what dose "doing okay" really mean? My heart hurts every minute of the day, I cry when no one sees me, I don't sleep well, I comfort myself with food, I am unmotivated and have to force myself to do most of the things that others see and that would cause them to say that I am doing okay. Is that "doing okay"?
And if it is not, how many other people are really not doing okay that appear to be doing fine? There is no way to look at someone's heart to see how much they are hurting on the inside.
I don't know if you can ever be "okay" after losing a child. Watching my daughter suffer and eventually take her last breath will haunt me forever. The memories of the awful last days still overshadow the good memories I had with her. I often wake up after dreaming that she has died...only to realize that the nightmare was really not a nightmare after all.
So, what does "doing okay" really mean? If it means I can function and take care of the things I have to take care of, then yes, I am doing okay. But if it means that my heart is healing and I am enjoying doing these things, then no, I am not okay.
It is so easy to look at someone without realizing how much they are hurting, how hard they have to work at appearing "okay". So please be gentle with others...you never know what they are dealing with and what their hearts look like....maybe they have to struggle every day to survive with a broken heart.
Sunday, December 28, 2014
Tuesday, November 4, 2014
The three "G"s - Grief, Guilt, Germany
I am struggling with the three "G"s - Grief, Guilt, and Germany.
Joana has been gone over one year. More than 13 months. And things are not any better. I miss her so, so much....it's hard to put into words how it feels, how much it hurts, how it consumes every second of my day.
On the outside, I look like I am just fine. I go to work, take care of the kids, keep up on the laundry, and cook dinner on most nights. But honestly, I don't want to do any of those things. I am "functioning", but I am also pretending and acting each and every day. And it is exhausting.
Often, I feel guilty for feeling the way I do. I know there are parents out there who have lost all of their children, and I "only" lost one. But that one loss is just so overwhelming and the sadness so all-consuming... It would be empowering to be given permission to grieve for more than just a few months.
The last "G" is Germany... The last time we visited was 6 1/2 years ago, just before Joana's diagnosis. Joana absolutely LOVED Germany - the language, the culture, the cities...and she always talked about wanting to go back to visit. We never did...and that absolutely breaks my heart. Last September, when we were told that Joana's tumor was incurable, I asked if we could travel to Germany, but the answer was a definite no.
I had many chances to take Joana back to Germany, but I never did...and I feel incredibly burdened and guilty about that. And than, all of a sudden, it was too late...
Now Chris, David and Anya all want to go next year to visit Oma, and I am in a panic about it....and no one understands why. How can I go to Germany and be happy and excited about it when I know that that's the one place Joana wanted to visit again? Everyone tells me that Joana would want us to go, and that it's not fair towards David and Anya if I refuse to go. And I agree with both of those things. I want to be able to "suck it up" and go for their sake...but even researching plane tickets throws me in a panic. If merely visiting traveling websites gives me symptoms of a panic attack, how would I possibly be able to get on a plane next year?
So yes, I agree that I should not deprive the kids of visiting Germany. But at what cost?
On the one hand, I think we should not go next year, and maybe I could get some help from a counselor so I could feel better about going the following year. But on the other hand...what if we don't go and then something happens to my parents or my brother? How would I deal with that guilt?
It feels like it's a no win situation...and I hate that it's turned into this. After all, isn't a vacation supposed to be fun and eagerly anticipated?
Joana has been gone over one year. More than 13 months. And things are not any better. I miss her so, so much....it's hard to put into words how it feels, how much it hurts, how it consumes every second of my day.
On the outside, I look like I am just fine. I go to work, take care of the kids, keep up on the laundry, and cook dinner on most nights. But honestly, I don't want to do any of those things. I am "functioning", but I am also pretending and acting each and every day. And it is exhausting.
Often, I feel guilty for feeling the way I do. I know there are parents out there who have lost all of their children, and I "only" lost one. But that one loss is just so overwhelming and the sadness so all-consuming... It would be empowering to be given permission to grieve for more than just a few months.
The last "G" is Germany... The last time we visited was 6 1/2 years ago, just before Joana's diagnosis. Joana absolutely LOVED Germany - the language, the culture, the cities...and she always talked about wanting to go back to visit. We never did...and that absolutely breaks my heart. Last September, when we were told that Joana's tumor was incurable, I asked if we could travel to Germany, but the answer was a definite no.
I had many chances to take Joana back to Germany, but I never did...and I feel incredibly burdened and guilty about that. And than, all of a sudden, it was too late...
Now Chris, David and Anya all want to go next year to visit Oma, and I am in a panic about it....and no one understands why. How can I go to Germany and be happy and excited about it when I know that that's the one place Joana wanted to visit again? Everyone tells me that Joana would want us to go, and that it's not fair towards David and Anya if I refuse to go. And I agree with both of those things. I want to be able to "suck it up" and go for their sake...but even researching plane tickets throws me in a panic. If merely visiting traveling websites gives me symptoms of a panic attack, how would I possibly be able to get on a plane next year?
So yes, I agree that I should not deprive the kids of visiting Germany. But at what cost?
On the one hand, I think we should not go next year, and maybe I could get some help from a counselor so I could feel better about going the following year. But on the other hand...what if we don't go and then something happens to my parents or my brother? How would I deal with that guilt?
It feels like it's a no win situation...and I hate that it's turned into this. After all, isn't a vacation supposed to be fun and eagerly anticipated?
Sunday, November 2, 2014
Identity Crisis
For over five years, I was Joana’s caregiver.
I had her diagnosis, her treatments, her appointments and long list of doctors memorized. I could tell you each of her medications, the dose she was on, the side effects, and when I needed to get a refill. I knew how to navigate through the MRI viewing software and what to look for on the images. I knew the early signs of Joana’s seizures and what to do if she had one. I had our insurance information memorized, and knew the oncology clinic’s phone number by heart. I even had her main doctor’s cell and pager number so I could call her any time. We saw the same doctors weekly for many months. The hospital felt comfortable, I knew where I was going, I knew the nurses, and I looked forward to be in an environment where “people got it.” I knew our routine – blood draw, doctor, infusion – and found comfort in it. I was doing something to help, I could actively participate in the fight against Joana’s cancer by being her caregiver.
Then Joana died, and with it my role as her caregiver and my
relationship with so many people that had been a regular part of our lives.
Joana’s illness
consumed me and my time, and suddenly it was all gone.
I had spent a lot of time communicating
online with other brain tumor moms, but suddenly I felt like I didn’t fit in
anymore because I didn’t have a child with a brain tumor. I went to a fantastic
conference in Chicago by the ABTA with Joana three months before she passed
away, and we wanted to go every year because it was such a great experience.
Well, can’t go there anymore….
When your child dies after a long illness,
you not only have to live with the loss of your son or daughter, but also with
the loss of much of your identity. You lose many, many people in addition to
the most precious one - your child.
You have lots of "secondary losses."
It is still so hard for me, and I wish
more than anything that I could be “Tina, mom of Joana, grade II
oligoastrocytoma in the left temporal lobe. Two surgeries, two rounds of
radiation, various chemo protocols, but still fighting” again.Saturday, September 27, 2014
The second year
This post is so well written that I had to "steal" it. I can relate to so many of the things expressed here, and I couldn't have said it better myself.
THE SECOND YEAR: My Journey through year two.
