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  • Clarity In Hindsight

    I feel as though I’m in a dream. It’s all so surreal… like I’m an attendee at someone else’s wedding. Walking down the aisle with my parents at my side and viewing everyone from behind my veil awakens me to the fact that the wedding is indeed my own. ‘What am I doing? Why do I feel so disconnected from myself? Am I old enough to be doing this?’ I ask myself. And yet, “Here we are, gathered together in the sight of God…”

    How did I get to this point? I just don’t feel the unbridled joy I imagined my wedding day would bring. I love and cherish this wonderful man enough to marry him. But something just doesn’t feel quite right and hasn’t ever since I accepted his proposal…

    Looking back, as we neared the sixth-month count down to the wedding, the uneasy feeling in my gut seemed to grow. What in the world was that all about? Was it trying to communicate something to me or was it just normal jitters that accompany someone about to embark on a life-altering path? Unable to decipher what it was telling me, I started to wonder if it meant I shouldn’t marry him. I really, really didn’t want to make a mistake! On the one hand, I didn’t want to hurt him. But on the other, I knew it was ‘til death do us part.’

    At that point, I started to evaluate his words, his actions, his intentions, his everything. If I discovered that I needed to call this off and save face, I had to have a really good reason. I turned every stone to figure out what I was missing. In the end, I could find no major flaw and I knew that he truly did love me, and I him. That is why I found myself walking down the aisle toward him on my wedding day, praying this uneasy feeling was nothing serious.

    Having been raised in a very religious home, I was trained to always follow the rules. I was molded from a very early age to be overly concerned about other people’s opinions of me. This left me little room for exploring my own thoughts. My inner world was as foreign to me as a distant country so it never occurred to me to turn the flashlight of focus on myself rather than my fiancé.

    Years later, I embarked on another life-altering journey, one of inner self-discovery. It was then that I realized the uneasiness leading up to my wedding was my soul crying out to me, trying to get me to place my attention inward. It was questioning not whom I was marrying but if it was the right time in my life for me to get married. In so many ways, I had been so ill prepared to make that kind of commitment. At 22, I didn’t even know myself! I wasn’t fully formed into an adult yet! I still had so much learning, discovering and growing to do.

    With the exception of my college years, I went from living with my parents to living with my husband. Oh, I had wanted to take an apartment after college, but my parents came to me and reasoned that; “there are only two reasons why a young woman your age takes an apartment; one, because she wants to ‘shack up’ with a guy; or two, because she doesn’t get along with her parents… and neither one of those sits well with us. After all, what would people think? What would the neighbors think? What would the relatives think??” Not wanting to bring them disgrace, I caved. I always did what they wanted … like the good girl that I was.

    And just like that, I allowed my desire for independence to be defeated. I had just wanted to see what it felt like to be totally responsible for myself, pay my own bills and make my way in life. I couldn’t articulate it at the time but I had wanted to experience more of what life had to offer and to explore and discover myself as well. I now believe that is what my gut had been trying to tell me the months leading up to my wedding.

    Fortunately, marrying my husband turned out to be a very good decision that I’ve never regretted. Still, I can’t help but wonder what it’s like to be on one’s own and not have to take everyone else’s needs, desires or wishes into consideration… even if just for a short while.

    I fell into the role of wife seamlessly and then motherhood shortly after. I was so used to deciphering what people wanted and needed and providing what I could for them that life went on somewhat effortlessly.

    I continued struggling to figure out my own wants, needs, desires and whether or not I had the right to pursue them. Possibly because I’m a middle child, or perhaps because I had focused outward for so long, I was more familiar with focusing on other’s needs than knowing myself and discovering my own. It is an issue that I am still working on correcting.

    I know that it’s up to me. Little by little I’m learning to step out of this familiar groove and I’m creating new choices for myself; choices that put me in the equation and empower me to make decisions that are supportive of both ‘them’ and ‘me.’

    ~Zanne

    InSearchOfAuthenticity.com

    © 2018 Zanne

  • Uneventful Moments

    “Much of life is a string of uneventful moments,” the television commercial blares, penetrating my thoughts.

