Surviving The Empty Nest

I knew the day was coming where both halves of my heart would actually go through with this growing up thing and go off to college and/or get a job and/or not be here.  At home.  With me.

See, I was always the mom who cried when I let go of their hand and turned to walk away at preschool, and when they got on the bus each school year, and then into the driver's seat of the car...especially the driver's seat of the car...and always felt deep sadness when all those holiday and summer breaks were over.  Just so you understand who's writing this and such. 

I'm about two full months into this stage of midlife and I've reached "typing 'surviving the empty nest' into an internet search" level of wellness, which is better than "not really hungry enough for dinner" level.  I've read the list of suggestions from various experts.  They're cute and all, but not really much I can get with.  I'm not into drinking wine and let's be real, I'd probably end up throwing the pottery they suggest as a crafting option.  So what have I been doing?  Well...

I'm blessed in that I'm working a FT job, so there's a solid 10.5hrs each day in which I have something work related to do - be that commuting or contributing as a member of Cubicle Nation.  I try to sit through my husband's favorite tv shows.  Okay no, I go into my phone on account of not really caring about someone's 2 million dollar home budget and finding them the right island home when my downstairs floor is still torn up from repairs that were made a year ago.  Anyway.  I adopted a new dog.  I volunteer some time.  I go to the gym.  Okay wait, so that's only when the dog isn't laying on me, which is infrequently. I white knuckle through maintaining a balance (boundary) between wanting to reach out to friends, or invite myself to their children's sporting events 'cause your girl likes her sports, or invite myself to pretty much any and everything they may be doing and just - not.  "Notting".  Let's pretend that's a word, because it fits better.  But, what I mostly do is think about my kids with heart-filled love, hope and pride.  Praying over them, hoping they are enjoying school, even the part where they have to study and demonstrate their knowledge.  That they're growing in their faith and growing in their friendships and growing in their personhood and growing in their "knowth" (a friend says that and I.love.it.) and just - growing.  Lots of growing.

They've given their best to this household and I rejoice in their opportunities!  They deserve every good thing.  Every knowth.  Every growth.  I will forever be their biggest cheering section.

(if anyone was thinking I'd have actual suggestions for empty nesting, I honestly don't...just lots of white knuckling, really...lots of coffee...and the dog)

Summer 2018 - starting off on the good side of "meh"...

sum·mer¹

/səmər/

noun

1. The season where a detailed physical inventory is taken: what's working, what's fizzling out a little, and what's just "notting".  

2. A time to try on clothes and find out just how difficult the 3 preceding seasons have been.  

Hmph.

#2 is far more difficult than the frequent pain levels above a 6/7, the sensory chaos, and intermittent brown outs of hearing in that pesky left ear of mine.  And a new one - the sun on my skin suddenly doesn't feel as nice as it always has.  

Definitely gon' push through that one, tho ;)

We have a vacation coming and us MSers are all about tireless prep ahead of a trip, right?  First off, I thought I had better pick up a few things to wear, seeing as how the majority of my summer stuff is extremely old and/or uncool.  It's been an adventure.  I'll go...

Like, I may or may not have been temporarily trapped in a swimsuit top.  Definitely was.  Rest assured, I was (finally) able to free myself with a great deal of perseverance, determination, and rather spirited writhing.  No rescue efforts were required.  No copays resulted.  Both the swimsuit and I came out of the dressing room in one piece.  I came home, bought online and am presently awaiting my shipment.  If this goes down in some kind of way, at least I'll be in the comfort of my own room when the EMTs arrive...

Then, I thought those spandex leggings might be a nice addition to my casual wear, as well as a great way to hide the years of "not really" that my legs have been through.  I mean, all my friends look super cute and cool in them.  Surely I would as well!  Had them halfway up, felt the fabric squeezing my legs and wanted them off immediately.  Clearly, clothing that constricts is not for those of us who knoweth the "MS hug".

And I wear these knock off crocs to the beach (yes my pants are wet - blame it on the water behind me that beckons me from afar):

They're pretty loud, right?  I mean, I thought to buy some cute sandals for vacation and just go barefoot on the beach like everyone else, because I know how silly I look in them.  But, the mix of hypersensitivity and pins and needles and random cold-as-ice sensations I get in my feet?  And the way certain textures I walk on can totally magnify each of those?  And the fact that these clunky things are pretty wide and have a snowshoe effect that helps me to stay super balanced both on land and out in the water?  Makes me think...

Maybe I'm super cool just the way I am.  

Because I'm fighting a battle you can't see...

And my love for that water, the way I can choose to suspend myself and float, or allow it to rock me back and forth, or stand and dive headfirst into it, or sit up in waist high water to allow waves to crash into me and catapult me around like a tumbleweed far surpasses what I happen to be wearing on my feet.  Even when they're hot pink.  

