by Heather Plett | Mar 12, 2010 | Uncategorized
I was awake at 4:30 in the morning. After sleeping almost steady since my breast reduction surgery at 10:30 the previous morning, there was very little sleep left in me.
I lay there in bed, on my back – my least favourite position, but the only position that works when your breasts have road maps of slices across them. My hands moved down to my chest… and I started to cry.
No, it wasn’t the pain – that was mostly managed by the painkillers. Partly the tears were just about the beauty of that moment. For the first time since the day I ballooned out of a wimpy training bra, I was putting my hands on my breasts and feeling small, firm, normal-sized breasts, even under the layers of bandages. Nothing flopped to the side or hung down to my belly-button. They were PERKY!
But there was something deeper behind the tears. A release. A forgiveness. A realization that I am okay and that I didn’t make a mistake.
All of the baggage I’ve been carrying? The reason it took me so much time and contemplation to get to the place where I was ready for this surgery? It’s all because I believed that wanting smaller breast was just too selfish.
If there’s one thing I’ve been raised to fight against, it is selfishness. After all, isn’t a good Christian woman supposed to be the embodiment of selflessness? Especially once you’ve become a mom? Doesn’t that verse in the Bible really say “Do unto others. Period.” ? At least that’s the way my internal monologue seemed to interpret it.
Oh, it’s not that I haven’t learned to be selfish in my life. I can be VERY selfish. Often. But… it usually comes with a good helping of guilt. Or I manage to justify it because “others are benefitting too – not just me.” Or, if nothing else, I get to be kind to myself once in awhile just because I”ve EARNED it – through hard work, pain, diligence, whatever.
Not only was it selfish, but it was… oh that dreadful word… frivolous.
What’s a mature 43 year old do-gooder feminist in management in a non-profit organization who has been known to stand on the soapbox of simple living, justice, treehugging, and compassion now and then doing contemplating something as frivolous as plastic surgery? Sheesh! Aren’t there people to feed in this world, HIV orphans to look after, injustice to stamp out?
And yet, there I was at 4:30 in the morning, knowing that I’d made the right decision. And crying happy tears because I was okay. I had given myself permission and I had worked past the many ways I judge myself, and I was not going to hell for it.
I have a pretty good feeling God’s not standing in judgement somewhere shaking her head in my direction. Probably the only person judging me all this time was myself. And I’m letting that go, bit by bit.
And soon… I’m going to buy myself some lovely, frivolous, fitted blouses. And they might not even come from Value Village.
by Heather Plett | Mar 10, 2010 | Uncategorized
This day wasn’t easy. There was the “clean up my desk before disappearing from work for a few weeks”. And the “put out the fires and make last minute decisions” that the staff require of me every day but even more-so when I’m about to leave. And on top of that, the “sign these documents, wire this money, make sure you submit your outstanding expense forms”. Oh, and then the “calm some of the uneasiness among new staff about being leader-less for a few weeks”. Plus the “notify all consultants, make sure they know the next steps in the process and who to contact in my absence.”
And then at the end of the day, there was some potentially disappointing news about some things I want to do this Spring that might not work out after all.
Boo.
The hardest part? I was trying to cope with all of this with a raging head cold. One that I can’t take medication for because of pending surgery. AND one that could potentially postpone said surgery if they’re uneasy about putting me under general anesthetic if I can’t breathe through my nose.
Ugh.
But… here’s the good part… it’s the end of the day, I’m about to head to bed, and I’m feeling quite relaxed. And peaceful.
Why? Because YOU lift me up. Yes you.
Each of you who reached out to me in one way or another – you’ve made a difference. The dear friend who phoned me at work to wish me luck. The other dear friend who met me for lunch. The two members of my staff team and my colleague who gave me gifts and lovely cards. The other staff people who wished me well. The kind members of my family who sent emails and said prayers. All of the people who commented on my last (rather vulnerable and raw) blog post and/or sent follow-up emails. And then all of you lovely Twitter friends who sent me good vibes when I admitted to feeling low. And my mom who’s getting up early and giving up a couple of days (of her busy social calendar) to be my nurse-maid.
