Day 320: The Art of Asking

Practice asking. Consider what people expect of you and how you may hesitate to ask for what you want or need. So, here’s a concrete example. I like plants. Well, like is an understatement because I have a huge collection! I received a plant order last Saturday and was unhappy until I decided to address the issue. I thought about how I have responded to customer concerns when they’ve ordered from my Etsy store. I always make things right if there’s an issue which means I take the loss. I reached out to the seller because I’ve ordered from her in the past and am accustomed to pristine quality. This plant was not in that category or the one next to it. Last Monday, I sent the seller a politely worded message with pictures praising her excellent customer service, packaging, and lovely plants. The second plant in the order was gorgeous so, the two of them looked like like ol’ Leroy had hooked up with a much younger woman. The seller has a no refund/no exchange policy although customers may reach out if there is an issue with their order. Long story short, she responded the same day and said she’d mail out a replacement plant within a few days.

Photo Credit: Julene Wilson (one third or one fourth of my collection)

I’ve also been thinking about what my Uber driver said on Friday as he drove me home from TJ Maxx. Abdullah had helped me with two small but heavy tables I had purchased to display plants.

“You deserve to be helped.”

No, he was not flirting. I believe God wanted me to hear those words.

I had a brief but emotional moment in the backseat but maintained my composure. It‘s always been hard for me to ask for help. I think this habit is a combination of pride and not wanting to make other people’s lives difficult, a habit I learned as a child. I also realize that people expect a lot from women of color, but there’s often very little reciprocity. Think about setting yourself on fire to keep other people warm then you still have to put out the flames and take yourself to the hospital. That’s what many of our lives look like.

Abdullah explained Uber’s policy of not wanting drivers to lift packages or load things into their trunk, which adds context to some of my experiences although I believe there are other factors. He explained that despite his back surgery-I could see the scar at the back of his neck, he tried to help his customers, especially old men and women. He said his wife warned him to be careful and urged him to quit.

“But who will pay the bills or my children’s tuition?”

Even as I told him to be careful and take care of himself, I thought about how receiving care or gifts from people often embarrasses me.

Photo Credit: Julene Wilson, Hoya wayetti

Sometimes self-care and self-love look like expecting the same level of excellence from people they expect from you. To quote TD Jakes, “Relationships die when there is a lack of reciprocity.” Do you have a reciprocative relationship with yourself, or do you give your best to others and expect nothing in return? Learning the art of asking may take practice, so start with small requests.

My replacement hoya wayetti arrived last Thursday.

My Etsy store info: http://www.bettabodybutter.etsy.com

Day 239: What God Won’t Do

The first person I heard say “God helps those who help themselves” was a high school teacher. I did well in his class but this phrase still made me uncomfortable. At the time, it seemed to imply that those who suffered hardship were always in control of their circumstances. Over the years, I’ve also heard it used by people who want to absolve themselves of caring for their neighbor. In Western culture, there is more of a focus on individualism versus communal responsibility. It’s one of those phrases that falls in line with “Pull yourself up by your bootstraps.” Some people don’t have footwear and others don’t have feet. However, there is some truth to the adage. There are times when the trouble in which we find ourselves is of our own making. Furthermore, the victim mindset prevents us from seeing a way out. Part of being an adult especially if I am a Christian, is to own my mess. Everything is not someone else’s fault and I can’t be the victim in every story.

This August marks three years since I left the hospital after a weeklong stay to recover from the effects of chemotherapy. Since then, I have been doing a lot of unpacking. Here are some lessons that I’ve learned since then about what God will and will not do.

God will not be manipulated by my temper tantrums or self-pity. Life can be hard y’all. It’s hard in different ways for billions of people. The story that is unfolding in Afghanistan in the midst of a global pandemic is just another example of how difficult things can become. I want to be careful to say I do not mean that our individual struggles do not matter simply because the world is on fire, literally and figuratively. We absolutely need to process our particular issues and how they impact us. Nonetheless, we can get to a place where we believe that God owes us something for the pain we’ve suffered which is a normal human response. To stay in that mindset is also not helpful. There are times when God allows us to catch a glimpse of how our pain can serve a purpose but sometimes He doesn’t and that’s His right. While that’s frustrating, I don’t think we are as prepared as we think we are to handle the answers to some of the questions we ask God.