Except for true acceptance, which is the last of the 5 stages of grief, the second year I have experienced to be the very hardest. As the fog and busyness (all of the 'firsts') of the first year fade, we find ourselves more alone as many have gone back to their lives and we spend more time by ourselves with our grief. We resent or are angry that it seems no one but us remember our angel. I call this the 'reality check' year as the fog has now lifted, the numbness is now gone and we see the world going on around us, but we are stuck where we are. Our child's friends are going on with their lives. Graduations, weddings, college, new jobs, having children. All of the milestones in lives that we had envisioned for our own children and we realize that they will never be a part of nor will they ever achieve. We become more panicked, if that is possible. Everything becomes permanent with all of the 'seconds' of each holiday, birthday or special events.. nothing is the same and we now know that nothing will ever be the same. Not for us, not for our child or even our family and friends... it is as if we are realizing and truly comprehending that this is truly for real and there is no going back. There is no way to fix this, there is nothing more for us to do. This is also when we realize that our futures have been forever altered and we must now recreate them anew each and everyday. Who are we if part of our identity has been taken and our futures are gone from us. This is a year of reality, a year of the most difficult and draining work for us to get thru.. It is when we must now make the hard decisions for our own sanity, to seek help for our depression and complicated grief from a professional therapist, grief group or medical doctor because we realize this is too difficult to do alone. This is the year that starts new traditions for each holiday, birthday or special day of the year. We begin to lose those around us who cannot understand us or cannot be around a grieving parent each day. We also find new friends who truly understand our journey as we reach out to them to understand our own path thru this grief. There is such a huge transition between the busy and foggy first year of numbness and pain to the second year of permanance and hard work of grief that we seem to become so much worse even though we are going forward. Please know that it is the nature of the beast as our brains fog themselves during the first year so we can function and actually do and get thru all the things we need to do for our angel.. thank goodness it does... but, when that fog lifts and the reality sets in, it feels as we have walked into a brick wall and cannot fathom that this pain or grief will ever get better. It is now when we need our faith and hope the most on this journey as we are in such a place of darkness and despair that we can no longer see the light at the end of this gut wrenching, heartache of grief. Our pain seems to control us even more than the first year, we now notice it more as it isn't letting up. But do not totally despair, as this 'acute' stage of painful grief does eventually recede and we do find ourselves onto yrs 3 and 4 in a different state of mind having survived that horrid second year of in our face, heartbroken reality. There truly is hope, there truly is light. the light is still there, we just have to keep going towards it no matter how difficult it seems.. we have survived the very worst day of our lives, we will also survive our grief. We are moms. We are the strongest beings on this earth. We may not feel so strong right now, but, if you think about how much you have endured so far, you will find your own strength. It is led by the love we have for our angel and our desire to get back to living. To learn to live with our angel by our side, to not stay stuck in this one stage of grief... we hope for better days, we beg for relief of heartache and we keep the faith that we will prevail. We can do this. We will do this no matter how hard the journey, to honor our angels lives and to honor our own place and purpose in this world we live in. There are many who love us and many who need us, and in helping others, we also help ourselves as we learn our own path from those on it that have gone before us. Listen to their wisdom. Hear their survival and their methods that helped them along their way. Use the methods that work for you, as your path is as unique as your relationship to your child is. Know that life is a journey and we must go with it or it will go on without us. We do not want to live here in this darkness, we want to find our way to the light. There will always be pain, but it will no longer control us.. there will always be times of sadness, but also times of joy. It is a balance of sorrow for our loss and happiness for our lives that we must learn to live again. No matter the tragedy, our lives are forever altered . Although this is our worst tragedy , we will get thru it also and come out stronger for having suffered thru it.. Hold on... it will come. Hold on.. it will ease. Hold on, the horrible daily pain will end... This horribble no good, very bad, gut wrenching, heart gripping, can't stand it one more minute pain.. will end... Our grief will turn to sorrow and loss.. our lives will be better and we will have created the person we will now become because of our struggles thru this terrible time.... It is hard work, but, we have never shied from hard work before and we will not do so now. We will take it one day at a time and when our grief grips us, we will embrace it, work thru it and then let it go each and every day. Grief is an emotion that we need to learn to control.. and we will. We will take hold of it and we will conquer it.. we are so much stronger than we think.. look back at how far we have already come from that first day, that first week that we thought we couldn't survive. Yet, here we are in year two.. still going forward.. still wrestling with the pain, still figuring out who we are and where we go from here. We are fighters, we are survivors, we are MOMS.... and our angels and those we love are counting on us to get thru this year and on to the next.. we can, we will, we matter, we are worth it... and here, we are never alone.. hand in hand, heart to heart we will learn from each other and we will help each other go forward.. one day , one moment at a time... Hold on moms... we got this.. Our love for our children will sustain us... Their quest for life will propel us forward.. their strength will get us thru this worst time of our lives............................ we can.. we will.. together
THE SECOND YEAR: My Journey through year two.
Except for true acceptance, which is the last of the 5 stages of grief, the second year I have experienced to be the very hardest. As the fog and busyness (all of the 'firsts') of the first year fade, we find ourselves more alone as many have gone back to their lives and we spend more time by ourselves with our grief. We resent or are angry that it seems no one but us remember our angel. I call this the 'reality check' year as the fog has now lifted, the numbness is now gone and we see the world going on around us, but we are stuck where we are. Our child's friends are going on with their lives. Graduations, weddings, college, new jobs, having children. All of the milestones in lives that we had envisioned for our own children and we realize that they will never be a part of nor will they ever achieve. We become more panicked, if that is possible. Everything becomes permanent with all of the 'seconds' of each holiday, birthday or special events.. nothing is the same and we now know that nothing will ever be the same. Not for us, not for our child or even our family and friends... it is as if we are realizing and truly comprehending that this is truly for real and there is no going back. There is no way to fix this, there is nothing more for us to do. This is also when we realize that our futures have been forever altered and we must now recreate them anew each and everyday. Who are we if part of our identity has been taken and our futures are gone from us. This is a year of reality, a year of the most difficult and draining work for us to get thru.. It is when we must now make the hard decisions for our own sanity, to seek help for our depression and complicated grief from a professional therapist, grief group or medical doctor because we realize this is too difficult to do alone. This is the year that starts new traditions for each holiday, birthday or special day of the year. We begin to lose those around us who cannot understand us or cannot be around a grieving parent each day. We also find new friends who truly understand our journey as we reach out to them to understand our own path thru this grief. There is such a huge transition between the busy and foggy first year of numbness and pain to the second year of permanance and hard work of grief that we seem to become so much worse even though we are going forward. Please know that it is the nature of the beast as our brains fog themselves during the first year so we can function and actually do and get thru all the things we need to do for our angel.. thank goodness it does... but, when that fog lifts and the reality sets in, it feels as we have walked into a brick wall and cannot fathom that this pain or grief will ever get better. It is now when we need our faith and hope the most on this journey as we are in such a place of darkness and despair that we can no longer see the light at the end of this gut wrenching, heartache of grief. Our pain seems to control us even more than the first year, we now notice it more as it isn't letting up. But do not totally despair, as this 'acute' stage of painful grief does eventually recede and we do find ourselves onto yrs 3 and 4 in a different state of mind having survived that horrid second year of in our face, heartbroken reality. There truly is hope, there truly is light. the light is still there, we just have to keep going towards it no matter how difficult it seems.. we have survived the very worst day of our lives, we will also survive our grief. We are moms. We are the strongest beings on this earth. We may not feel so strong right now, but, if you think about how much you have endured so far, you will find your own strength. It is led by the love we have for our angel and our desire to get back to living. To learn to live with our angel by our side, to not stay stuck in this one stage of grief... we hope for better days, we beg for relief of heartache and we keep the faith that we will prevail. We can do this. We will do this no matter how hard the journey, to honor our angels lives and to honor our own place and purpose in this world we live in. There are many who love us and many who need us, and in helping others, we also help ourselves as we learn our own path from those on it that have gone before us. Listen to their wisdom. Hear their survival and their methods that helped them along their way. Use the methods that work for you, as your path is as unique as your relationship to your child is. Know that life is a journey and we must go with it or it will go on without us. We do not want to live here in this darkness, we want to find our way to the light. There will always be pain, but it will no longer control us.. there will always be times of sadness, but also times of joy. It is a balance of sorrow for our loss and happiness for our lives that we must learn to live again. No matter the tragedy, our lives are forever altered . Although this is our worst tragedy , we will get thru it also and come out stronger for having suffered thru it.. Hold on... it will come. Hold on.. it will ease. Hold on, the horrible daily pain will end... This horribble no good, very bad, gut wrenching, heart gripping, can't stand it one more minute pain.. will end... Our grief will turn to sorrow and loss.. our lives will be better and we will have created the person we will now become because of our struggles thru this terrible time.... It is hard work, but, we have never shied from hard work before and we will not do so now. We will take it one day at a time and when our grief grips us, we will embrace it, work thru it and then let it go each and every day. Grief is an emotion that we need to learn to control.. and we will. We will take hold of it and we will conquer it.. we are so much stronger than we think.. look back at how far we have already come from that first day, that first week that we thought we couldn't survive. Yet, here we are in year two.. still going forward.. still wrestling with the pain, still figuring out who we are and where we go from here. We are fighters, we are survivors, we are MOMS.... and our angels and those we love are counting on us to get thru this year and on to the next.. we can, we will, we matter, we are worth it... and here, we are never alone.. hand in hand, heart to heart we will learn from each other and we will help each other go forward.. one day , one moment at a time... Hold on moms... we got this.. Our love for our children will sustain us... Their quest for life will propel us forward.. their strength will get us thru this worst time of our lives............................ we can.. we will.. together
Tuesday, September 23, 2014
Feelings 101
One year ago today, I took Joana to Ann Arbor to see her oncologist for the last time.
