I hope everyone had a nice enjoyable 4th of July. My guys and I spent the afternoon with family catching up and grilling burgers. It was a nice pleasant break from the everyday hustle and bustle. So…that was the start of last week for me. So…how does anxiety, insanity, and humor come into play in your day to day life? They are qualities of my everyday life as a wife, mother, daughter, career woman, and friend. Also, throw in a healthy dose of passion and survival skills. Passion for life, and a passion for surviving the chaos. You never know what your day will hold. Some days come and go with your biggest dilemma being what’s for supper. Other days, hmmmm. They kick you in the teeth, but somehow you take that licking, and keep right on going. Let’s talk about the anxiety, insanity, and humor that often rule the day. No one remembers those inconsequential days, but oh…those crazy days live on in infamy.
Before lunch on Tuesday, the day after the 4th of July, I had thrown a hissy fit and given my youngest son and then my husband an earful. I normally don’t buckle under the everyday pressures that are placed on my shoulders, but Tuesday came at me pretty hard. I was traveling in a rental car that morning for reasons I won’t go into at the moment. My intention was to gas up in a town that is halfway between my home and my destination. Of course, like any good woman, the gas tank was close to empty. To my dismay, the fuel tank access lever would not work. I could not open the fuel door to gas up the car. I thought..”Ok. You can figure this out. You have got to be doing something wrong. Google some videos.” No help there. I made the executive decision to just go for it. I knew the delay was going to make me late for my appointment. The meltdown ensued. I called my husband on the phone, and his best advice was to calm down. It would be ok. He advised. Word to the wise fellas….don’t tell an irritated woman to calm down. Horns will come out. My youngest son was with me in the car. He nonchalantly says…”Mama…it’s like we’re on the Seinfield episode where Kramer, and the car salesman see how far they can drive before the car runs out of gas.” Any of you loyal Seinfeld fans know exactly which episode he was referring to. That statement definitely did not soothe my irritation. We did reach our destination which included a stop at the car rental chain I will not name. That location had no cars available for a swap, but managed to pry open the fuel door, gas me up, and had me on my way. I have utmost respect for people that are problem solvers. It’s like meeting a kindred soul.
I have recently come to a conclusion. You might call it a self-diagnosis. Of course, watching Instagram reels has helped me confirm my suspicions. I have high functioning anxiety. There I said it! I have embraced it. Just like my crazy Tuesday morning last week. I might have a meltdown or hissy fit, but I snap out of it, and handle the business at hand. No time to crawl in the corner, and hope that someone else will handle whatever stressful event is going on at the moment. We are the problem solvers and the doers of the world. Are you the go-to person in your family or circle or even at your job? I don’t think it’s anything someone aspires to be, but it just somehow happens. Maybe high functioning anxiety is a super power?? We’re the people that get things done.
If you are living and breathing, you will experience the chaos that life can bring from time to time, and often in spurts of days and weeks. Sometimes, darkness comes, and I look outside, and see that big ol’ fat full moon shining down on me. I think to myself. “That explains a lot.” You have days that are go go go. Work is crazy. Home is busy. Kids need this or that, and of course, there is always that last minute school project. Someone comes down sick. Non-stop life. The pace is hectic time your feet hit the floor in the morning. You are constantly putting out fires, and tending others that have the capability of morphing into fires. On the way to work you find the drive thru is lined up around the building. That much needed coffee will have to wait. Issues hit you square in the face as soon as you arrive at work. Like most good Southern women with grit, you learn to bob and weave. Dodge those curve balls or even knock a few out of the park.
So…here’s to all of you sassy women out there with high functioning anxiety that take on each day with pluck and tenacity. I hope each of you have a wonderful week. Know that whatever comes your way…..you’re up for the challenge.
Love to all,
Stella Elaine
P.S. Can you believe we are halfway through 2022?!!
“Sugar and Spice and everything nice. That’s what little girls are made of.” Do you remember that rhyme from your childhood? Do children even learn these rhymes anymore? My reading indicated that sugar and spice is characterizing girls as being sweet and friendly. I would like to provide an alternate line of thinking on the spice reference. That spice description might be a nod to us sassy girls. Maybe spicey girls grow up to be sassy women. Sassy women bring a bit more oomph to the table. You never know what they might say or how they might react, but I can assure you there’s a brain behind that mouth, and if you’re really lucky, a great sense of humor. They have a tendency to verbalize what others are thinking, but won’t say out loud. Let’s talk about the making and substance of a sassy woman.