God will not do for me what I can do for myself. Most times, God nudges me when He wants me to address something in my life. After my first cancer battle, I realized I needed to begin therapy. I had to unpack what it meant for me to be so checked out from my body that I did not make the connection between my health issues and how difficult it was for me to work and attend graduate school. I had to deal with the unresolved trauma that made me uncomfortable with being touched by medical professionals which led to neglecting my health and ultimately, cancer. I am also unpacking what it meant for me to not struggle with the decision to to relinquish my womb. Although I believe I made the right choice because the cancer came back with a vengeance, I am now aware that I never thought I’d be married or have children anyway. Nonetheless, I now better understand my friends’ concerns about undergoing a partial hysterectomy even though I was frustrated and hurt by their opinions. They seemed to be privilege a potential spouse and children over my real health issues. I know their concern was genuine but they did not fully understand what was taking place in my body because I did not disclose certain details. These last few sentences need their own post(s) or a book.

The truth is that any kind healing is often a complicated, drawn out business and I have to participate in the process instead of just expecting God to make me whole. Healing comes in facing things and realizing they’re not so monstrous they can’t be overcome. I realize that I must deal with what has been done to me, what I’ve done to myself and lastly, what I’ve done to others. Sometimes I am the perpetrator. The ability to participate in my own healing is a gift because it shows that God has given me what I need to thrive in spite of hardship and bad choices. That in itself is grace.

God will not make me disciplined about anything-not about managing time, money, resources, health or other areas of my life. I can’t shout and praise my way to discipline. I can’t quote Bible verses in place of discipline. Neither can you. Jesus said the person who listened to Him and put His words into practice was like a house built on a rock that could withstand life’s storms. The person who just listened or mentally assented was like a foolish person whose house was built on sand. That house was destroyed by the same storm.

God will not not make up my mind for me. If I’m honest, I sometimes want God to write in the sky before I make a decision which causes me to waste valuable time. There are times when I should be cautious in my decision making. However, there are certainly occasions when I need to make a choice and trust God to walk with me through that process. We don’t trust that God is able to redirect us if we take a wrong turn in our attempt to follow Him. The visual I have is of a child who is just learning how to walk. They usually keep checking in with their parent to make sure they’ll catch them if they fall. Their posture and facial expression is, “You’ll help me if I hurt myself, right?” That’s often how we approach God.

God will not make me believe Him. The extent to which I believe Him will be evidenced in the unconscious and conscious choices I make throughout the day. Faith shows up in whether I give into my emotions or acknowledge them and move on. Furthermore, the extent to which I believe God is based on trust and I am aware of how life experiences can make it difficult for me to do so.

That’s all I’ve got for now. I am so grateful for this period of my life where I have the privilege to unpack and make wiser decisions based on what I have found.

Day 5: Consistency

The general consensus is that it takes twenty-one days or three weeks for a new habit to form. A few weeks ago, I heard a psychologist say it takes longer than that and I believe her. When I began writing two decades ago, I would never have imagined that I would share my writing with the world. A mentor had given me a journal and I suspect that she sensed my need to express my thoughts via writing. Or, perhaps she thought a journal might have suited me. It did. She passed this year and although I don’t remember any of our conversations, I do recall her sweet spirit and the gift she gave me-permission to express myself honestly. Prior to this, the only writing I did was for school and short stories I wrote for myself.

Two decades and over twenty journals later, I am still writing. There is an ebb and flow to my writing which means there are times when I write several pages a day for weeks or months on end, and other times when I write sporadically. The pressure of a global pandemic along with the political, economic, and social unrest that occurred in 2020, resulted in depression. These things were an added burden to the personal struggles I was experiencing. Most of last year proved to be one of those times when I found little comfort in journalling. Usually, I had to force myself to write or my emotions reached an unbearable level and writing was one of my few escapes. Good friends who knew about the importance of writing in my life often asked whether I was still journalling. My usual response was, “Not as much as before. It’s hard to write at the moment.”