I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, or the next day, or the next. But I know that it will be easier to bear because YOU lift me up.
NEVER underestimate the power of an encouraging word. Or a prayer.
(And never be afraid to ask for it when you need it, because it really does help.)
by Heather Plett | Mar 7, 2010 | Uncategorized
Two years ago, I was lucky enough to be in Bangladesh for the Hindu Holi festival in March. It’s a day when people chase each other around with coloured water or powder and splash it on each other in a gleeful cacophony of colour. By the end of the day, everyone is as colourful as these boys (whose shirts started the day white). This picture was taken from a small boat while we were floating down a canal. These boys were chasing the boat, hoping to baptize us in colour.
I think at this time of year, Holi would be the perfect festival to adopt in North America. Think about it – all of that grey slushy slow that no longer looks pristine and white like it did a month ago, would be transformed into a burst of random colour. And all of those grey, black, and brown winter coats that we can’t put away just yet, because March is too unpredictable, would now be pink and purple and brilliant blue.
I don’t know about you, but this is the time of year that I most desperately start craving colour.
Postscript: It just occurred to me that the day this picture was taken followed the hardest night. Which is a rather fitting metaphor, isn’t it? After the darkness comes the dawn? After the bed bugs/wild dogs/cockroaches/diarrhea comes the day when you float down a canal with young laughing boys trying to douse you in colour? After the unholy night comes Holi day?
And today I have to remember, after winter, comes SPRING!
by Heather Plett | Mar 3, 2010 | journey, Uncategorized
Here’s the thing… too much navel-gazing gets old after awhile, right? Even when it’s ME doing the navel-gazing. Smile.
You’ve done it too, haven’t you – clicked on somebody’s blog (probably mine now and then), realized that it was one of those long-winded navel-gazing posts, and then clicked away looking for something more entertaining? Yeah, go ahead and admit it – I won’t take it personally – even my husband admits to skipping some of my posts.
With so many thousands (millions?) of blogs out there, there’s a LOT of navel-gazing on the internet. Sometimes it seems like everyone (yes, myself included) has become egocentric and ethnocentric in their search for the right self-help book, the right guru, the right yoga practice, the right set of 400 thread count sheets, the right “10 steps to self-actualization”, and the right “dreams-for-my-personal-future”.
The thing is, if all of those things aren’t balanced with compassion, justice, and RESPONSIBILITY, well then everybody loses but ME, ME, ME! And how happy will we be if we’re lonely in that perfect self-actualized bubble we’re living in?
So… after that rant, you’re probably thinking I’m ditching all that stuff and just preaching a “live a life of total sacrifice and self-deprivation, and don’t do anything to improve yourself” message, right?
Well, ironically, that’s not the case. Because I actually do believe there is value in self-discovery, IF it is done in the spirit of “if I give of my best, and challenge myself to recognize and share what I have, then I am serving the people around me as well as myself and we’ll all be better off for it”. Contentment begets contentment. Compassion begets compassion. Self-respect begets respect for others. Pay it forward. “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” A happier me is a happier you. You get what I’m saying.
I’m beginning to understand that the season of Lent is actually partly about digging deeper to understand ourselves better and, as a result, figuring out how to be what we are called to be. Here’s a quote from Frederick Buechner that inspired me recently…
In many cultures there is an ancient custom of giving a tenth of each year’s income to some holy use. For Christians, to observe the forty days of Lent is to do the same thing with roughly a tenth of each year’s days. After being baptized by John in the river Jordan, Jesus went off alone into the wilderness where he spent forty days asking himself the question what it meant to be Jesus. During Lent, Christians are supposed to ask one way or another what it means to be themselves…To hear yourself answer (such a question) is to begin to hear something not only of who you are but of both what you are becoming and what you are failing to become. It can be a pretty depressing business all in all, but if sackcloth and ashes are at the start of it, something like Easter may be at the end of it.
Asking ourselves the questions that Christ asked himself, and facing the temptations that Christ faced (to let pride, greed, and the desire for power become his guiding energy) are all part of becoming who we are meant to be. It’s about figuring out how we are meant to serve the world.
