The Real "Me"?

Things are not completely as they seem.

It has been over 10 months since my first cancer surgery.

It has been almost 6 months since my second.

It has been over 4 months since radioactive treatment.

A lot of people are aware of my normal, everyday routine.  And that routine looks a lot like my “before cancer” days.

I go to work.

I am very happy at my work.

I work hard.

I banter with the barista in my local coffee shop.

I appear to have more social and relational energy than sorority girls half my age.

I throw a BIG birthday bash for my 16 year old.

I yell instructions at kids in the Green Room all week at my daughter’s theater.

I really tick off my daughter by a tough parenting decision.

I laugh with my daughter about high schooler’s antics over a spaghetti lunch.

I chat with friends about professional challenges and joys in this stage of our life.

I fly to San Diego with my husband for his work conference.

I am cheerful and sassy.

And then people tell me I am looking good.  Healthy.  Happy.

If I’m doing all this stuff (and look so dang good!), my cancer recovery is going fine.  Right??  Well, this is what they see.  And what they see is true. This is the real “me”.  I am not faking it.

Here is what a lot of people are NOT aware of:

I still sleep 10 to 12 hours a night at least 3 nights a week. 

I often stay in bed for a few more hours after I wake up on those following mornings.

I sometimes feel unsafe to drive I am so fatigued.

I consistently fight a frustrating mental fog.

I have very fragile coping skills. (Poop!)

I struggle to return emails and phone calls.

I am overwhelmed with some of the basics of life.

I feel a bit panicky if I feel even a mild time crunch.

I am pulled deeply into a cocoon of protective reserve.

I live in a posture of measuring and guarding any available shred of energy or vitality.

I am weak.

I do not like this second list.  I am embarrassed by it.  Very few people experience me in this way.  But it is also the real “me” during this season of my life.       

Living my life with integrity and raw honesty are inexpressibly high values.  By nature, I am an open person.  Why, then, do I struggle to display the second list of this temporary real “me”?   I’ll tell you why.  Because it is just plain easier to display the first list.  Easier by far.  Both for me and for others. I function better and feel happier, people are more comfortable and frankly, it’s not always appropriate for me to vomit my latest discouragement onto the next poor, unsuspecting soul who dares inquire.

And here’s another thing: the longevity factor.  After this many months, to consistently voice my chronic discomfort gets OLD.  Both for me AND the listener.  It’s been MONTHS, people!  Months of medical updates.  Months of some good news and a lot of bad news.  Months of kind support offered and taken.  Months of feeling crappy and wanting desperately to say, “I feel great! Thank you for asking.”  Months of friends waiting to hear the same. It gets so very old – like an old scratched 33 album when the needle gets stuck.

So I go through my days looking and acting “normal”.  (*insert smart aleck comment here*)  And a part of me is deeply grateful for the ability to do so. And part of me wants to shout to the world that things are not completely as they seem. (And maybe this blog is my own personal shout out!)

And I know I am NOT alone.

What about my dear friend who lost her husband 2 years ago and everyone thinks she should be over it and start dating again?  What about my delightful former student who pastors a small, rural church and no one knows how disillusioned and painfully close to resignation he is?  What about my outwardly well adjusted, professionally successful friend who has told me she has lost all hope and no one in her world realizes that she has a plan, a means and a clear intent to take her own life?  What about my friend who is profoundly scarred by cruelty from church leadership and no one knows that she can’t re-enter a church without involuntarily feeling sick to her stomach? What about my friend who lives with the chronic, painful affects of MS and rarely mentions the toll it takes?  What about the friend who I go to church with who’s perfectly kept secret is that her husband had an affair 4 years ago and she’s still not sure if marriage will make it?

Here is what I know:

Everyone – and I mean everyone – has unseen pain. 

Pain – emotional, physical and spiritual – can take a long, long time to heal. 

Genuine suffering is rarely public.

In my public life, things are not completely as they seem. 

And you know, after writing this, I believe I feel a bit more normal!  (*insert second smart aleck comment here*)