One year ago, I met our hospice nurse for the first time.
One year ago, I knew that two days later we would celebrate Joana's last birthday with us.
One year ago, I thought I still had a couple of months with Joana.
The last year went by in a fog, a daze. I think your body has the ability to protect itself from the harsh reality so you can survive.
Joana's death still feels so unreal. The finality still has not completely sunk in, and I am scared what it will be like when it does.
How, you ask? How can the death of your child feel unreal? Isn't she gone? Hasn't it been almost a year since you have seen her?
Well, I have no answers. In my mind, I know that Joana has died. And I know that she won't come back. But somehow, on a level that I can't explain, it still feels unreal. It's almost like my senses and emotions have become dull, like there is a huge buffer on them that doesn't allow me to feel....good or bad. I have to function...as a mother to my other kids, as a wife, at work...and in order to do this, I have to push my feelings and emotions far, far away.
I belong to a group on Facebook for bereaved moms, and they have week-long retreats a couple of times a year. Moms get together, talk about their kids, cry together, laugh together, and enjoy being with a group of women who know what it feels like to lose a child. It sounds like such a safe environment to start the healing process, but unfortunately, the retreats are never held during summer vacation, so I wouldn't be able to go.
Honestly, I am afraid what will happen if I allow myself to feel more. Could I get out of bed in the morning? Could I function at work? Could I be a mom to the other kids? Or would the pain and sense of loss be so overwhelming?
And how can you allow yourself to feel just enough so you don't feel numb, but not so much that you can't function? Is there a middle ground, and if so, how can you find it? And when you allow some emotions to surface, will other emotions sweep you away?
For now, I will archive those thoughts and concentrate on making it through the next two weeks. Maybe I will revisit them then.
One year ago, I met our hospice nurse for the first time.
One year ago, I knew that two days later we would celebrate Joana's last birthday with us.
One year ago, I thought I still had a couple of months with Joana.
The last year went by in a fog, a daze. I think your body has the ability to protect itself from the harsh reality so you can survive.
Joana's death still feels so unreal. The finality still has not completely sunk in, and I am scared what it will be like when it does.
How, you ask? How can the death of your child feel unreal? Isn't she gone? Hasn't it been almost a year since you have seen her?
Well, I have no answers. In my mind, I know that Joana has died. And I know that she won't come back. But somehow, on a level that I can't explain, it still feels unreal. It's almost like my senses and emotions have become dull, like there is a huge buffer on them that doesn't allow me to feel....good or bad. I have to function...as a mother to my other kids, as a wife, at work...and in order to do this, I have to push my feelings and emotions far, far away.
I belong to a group on Facebook for bereaved moms, and they have week-long retreats a couple of times a year. Moms get together, talk about their kids, cry together, laugh together, and enjoy being with a group of women who know what it feels like to lose a child. It sounds like such a safe environment to start the healing process, but unfortunately, the retreats are never held during summer vacation, so I wouldn't be able to go.
Honestly, I am afraid what will happen if I allow myself to feel more. Could I get out of bed in the morning? Could I function at work? Could I be a mom to the other kids? Or would the pain and sense of loss be so overwhelming?
And how can you allow yourself to feel just enough so you don't feel numb, but not so much that you can't function? Is there a middle ground, and if so, how can you find it? And when you allow some emotions to surface, will other emotions sweep you away?
For now, I will archive those thoughts and concentrate on making it through the next two weeks. Maybe I will revisit them then.
Saturday, September 20, 2014
Rough week
This has been a rough week as I am struggling with Joana's birthday coming up on the 25th. It's her first birthday that we will "celebrate" without her, and I'm not sure how I will hold it together on that day. The kids think we should have birthday cake, but I don't know if I can do that. On the one hand, I think I will feel like something is missing if we don't have cake, but on the other hand I know how incredibly hard it will be to make a cake for my daughter who is not here with us any more.
Either way, I think the day will be incredibly difficult and I am dreading it. Last year Joana was still able to open gifts with us on her "real" birthday, but only 3 days later, when we had her party, she wasn't able to any more. And 9 days after her birthday she passed away. The memories are so painful and often take my breath away. I miss her so, so much, more than words could possibly explain.
I was thinking about making a slide show with pictures of Joana in honor of her birthday, but even that turned out to be too painful. Seeing her big smile on the photos throughout the years and knowing that that smile was stolen from her leaves me so very sad and angry.
One year ago we had so many lasts, and this year is full of firsts....firsts without Joana.
Either way, I think the day will be incredibly difficult and I am dreading it. Last year Joana was still able to open gifts with us on her "real" birthday, but only 3 days later, when we had her party, she wasn't able to any more. And 9 days after her birthday she passed away. The memories are so painful and often take my breath away. I miss her so, so much, more than words could possibly explain.
I was thinking about making a slide show with pictures of Joana in honor of her birthday, but even that turned out to be too painful. Seeing her big smile on the photos throughout the years and knowing that that smile was stolen from her leaves me so very sad and angry.
One year ago we had so many lasts, and this year is full of firsts....firsts without Joana.
Wednesday, September 17, 2014
A sign...or just coincidence?
I belong to a couple different groups on Facebook for grieving parents, and one of the things others often write about is that they occasionally receive signs from their deceased children. I am not sure what I believe about this, but I would absolutely LOVE it if our loved ones could - and would - send us signs and messages.
Today it has been exactly one year since Joana was admitted to the hospital for the last time and tomorrow it will be one year since I found out that her cancer was terminal. In addition, next week will be her first birthday that she won't spend with us and nine days after that will be her first death anniversary. This is an extremely difficult time for me, and I feel myself growing anxious and very, very angry. Angry at myself, angry at the cancer, angry at others for a myriad of reasons.
Tonight I had to go to a store to buy a birthday present, and when I paid for my purchase, I saw an angel on the counter. All by itself, totally out of place, not where it should be on the shelf with all the other WillowTree figurines. And not just any old angel...an angel carrying an armful of yellow flowers! Was it a sign...or just coincidence? I would love to believe that Joana placed it there specifically for me, to send me some comfort and strength for this difficult month.
Tuesday, September 16, 2014
New Name - Take Two
Last night, after renaming my blog to "Navigating Loss", I went to bed and couldn't sleep. Something was bothering me about the new name, and I knew it wasn't 100% perfect.
I thought about Joana and tried to come up with a way I could make her part of my blog title without using her name. Suddenly it hit me.... Joana LOVED yellow flowers because she said they looked so happy and I know she would like for me to someday find peace and happiness again...hence the name "Chasing yellow flowers," which I think is absolutely perfect!
I was so excited to get home from school today to work on my new blog look, and I like the way it turned out. Hopefully this will be a comforting place for me where I can reflect, write, and find some much needed peace.
And I promise that I won't change the name again!
I thought about Joana and tried to come up with a way I could make her part of my blog title without using her name. Suddenly it hit me.... Joana LOVED yellow flowers because she said they looked so happy and I know she would like for me to someday find peace and happiness again...hence the name "Chasing yellow flowers," which I think is absolutely perfect!