I can attribute my earliest memory of hearing the word sassy to my Grandmama. She came from the generation where you did not question or talk back to adults. I believe she was the first person to ever tell me I had a sassy mouth. My response at the time was “I am not sassy. I just know what I am talking about.” I did not consider myself being disrespectful, but the need to ask questions and express my thoughts were like breathing to me. I definitely do not have a passive personality. I heard someone describe themself as a skeptic the other day. Looking back, I think I was a skeptic with a side of sass way back. I didn’t just take what people told me at face value. I had questions, and I had my own thoughts on the world around me. So….characteristic number one…..a sassy woman is a thinking woman.
Sass is not the same for every woman or little girl. It can manifest in different ways. Sassy women tend to dress with a little more flair at times. They might go along with the trends or they might go their own way, and create their own style. For me, it’s cowgirl boots. As I’ve written before, I love westerns. My red cowgirl boots are one of my prized possessions, and when paired with the right outfit, you know my sassy persona is on the scene. And…you better watch out for those girls wearing animal print. Of course, on the weekend, I love to wear my jeans, a short sleeve wrangler shirt, and my hat. It might be a straw hat for when I go out to the farm or an oilskin hat that I ordered from Outback Trading Post. That hat is currently my favorite. For other sassy women, it might be high heels and an on point hair do. It varies from woman to woman, but sass is the common denominator. For those of you from Generation X on back, you might remember Flo from the tv show Mel’s Dinner. Now she was the epitome of sass. You mostly only saw her in her diner uniform on the show, but that head of big styled red hair gave you a warning. She would tell you “kiss my grits” in a heartbeat. So…characteristic number two…..sass presents in different ways.
Do men want a woman that goes along with everything they say, and a woman that doesn’t voice her opinion? My husband might say yes. I am sure he has thought his life would be calmer had he chosen a more docile woman. Good fortune shone down on him though. He got a woman that can be fiery and passionate. I am not talking about the lust kind of passionate, but a woman that is passionate about life and her family. She will have your back, but will also let you know when you are not towing the line. A man with a sassy woman, if he’s truly tuned in, will always know where he stands with her. Brad Paisley best summed up this kind of woman in his song “She’s Everything.” “She’s a fighter when she’s mad And she’s a lover when she’s loving.” The character, Blanche Devereaux, on the 80’s tv sitcom The Golden Girls was just that. A lover and a fighter when the situation called for it. So….characteristic number three….a sassy woman can be a great wife for the right man.
I started out as a sweet little girl with budding signs of sass. Life has thrown curve balls at me over the years, and the sass faltered at times. Experience, life events, and the passing of time will hone that sass like nothing else. Know that with a sassy woman you will at some point know what she’s thinking. If she’s quiet, give her time. She might be getting ready to unleash the beast on you, and more than likely, give you an earful. Conversations with these types of people are the best. The cadence and banter of sassy and fun loving people will brighten your day. Just so you know…men can be sassy and cheeky as well. I believe we all start out as sweet. At least, most of us do. Some people though, at times, I question if they even have a pulse. Sass might be considered an undesirable attribute in a little girl, but don’t completely subdue it. Don’t kill that spark. That sass will serve that girl well as she grows into a woman. She will think for herself. Stand up for herself and others. That sass will see her through the good and bad times. This post is dedicated to all the sassy women out there. May we continue to take life head on and push forward with, as the French say, a joie de vivre.
One more thing….for added emphasis when speaking, make sure you put that hand on your hip.
Heartbreak was not my intended topic this week, but sometimes you wake up with something completely different weighing on your mind. I woke up Monday morning, and like I do most weekday mornings, I tuned into a local morning talk show. It’s my way of easing into the day. This morning show was different. I knew right away something was off. The host was somewhat baring his soul. Some form of heartbreak was taking place in his life. He stated that he and his family needed prayer, and he would be taking a break from the show. I have no idea what the cause of heartbreak is that had him expressing real and raw emotion. There are so many layers to heartbreak and grief. It’s different for all of us, but any of us who have experience with it, know it when we see and hear it. Heartbreak comes to us all at some point in our lives, and more than likely will rear its ugly head when we least expect it. It will leave you battle scarred, but it also makes us more sympathetic and caring human beings.