    When I stop and think about it, I realize there is truth in that statement. It reminds me of the play “Our Town” by Thornton Wilder, when Emily, after her death, chooses to return to earth to relive one day of her life. Afterwards, she poses a very thought-provoking question: “Does anyone truly understand the value of life while they live it?” Good question to ponder!

    At times, my life feels too eventful, like I’m on a roller coaster, hanging on for the ride. During times like this, I have actually craved mundane moments to regain my equilibrium. At other times, though, I do get lost in the minutia of life.

    Recently, one of my sons was lamenting that if he didn’t have to do laundry, cook and clean, he’d have all kinds of free time at his disposal. Wouldn’t we all?! I’ve often experienced his frustration. However, what if the minutia is actually a blessing to give us a break from thinking all the time? What if it’s an invitation for me to just “be”. The tasks keep my hands busy and my mind focused, giving me a break from the thoughts that often dominate my mind incessantly. If I can learn to enjoy the quiet and methodical nature of each task, couldn’t that be somewhat meditative in nature?

    If it is, this elevates the mundane to the level of sacred. This makes ‘life’s string of uneventful moments’ take on significance. Could this be what Emily had discovered after her life was over? To cherish everything, the uneventful as well as the eventful… to savor even the mundane because that’s the stuff of life; it is all good! It is all very good!

    ~Zanne

    InSearchOfAuthenticity.com

    © 2018 Zanne

  • Redefining Grief

    “Grief is not always about death, but it is always about attachment and separation.” ~Kenneth J. Doka

    The initial loss of a loved one can be sharp and deep. I remember, in my early twenties, losing my 85 yr. old grandfather quite suddenly. He sat down to watch the evening news, fell asleep and never woke up! I couldn’t rejoice in his good fortune of leaving this earth so peacefully because I was all consumed with my loss of his presence in my life. With the benefit of years and more life experience, I can, not only, see what a blessing this was for him, but also why I was, initially, so inconsolable.

    He was the first person, dear to me, to pass away. It shook me to my core. Of course, I understood that we all die… theoretically. It had just never touched my circle of family until that point. Besides knowing I’d miss him, his passing made me face my own eventual and certain mortality. That was scary because, up until that point, I felt like I had my whole life ahead of me with an unspoken premise that all would be well and would continue as it always had. His death shattered my attachment to this kind of thinking. It made me look at my parents and realize that some day they too would be gone, and so would I, as well as the rest of my family. I was forced to acknowledge the transitory nature of life.

    In the past, when I heard the word ‘grief’ or ‘grieving,’ more often than not, I unconsciously linked it with the death of a loved one. However, after examining this more closely, I’ve come to the realization that grief applies to many situations where we’re “separated” not only from someone but also, at times, some “thing.” Grief is involved when reality does not meet expectations… when my experience and view of my world is disrupted or taken away and life as I have known it, is no longer. When what I am experiencing is not what I had imagined and expected to experience, there is a reckoning that must take place. The process of letting go of my imagined expectations and embracing what is my new current reality, can be a painful, arduous process depending on how tightly I’ve been holding onto my preconceived expectations.

    The more attached I am to my vision of the way things should be, the harder it is to separate myself from it and the more pain and grief this separation causes me.

    I find this especially true when the future I am facing is not the one I had imagined. Going back to my grandfather’s passing, I knew I was going to miss him. Having been married only six months, I had been looking forward to having him over for more evenings of dinners together and playing cards, his favorite pastime. I grieved that loss as well. The future memories I had imagined creating with him vanished the moment he breathed his last.

    I think about how the loss of a spouse also means the loss of plans and a future that was imagined with both of them in the picture. I believe the grieving process involves grieving all that is lost not just the beloved.

    In my own current health situation, the future I am facing is a bit fuzzy. It may not be the future I had imagined. I am reminded, once again, to hold onto these imaginings loosely and while taking the time to acknowledge the loss, being willing to move into acceptance of ‘what is’ quickly. Doing so helps me manage life’s challenges with ease, grace and joy.

