Books: When Things Fall Apart by Pema Chodron (part 5)

Let's keep thinking about When Things Fall Apart. As a reminder, so far I've talked about embracing fear, being vulnerable, embracing hope, and letting go of control. 

I've mentioned before that I felt like I deserved this condition. If this was meant to happen and everything happens for a reason, it's my own fault that I have this cancer, right. I mean, who else could I possibly blame for the Hell that has been the last five months?

The Venerable Pema Chodron says that there is a teaching that says "Drive all blames into oneself" (Chodron 81). Bearing in mind that she is not trying to encourage us to be scapegoats, instead, what she says is that

"pain comes from holding so tightly to having it our own way . . . It is a very common, ancient, well-perfected device for trying to feel better. Blame others. Blaming is a way to protect our hearts, to try to protect what is soft and open and tender in ourselves. Rather than own that pain, we scramble to find some comfortable ground" (Chodron 81-82).

As another tiny little scared blip in a world full of tiny little scared blips, I felt this like an arrow aimed right at my heart. I am not comfortable exposing my vulnerabilities. I am afraid to get hurt.  That fear is overwhelming because I've felt that pain, and I've squeezed so hard that I lost some ephemeral pieces of myself.

Ultimately, this comes back to the idea that I don't have to hold on so tightly. I am exposing myself "over and over to annihilation" and I am finding within me that which is indestructible (Chodron 8).

People tell me that I am brave and strong, but I am afraid. People look at me with surprise because apparently I don't look like I have cancer, but I feel like I have cancer. People seem uncomfortable when I make inappropriate and macabre jokes about my cancer, but I feel most comfortable when I am able to mock that which is trying to kill me.

Simply put,  the part of me that is indestructible is learning that this diagnosis does not have complete power over me.

Sometimes there is nothing I can do, and cancer takes over. Sometimes the ugly side rears up and I spend hours vomiting. Sometimes I am hyperaware that just a few months ago, I had two brain surgeries, and as far the doctors can see, I came out with only very minor cognitive deficits. Sometimes I get frustrated with a body that is weak from the process of recovery and a mind that occasionally struggles to communicate my thoughts because there are consequences to having a Rockstar Neurosurgeon digging around in your skull.

But there are these beautiful fleeting moments when I can forget that I'm the cancer lady. Dancing with The Husband in the kitchen. Playing with my goofy dog in the yard. Going out to a dinner where nobody there knows that I have cancer so I don't have to talk about cancer or think about cancer or be the cancer lady. Laughing at my dopey cats who try very hard to maintain their dignity even though they are clumsy and a little dumb. These beautiful fleeting moments make everything worth all of this.