Christ was about to face the ultimate test of his calling (his own sacrificial death), but before he was ready for that, he had to spend some time alone in the desert. I’m sure that wasn’t popular with his followers who probably thought it was unfair of him to desert them. (How could somebody lead and inspire us and then ditch us?!) But he knew that if he didn’t do this, then his calling would not be fulfilled and his followers would suffer more in the long run then the pain they felt in the short term.
In the end, Christ and all humanity benefits when Easter comes and there is resurrection and redemption.
That’s not about navel-gazing, that’s about finding strength in who we are gifted to be, even when it’s not popular with the people who don’t want to see us change or step away from them.
This poem (via Christine) says it well…
The Journey
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice–
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do–
determined to save
the only life you could save.
– Mary Oliver
by Heather Plett | Mar 1, 2010 | Uncategorized
“Now that the party’s over, can I create a world under the table again?” Maddie asked.
She’d been rather hard-done-by when she’d had to pack up her little imaginary home under the dining room table when her sister’s birthday warranted two separate parties in two consecutive weekends. Dolls, stuffed animals, her plastic stool/anything-she-wants-it-to-be, magical boxes full of treasure – all had to be stashed into her bedroom until the rest of the family members stopped caring about the messes that guests weren’t supposed to see.
“Sure you can,” I said, wanting to encourage her imagination and knowing that these magical worlds always equal hours of independent play and less need for Mommy’s attention.
An hour later, I found her there, lying still on the floor, staring up at the bottom of the table. “What are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m daydreaming,” she said. “I have to do it here because I’m not allowed to do it at school.”
“You’re not allowed to?”
“No, Madame says we’re supposed to read, not daydream.”
“Well,” I said, “in my experience, if you pretend you’re reading, you can still daydream without anyone knowing you’re doing it! I still do it and I’m 43 years old!”
Her eyes twinkled at the thought of mildly deceiving Madame – with her mom’s permission.
“Yeah, I do that sometimes,” she grinned.
It might not make me Mom-of-the-year where the education system is concerned, but I’m much more interested in Mom-of-the-year where Maddie is concerned.
True to form, she spent the rest of the afternoon under the table. Later I found her curled up in a ball completely covered in a table cloth. When I asked what she was doing, she let me peek under the table cloth. She’d hauled the battery-operated camping lantern out of the basement and was pretending it was her campfire under the tent.
It’s good to have a 7 year old around to remind me of magical worlds in ordinary places, the wonders of a plastic stool, and the value of daydreaming.
When’s the last time you created a magical world under the table? And when’s the last time you lay on your back just to daydream? Maybe you should stop what you’re doing and try it, just for awhile.
Take it from my 7 year old artist/guru – it’s a wonderful way to pass a Sunday afternoon!
(And in case you’re an educator and you’re worried that her daydreaming is keeping her from reading, she dove into her very first chapter book this weekend and proudly and delightfully read 137 pages!)
by Heather Plett | Mar 1, 2010 | Uncategorized
I had a post (or two) all ready to be written for today. But then my daughter got her heart broken, and, well… the words just dried up. All of the blog posts in the world mean nothing when your daughter is sobbing uncontrollably in your arms.
In the end, all I could write was a long and impassioned letter to the powers that be in the soccer world, imploring them to please, please reconsider and let her play her beloved sport this summer. And just for good measure, I let them know just how it feels to watch helplessly as your daughter suffers through a year of injury, surgery, and endless agonizing days watching her sisters and friends play the sports that mean almost as much to her as life itself.
All year, the thing that compelled her forward, the thing that motivated her to do nightly strengthening exercises and drag me to the gym at 6:00 a.m. was one simple dream… to play competitive soccer again in the Spring.
Last night that dream was dashed when the team roster came out and her name was not on it. Her injury (more precisely, the critical recovery period) prevented her from participating in the tryouts and nobody saw it in their hearts to give her a shot based on past performance.
Life can be cruel. It seems even more cruel when it happens to your 14 year old daughter.