    ~Zanne

    InSearchOfAuthenticity.com

    © 2018 Zanne

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  • “You Have Breast Cancer”

    The doctor coaxes me awake long enough to tell me that the pathology test, done during surgery, showed no malignancy. My brain snaps to attention long enough to register the good news and then slips back into a peaceful slumber till the effects of anesthesia wear off and I can go home.

    Three days later, my husband and I are at my post-op visit for the anticipated rubber stamp of good health. We’re feeling extremely grateful that we dodged this bullet!

    My doctor walks in, plunks himself in the chair and looks at me with near disbelief in his eyes. “I just got off the phone with the pathologist. After freezing, dying and slicing the excised breast tissue from your surgery, he tells me he has, indeed, found microscopic cancer cells.”

    I stop breathing and the celebratory party inside me dies an instant death. Questions percolate but don’t quite make it to the surface. My brain does mental gymnastics trying to make sense of what I’ve just heard…or think I heard…but what does it mean? On some level I hear myself think; ‘microscopic’ cells… good! …Sounds harmless… But the more reasonable part of me screams, they are CANCER cells!!! That can’t be good! My mind is in a haze. I need to have the doctor spell it out for me. “What does that mean?!” I ask him.

    If he had been given to sarcasm, he would have replied, “Idiot! What part of cancer do you not understand?!” Instead, with a compassionate look, he delivers the news, “It means you have breast cancer.”

    No! Not me! It can’t be!! I’m healthy! I exercise! I don’t smoke, rarely have a drink and I eat quite well! I had my first of three children at 22! I breastfed them, and never took hormones of any kind! Something’s wrong here! This just can’t be!

    No matter how loudly my brain protests, the more rational part of me takes over. There is no doubt here! Everything is in slow motion and sharp focus now but feels surreal. Looking for a ray of hope, my brain switches tactics, but they’re ‘microscopic’ so that’s a good thing right? That must mean it’s a mild case, nothing to get too concerned about!

     The next 45 minutes go by in a blur. Parts of the conversation register enough for me to ask clarifying questions, but other parts – information that my husband says the doctor told us that day, I swear I never heard.

    We leave with an itinerary of appointments; a CT/PET scan, an MRI, and finally, an Oncologist. These tests will determine if the cancer has spread not only to the other breast but to other parts of my body as well. Unfortunately, the MRI cannot be performed until two weeks post surgery. Once performed, we must wait a few days for the results. We guess that we won’t know with any certainly for another few weeks. As we drive away, I expect at any moment I will jerk myself awake out of this bad dream that cannot be real. But I don’t… and it is.

    In those first couple of hours, I realize that our lives have drastically changed; that life as we knew it is no longer. I feel awash at sea. I’m desperate to locate the shoreline but feel disoriented and uncertain in which direction to swim. My husband and I embrace and cling to one another trying to sort out everything we’ve just heard. We are in foreign territory and in desperate need for solid, familiar ground. Our life is taking on the sensation of cotton candy caught in an unexpected rainstorm. It’s quickly dissolving and we feel helpless in our ability to keep it from happening….

    The clouds part just long enough for me to look inward at the situation from a more objective position. Whenever my life gets shaken up, once I’ve absorbed the initial shock, I retreat to my inner sanctum, my core. This allows me to look at the situation as an observer of my life, rather than from within the midst of the turmoil. It’s like watching the washing machine going through the spin cycle versus being inside it, spinning out of control.

    From this place, I realize that it would be so easy to let fear and panic take hold, and allow the “what ifs” to dominate. But in that same moment, I also realize that the choice is mine as to how I will internalize this diagnosis. It is the only thing I am really in control of at the moment. I ask myself: Do I want to feel doom and gloom? Do I want to spend the next several days/weeks/months in the grip of depression or ‘woe is me’ frame of mind? Furthermore, will it help my situation any to mope and to live in fear? From the depths of my being, the answer is a resounding NO! I want no part of this scenario!

