I look in the mirror and it's difficult. Yes, the normal after the pregnancy thing isn't easy - I've got the wobbly bits, the extra padding in the tummy, that stupid extra layer that is clinging on for dear life like a drowning man that doesn't know how to swim. I'd be lying if I said that those things didn't bother me. Of course they bother me! I hate the belly fat. I hate that I have a lovely closet full of clothes that don't fit. I hate that practically every single shirt I own either clings to my boobs, my belly or both. Getting dressed used to be fun - it's now a chore and it sucks. But it's just a part of life. I'll get over it. That's not the real reason that facing the mirror is so maddening. When I look in the mirror, I'm having to stare my enemy square in the eye. I'm having to look at what I hate the most. And try to find what I still love and want to fight for. How do you have the two extremes at the same time?
I want to fight for my body. I want to fight so that I can be the best mommy, wife and ME that I can be. I want to be able to play with my daughter at the park, to push her on the swings, to crouch down and catch her at the bottom of the slide, to roll down a hill with her, to chase her as she learns to run all wobbly on her new found freedom like a little deer. I do not want to watch from the sidelines as my my husband catches her at the bottom of the slide, chases her around the park and proudly teaches her everything that I dream of doing. I don't want to be relegated to a wheelchair with my camera in hand to take photos of the moments that I want to take part in as well. Don't get me wrong. I love my camera. I love capturing the moments - big, small and everything in between. But I want to experience them as well.
This brings me back to my hatred of the mirror. I'm struggling with hating my body. It's betrayed me. It's a traitor. Or at least part of it is a traitor. Part of my part is harboring the RSD, which is running rampant. It's taking over - like some mean drunk on a rampage. It's loud, it's scary and it's breaking things. Lot's of collateral damage to be had. I'm falling to pieces, more and more of me is breaking down and I feel as though I'm a hostage within myself. I'm equal parts angry, scared, sad, mournful, and a mix of emotions that I can't even how to explain. I feel as though I'm fighting a war and I have run out of ammunition. And part of the problem is - I want to just light it up - absolutely napalm the area because it is wicked and cruel and it has got to be eradicated. The problem being - I am harboring the evil. So - do I go do with this thing? I know I once was stronger than the RSD. But 14 years is a long time to fight a war. It's a long time for anything - but to fight something...well. It's worn me down. I didn't really notice it until lately but - I've really noticed it. I've slowed down and I'm in a lot more pain. And I don't handle my pain nearly as well as I once did. I don't fight as well as I once did. I don't bounce back as easily. I get tired a lot more. I just want to nap. I feel as though I've aged a lot in the past few months. Of course, almost dying might have something to do with that.
So. That brings me back to that mirror. Do I hate the image that I see. I squint and I look for you, RSD. I look deep into my eyes. I scan over my legs and I stare hard at my arms. I roll my hands and tense my muscles. My face tightens and then relaxes. I give myself a faint smile. It's me. I can recognize me. I still can see that girl I once was. I can see the mommy that I am. This is the face that my daughter sees. The one that makes her smile. The one thatmight does still manage to light up my husbands face I do believe. I don't know how, but I'm still in there. I'm still winning this war. I see me. I'm still tangible. The RSD is tangible too. I see the blue waxy skin on the right leg. I see the red angry skin on the left. The poor nail on the left side is starting to heal - and the scar line on the right is extra angry today. But that is not what defines me. I'll slap on another pain patch. I'll prop up my leg, I"ll rock away in my glider and I'll listen to music to bring my heart rate down because I feel it pulsing higher and higher.
I just have to remember. I AM a fighter. I AM a warrior. A 7 nation army couldn't hold me down.
I want to fight for my body. I want to fight so that I can be the best mommy, wife and ME that I can be. I want to be able to play with my daughter at the park, to push her on the swings, to crouch down and catch her at the bottom of the slide, to roll down a hill with her, to chase her as she learns to run all wobbly on her new found freedom like a little deer. I do not want to watch from the sidelines as my my husband catches her at the bottom of the slide, chases her around the park and proudly teaches her everything that I dream of doing. I don't want to be relegated to a wheelchair with my camera in hand to take photos of the moments that I want to take part in as well. Don't get me wrong. I love my camera. I love capturing the moments - big, small and everything in between. But I want to experience them as well.
This brings me back to my hatred of the mirror. I'm struggling with hating my body. It's betrayed me. It's a traitor. Or at least part of it is a traitor. Part of my part is harboring the RSD, which is running rampant. It's taking over - like some mean drunk on a rampage. It's loud, it's scary and it's breaking things. Lot's of collateral damage to be had. I'm falling to pieces, more and more of me is breaking down and I feel as though I'm a hostage within myself. I'm equal parts angry, scared, sad, mournful, and a mix of emotions that I can't even how to explain. I feel as though I'm fighting a war and I have run out of ammunition. And part of the problem is - I want to just light it up - absolutely napalm the area because it is wicked and cruel and it has got to be eradicated. The problem being - I am harboring the evil. So - do I go do with this thing? I know I once was stronger than the RSD. But 14 years is a long time to fight a war. It's a long time for anything - but to fight something...well. It's worn me down. I didn't really notice it until lately but - I've really noticed it. I've slowed down and I'm in a lot more pain. And I don't handle my pain nearly as well as I once did. I don't fight as well as I once did. I don't bounce back as easily. I get tired a lot more. I just want to nap. I feel as though I've aged a lot in the past few months. Of course, almost dying might have something to do with that.
So. That brings me back to that mirror. Do I hate the image that I see. I squint and I look for you, RSD. I look deep into my eyes. I scan over my legs and I stare hard at my arms. I roll my hands and tense my muscles. My face tightens and then relaxes. I give myself a faint smile. It's me. I can recognize me. I still can see that girl I once was. I can see the mommy that I am. This is the face that my daughter sees. The one that makes her smile. The one that
I just have to remember. I AM a fighter. I AM a warrior. A 7 nation army couldn't hold me down.
And I'm talking to myself at night
because I can't forget
Back and forth from my mind
behind a cigarette
And the message coming from my eye
says leave it alone.
7 Nation Army - The White Stripes