My first experiences with heartbreak came at an early age. I was almost six years of age when my parents divorced. My relationship with my father was from then on fractured at best. Heartbreak and grief do not always stem from a death. They can be brought on by situations that are beyond our control. Then I lost my paternal grandfather when I was 12. By that age my mother had pretty much cut off all contact with my Dad and his family. I was not allowed to even attend his funeral. Poof…. people I loved were taken out of my life. I tucked the hurt in the deepest crevices of my heart. My maternal grandfather died when I was 23 years old. That was my first up close and personal experience with cancer, and it’s devastating effects. I could be brought to tears just thinking about it years after he passed. Later on, the deaths of my Dad and sister affected me differently. My Dad’s death left me with unanswered questions and unresolved feelings that I ultimately came to terms with.. My sister’s terminal illness and death left me with immense grief and an understanding of loss that I had never experienced before. It has also left me feeling as if I had lost my bearings. I am still trying to work my way through that path of grief.
There are countless sources of heartbreak. It can be death of a loved one or friend, loss of a dream and the process of letting go, betrayal by a loved one, the end of a relationship or friendship, terminal illness, a loved ones bad choices, disappointment, losing your home to a natural disaster, and the list can go on and on. Heartbreak can be walking around right in front of us. A drug addicted or mentally ill family member can break your heart a million times. It can often be the equivalent of watching someone dying in slow motion. Then, you see so many children being neglected by their drug addicted, mentally ill, and neglectful parents. You think to yourself. Where does it end? None of us are exempt. Heartbreak is an equal opportunist. We are better for our struggles or we should be. When I say I understand, it may not entail an understanding of your particular situation, however, heartbreak is heartbreak. If it is enough to make you cry, make you feel like you’ve been sucker punched, want to curl up in bed and pull the covers over your head, and that the rug has been pulled out from underneath you, I understand. Right now I have scars from previous heartbreaks, and I have a large scab from a recent heartbreak. Just like any scab, you think it’s healing, and you might pick at it. It still bleeds. More time needed for the healing. One day those scabs will turn into scars. Some are visible and others are naked to the eye, but there all the same.
As I have discussed in previous posts, my most recent heartbreak occurred towards the end of last year. It didn’t happen suddenly. It was in the making for over two years as I watched my sister battle cancer like the fiercest warrior. The past few months I have taken each day as it comes. There have been good days, and there have been days when I really have to dig deep. I am not the same person I used to be nor will I ever be again. I am a walking example of heartbreak, and the metamorphosis that follows. Someone told me the other day that I did not seem happy. My response was “for the most part, I’m not.” I am in transition. Trying to find my bearings again. Recalibrating. Doing a lot of inner reflection. Deciding for me what truly matters. I am growing and evolving. Continually trying to process one of the greatest heartbreaks of my life. I am letting go of how I thought the next chapter of my life would be. Who would be by my side. At some point, the hurt will ease and not be as strong as it once was. One day, I will tuck that hurt in another crevice of my heart along with the others from so many years ago. I will find happiness again and my sense of humor that has always served me well.
Throughout this transformation, I will become stronger and more resilient. I will continue to love my family and friends with the same intensity I always have, if not more. Heartbreak makes you acutely aware of what can be lost. Cling to each other, love one another, take deep breaths, indulge in moments of reprieve from this frenetic world. Live a purposeful life and be a better person because of the heartaches you have not only endured, but survived. Heartbreak in this life is inevitable, but so are moments of joy. As the saying goes, “you have to take the good with the bad.” Take one day at a time. Know that there will be good and bad days as you process and wrap your head around what has happened or is presently going on in your life. Be empathetic and compassionate when you can. Exude love. This world could use a lot more of it. Most of all, take time to love yourself.