    If I am happiest when living from loving intention, I reason, I cannot allow fear to take over. Fear clouds my judgment, robs me, as well as those around me, of joy. It disconnects me from my heart and soul, my center, my God. I feel a certain sense of responsibility not only to myself but also to my husband and family. I know that I want to learn and grow from this tough situation and also normalize it as best I can for all concerned.

    In this moment, I decide to live in what Dale Carnegie calls, “day-tight compartments.” One day at a time will serve me best. I do not want to borrow trouble from tomorrow; I only want to live in the present! Without denying the uncertainty that I feel, I commit to marching forward in an effort to live each day to its fullest. I tell myself, I don’t know anything yet. There’s a very real possibility that I will survive this. However, if I discover that I have only a small number of days left, I do not want to squander them in self-pity. I want to live each to the max, making the most of every moment.

     It’s been almost two hours since my appointment and my family has been waiting to hear. My sister, worried that I’ve gotten bad news, sends a text message, asking me if we are still with the doctor. I know I must make the calls. Even in my current state of bewilderment, I am aware that ‘how’ I frame this will make a huge difference in what they hear and how they will feel. I want them on the same page as I am on.

    I take a steadying breath. I call each one in turn and hear my voice crack a bit in the delivery. It is never the news anyone wants to deliver or hear, especially when the reality of it hasn’t sunk in yet. Even though I’ve known for a couple hours, it still resembles a bad dream. When they ask me how I feel, it’s clear they’re asking how I’m feeling emotionally. Careful to avoid sending us all into a state of despair, which would serve no one, I tell them I feel great physically and that is what I am choosing to focus on; that I’m taking it one day at a time. I’m not sure what they make of this but I am determined to avoid getting sucked into a downward spiral of no return.

    The first few days of unsettling news are always the most challenging so I know this will be no different. I wake frequently that first night and ask myself if I’ve just been having a bad dream, but even as I search my foggy brain for the answer, the rock-like feeling in the pit of my stomach verifies that it is indeed reality and not merely a dream.

    Morning comes early with plans to meet a friend for an event. While she assures me she would understand if I want to back out, my gut tells me it’s in my best interest to do things as I would without the diagnosis. I tell her, “I refuse to behave like I’m sick before I actually am. Let’s get going!”

    As I immerse myself in the day’s activities, there are stretches of time that I enjoy myself so completely, I forget about cancer. Then I have brief moments of remembrance. A wave comes crashing down on me, soaking me with the feelings of fear and uncertainty, with thoughts of what if… and my eyes are temporarily blinded with tears. I again reassure myself… I don’t know anything yet. There’s a very real possibility that I will survive this. However, if I discover that I have only a small number of days left, I do not want to squander them in self-pity. I want to live each to the max, making the most of every moment.

    This chant helps me make it through the first day. After I return from running errands by myself the evening of the second day, I back into my carport space. As I turn off the engine, I am overcome by a wave of sadness. I sit in the cover of darkness and allow myself to experience the fullness of my feelings as I sit there and cry. Thoughts of my husband, children, grandchildren and the rest of my family float across my field of vision and my heart breaks at the thought… the possibility…that I may not be a part of their lives at some point in the near future. While I made peace with death a long time ago, I think to myself, I didn’t consider all the wonderful moments I’d be missing. Again, I remind myself that I don’t know anything yet and I vow not to take any of these precious moments for granted. I pull myself together and go inside.

    Over the next few days, my husband and I have some great conversations about what we are experiencing. We each have moments when we are overcome with feelings of worry, fear, grief and sadness but, fortunately, we don’t seem to experience them at the same time. One of us is usually in a better place and is there for the other. There are always good things that come out of every challenge and this one has brought us closer and made us more attentive to one another.

    We make it through the first week and surprisingly, we’re getting used to living in this space of not knowing… one day at a time. It heightens our awareness as well as our appreciation for all things good and beautiful, of which there are many!