I was so excited to get home from school today to work on my new blog look, and I like the way it turned out. Hopefully this will be a comforting place for me where I can reflect, write, and find some much needed peace.
And I promise that I won't change the name again!
Monday, September 15, 2014
New Name!
I have been contemplating renaming my blog for a while now and tonight I took the plunge.
"Fit after Loss" was a great name when I thought my blog would be primarily about my journey to becoming a fit and healthy bereaved mom. But I quickly realized that there is so much more to write about, so many thoughts I would like to get down on paper (or the screen), so many things I would like to say that didn't fit the "Fit after Loss" name.
So tonight I decided to rename my blog to "Navigating My Way Through Loss". I am writing this blog for myself, but you are more than welcome to accompany me on my journey. It will be honest and straight forward, and maybe it will help you understand me a bit better. I am not one to talk about my feelings much, but writing is therapeutic for me and helps me sort out my jumbled emotions.
For now, I will blog here but I will stay quiet on Facebook as I have noticed that it has caused me lots of anxiety and always leaves me with an empty feeling, a feeling of loneliness and sadness.
For tonight I will close with an excerpt from a website I found and that really spoke to me. It is called "Grief, Loss and Insidious Loneliness." I had never heard the term insidious loneliness, but I can relate 100%.
One of the most painful aspects of the grieving process can be loneliness. We expect to be sad, but the feeling of loneliness has its own and subtly different kind of pain. It can be unsettling and scary. What you need to know is that you are not alone in feeling these feelings. They are quite common in women.
I hope that just knowing that will help you to feel a little less lonely.
It makes perfect sense to feel lonely at times. The one who you loved so much and the one who loved you so much is gone. It is an awful feeling. You yearn for him. You want her back. You miss him. You need her. And he is not there. She is not there. It’s not fair, it’s wrong, and yet it’s the truth you are living. This is normal. And natural. It comes with the territory. You will be lonely for the person you lost.
Loneliness is part of your journey.
But there is another kind of loneliness that no one really talks about. I call it “insidious loneliness.” Insidious loneliness is the kind of loneliness that makes you feel like you are alone in the world. It’s the sensation of walking through your life, within your life and around your life without actually being part of your life. It’s the odd experience of seeing people laughing and thinking “How can they be happy? Don’t they know that my daughter is gone?”
Other people don’t even have to be laughing or smiling for you to experience this confusion. They could just be living their lives. But you’re not. You’re disconnected from them and disconnected even from your own feeling of being engaged in life.
Insidious loneliness is slowly and subtly harmful and doesn’t serve any good purpose…for you, for your grieving process, or for anyone else.
Insidious loneliness occurs because we think (it may or may not be true) that no one really gets how much we are suffering. Most women I know are pleasers – we like making other people happy. While we are grieving, we sometimes look and act like we’re fine. We do this without trying or sometimes we know we’re hurting and we put on the happy face. Some may even comment about how well we’re handling our loss. We may even smile and agree, but inside we know the truth. It hurts and it’s awful.
The thing that seems to help the most with insidious loneliness is telling your truth to someone. I’m talking about the real truth about what is actually going on with your grieving process.
Find one fabulous, kind, loving, nonjudgmental, smart, understanding person and tell that person your truth. Find someone who knows you and who accepts you for the wonderful person that you are. Tell them how lonely you feel. Tell them how disconnected you feel. Tell them how lost you feel.
Don’t assume they already know. Chances are, you’re probably doing a good job hiding it.
If you don’t feel like there is anyone else in your life that you can safely tell these things to, or if you don’t want to burden them, then think about finding a professional grief counselor. Most of them understand the loneliness you are feeling and can help you work through it.
Having at least one person on the planet that knows – that really knows – what you’re going through can relieve you of your insidious loneliness.
"Fit after Loss" was a great name when I thought my blog would be primarily about my journey to becoming a fit and healthy bereaved mom. But I quickly realized that there is so much more to write about, so many thoughts I would like to get down on paper (or the screen), so many things I would like to say that didn't fit the "Fit after Loss" name.
So tonight I decided to rename my blog to "Navigating My Way Through Loss". I am writing this blog for myself, but you are more than welcome to accompany me on my journey. It will be honest and straight forward, and maybe it will help you understand me a bit better. I am not one to talk about my feelings much, but writing is therapeutic for me and helps me sort out my jumbled emotions.
For now, I will blog here but I will stay quiet on Facebook as I have noticed that it has caused me lots of anxiety and always leaves me with an empty feeling, a feeling of loneliness and sadness.
For tonight I will close with an excerpt from a website I found and that really spoke to me. It is called "Grief, Loss and Insidious Loneliness." I had never heard the term insidious loneliness, but I can relate 100%.
One of the most painful aspects of the grieving process can be loneliness. We expect to be sad, but the feeling of loneliness has its own and subtly different kind of pain. It can be unsettling and scary. What you need to know is that you are not alone in feeling these feelings. They are quite common in women.
I hope that just knowing that will help you to feel a little less lonely.
It makes perfect sense to feel lonely at times. The one who you loved so much and the one who loved you so much is gone. It is an awful feeling. You yearn for him. You want her back. You miss him. You need her. And he is not there. She is not there. It’s not fair, it’s wrong, and yet it’s the truth you are living. This is normal. And natural. It comes with the territory. You will be lonely for the person you lost.
Loneliness is part of your journey.
But there is another kind of loneliness that no one really talks about. I call it “insidious loneliness.” Insidious loneliness is the kind of loneliness that makes you feel like you are alone in the world. It’s the sensation of walking through your life, within your life and around your life without actually being part of your life. It’s the odd experience of seeing people laughing and thinking “How can they be happy? Don’t they know that my daughter is gone?”
Other people don’t even have to be laughing or smiling for you to experience this confusion. They could just be living their lives. But you’re not. You’re disconnected from them and disconnected even from your own feeling of being engaged in life.
Insidious loneliness is slowly and subtly harmful and doesn’t serve any good purpose…for you, for your grieving process, or for anyone else.
Insidious loneliness occurs because we think (it may or may not be true) that no one really gets how much we are suffering. Most women I know are pleasers – we like making other people happy. While we are grieving, we sometimes look and act like we’re fine. We do this without trying or sometimes we know we’re hurting and we put on the happy face. Some may even comment about how well we’re handling our loss. We may even smile and agree, but inside we know the truth. It hurts and it’s awful.
The thing that seems to help the most with insidious loneliness is telling your truth to someone. I’m talking about the real truth about what is actually going on with your grieving process.
Find one fabulous, kind, loving, nonjudgmental, smart, understanding person and tell that person your truth. Find someone who knows you and who accepts you for the wonderful person that you are. Tell them how lonely you feel. Tell them how disconnected you feel. Tell them how lost you feel.
Don’t assume they already know. Chances are, you’re probably doing a good job hiding it.
If you don’t feel like there is anyone else in your life that you can safely tell these things to, or if you don’t want to burden them, then think about finding a professional grief counselor. Most of them understand the loneliness you are feeling and can help you work through it.
Having at least one person on the planet that knows – that really knows – what you’re going through can relieve you of your insidious loneliness.
Wednesday, September 3, 2014
Inadequate
For the last couple of weeks I have felt really awkward and inadequate about this blog, and have even tossed around the idea of abandoning it. Why? Simple. How can I possible write about getting fit and in shape when I struggle each and every day with it? When I have days where I plain don't care? When I feel like I am on a slippery slope that's tilted backwards and I can't stop myself from sliding down?
The last two weeks have been tough. Tougher than the other 45 weeks since Joana's death. Is it because the anniversaries are coming up? Is it because reality is setting in that she will never come back? Is it because the fear that something will happen to my other kids is too overwhelming? Or is it simply because a person can only take so much longing for someone before they start to feel physically sick from the big void they carry around?
I started this blog with the intention of concentrating on getting fit and well. But right now I am unable to focus on that....at least the physical aspect of getting well. I feel like I need to get in a better spot mentally before I can focus on the rest again.