One of the reasons I’ve chosen to share my writing with others is because I know my experiences are not unique. Millions of people have suffered from cancer. Many have battled it more than once. Like me, others have felt the sting of rejection and wrestled with questions of self worth. Still others have questioned God about the meaning of life’s pain and tragedies. At the risk of being told I am offering unsolicited advice, I am extending an invitation to others to have conversations about deep rooted things. Perhaps you are already having these conversations. If so, I am glad because we all need permission to share our lives in safe environments. Perhaps you are someone who keeps things bottled up. As someone who can be private and has slowly opened up to others over the years, I will not preach to you about lowering your walls. I know how comforting they can be.

I constantly return to writing because it is a necessity and a source of joy. There is a freedom in writing that I don’t often find in other spaces. Writing has also allowed me to become better acquainted with myself. Thousands of hours of jotting down my thoughts have provided me with opportunities to process things that I did not even know I had buried. A few weeks ago, I looked up a compulsive behavior I had not thought about in years and reflected on my time in high school. I will write about that at another time.

Sometimes, consistency is a matter of necessity. I write because it is one of my fundamental needs. More importantly, I need to write in a manner that allows me to express myself authentically-no shade to academic writing, but really. I write to remind myself that I do not need to use academics or religion as facades. I am tempted to hide behind both of these things and it is a struggle to grapple with the intersections of faith, socio-economic class, gender, nationality, race, size, and other identities I have not even considered.

I write as a method of investigating my inner life. I keep finding things that surprise me and enable me to make the connections between thought processes and certain behaviors. So, I will keep writing.

Run Your Own Race- Not Quite PhinisheD

(Originially written on Saturday, May 4th, 2019). I recently saw a kevonstage video which spoke about running your own race. I watched it earlier today and thought it was timely given the way I’ve been feeling. As a graduate student, I have to constantly resist the urge to compare myself to other people. I’m successful for the most part. As I watched my friends and peers emerge in their regalia, I was proud I could witness their moment of accomplishment. However, yesterday was hard. Last year, I missed a number of my friends and peers graduate because I was in New York. Yesterday was a reminder that more people would be moving on.

Over the last few weeks, I have become more emotional about graduation. My joy for others has been mingled with a questioning of my own progress. Although I had to take more than a year off from my program in order to undergo treatment and recover from my cancer recurrence, a part of me feels as though I’m behind because I was not hooded along with my cohort. I know it is foolish for me to think this way but human emotions can be illogical. Last year, I began my second round of chemotherapy on May 2nd. The day before Mother’s Day, I asked my sister-in-law to shave my hair off because it had started to fall out. I had no intention of traumatizing myself by waiting for my hair to come out in chunks.

Five years ago, I was recovering from surgery after being diagnosed with endometrial cancer. At that time, I focused on entering Michigan State University with an intensity that distracted me from the trauma my body had undergone. I steeled myself so that my emotions would not drown me. Nothing would prevent me from earning the doctorate I had wanted since I was an undergrad. As I went to doctors’ appointments and listened to their prognosis, I understood that cancer was a threat to my life. However, I also viewed it as an obstacle to my educational goals. Like a runner whose focus was on the finish line, I set my sights on moving to Michigan and beginning my program. I am surprised that half a decade has passed since then. One thing I realize is our race almost never resembles a straight trajectory. The path is full of curves, sudden dips in the terrain and steep climbs. Just as I have endured my personal battles in the midst of earning a doctorate, my peers have endured their own struggles. We each have our own path.

My journey is just as important as my destination. Along the way, I have been able to build endurance and strategies which will be helpful in furture battles. I am working through what it means to extend grace to myself and face things I was unwilling to address in the past. On this leg of my race, I’ve also been privileged to have wonderful individuals walk beside me. I’m in good company. As I complete program milestones, I’d do well to remember that my path is unique to who I am.