    After the CT/PET scan, we try to occupy our down time, hoping the four-day wait will go by faster. This is the test that will tell us if the cancer has spread to other parts of my body. The doctor’s nurse is quick to call us immediately after the results come in, a full day and half ahead of schedule. As luck would have it, I forget my phone in the car and miss the call. By the time I realize my phone is missing and retrieve it, I see a voicemail that was left three hours earlier! Ugh! We could have known three hours sooner!

    We listen, hungry for news. We hear, “Other than the original site, there is no evidence of metastasis.” It has not spread to other organs! I slump in relief as my breath leaves my body in a rush of air I didn’t realize I was holding. My husband and I embrace, do a happy dance and go out to dinner to celebrate. We are not home free yet, I still need to get an MRI to make sure the other breast is not involved but we are so grateful for this good news! Alleluia! Several days later, on Friday, I have the MRI. We’re in the doctor’s office to review the results the following Monday morning.

    It seems good news must always be tempered with not-so-good news. While the cancer does not appear to have spread, clear margins were not established with the last surgery so I need a second excision surgery to attempt it again. At that time, my lymph system will be checked for cancer as well. We feel cautiously optimistic, as we appear to be moving in the right direction!

    ~Zanne

    InSearchOfAuthenticity.com

    © 2018 Zanne

     

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  • The Magic of Christmas

    As I sit here, admiring the Christmas tree adorned with ornaments and lights twinkling like a multitude of stars, I feel the same spirit of Christmas I felt as a child, complete with all the magic that it held. Is it the beauty of this tree? The gifts beneath it that were wrapped with such care, preening in shiny ribbons and bows? Where does the “Magic” stem from?

    I’ve reflected about this often over the years. I’ve come to realize that as beautiful as all of the season’s trimmings are, the magic of Christmas, at its root, is simply…LOVE. Love in all its glorious forms is what I feel in abundance at this time of year. When I experience a joyous Christmas Spirit, it’s because I have entered the realm of “Love-Awareness.” It’s living each day in this Spirit of Love… for family, friends, and for everyone I meet; yes, even for myself. The decorations and music create a warm ambiance that serves as a reminder of this Season of Love.

    Many years ago I wondered…’What if I could carry this awareness with me throughout the year? Would it make a difference??’ From that desire was born a new daily ritual that my family has gotten used to. I now listen to my Christmas meditation music all year round. It plays in the background as I start each day. Its soothing instrumentals serve as a cue, of sorts, that coaxes me to a special place where I’m consciously aware of and present to Love. It reminds me to keep the Christmas Spirit in my heart, day in and day out, year in and year out. By incorporating this small but important ritual, I am so much more aware of giving and receiving love on a daily basis. It is the Hope, Joy, Peace and mostly, Love– hallmarks of this season’s magic–that I wish to have firmly ensconced in my heart all year round.

    Merry Christmas!

    ~Zanne

    InSearchOfAuthenticity.com

    © 2017 Zanne

  • Ladylike

    A friend and I recently reflected about the challenge of having been raised to be good, polite, good-natured, kind (often to our own detriment), understanding, and never-in-a-bad-mood, by mothers who displayed these characteristics in abundance.

    Not that this is bad; it feels great to be in a calm, loving household environment. But because our role models rarely displayed negative emotions, it left us wondering what was wrong with us, that we had negative emotions and what to do with them when we did. It was like being unexpectedly tossed a lump of hot coal and juggling it while frantically searching for an appropriate place to dispose of it.

    We all know of at least one woman who would continue to hold the searing lump even as it was burning a hole in her hands, all the while continuing to smile graciously, like her face was totally unaware of the pain in another part of her body. We know this woman… rather intimately, because many of us have been that woman at least once…possibly even more than once.

    Although unaware of it at the time, the message that played and replayed in my head while growing up was: “Displaying negative emotions is unladylike. It would permanently damage other people’s opinion of me… and that is to be avoided at all costs. Therefore, I do not acknowledge negative emotions; they simply do not exist.”