And that's where I am stuck. How do I get to that place? I realize that grief is very lonely. No one misses Joana the same way I do, because no one else was her mom. Others can't possibly understand how I feel (unless they have lost a child themselves), so I don't talk about it. They can't understand why I feel guilty and blame myself for a lot of the things that happened. So I don't bring it up any more. They can't imagine what it feels like to hold your child when she takes her last breath and there is absolutely nothing you can do to save her. The desperation you feel is something I will never be able to put into words.
On the outside I appear to be doing very well, but it's exhausting to keep up that façade.
And I wonder...if Joana can see what is going on down here on earth, does she see it with "human" eyes? Does she only see that her mom goes to work every day, takes care of the rest of the family, laughs and makes jokes, and looks to be doing just fine? Or does she see so much deeper and knows how much I hurt? How much of an effort it is to carry on with mundane, everyday tasks? How tiring it is to function and pretend to be okay? If that is the case, she would be very disappointed in me.
I have read many Facebook posts by grieving mothers, and it is very discouraging to read, "it never gets easier, it will just be different." Will it really never get easier? Will I really never feel truly happy again?
I bought a couple of books that were written by mothers who have lost their children, and I truly hope that these books will give me some hope that yes, there will be a day when I will feel happy again, without pretending. I know I can survive this (because what choice do I have, right?), but I don't want to live for the rest of my live just surviving.
So if you see me - or any grieving person for that matter - please try to understand that you are just looking at a shell, that there is so much more to us than our hollow smile. A big part of us was taken, and we have to learn to live with a huge hole in our hearts.
The last two weeks have been tough. Tougher than the other 45 weeks since Joana's death. Is it because the anniversaries are coming up? Is it because reality is setting in that she will never come back? Is it because the fear that something will happen to my other kids is too overwhelming? Or is it simply because a person can only take so much longing for someone before they start to feel physically sick from the big void they carry around?
I started this blog with the intention of concentrating on getting fit and well. But right now I am unable to focus on that....at least the physical aspect of getting well. I feel like I need to get in a better spot mentally before I can focus on the rest again.
And that's where I am stuck. How do I get to that place? I realize that grief is very lonely. No one misses Joana the same way I do, because no one else was her mom. Others can't possibly understand how I feel (unless they have lost a child themselves), so I don't talk about it. They can't understand why I feel guilty and blame myself for a lot of the things that happened. So I don't bring it up any more. They can't imagine what it feels like to hold your child when she takes her last breath and there is absolutely nothing you can do to save her. The desperation you feel is something I will never be able to put into words.
On the outside I appear to be doing very well, but it's exhausting to keep up that façade.
And I wonder...if Joana can see what is going on down here on earth, does she see it with "human" eyes? Does she only see that her mom goes to work every day, takes care of the rest of the family, laughs and makes jokes, and looks to be doing just fine? Or does she see so much deeper and knows how much I hurt? How much of an effort it is to carry on with mundane, everyday tasks? How tiring it is to function and pretend to be okay? If that is the case, she would be very disappointed in me.
I have read many Facebook posts by grieving mothers, and it is very discouraging to read, "it never gets easier, it will just be different." Will it really never get easier? Will I really never feel truly happy again?
I bought a couple of books that were written by mothers who have lost their children, and I truly hope that these books will give me some hope that yes, there will be a day when I will feel happy again, without pretending. I know I can survive this (because what choice do I have, right?), but I don't want to live for the rest of my live just surviving.
So if you see me - or any grieving person for that matter - please try to understand that you are just looking at a shell, that there is so much more to us than our hollow smile. A big part of us was taken, and we have to learn to live with a huge hole in our hearts.
Sunday, August 24, 2014
Still pushing my luck...
The last week was rough. Rough in more ways than one...
In the past seven days, I have eaten in restaurants 4...yes, four!!!...times. Needless to say, I didn't expect a weight loss this week and was actually pleasantly surprised that I did lose half a pound. But I also know that I can't keep going like this, because I truly feel like I am pushing my luck. I think what saved me was that I regularly went to the gym, and I (sort of) tried to make healthier choices at the restaurants. But regardless, I know that if I keep eating like that, the pounds will not come off the way I would like them to, so it's time to get my act together and plan meals!
This past week was also rough emotionally. It is getting closer to the one year anniversaries....one year since Joana's hospital stay where we were told her cancer was terminal, one year since hospice, one year since her last birthday with us, one year since her last birthday party, one year since the last time she was able to speak, one year since the last time she was able to get up, one year since the last time I was able to hold and kiss her, and of course one year since she passed away. These next six weeks will be filled with many of these one year anniversaries, and I am struggling. The finality of it all is crushing down on me, and some days it feels like it is suffocating me. The pain of losing your child is of a magnitude that you can not possibly imagine if you have not lived through the nightmare yourself.
Some days I wonder if it will ever get easier. What I have experienced so far is that each month it gets a little harder, the emptiness a little worse, the loneliness a little deeper. Missing your child hurts to the core.
But as I have said before, I owe it to Joana to live a life she would be proud of. Her life was taken from her, but I still have mine, and I need to live it in a way Joana would approve of.
For right now, I have to "fake it", but I hope that there will be a time again where I will feel happy and my smile will be genuine.
In the past seven days, I have eaten in restaurants 4...yes, four!!!...times. Needless to say, I didn't expect a weight loss this week and was actually pleasantly surprised that I did lose half a pound. But I also know that I can't keep going like this, because I truly feel like I am pushing my luck. I think what saved me was that I regularly went to the gym, and I (sort of) tried to make healthier choices at the restaurants. But regardless, I know that if I keep eating like that, the pounds will not come off the way I would like them to, so it's time to get my act together and plan meals!
This past week was also rough emotionally. It is getting closer to the one year anniversaries....one year since Joana's hospital stay where we were told her cancer was terminal, one year since hospice, one year since her last birthday with us, one year since her last birthday party, one year since the last time she was able to speak, one year since the last time she was able to get up, one year since the last time I was able to hold and kiss her, and of course one year since she passed away. These next six weeks will be filled with many of these one year anniversaries, and I am struggling. The finality of it all is crushing down on me, and some days it feels like it is suffocating me. The pain of losing your child is of a magnitude that you can not possibly imagine if you have not lived through the nightmare yourself.
Some days I wonder if it will ever get easier. What I have experienced so far is that each month it gets a little harder, the emptiness a little worse, the loneliness a little deeper. Missing your child hurts to the core.
But as I have said before, I owe it to Joana to live a life she would be proud of. Her life was taken from her, but I still have mine, and I need to live it in a way Joana would approve of.
For right now, I have to "fake it", but I hope that there will be a time again where I will feel happy and my smile will be genuine.
Sunday, August 17, 2014
Walking with Joana
Tonight I went to the cemetery to water Joana's flowers and cut the grass around her headstone, and to walk for a bit. One loop around the cemetery is exactly one mile, and since I worked out at Planet Fitness this morning, I was only planning on walking one loop, two at the most.
But then it was so peaceful there. I absolutely love the cemetery we chose for Joana, and as weird as it sounds, I couldn't stop walking. My thoughts were all over the place, and before I knew it, I had walked four miles!
I thought about my losing weight and my fears associated with it. I know quite a few people who have been very successful at losing weight, and honestly, I am scared that I can't measure up to them. I know that's silly since it's not a competition, but I can't help the feelings. What if I tell people that I am trying to lose weight, but then I fail? What if I lose the weight but then gain it back? What if I decide to throw in the towel?
But wait...this is the former Tina talking. I need to shift my thinking and not worry about others. I am doing this for myself, and I am not accountable to anybody else. But this is not entirely true either. When I was in Minneapolis with Joana last year, we talked about my wanting to lose weight, and we made a deal: I would lose the weight, and then we would go shopping for new clothes together. We even shook on it.
I don't know if Joana can see what is going on down here on earth, but if she does, I want her to be proud and see that I am sticking to my part of the bargain. I know we will never go clothes shopping together, but I can't use that as an excuse for not doing my part. Being fit was always very important to her, and I will make her proud.
I know that every day will not be a "good" day (=good food choices), but I will not allow one "bad"day (=poor food choices) set the trend for the following days. One bad day will not make me gain all the weight back, but if I let one day lead to two, then three, then four....then I'll be in trouble. If I make poor choices, I promise myself to move on instead of dwelling on it. If I dwell on it, it will lead to more overeating.