Shout out to my sister-in-law for calling me a few hours after I’d written my first draft of this post. She reminded me that even though I had not yet completed my program, I have come a long way since last year. By July 2018, I had become so weak that I needed to use my cane again. One night, my Mom positioned herself behind me, her smaller frame pressed against my back, and walked me to the bathroom. There were other times when she had to feed me. Another night, both my parents walked me to my room and put me to bed.

I’m stronger and continue to press forward. Thank God I didn’t die of cancer. Those things are worth celebrating.

I Don’t Want to Suffer

(Originally posted on Friday, April 19th, 2019). Today is Good Friday. The Bible describes Jesus’ last moments throughout the Gospels-the Last Supper where he washed his disciples’ feet where he flipped the script and showed them that to be truly great you had to willingly serve others, his agonizing moment in the Garden of Gethsemane where he told his Father, “If at all possible, let this cup pass from me. Nevertheless, not my will but yours be done.”

I don’t like suffering. In a world where suffering is so commonplace we often become numb to it, I’d like to pass my cup. It does no good for me to say other people have suffered more than I have, or that I should be grateful that I’m still alive. I can acknowledge these things, turn them over in my mind again and again, mentally assent to them, and still say that I’d like to relinquish this experience if I could. At the end of the day, I have to carry my own cross.

In December 2017, I was diagnosed with a recurrence of endometrial cancer after almost two weeks in the hospital. It would be another week before I was able to go home. As a private person, I would rather not divulge the details of that experience to people but I will because I believe I should. I started to share on my personal Facebook page but thought a blog would be a more appropriate place to talk about my experience. Starting a blog is part of my healing and I believe my posts may be helpful to other people.

Jesus knew there was a purpose to his death but he didn’t pretend the process was an easy one. I won’t go through the details of cruxifiction here. If you’ve seen Passion of the Christ, you’ll see a fairly accurate picture of how the Romans carried out this form of punishment.

“Father if at all possible, would you let this cup pass from me?”

I remember one Sunday in the Spring of 2018 when I took an Uber to the hospital because I was experiencing pain on my left side. My main tumor was in my left pelvis and was large enough to press on my bladder and back up urine into my left kidney. To prevent me from going into kidney failure, my urologist placed a stint in my left ureter in December 2017. Fortunately, tests revealed I only had a bladder infection during this visit.

As I waited in the emergency room, I called a friend in Michigan who had been praying for me. During our conversation I told her “If I could crawl away from my body and leave it here, I would.” By this time, I had already completed my first round of radiation and chemotherapy. My health had improved but I was still experiencing hip pain and fatigue along with the emotional and spiritual toll of enduring a recurrence of cancer. Unlike the first time I was diagnosed with cancer at thirty-one, I am choosing to process the emotions that come my way. At that time, I did not have to undergo chemotherapy or radiation after the removal of my uterus and cervix. As I write this post, I realize the physical pain and treatment I underwent during my recurrence has mirrored my internal excavation. I continue to have doctors’ appointments, my most recent being a colonoscopy. However, the internal worked I’ve been forced to do during this process is not something I would have willingly done because I was not aware of some of the things I have buried over my thirty-six years.

I am trying to avoid Christian cliches as I write this blog. We are usually so uncomfortable with pain that we would rather serve people platitudes than sit with them in silence as they share something personal. I have been guilty of this. With that said, I am grappling with the God’s goodness in the midst of suffering. Romans 8:28 says,

“God works everything for the good of them that love him and have been called according to his purpose.”

We are often tested on the things we claim to believe. And that’s a good thing or else we risk living our lives by comforting words/beliefs that don’t hold up under pressure. During this process, I am waiting with expectation for God to weave this moment into something good. I’ve seen moments of my Father’s faithfulness during this journey. However, there are other moments when his goodness and purpose seem hard to trace. I know God is resurrecting me. I just have to undergo the process. And the process isn’t pretty.