    I spent a lifetime dismissing negative emotions as irrelevant, just quickly accepting whatever was and making the best of it. Even when I felt really angry, I always maintained control of my emotions. I would not allow myself to let it out. Somehow, I felt that such a display would not only be a disgrace but that I would be dismissed as hysterical, so I said nothing.

    Somewhere along the years, I became aware that the choice was mine. I was no longer willing to play by these rules; the price was just too high. There had to be a better way than to remain silent and essentially give others permission to walk all over me. I sensed I was trading my honest self-expression for a facsimile of myself. I couldn’t live like that anymore but with no role models to observe, how would I go about making a positive change in myself? Where would I even start?

    First, I needed to learn how to identify the negative emotion when I felt “bad.” Until something is acknowledged, it is impossible to name. Slowly, by allowing myself to feel my emotions, and getting comfortable with that, I found the accurate words to define them. Was it anger? Betrayal? Unfairness? Belittling? Shame? Learning to label these feelings was like learning a new language.

    Second, once I knew what I was feeling, I wanted to understand why I was feeling that emotion. When knitting or crocheting, you occasionally have to rip out most of the stitches to get to the “missed stitch.” Trying to get to the root of each emotional surge was much like that. Holding onto the emotional thread long enough to find its origin, then repairing and rebuilding from there.

    Third, once I learned to identify my feeling and to understand where it stemmed from, I next had to learn how to properly express it. I wanted to be able to communicate it to others in such a way, that they would, not only hear, but also understand exactly what I said. I learned that it would be most effective if I presented it in a truthful, non-judgmental, non-intimidating manner. Having been a conflict avoider all of my life until that point, made me feel doubtful I had the courage to complete this part of the process.

    Nonetheless, I knew that my very being was at stake and felt I needed to take responsibility to grow up in this area of my life. Like a yearling that emerges from his mother’s womb on clumsy, unsteady legs, step by step, I started to speak up for myself. I made many mistakes along the way. Like any new skill, I needed time, practice, room for errors and more practice. What I realized is that even if I made a mistake, it merely presented another opportunity to set the record straight.

    The interesting thing that happened along the way is that I became real. Once I no longer tried to portray a flawless image of who I thought I should be, I became comfortable in my own skin. I accepted the flawed human being that I was and became less critical of myself. In turn, as I became gentler and more understanding of myself, I became less judgmental of others. I gave them the same space to be themselves and extended to them the same grace I had given to myself.

    The metamorphosis has been incredible. I cannot imagine living my life any other way. Instead of striving to be “ladylike,” I now strive to be “authentic.” This doesn’t necessarily eliminate all the qualities that were modeled for me, just those that might silence me or negate who I am. My progress, while slow has been steady, and continues to be an area of focus in my life to this day.

    ~Zanne

    InSearchOfAuthenticity.com

    © 2017 Zanne

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  • The Gift of Receiving

    After finding out I needed an MRI, I talked with a friend who had one a few years ago. She assured me there was no need to worry. Her calming influence put my mind at ease and my spirit at peace. I asked if she would be willing to accompany me and wait while I had the test done. I sensed that having her there would provide the calmness I needed.

    “Yes!” was her immediate reply. She later texted saying she was so happy I had asked her! And here I was, feeling uneasy about taking up her time for something I told myself I ought to be strong enough to do on my own. Yet her reply conveyed genuine joy at being able to help me!

    This led me to examine my views on giving and receiving. I recalled the old adage, “It’s better to give than to receive.” But is this really true? Is it possible that when I refuse help or refuse to even ask, I may be denying both of us a blessing?

    I needed to ponder that thought for a while because being on the receiving end can cause me a measure of discomfort. I discovered a belief that dictates it is more desirable to be independent. Moreover, asking for help with something I can do by myself is not only an imposition on others but borders on selfishness. Does this belief serve me well? And is this a belief I want to hold onto, I asked myself?? Probably not!!