It felt like I walked four miles with Joana. Although I generally do not feel closer to her at the cemetery, I felt like I was talking to her tonight as I was walking. And I am sure she gave me a "thumbs up" and a "Good job, Mama!"
But then it was so peaceful there. I absolutely love the cemetery we chose for Joana, and as weird as it sounds, I couldn't stop walking. My thoughts were all over the place, and before I knew it, I had walked four miles!
I thought about my losing weight and my fears associated with it. I know quite a few people who have been very successful at losing weight, and honestly, I am scared that I can't measure up to them. I know that's silly since it's not a competition, but I can't help the feelings. What if I tell people that I am trying to lose weight, but then I fail? What if I lose the weight but then gain it back? What if I decide to throw in the towel?
But wait...this is the former Tina talking. I need to shift my thinking and not worry about others. I am doing this for myself, and I am not accountable to anybody else. But this is not entirely true either. When I was in Minneapolis with Joana last year, we talked about my wanting to lose weight, and we made a deal: I would lose the weight, and then we would go shopping for new clothes together. We even shook on it.
I don't know if Joana can see what is going on down here on earth, but if she does, I want her to be proud and see that I am sticking to my part of the bargain. I know we will never go clothes shopping together, but I can't use that as an excuse for not doing my part. Being fit was always very important to her, and I will make her proud.
I know that every day will not be a "good" day (=good food choices), but I will not allow one "bad"day (=poor food choices) set the trend for the following days. One bad day will not make me gain all the weight back, but if I let one day lead to two, then three, then four....then I'll be in trouble. If I make poor choices, I promise myself to move on instead of dwelling on it. If I dwell on it, it will lead to more overeating.
It felt like I walked four miles with Joana. Although I generally do not feel closer to her at the cemetery, I felt like I was talking to her tonight as I was walking. And I am sure she gave me a "thumbs up" and a "Good job, Mama!"
By the skin of my teeth
It's been a long time since I wrote, and a lot has been going on.
Let's just say that this past week I was very, very lucky that I was able to mark a loss on my weight tracking chart...I really didn't deserve it! And who knows, maybe my bad food choices will take a few more days to catch up with me and next week will show a gain? I guess only time will tell.
The past four weeks have been extremely busy. My mom came to visit from Germany, and it was great spending time with her. We went on a one week vacation to Wisconsin, and the whole time there I did great food and exercise wise. When we got back, I had one more week to get ready for the 5k run/walk we put on to raise money for the scholarship I established in honor and memory of my daughter. We had a fantastic turnout and the whole event was a huge success.
The day after the race, I took my mom back to the airport because her time here in Michigan was already over. And then followed a week of poor food choices....
I know exactly what happened... I had been so busy and had so many things going on - my mom's visit, our vacation, the race - and all of those things were over all at once. It was like a big let down, nothing new to look forward to, nothing to plan, nothing to get ready for.
Did food make me feel better? Nope, not at all. Do I regret my poor choices? Absolutely. Am I going to let this one week define the next week and continue down the wrong path? Absolutely not.
I know I made the wrong choices, but this time I was able to catch myself before it got completely out of hand. And through my days of eating poorly, I still continued to exercise.
The next couple of months will be emotionally difficult for me. September brings the one year anniversary of being told that my daughter's cancer was terminal and that her doctors couldn't help her any more, and October brings the one year anniversary of her death. I am worried how I will make it through those two hard months, but I know that somehow I will. There really is no other option. But I might need a bit of extra support, and if you see me drown my pain in food....please stop me!
Let's just say that this past week I was very, very lucky that I was able to mark a loss on my weight tracking chart...I really didn't deserve it! And who knows, maybe my bad food choices will take a few more days to catch up with me and next week will show a gain? I guess only time will tell.
The past four weeks have been extremely busy. My mom came to visit from Germany, and it was great spending time with her. We went on a one week vacation to Wisconsin, and the whole time there I did great food and exercise wise. When we got back, I had one more week to get ready for the 5k run/walk we put on to raise money for the scholarship I established in honor and memory of my daughter. We had a fantastic turnout and the whole event was a huge success.
The day after the race, I took my mom back to the airport because her time here in Michigan was already over. And then followed a week of poor food choices....
I know exactly what happened... I had been so busy and had so many things going on - my mom's visit, our vacation, the race - and all of those things were over all at once. It was like a big let down, nothing new to look forward to, nothing to plan, nothing to get ready for.
Did food make me feel better? Nope, not at all. Do I regret my poor choices? Absolutely. Am I going to let this one week define the next week and continue down the wrong path? Absolutely not.
I know I made the wrong choices, but this time I was able to catch myself before it got completely out of hand. And through my days of eating poorly, I still continued to exercise.
The next couple of months will be emotionally difficult for me. September brings the one year anniversary of being told that my daughter's cancer was terminal and that her doctors couldn't help her any more, and October brings the one year anniversary of her death. I am worried how I will make it through those two hard months, but I know that somehow I will. There really is no other option. But I might need a bit of extra support, and if you see me drown my pain in food....please stop me!
Wednesday, July 23, 2014
Plugging along
Haven't had a chance to post in a while...time is getting away from me. It's just crazy how fast each days goes by!
I am still plugging away at that weight loss thing and have now lost 9.5 pounds. It's a start, but I am also realistic (since I have done this so many times!) and know that the weight loss will slow down drastically, and that there will be weeks where I will plateau. It's those weeks that I have to be really careful to stick with it and look at the big picture.
This week has been difficult emotionally since it marks the six year anniversary of my daughter's diagnosis. It's been hard thinking back to how it all started. There were days when I was devastated, but also days when I was full of hope.
Today I read a great quote: "Parents of child loss become the world's greatest pretenders. We pretend we're okay, when inside we're falling apart. We pretend we've finally accepted the loss of our child, when we will never understand. We pretend that we feel like smiling, when inside we're crying buckets of tears. Simply put, we wear a mask and pretend life is moving along because if we didn't wear the mask it would scare people."
That quote really spoke to me. It's true, "we" become fantastic actors. It's what we have to do to survive. And I owe it to the rest of my family. But...I hope that someday my smile will be genuine again, that I will laugh out loud because I truly think something is funny, that I look forward to doing activities with my kids rather than feeling obligated to do so. I hope that someday I will be genuine again. Joana will always be missed, but I hope that someday the wound will heal to the point where it is not as raw any more and where I can smile without pretending.
But for right now, I will continue to act and take one day at a time.
I am still plugging away at that weight loss thing and have now lost 9.5 pounds. It's a start, but I am also realistic (since I have done this so many times!) and know that the weight loss will slow down drastically, and that there will be weeks where I will plateau. It's those weeks that I have to be really careful to stick with it and look at the big picture.
This week has been difficult emotionally since it marks the six year anniversary of my daughter's diagnosis. It's been hard thinking back to how it all started. There were days when I was devastated, but also days when I was full of hope.
Today I read a great quote: "Parents of child loss become the world's greatest pretenders. We pretend we're okay, when inside we're falling apart. We pretend we've finally accepted the loss of our child, when we will never understand. We pretend that we feel like smiling, when inside we're crying buckets of tears. Simply put, we wear a mask and pretend life is moving along because if we didn't wear the mask it would scare people."
That quote really spoke to me. It's true, "we" become fantastic actors. It's what we have to do to survive. And I owe it to the rest of my family. But...I hope that someday my smile will be genuine again, that I will laugh out loud because I truly think something is funny, that I look forward to doing activities with my kids rather than feeling obligated to do so. I hope that someday I will be genuine again. Joana will always be missed, but I hope that someday the wound will heal to the point where it is not as raw any more and where I can smile without pretending.
But for right now, I will continue to act and take one day at a time.
Wednesday, July 16, 2014
Still my cheerleader!
This morning I got up at 6 o'clock to go to the gym. I went downstairs, checked my emails and Facebook, drank something, and sat some more. I just couldn't get myself to go. I opened the patio door, and the cool air felt awesome. I sat back down, and pondered what to do. Yes, I had planned on going to the gym, but a nice, brisk walk outside sounded so much better.