Who knows?  Maybe the beach will be heavily populated with middle aged women in a cornucopia of rubber shoes this year?  

Okay, no.  But don't front and say it wasn't at least a great visual...

"Be Free" - some raw and unplugged ms

I'm trying, supportive gym mat.  Totally trying...

But, it's hard to feel slightly (moderately and sometimes significantly) captive inside my own body.  And mind.

So much of the past 18+ yrs of living with ms has been a mental battle for me.  The struggle between acceptance and denial.  Humility and ego.  Understanding and indifference.  Vulnerability and insusceptibility.

It's living with a condition that ebbs and flows, waxes and wanes, and does whatever it darn well pleases - whenever it darn well pleases.  Sometimes, it has meant or means not being able to see well enough to drive.  Walk well enough without an aid.  Think well enough to "even".  And then clears up.  Intertwines.  Goes on a slight hiatus.  Comes back with a vengeance.  All with no heads up...

See, typing this is like therapy.  I suppose I should extend myself a measure of grace, since it's hard to reconcile a thing when it keeps changing.   

It's the occasional remembrance of days when coordination and physical skills/abilities were at the top of my personal "things you do well" pyramid.  With those remembrances, which usually come in the form of retro newspaper articles from the sports section friends will lovingly share with me, come wonderful thoughts of the friendships and feelings of mutual respect for fellow athletes forged on each side of the playing field.  I hold each very dear to my heart.  But, what also has a way of seeping in at times is a fair measure of muck to work through.

Sometimes, the muck is deep.

I'm not talking about reliving any sort of "glory days".  I'm too old for any of that.  It's not even about a desire to go on half marathon and 5k trips with my friends, or run/jump/climb at a mud run - all of which I am no longer able to take part in, due to my inability to run (the jolts to my spinal cord kick off mad nerve pain and incoordination) or descend (I lose coordination and wreck myself).

No, wait.

If I'm being honest, it used to be that.  I used to want to go with them to do beach and mud runs, more for the fellowship than the actual running.  But, I've reconciled that in my mind.  I'm okay with not running on the beach, because I'm actually quite good at sitting on it ;)  I'm okay with not being able to throw myself around in mud, because I have the ocean!  The ocean is my playground...a place where I can jump and be held.  Weightless.  Spun about.  "Run" and dance in the water, because there is no jolting of self on a hard surface.  Floating sorta works with my equilibrium and makes me feel oddly balanced.  Or not.  I don't care, though.  I'm in the ocean!  I don't care about anything out there.  Not what I look like in the mirror.  Not if anyone thinks I look ridiculous (I do) throwing myself into the waves, tucking my feet up, allowing the water to throw me around.  I just don't care!  And I've noticed I'm smiling as I type this...

Anyway.  I suppose I can celebrate that reconciliation as growth.  Growth mindset, yo.

What I'm saying is...I *just* want to get through the grocery store with my full faculties.  Full vision - or enough to drive home with.  At least some measure of coordination, meaning I can get the items on the belt without requiring a clean up and bags into my trunk without dropping them in the parking lot.  Can I *just* do that?

Can I *just* blow my hair dry each morning without hitting myself in the head with the hair dryer?  Or spraying myself in the face with the hairspray?  It's all pretty funny, but...

Can I?

Can I not be judged for how I do ms?  Because those judging me don't see what's going on inside my head nor feel what my body feels like.  The intense mental pep rallies that I often need to throw for myself simply to emerge from my bed at times, inclusive of my dad's Army phrase of "Be all you can be" and replaying his 8am weekend wake up calls from my teenage years of "Time to get up!" and "There's a list of s*^t to do, you need to get up and get it done!" and "Don't piss the day away!"  Ironically, I think of that phrase so often.  One of my biggest symptoms is frequent urination.  There are times I feel as if I'm doing just that...

It's reading all about the spoon theory that's become meme fodder in the social media world, wondering how it is that all these people know how many spoons they have on any given day, because I sure as hell don't.  I don't have spoons.  I have coffee.

It's the inner argument between gratitude - for innumerable blessings and goodness - and my feels.  The real ones.  The ones I don't talk about.

I'm struggling to find the right thing to close with.  Maybe that's because ms is confusing and stupid and unpredictable, making a 'power close' tough to pin down.  Maybe it's because I struggle with the anxiety of saying too much and actually posting it.  Or maybe...and I hesitate to get this vulnerable...it's because my caffeine level is low.

:::deep:::

"Be free" - says the mat.

"I'm trying my best" - says me, who battles an invisible enemy on the daily.