I took this week off from my regular job. No exotic vacation on tap or even a trip to the beach. Just time off. I had felt the need for a break coming on for a while now. I was in need of time to refocus and recalibrate. Take some time for me. I dropped my youngest son off at school my first free morning, and headed to one of my favorite places for morning coffee. Instead of rushing through the drive thru, I parked my car, ordered my coffee and a croissant, and found a nice cozy booth. I took a few sips of my coffee. I then pulled my notebook out of my purse. What better way to spend a peaceful morning? Sipping coffee and writing. What would I write about? For the most part, I am never at a loss for something to write about. There is so much going on in the world, but my preference is to write about daily life. The Good Stuff. What came to mind on that morning was a trip I took this time of year about two years ago. I was planning a trip that I probably never would have taken if circumstances had been different. I was getting ready for a trip to Baltimore, Maryland.
Baltimore, Maryland? The little bit I knew about Baltimore was not good. I had watched the news reports about the high crime rate, derelict and abandoned buildings, and homelessness that plagued this city. None of that mattered to me. My sister had completed months of chemotherapy in April 2019. We had been so hopeful. I thought the battle with her colon cancer was over. Fast forward a couple of months to June. She had a PET scan, and our hopes were crushed. Her colon cancer had morphed into something I had never heard of. Peritoneal Carcinomatosis. That’s a mouthful, and it was even worse to wrap my head around. Her colon cancer had invaded the walls of her abdomen. My sister’s oncologist recommended that she consult with a specialist in Baltimore, MD. His specialty was a procedure called Hyperthermic (or heated) Intraoperative Peritoneal Chemotherapy. HIPEC for short. My sister and her husband went for a consultation in early August. Her surgery and treatment were scheduled for September. There was never any doubt in my mind that I would be there for my sister. The planning began.
At that time, I was 48 years old, and had never flown anywhere my entire life. I’m sure most people are thinking…what rock has she been living under? I never really had the opportunity to fly until my Baltimore trip or the desire. I, also, was somewhat afraid to fly. I can sometimes get caught up in analyzing all the things that could go wrong. So there I was. Scared to fly and scared to go to the big bad city. Scared even worse of losing my sister. Love can conquer any fear. This trip would be different. I would do what needed to be done for my sister. My oldest son offered to go with me. I knew that I would fly to Baltimore with my sister and her husband, but depending on how things went, I might have to fly home by myself. My oldest son had never flown anywhere either so this would be a new experience and adventure for both of us.
The day of departure arrived. We would be flying to Baltimore in a private plane thanks to a businessman that was a friend of my sister’s pastor. He had been successful in his business endeavors, and paid it forward by flying people who were in need of treatment for their illnesses. I am forever grateful. I could not have asked for a better first flight. We lifted into the morning sky. The sun was just beginning to peek at us. To see the day come alive in the sky is a truly phenomenal experience. Off we went. Full of hopes and dreams. There are many times in life that you are given no other option, except to face your fears head on. A funny side note. I called my doctor’s office a couple of days before leaving on my trip. I explained the circumstances of my trip to the nurse. I had never flown before. My sister was going for what would hopefully be a lifesaving procedure. I was very nervous about this trip. Would it be possible for the doctor to prescribe something to calm my nerves should the need arise? Trust me. I did not make this request lightly. I had grown up with a family member that had been overprescribed anxiety medicine, and I was not going to fall into that hole. The nurse asked the name of my pharmacy, and advised that she would speak to the doctor. The day before leaving, I swung by my pharmacy to pick up the prescription that had been called in. The cashier told me the amount due, and it was a very small amount. Less than a dollar. I said something about the cost. She responded, “Well, it’s only one pill.” One pill?! I thought. Ok, I might need one on the way back home. I guess my doctor thought I was stronger than I felt. Right then and there I made up my mind that I would never take that pill. I would carry that bottle with one little pill in my purse as a reminder. My strength would not come from a pill.
