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Monday, September 28, 2015

Belly dancing

Few know this about me,  but eleven  years ago I took belly dancing lessons. It was something I chose to do for me.  I enjoyed the class so much that I looked forward to it each week, and practiced secretly behind my closed bedroom doors. I actually wasn't too bad at it. Each movement brought me my own satisfaction. I worked hard, rolling  my shoulders, swaying my hips. In a room with 20 other women ranging in age from 20 to 60 years, I danced. As diverse as our age  was, so was our size.  I really had nothing to be insecure about,  my features were not altered with any marks that might some how make me stand out differently, and  my weight was at 105 pounds. I was simply put- fairly attractive and a perfect size 2.  I stood in line during class commanding my body to move to the rhythmic music. Demanding  my body  to follow the music, with motions that made me feel sexy and even a bit beautiful.

The day finally came when it was time to start preparing for our recital. I was frightened. The thought that a crowd of people would look at me and judge me filled me with anxiety. The thought that my fellow comm rads would all have  significant others in the audience,  applauding for them left me feeling awkward and lonely.   I felt vulnerable and could not imagine anything more frightening than being exposed openly to scrutiny and ridicule.  This was all at a very difficult time for me.  A time when I was going through my divorce and  reentering  the dating world. As  I was struggling to gain a new confidence, I was also working through old wounds.

I caved into the demons that haunted me that weekend. I let fear over whelm me and  did not perform in the  recital.  In fact I was so ridden with self doubt and anxiety, I  used my children as  an excuse to not be available the weekend of our performance. In truth it was  my child weekend off.  I know most people who know me today, cannot even imagine this very insecure, awkward and shy side of me. A side of me that only my sons and two sisters really have witnessed.

So this was  also a  time in my life when  my new availability sparked some interest with several men in the dating world. Unknowingly giving me more demons to contend with.  So with nothing else to do in my life, on my weekends when my sons visited their father, I  accepted  some  invitations out.  Always being very  cautious to not set my hopes up to high.  I remember one particular time when I was  out on a blind date.  The gentleman I was having dinner with asked me what I did for a living.  I watched the color slowly drain  from his face as I  spoke about my job, caring for my two younger sons. He quickly changed the subject to comment on the  vikings and said little through the rest of dinner. He walked me to my car without a word, other than  goodbye and good luck. It was shortly after that through a chain of gossip I learned exactly the kind of battle  that laid ahead for me.

I  was a single mother with two terminally ill children.  A mother who spent her days and nights caring  for the special needs of  her sons,  alone.   A  mother fighting for her children's acceptance and her own,  in a selfish world.  A world who  marketed strength and beauty as though they are the catalyst to success.   But I was also a mother who would find the  strength to go  against the odds to start a new life for her and her sons alone.

 I don't regret not performing in the recital.  In fact I embrace that I accepted - fear and insecurity, as part of who I am.  Eleven years ago I was in a very difficult place.  A place that brought me to such a low that I did not even believe in myself.  I let what I  heard from a handful of people fill me with self doubt.  I let hurtful words that had nothing to do with Belly dancing and everything to do with my sons leave me feeling as an outcast and unwanted.  I  knew better, but the insults that found their way back to me outweighed my inner strength.  I was stripped of hope and no match for the despair that threatened my world.

That was eleven long years ago and so much has changed.  Yes, Duchenne the  terminal disease that my two younger sons have, has progressed.  Their daily care is much more demanding. As my sons face more challenges  with their weakening muscles -Life has not become easier.  I am still their single mother, facing new fears as I watch them loose in their battle with Duchenne.
But I am not that same woman who once  lacked confidence in herself , and took to heart the negative thoughts of others.  I am not that same woman who lacked inner strength and struggled with finding hope.  I have found the strength I need to face each day and the hope I need to face the challenges ahead of us,    But more importantly I  have found my confidence in me- no matter what anyone else thinks.     Today I would not hesitate to perform in that recital. Because I know I am the best me I  can be and really no one ever expects anyone to ever be more.

Sunday, September 6, 2015

Labor of Love

There was no real reason for the single tear that rolled silently down my cheek.  It escaped as though it had a mission of great purpose. I bit down on my lower lip in an effort to stop the sob I felt building somewhere deep, deep, within me. Damn. What was this I cursed softly to my self, swallowing hard to keep whatever it was that was overcoming me contained. Ardently fighting sadness ,  to not alarm  Josiah, who played on his iPad only feet from where I stood at the kitchen sink. I sat the  dish I had been rinsing gently down on my drying rack.  I looked out my wall of windows that overlooked  our lake. My eyes followed  a trail of white Lilly pads to the  small island now over grown with nature. I did not have any  new crisis  or old for that matter -invading my world. In fact I had no drama  in my life, to even share, with anyone. I wiped at my moist cheek and looked over to where Josiah sat in his power chair.  His smile was so joyful. I studied his weakened posture as he busily tapped away at his screen. As if on cue another tear, crept slowly, out of the corner of my eye.

It was silly of me to even try to ignore the emotions that were rapidly advancing. I was simply no match to  the flood gates that  once again were opening the entry into my memories, lost dreams and  hopes. It was after all Labor Day weekend once more. I did not need a telethon on television to cling to. There would not be one this year helping  me ride out my waves of explosive fear and anguish. There really was nothing new for me to face. The reality was relentless, Duchenne the monster in my world, has been present since my earliest memory  and most  likely will be apart of my last thoughts. We are so connected I can only try to imagine life without its devastating effects and can only hope to know one  day a world with out  its existence.