A Much Better Place

Wow, I really left you hanging, didn’t I?

It’s been a year since I told you that I was struggling, that I wasn’t doing well. When I went on leave last May, I felt broken, I felt alone, and I felt like I couldn't be fixed.

I am happy to report that I’ve come a long way in a year.

Taking time off was the very best thing I have ever done for myself. It's easy to understand that your body needs time to heal. It's harder to see that your mind does too. Time (and counseling) helped me see that I wasn't broken, and I certainly wasn't alone.

The dichotomy of before and after cancer is difficult to explain, especially when you're still grappling with it yourself. Nothing has changed, but everything is different. I am the same person, but I am radically altered. And I was clinging so hard to the former that I failed to recognize the importance of acknowledging the latter.

Let’s talk about all the things that I've learned:
  -  I have PTSD.
  -  I probably hadn't finished processing the first cancer when I got hit with the second.
  -  I was angry that people didn't know that I wasn't just "all better".
  -  I’ve always had anxiety and never realized it.
  -  My job was draining me in ways I did not see.
  -  I need to reconnect with and learn to trust my body again.
  -  I have to embrace and feed the artist in me.
  -  I still work to do to overcome feelings of isolation.

That's a lot of learnings, huh?

I think the topic of trauma and PTSD warrants its own, separate post, but I've learned quite a bit about it this past year (what it is, where it comes from, what it does to you). I know that it's not a rational thing. I'm learning to recognize my triggers. And I've learned some coping mechanisms that allow me to recognize when an anxiety attack is happening and help me accept it for what it is.

Yoga has been an incredible help in the process. What started for me as a purely physical practice years ago has evolved into more. I also know that I feel better when I spend time outside, so I try to find ways to work that in. And when I struggle and have bad days (and I do), I try to be patient and gentle with myself (even though I don't always do a good job).

So where am I now? I feel, in an odd way, more wholly myself than ever before. Like the built-up layers of personas that I'd tried on over the years were stripped away and the parts that were left were just me. I feel authentic. I feel like I know myself. I feel like I fit myself.

I've been filling my time with all sorts of creative pursuits: quilting, crocheting, pottery, reading, writing. I'm loving being an auntie, not only to my actual nephew but to my "adopted" kiddos as well. I’m excited for new adventures: rock climbing in NY, a wedding in India.

If you'd told me a year ago that I would feel like this now, I wouldn't have believed you. It's been a long road to get here. But oh, how glad I am to have made it this far.

neVer forgeT

I know this is not the post anyone was expecting would come next, but it's a post that I needed to write today.

I remember exactly where I was when I first heard. I was between classes and one of my friends stopped me in the hall. "There's been a shooting at Virginia Tech" - she remembered where I was from.

I called my mom. "Have you heard from Dad? There's been another shooting at Tech." (There had been one a few months prior.) No, she hadn't, but he was teaching class then. She would try to check in with him later.

I went to my next class, and when I came out, my world was shattered.

I didn't usually bring my laptop to class with me, but I had a presentation to work on that day and had intended to set up camp in my lab and get it finished. Instead, I was glued to the news, watching in horror as that number kept increasing. I kept checking Facebook, to see who had posted anything. I texted a good friend I knew was on campus, praying that I would get a response. I remember the relief as I heard from him, and the worry as he told me that a friend of his had been in that building and he hadn't heard from her yet. I remember falling apart when I got a text from him later that night, telling me that she didn't make it.

My dad worked in one of the nearby buildings and was on lock down for hours. The time until I knew that he was home safe was excruciating. The anxiety of waiting to see if a name I knew would appear on the list was unlike anything I've ever experienced. I remember the physical pain that came with that fear.

I remember the vigil held on my campus that evening. I remember getting up to speak and trying to explain to everyone how similar Blacksburg and Lewisburg are, that this wasn't a big city school, that it could have happened to us here. I remember asking people to respond with love, not blame. I remember feeling like there was no way to convey what I wanted them to know.

I muddled through the rest of the semester. I got an extension on that presentation. I remember being angry with the people around me who were carrying on like nothing had happened. I was furious when university officials sent out a campus-wide message saying that they had reached out to anyone with Virginia Tech connections to help support them, but no one had reached out to me. After finishing finals, I couldn't wait to get home.

But when I got home, I still felt lost.

I remember walking the drill field, with all of the memorials set up. I remember the tears, the touching tributes, the outpouring of kindness. And I remember feeling guilty about being so upset, like I was an intruder in this suffering. I wasn't there when it happened. No one I knew personally had been killed. I thought that it shouldn't be affecting me so much, but it was.

Ten years later, I am only starting to fully understand the impact this had on me, and I realized that I needed to write something, that there were things I still needed to process. With what I have learned about trauma in the last few years, I am able to see some things more clearly now. Trauma comes in all forms, and you can't always control how it affects you. Years later, news of a possible shooter on campus again sent me into a full blown anxiety attack. I didn't realize what it was at the time, but I now know that this is a classic sign of PTSD. I should have gone to counseling, but my belief that the tragedy didn't belong to me made me think I didn't need it.

Ten years later, the memories are still vivid. Ten years later, I still love and ache for my Hokie home. And ten years later, those healing words from the poet Nikki Giovanni have become woven into my being:

We are strong enough to stand tall tearlessly;

We are brave enough to bend to cry

And sad enough to know we must laugh again.

We are Virginia Tech.