    Like most people, I have a need to be self-sufficient, which I see as good and healthy… to an extent. However, when a real need arises, be it physical or emotional, can I overcome my opposing need for independence? Can I allow myself to receive with an open heart? I discovered that when I do, I receive not only the help I need, but I am also graced with the accompanying love bestowed upon me by the giver. Receiving is indeed a blessing!

    My friend helped crack open the door to a new way of thinking and being. Because I sensed her genuine pleasure, the fog lifted and I saw more clearly that what she offered by being there with me, was not just her time, but the gift of her care, her concern and most precious of all… the gift of herself.

    ~Zanne

    InSearchOfAuthenticity.com

    © 2017 Zanne

  • Silver Linings and Gold Nuggets

    I’ve always tried to put myself in their shoes when someone told me they had a diagnosis of cancer. I no longer have to imagine what it must be like. Instead, I get to experience it first hand. Don’t get me wrong, it’s certainly not something I would have chosen, but since I find myself thrust into the cave of this ugly monster, I’m definitely going to pull out my flashlight and have a look around. Compassion comes from truly understanding what others are going through, and now I’ll really know.

    I’ve been told I process life events differently. At times, I admit I do feel different about the way I navigate them. I use a process I adopted over the years that has made what we’d normally consider a BAD experience not all bad.

    I used to allow such an experience to overtake me. I’d wallow in self-pity, complete with… “Why me? It’s not fair!” … I would be totally immersed in the victim role that’s so easy to fall into during hard times. Eventually, I acknowledged that this sort of carrying on did not move me in a better direction at all. In the end, I felt worse for having caved in and having subjected myself to being victimized by the event. There had to be a better way.

    Then I heard that “Every cloud has a silver lining.” That got me thinking. If it’s true, then I needed to find that silver lining in every unpleasant situation in which I found myself. This was a skill I knew I had to develop if I wanted to stop the insane victimization I experienced every time one of life’s curve balls came my way. In the beginning, looking at things this way made each incident only a bit more palatable. Along the way, however, I discovered that paying attention and being proactive in digging allowed me to make better choices. Moreover, I always collected golden nuggets of wisdom and understanding. The grip of feeling like a victim finally loosened and I started to feel more empowered.

    Like toning a muscle with exercise, I practiced my new way of thinking and began responding differently to situations. As challenges presented themselves, a trigger went off in my mind, and automatically, like Pavlov’s dogs looking for their reward, I started to look for the good that could come from each one. This way of dealing with life’s challenges has never disappointed me. I have learned so much along the way!

    Lest you think I’m being “Pollyanna-ish” about this cancer diagnosis, I can tell you that I’m on a semi-controlled roller coaster ride right now.   Having to wait for tests and their results in order to know the complete diagnosis and course of treatment can send my heart racing and my thoughts galloping like a headless horseman heading toward a cliff. I grapple between wanting to know now and wanting to stay in the space of not knowing, where there is still hope if the diagnosis is not a good one. I hope for the best, but it’s too easy to imagine the worst, if I allow myself to. Reigning in these thoughts and feelings is taking all the emotional muscle I’ve ever “trained.” I know there will be tough days ahead, days where I will completely forget everything I’ve written here. It’s not a matter of denying my feelings and emotions, but rather, acknowledging every one of them, feeling every one of them, embracing every one of them and mining each for the insights they undoubtedly hold.

    Much love,

    ~Zanne

    InSearchOfAuthenticity.com

    © 2017 Zanne

     

     

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  • What Anger?

    “Hi Babe!” My husband greets me as I walk through the door after work. He’s been studying for his Master’s degree and welcomes the break. He looks at me, does a double take and immediately asks, “What’s the matter?”

    “Nothing,” I reply in a controlled tone.

    He walks over, looks at me and says, “I can tell something is the matter, I can see it in your face.” After only 16 months of marriage he knows me too well.

    I lift my eyes to meet his and a sob escapes my lips as I see the compassion in his eyes. My face crumples and immediately his arms are around me. I blubber about an incident at the gas pump that culminated in an older man giving me a piece of his mind. I could barely get the words out, I was stammering so much.