We made it to Baltimore. I rode in an Uber for the first time. We were on our way to the AirBnb that I had reserved for my son and I. It was clean and cheap. Our on site hostess was wonderful. Available, if needed, but not intrusive. We stayed on a street with a long line of row houses on each side. I had only seen houses like this on television. I had nothing to compare it to being from the South with our wide open spaces. We met our host, dropped our luggage off, and were off to get my sister and her husband settled into their hotel room near the hospital. One thing I can say about Baltimore is that there are plenty of excellent places to eat. My first meal was some type of nachos with chorizo. I had heard of chorizo on Food Network, but had never eaten any. It was delicious. My AirBnb hostess told me there was a wonderful Farmer’s Market within walking distance of her home. It’s called the 32nd Street Farmers Market. I woke up early one morning with plans to check it out before heading to the hospital to sit with my sister. Let me just say. The farmer’s market where I am from can’t hold a candle on the one I visited in Baltimore. The vegetables, fruit, baked goods, music, crafts, and the list goes on. On the last night that my son and I were in Baltimore, my brother in law took us out to eat at a nice seafood restaurant. By that time, my sister was still recovering from her surgery in the hospital, and she and my brother in law would be staying a few more days. I was told by friends before I left on my trip that I could not go to Baltimore without trying the crab cakes. First off, the only seafood I eat as a rule is shrimp. At that point, I was so far out of my comfort zone. I decided. Why not? You only live once, and I was going to order crab cakes. They were delicious. Not something I would ever order on purpose, but I can say I did try them.
I often look back on experiences I have had in my life. Many times, they were surreal at the time, and I could not attain clarity or understand the full magnitude until some time had passed. The day of my sister’s surgery we were all filled with hope that this procedure which had been so highly recommended would be the silver bullet needed to deal with my sister’s cancer. We were told the surgery could take several hours, and to expect a long day. My brother in law, my son, and I hunkered down for the duration. I had my phone, my kindle, notepad, etc. I remember a nurse coming out stating that the doctor was ready to speak to us. I instantly knew something was wrong. She had not been in surgery nowhere near the amount of time we had been told. We were escorted into a small conference room where the doctor came in to speak to us. He was not a native English speaker, but was well spoken. He took a red marker to illustrate on the smart board what he had found in my sister’s abdomen, and what he had done to give her some relief and quality of life. It all looked like scribbles to me. I sat there in a stupor. Trying to take it all in. My mind felt as squiggly, jumbled, and confused as the doctor’s illustration. I must have looked like I was going to snap because the next thing I knew a female African priest was in the room talking to us. Sitting next to me. I asked her where she was from. I can’t remember if it was the eastern or western coast of Africa. I did learn while in Baltimore that west Africans do not want to be confused for east Africans and vice versa. A lot of the Uber cars I had ridden in were driven by Africans. Anyway, I sat there listening to this African priestess (I guess that is the proper title?), and how I ended up talking to her about my farm and the goats my husband and I have I will never know. I look back now and have to laugh. Maybe I was momentarily insane or just trying to deal with the blow we had been dealt as a family.
I had so many new experiences in Baltimore. I met new people. I tried new foods. I saw my son in a new light. He is a grown man now. He was there for me to lean on. I am proud of the person he has become. There are so many layers to my story. It did not have the ending that I had hoped for. The doctor was unable to perform the procedure on my sister. The cancer had taken a firm foothold in her abdominal cavity. I will never forget the look of disappointment on her face when she woke from surgery, and we had to tell her the doctor had not been successful. However, that was not the end of her story. She would go on to live another year by way of pure tenacity and determination. I left Baltimore feeling defeated. Probably in shock. The trip had not gone like we had planned, but it had been life altering for me. That is how life is. You can make all the plans in the world, but most likely they are made in vain. I grew as a person, and still continue to grow. I faced fears and the realization that we are all mortal. I will continue to get up everyday, lace my boots up, and take one step at a time. I know there are many bad days behind me. I also know that there will be more ahead, but there will be good ones. My trip to Baltimore will go down as a chapter in my book that resulted in personal growth and awareness, and is also part of the cancer journey I walked with my sister. Baltimore…I will never forget you. I am forever grateful.
Three takeaways from my trip to Baltimore….
*I am stronger than I ever thought.
*Travel and experience new places, try different foods, and meet new people. We
are more alike than we are different.
*Learn to go with the flow. Life most often does not go as we hope or plan.
Otherwise, you will get bogged down by your expectations.
*I highly doubt I will ever be a fan of big city life. Been there. Done that. Might visit again, but not to live.
The Good Stuff with Stella Elaine 