I laced up my shoes and went walking. This is huge for me! Instead of sitting on the couch contemplating till it's too late to go, I allowed myself a last minute change in plans. I did not feel guilty about ditching the gym and enjoyed the cool morning.
While I was walking, I was wondering what Joana would think of this. She was always on my case about going to the gym, and sometimes she would call me just to ask if I went to the gym that morning. Just as I was thinking about this, I looked down on the street and saw this:
I laced up my shoes and went walking. This is huge for me! Instead of sitting on the couch contemplating till it's too late to go, I allowed myself a last minute change in plans. I did not feel guilty about ditching the gym and enjoyed the cool morning.
While I was walking, I was wondering what Joana would think of this. She was always on my case about going to the gym, and sometimes she would call me just to ask if I went to the gym that morning. Just as I was thinking about this, I looked down on the street and saw this:
Yup, she is still my biggest cheerleader, and I take this as a sign that she approved of my change in plans! :)
Tuesday, July 15, 2014
A new aproach
A couple of years ago I lost quite a bit of weight, but I didn't keep any of it off. At the time, I logged every bite that went into my mouth, counted calories, and I obsessed with tracking my steps with my Fitbit.
Sounds like a great approach, doesn't it? Well, at the time it worked for me, but I am not so sure it was a healthy way...physically and mentally. I allowed myself a certain amount of calories per day. It didn't really matter where those calories came from. Healthy food, junk food, fast food, empty calorie food...everything was fair game as long as I didn't go over my allotted calories.
This time I am not counting any calories. I am trying to feed my body healthy foods, foods with nutritional value. I will exercise, but I will not feel like a failure if there is a day without exercise. I do not have to be perfect to be successful. If this does not work for me, I can always re-evaluate.
Here are some strange ways my mind used to work:
* "I can't have that banana, there are way too many calories in bananas."
* "I didn't exercise today, so I might as well give up for the day and splurge."
* "I can't believe I had a donut this morning. Oh well, I will start again tomorrow morning...which means I can eat whatever I want for the rest of the day."
* "I forgot my Fitbit at home...so why bother walking more."
* "I am not hungry but have 200 calories left for the day... so a scoop of ice cream it is!"
Writing some of these thoughts out makes me realize how warped my thinking was! It worked for a while, but not in the long run. Time to overhaul my thought process!
Sounds like a great approach, doesn't it? Well, at the time it worked for me, but I am not so sure it was a healthy way...physically and mentally. I allowed myself a certain amount of calories per day. It didn't really matter where those calories came from. Healthy food, junk food, fast food, empty calorie food...everything was fair game as long as I didn't go over my allotted calories.
This time I am not counting any calories. I am trying to feed my body healthy foods, foods with nutritional value. I will exercise, but I will not feel like a failure if there is a day without exercise. I do not have to be perfect to be successful. If this does not work for me, I can always re-evaluate.
Here are some strange ways my mind used to work:
* "I can't have that banana, there are way too many calories in bananas."
* "I didn't exercise today, so I might as well give up for the day and splurge."
* "I can't believe I had a donut this morning. Oh well, I will start again tomorrow morning...which means I can eat whatever I want for the rest of the day."
* "I forgot my Fitbit at home...so why bother walking more."
* "I am not hungry but have 200 calories left for the day... so a scoop of ice cream it is!"
Writing some of these thoughts out makes me realize how warped my thinking was! It worked for a while, but not in the long run. Time to overhaul my thought process!
Wednesday, July 9, 2014
Two victories
It's so easy to concentrate on our failures and shortcomings, and even easier to overlook our (sometimes very small) victories.
But if we only concentrate on the bad and don't celebrate the good, where does that really lead us? Does it lead to encouragement or does it discourage us?
Yesterday I was supposed to meet up with two friends for dinner after spending an afternoon with my two youngest kiddos in Ann Arbor. It was an emotional few hours...parking in the parking deck of the hospital where my daughter was treated and where we received the most devastating news, and checking out a tree that was dedicated to Joana by one of her friends after she had passed away. I wish I would have been there by myself so I didn't have to entertain a 7 and a 9 year old...but maybe the distraction of their nonstop chatter was just what I needed. Anyway, I was SO close to canceling our dinner plans because, honestly, with the death of Joana I feel like I have lost all my socializing skills. But - drumroll please, here comes my victory! - I didn't cancel and it turned out to be a very enjoyable evening at a great restaurant! It was nice seeing one of my daughter's best friends and her mom, and the Greek salad I had was absolutely fantastic!
Victory #2 is quick...We didn't get back from Ann Arbor until late, and of course I had to watch the soccer game between Germany and Brazil (which I had recorded) before I went to bed. What a great game with a 7:1 victory for Germany! However, I went to bed later than normal, and really didn't feel like getting up early this morning to go to the gym. But, you guessed it, I got up, went, and now feel great about it!
Two small victories, but quite important in their small ways.
But if we only concentrate on the bad and don't celebrate the good, where does that really lead us? Does it lead to encouragement or does it discourage us?
Yesterday I was supposed to meet up with two friends for dinner after spending an afternoon with my two youngest kiddos in Ann Arbor. It was an emotional few hours...parking in the parking deck of the hospital where my daughter was treated and where we received the most devastating news, and checking out a tree that was dedicated to Joana by one of her friends after she had passed away. I wish I would have been there by myself so I didn't have to entertain a 7 and a 9 year old...but maybe the distraction of their nonstop chatter was just what I needed. Anyway, I was SO close to canceling our dinner plans because, honestly, with the death of Joana I feel like I have lost all my socializing skills. But - drumroll please, here comes my victory! - I didn't cancel and it turned out to be a very enjoyable evening at a great restaurant! It was nice seeing one of my daughter's best friends and her mom, and the Greek salad I had was absolutely fantastic!
Victory #2 is quick...We didn't get back from Ann Arbor until late, and of course I had to watch the soccer game between Germany and Brazil (which I had recorded) before I went to bed. What a great game with a 7:1 victory for Germany! However, I went to bed later than normal, and really didn't feel like getting up early this morning to go to the gym. But, you guessed it, I got up, went, and now feel great about it!
Two small victories, but quite important in their small ways.
Joana's Tree
Monday, July 7, 2014
You don't get to choose...
"You don't get to choose how you're going to die, or when.
You can only decide how you're going to live. Now." ~ Joan Baez
I really like this quote. I stumbled across it yesterday, and I thought it fits my current train of thought perfectly. So often, I have this strange argument going on in my head. It goes something like this:
"I really need to get in better shape and lose weight."
"Why? You're perfectly healthy. Your blood pressure is great, all your blood work came back
perfect, and overall, you're a very healthy person."
"I guess so. But losing weight would still be good for me, right?"
"Not really. You can't prevent getting sick by losing weight. Look at Joana. She was in perfect shape and exercised a lot, and she died of cancer."
"True. But if I was in better shape, I would maybe be happier."
"Seriously? You think you would be happier just because of losing weight? It won't bring your daughter back."
"But Joana would want me to. She was always so excited when I went to the gym and lost weight."
"Yeah, but that was when she was alive. You can't make her proud any more because she is not alive. You missed your chance."
Did I really miss my chance? Does it not matter any more how I look and how I feel? Sometimes it feels good to have my outside reflect my inside. If I exercise and eat better, and as a result look better, will people think that I am "better" and don't hurt to my core because I lost my daughter? And if so, does it really matter? In a way yes, it does matter. I want others to understand how much I hurt and how hard it is to do everyday things without my daughter here on this earth. I don't want her to be forgotten. I want to tell everyone about her and talk about her as much as I can. I don't want people to feel sorry for me, I just want them to understand how much it hurts, and as a result, treasure what they have. It can all change so fast....
I feel like I am rambling...