    Eventually, the event that got me upset became less important than the fact that whenever someone mistreated me, I would cry. “I’m an adult,” I would tell myself, “why don’t I feel like one?”

    Back then, I felt like such a baby because whenever I was angry, all I seemed to be able to do was to break down in tears. If someone treated me with disrespect, the intense anger I felt would make me cry. If someone cheated me, I’d get angry, and, you guessed it, I would cry. It was so frustrating to me that anger always reduced me to tears. “Why?” I berated myself. “Why can’t I just stand up for myself and tell people what I think?”

    One day, as I was journaling, a thought popped into my head and onto the page. I felt it in my bones that this gem required further investigating. As I continued to probe, it all unfolded one thought revealing another and understanding finally started to take shape.

    I had grown up in a peaceful, rather serene and happy household, where there was an unwritten rule that emotional displays of anger were not allowed. We were told in no uncertain terms to ‘simmer down.’ Anger was not tolerated for one minute… Reflecting back on my childhood, what I also discovered was that tears were not only tolerated but seen as perfectly acceptable. Hurt was understood and ministered to, while anger was suppressed.

    With that habit pattern firmly in place, from a very young age, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to understand why my anger always erupted in tears… it was the only acceptable form of escape it ever had!

    Once I learned to acknowledge my anger and was able to make peace with it, I also learned to express it in more mature ways. I am now able to talk issues through and I no longer dissolve into tears when I’m angry.

    It never ceases to amaze me what an incredible tool self-reflection has been in my life. Recognizing a behavior that needs attention, then making it a priority to dig long enough to understand it’s underpinnings allows me to press the “reset” button and reprogram myself with more wholesome behaviors.

    ~Zanne

    InSearchOfAuthenticity.com

    © 2017 Zanne

  • On Strike!

    Every once in awhile, my muse goes on strike. Try as I might to coax her into a writing mood, she digs her heels in and scoffs at me. I hate to admit that it takes this drama to call my attention to the fact that I haven’t been taking care of her needs. “Reflection time!” She emphasizes in frustration and disbelief that I’ve neglected it, yet again. “Is that too much to ask for?!,” she fumes, “Regular quiet time to renew and replenish my soul!”

    That’s when I realize I’ve been pushing the envelope for too long, deluding myself that all was fine. I never really get away with it, even though, in the moment I can easily justify skipping just one more day…

    Even as I reestablish a quiet time routine after our move and being sick, it’s not as easy as sitting down and picking up where I left off. It’s more like when my husband teaches me a new program on my computer and I don’t take the time to practice what he’s taught me right away. A couple weeks later, I need to use that new program and I’ll be darned if I can remember the sequence he taught me. I struggle with it till, sheepishly, I call on his patience once again, to walk me through the steps.

    Writing is a lot like that, for me. Unless I maintain that connection to my soul, the well dries up. If I’ve gotten side-tracked or neglected to prime the pump, when I come to fill my cup, the one drop that eventually plops in has evaporated by the time the second one appears. There is significant effort needed to get the well primed to produce a flow of water again.

    After a lot of busyness, my mind is like a popcorn popper, with ideas and thoughts popping in from all over the place. The effort of sitting in quiet to reflect is akin to trying to maintain calm after having had three cups of coffee. It is through sheer effort that I glue my posterior onto the chair and make myself write… even if it’s nonsense in the beginning, which it usually is! But just showing up and working at it, regardless of the result, primes the pump so that eventually the mud gets replaced with muddy drops, which eventually get replaced with murky water, which after significant pumping, then gets replaced with a full flow of clear water.

    What I continue to be reminded, which applies to anything worthwhile in life, is that I must show up to do the work, one way or the other. Either I continue to prime the pump daily, which requires the least effort, or I must do the work all at once, which feels more like pushing a boulder uphill. I know that if I devote consistent time to reflection, not only can I avoid future strikes, but I will more easily access the wellspring within.

    ~Zanne

    InSearchOfAuthenticity.com

    © 2017 Zanne