We all have our coping mechanisms. Some people like a sweet treat or a salty snack or a good book or a satisfying sweat or some retail therapy. Or maybe all of the above. No judgement from me. I have a love of shoes. If you know me, you can act surprised by that knowledge. But through this journey my weight has fluctuated quite a bit. During radiation I lost about twenty pounds. Gained some back in chemotherapy because of my issues with swallowing any cold or lukewarm liquids. Lost some during my hospital stay for the installation of Babs. Then gained some weight back after figuring out how to eat with Babs. Lost some weight getting rid of Babs. Something about trying to starting up my GI track on an all liquid diet doesn’t make sense to me. Anyway. You get the drift. My weight has fluctuated. You know what hasn’t fluctuated? My shoe size. Last week was a hell-ish week from top to bottom. There is that concept of barely staying above water. Nope. There was no barely above water. I drowned last week. There were several issues that came up which completely stunted my ability to continue to tread water. So I thought I’d give myself a little pick me up. I went to Dick’s Sporting Goods to check out the popular Adidas shoes. The reviews online said they run big. I tried on my regular size on one foot and a half size smaller on the other foot. I wiggled my toes but felt nothing. Walking around I was trying to tell how the shoes felt on my feet but I cannot feel the balls of my feet. Too tight? I dunno. Feel comfy? Again, I dunno. I sat down and just laughed. Out loud. Hard to tell what fits with the neuropathy in my feet. But it is just the everyday, mundane that still catches me off guard with my cancer. I probably looked like a goon trying on these shoes. When I was a little kid, my mom would tell me to jump and run around. Then ask these stupid questions like, “do you feel you can jump higher in these shoes?” Obviously. Or “can you run faster?” Yes, definitely in the 10 foot span I have to test out the shoes. And the funny thing is, I have said the exact same thing to my own kids. Why is that? Like new shoes are going to procure more athletic abilities. Without even thinking, what I experienced as a kid buying shoes was how I related buying shoes with my own kids and even myself. A very simplistic analogy of how what I experienced as a kid can permeate what I do as an adult. And it got my mind moving on other aspects. 

Cancer has made me pause. Well, more like a screeching halt. Whatever I was doing before my diagnosis cannot be what I do after when in remission. (Side note, no doctor has yet said the “R” word: remission. Waiting to hear from my oncologist which will be mid-April). This journey has been so much about my mental and emotional journey in tandem to supporting my physical healing. And this past week, when I was overwhelmed, beyond my capacity and metaphorically drowning, several “ah-ha” moments began to sprout. While I felt all these defeating emotions, the word surrender popped into my head and what that might mean. Here are some thoughts I was trying on: Surrender is not just giving up. Being a history nerd, I have this mental image of the British General Cornwallis admitting defeat to the American army at Yorktown. White flag. All done. Instead, maybe my view of surrender should be as a release. Of not holding on so tightly and fighting to the bitter end. It is releasing the white knuckle grip to allow the hard to wash over me and to move me forward in whatever new capacity that looks like. But a shift is imminent. I do not believe in coincidences. This morning my devotional was about surrender. The word has only been ruminating in my head for a few days then it pops up again. Interesting. Now the larger questions of what do I need to release my grip on? What do I need to surrender? My want of control? (Control is supposed to keep me safe. Right?) Of feeling not good enough? (Enter little Lizzy). Of embarrassment for having cancer? (These emotions still rise to the surface when I encounter someone who doesn’t know my history). I honestly do not know where to start. But maybe, just the idea of surrender not scaring me shitless is a step in the right direction. Growth. I can be okay with not being okay by working through old patterns and cycles that do not nourish my soul where it is. No more jumping in shoe stores. Phew. But a real, hard question comes: Can I be okay with my reality instead of where I thought I would be or what I think should be? Big sigh. I guess that is why the mythical Phoenix is so appealing. Out of ashes it rises. Not to burst your bubble, but I am no Phoenix. Just me, recovering from the hardest year of my life, trying to do my best for my kids and Chris, working to change my own narrative to better move forward. And if you know me or have read any of my blogs, I am all about continuing to move in a forward direction. Prodding, painstakingly forward.

Liz