Back to the quote by Joan Baez. It is true that you cannot choose when or how you die. I might die tomorrow in an accident, or I may develop terminal cancer soon. And yes, then it didn't matter if I lost weight or not. But I may also live another 30 or 40 years, and then it will matter. Do I really want to spent year after year feeling depressed about how I look and not do activities I would enjoy because of my weight? Definitely not. Is my pain of losing Joana going to get better if I lose weight? Probably not. But I owe it to her to make the best of my life.
Losing weight is only one aspect of this journey to becoming fit. Learning how to live a happy life without my daughter is another. I lost her, but I still have three others, and they deserve a mom who is there for them.
So I am going to decide how I am going to live. Now.
You can only decide how you're going to live. Now." ~ Joan Baez
I really like this quote. I stumbled across it yesterday, and I thought it fits my current train of thought perfectly. So often, I have this strange argument going on in my head. It goes something like this:
"I really need to get in better shape and lose weight."
"Why? You're perfectly healthy. Your blood pressure is great, all your blood work came back
perfect, and overall, you're a very healthy person."
"I guess so. But losing weight would still be good for me, right?"
"Not really. You can't prevent getting sick by losing weight. Look at Joana. She was in perfect shape and exercised a lot, and she died of cancer."
"True. But if I was in better shape, I would maybe be happier."
"Seriously? You think you would be happier just because of losing weight? It won't bring your daughter back."
"But Joana would want me to. She was always so excited when I went to the gym and lost weight."
"Yeah, but that was when she was alive. You can't make her proud any more because she is not alive. You missed your chance."
Did I really miss my chance? Does it not matter any more how I look and how I feel? Sometimes it feels good to have my outside reflect my inside. If I exercise and eat better, and as a result look better, will people think that I am "better" and don't hurt to my core because I lost my daughter? And if so, does it really matter? In a way yes, it does matter. I want others to understand how much I hurt and how hard it is to do everyday things without my daughter here on this earth. I don't want her to be forgotten. I want to tell everyone about her and talk about her as much as I can. I don't want people to feel sorry for me, I just want them to understand how much it hurts, and as a result, treasure what they have. It can all change so fast....
I feel like I am rambling...
Back to the quote by Joan Baez. It is true that you cannot choose when or how you die. I might die tomorrow in an accident, or I may develop terminal cancer soon. And yes, then it didn't matter if I lost weight or not. But I may also live another 30 or 40 years, and then it will matter. Do I really want to spent year after year feeling depressed about how I look and not do activities I would enjoy because of my weight? Definitely not. Is my pain of losing Joana going to get better if I lose weight? Probably not. But I owe it to her to make the best of my life.
Losing weight is only one aspect of this journey to becoming fit. Learning how to live a happy life without my daughter is another. I lost her, but I still have three others, and they deserve a mom who is there for them.
So I am going to decide how I am going to live. Now.
Sunday, July 6, 2014
The beginning...
How to start....
Some may say, "What, she is starting ANOTHER blog? Why does she need another one?" And there might be some truth to it...but this blog will be very different from the other ones I have written.
My first blog was a family blog to keep everyone up to date on our day-to-day activities. My second one was a Caringbridge Site which I started when my oldest daughter was diagnosed with a brain tumor and solely focused on her and our post-cancer world, my third one was a "secret" one that only a handful of people knew about (in which I tried to put into words my fears and worries), and my fifth one only went as far as a title and a cool header, but never had any posts.
So why "Fit after Loss"? On October 4, 2013 - 9 months and two days ago - I lost my daughter Joana after a five year long battle with brain cancer just after her 21st birthday. Joana was my biggest cheer leader when it came to getting in shape and losing weight. In fact, just a few years ago I lost over 40 pounds and was pretty close to my goal weight. She often told me how proud she was of me and the way I looked. Then her health started to deteriorate, and with that my resolve to be in shape and eat better. Many trips to the hospital resulted in many trips to the cafeteria there, where I drowned my fears in high-fat, unhealthy foods. Food was my way to cope, my way to find comfort. And if I already made such poor food choices, why bother exercising, right?
Last year in April, she and I took a mini-trip to the Mall of America in Minneapolis. At this point we knew that her tumor was growing again, but we were still hoping that she would be okay. One of our talks while strolling through the mall was my weight, and how disgusted I was with the way I looked. That night she had a bad seizure, and she struggled to regain her "before" speech. I told her - and we even shook on this - that if she has so much strength to overcome all of her difficulties, then the least I can do is overcome my food addiction, lose weight, and exercise again. She had the biggest smile on her face, and we decided that when I reached my goal weight, we would take another trip and go clothes shopping for me (Joana LOVED fashion!!).
Well, Joana's tumor had other plans for her. Less than six months after this trip to Minneapolis, her cancer cut her young life short and I held my beautiful daughter for the very last time.
That day, my heart broke in a million pieces and I know that it will never be the same again.
Since then, I have gained a lot of weight because - honestly - I just didn't care and I again used food to comfort myself and to get myself through each day.
Yes, it would be so much easier to keep going like that, but I know Joana would be so disappointed in me. She never let her cancer stop her. She continued going to college even when her tumor made learning very difficult for her. The weekend after finding out that her tumor had returned and she would require another brain surgery (her third), she went to Ohio to compete in a Ballroom Dance Competition. When I asked her if she was still planning on going, her response was, "Why wouldn't I? It's not like they are going to do the surgery this weekend." No, she lived her short live to the fullest, and I can learn so much from her.
This blog will be my companion through my journey...my journey to better health, my journey through my grief, my journey of learning how to live (and not just exist) without Joana.
I know that's what she would want me to do.
Some may say, "What, she is starting ANOTHER blog? Why does she need another one?" And there might be some truth to it...but this blog will be very different from the other ones I have written.
My first blog was a family blog to keep everyone up to date on our day-to-day activities. My second one was a Caringbridge Site which I started when my oldest daughter was diagnosed with a brain tumor and solely focused on her and our post-cancer world, my third one was a "secret" one that only a handful of people knew about (in which I tried to put into words my fears and worries), and my fifth one only went as far as a title and a cool header, but never had any posts.
So why "Fit after Loss"? On October 4, 2013 - 9 months and two days ago - I lost my daughter Joana after a five year long battle with brain cancer just after her 21st birthday. Joana was my biggest cheer leader when it came to getting in shape and losing weight. In fact, just a few years ago I lost over 40 pounds and was pretty close to my goal weight. She often told me how proud she was of me and the way I looked. Then her health started to deteriorate, and with that my resolve to be in shape and eat better. Many trips to the hospital resulted in many trips to the cafeteria there, where I drowned my fears in high-fat, unhealthy foods. Food was my way to cope, my way to find comfort. And if I already made such poor food choices, why bother exercising, right?
Last year in April, she and I took a mini-trip to the Mall of America in Minneapolis. At this point we knew that her tumor was growing again, but we were still hoping that she would be okay. One of our talks while strolling through the mall was my weight, and how disgusted I was with the way I looked. That night she had a bad seizure, and she struggled to regain her "before" speech. I told her - and we even shook on this - that if she has so much strength to overcome all of her difficulties, then the least I can do is overcome my food addiction, lose weight, and exercise again. She had the biggest smile on her face, and we decided that when I reached my goal weight, we would take another trip and go clothes shopping for me (Joana LOVED fashion!!).
Well, Joana's tumor had other plans for her. Less than six months after this trip to Minneapolis, her cancer cut her young life short and I held my beautiful daughter for the very last time.
That day, my heart broke in a million pieces and I know that it will never be the same again.
Since then, I have gained a lot of weight because - honestly - I just didn't care and I again used food to comfort myself and to get myself through each day.
Yes, it would be so much easier to keep going like that, but I know Joana would be so disappointed in me. She never let her cancer stop her. She continued going to college even when her tumor made learning very difficult for her. The weekend after finding out that her tumor had returned and she would require another brain surgery (her third), she went to Ohio to compete in a Ballroom Dance Competition. When I asked her if she was still planning on going, her response was, "Why wouldn't I? It's not like they are going to do the surgery this weekend." No, she lived her short live to the fullest, and I can learn so much from her.
This blog will be my companion through my journey...my journey to better health, my journey through my grief, my journey of learning how to live (and not just exist) without Joana.
I know that's what she would want me to do.
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