on bitterness and letting go.

It's late and cold and I can't sleep. I'm waiting for my husband to get home from work, traveling in a car that is barely starting these days. My son sleeps in our bed, where he'll be snuggled and kept warm through the night.

I had the (rare) opportunity to spend the day alone, with my love pulling a double, and my son at school. I had all sorts of things planned, recipes to play with, things to be cleaned (always), organization and sorting and list-making. But instead I made some wickedly strong coffee and sat for a while, thinking about the new year. About goals and hopes and a million fractured dreams I want to start piecing back together. And I also thought about all the unseen challenges ahead of me, the ones consisting mainly of health and finances, and how insurmountable they seem at this time.

I don't have any true resolutions. I used to make lists on fancy paper and hang them up where I could see them and motivate myself. I don't do that anymore, mostly because I've crossed a new threshold when it comes to handing my fate back to my Creator, the one who's controlled it this entire time. But also because I've learned a lot in the fast few years, about the nature of unpredictability, of disaster, and the all-consuming vortex of physical anguish. So I don't have resolutions, per say, but I do hold hopes. I realized this a few days ago, while I was attempting to dance again, and marveling at my body's ability to remember movement, form, and flow. I cried with the joy of moving my body, and was indeed in pain later on and into the next day, but--oh, it was worth it in ways I can't name.

I have hopes, still burning quietly, to dance. To perhaps somehow use dance to heal pain in all of its myriad and heartbreaking forms.

This past year was the hardest yet. Procedure after procedure and so little relief. So much stress on myself and the ones I love most for so little. 2013 was the year of limitations. The year I heard myself say "I can't" more times in a few months than in the 27 years I've been on this earth. The year of bitterness and screaming endless strings of questions at a God I could barely believe was still listening. And that one night of dancing I mentioned? That's all it took to break me. To pull my disconnected spirit back into my body and make me see.

That this: to arc and wave, to make the gesture of my hand a poem, to sweat out a prayer, this is my catharsis. Nothing else will do. I am a mover, therefore, I must move. 2013 was the year that moving took on a different meaning, that through my rage I would have to adopt a new way of moving. It's so clear now. My pain is here to change me into something I can't fathom. All my energy has been expended on wanting to move my shoulders this way, because that is the way I've always done it. I have left no room for expansion; I have been in a cage. Because if I would just listen and shut up, I would hear my God speaking to me through the bones, telling me my new routine.

My life here in this home, the life I live as a wife and mother and maker, is crucially dependent on my exploration of this new way of moving. I need to move. It is not a want. And I have to be ready, that it will look and feel nothing like I know. I must relearn everything. It will be hard and humbling and probably very terrible, but I have to let the old me go.

I've even grown enough to know that just because I've made this leap into changing and becoming who I'm meant to be, doesn't mean that my problems will magically resolve. I know this. I will hurt. I might have surgery. I may only be able to dance a few times a month. But at this point, I'm ready. Hope never leaves my body, no matter how dire things become. I am stronger than I have given myself credit for and I am tired of allowing--literally allowing--the things that feed my soul to be taken from me.

I know who I am.

a hot mess.

This may or may not be a hot mess of a post. I have so much to say, but haven't decided if I'm going to say all of it. So I'm winging it, as usual.

I haven't really updated my readers (if I actually have any) on the status of my health. In an effort to keep it short, I'll give you the condensed version. I had minor surgeries and injections on my neck for basically the entire summer. My most recent procedure was just over a week ago. In an effort to find a procedure that gives me real results, I've had to go through all the ones that haven't first. It's difficult to tell if I'm seeing improvements. I feel just a bit better for just a few more days here and there, but it's still spotty and impossible to pin down in any discernible pattern. My neck is still highly irritated after exercising or practicing yoga or any remotely strenuous activity, something that I'm unconvinced will ever change. I've recently had the realization that I may never not feel like crap, which has fostered in me both acceptance and depression. I didn't think those two things could live together, but there you go. I've been put on a very low-dose anti-anxiety medication. I sort of waved my white flag, finally, and took what help was offered to me. I can no longer handle everything on my own steam, my own prayers, my own pep-talks. There are very few words left for prayer or pep-talks these days; I'm wiped out.

The husband is mostly at work. Or always, depends on which day you ask. September was absolutely brutal. High school sports photography + fall season = insanity. And not the kind that gives you killer abs. More like the kind of insanity where every day looks eerily similar to the day before and the day before that and so on. The madness will soon die down, both medical and work related, thank heavens.

If I sound whiny, I apologize, because I very well might be whining. I think we all need to whine a bit sometimes.

I'm stressed out.

Oh, also, my brother is getting married next week. Yes. So I've been planning and crafting my butt off for that in the midst of all the procedure-y, sporty stuff. I almost forgot.

On a different and mildly new-age note: I'm proud of myself in at least one way, which is that I've been doing what you are probably supposed to do as a human being to combat all this stress and crazy. I've somehow managed to make good, simple meals with lots of fresh, organic produce, and have even found some solace in cooking and making a beautiful dish. It's something that I can do. I drink my green shake (almost) every day and my tumeric tea. I'm trying to stay away from caffeine and get enough rest. I do some form of exercise every day, even if it's just a 20 minute walk. I've been doing my barre work and have been consistently practicing my yoga, but have had to tweak my routine quite a few times. There are certain poses that I just can't do right now or are very unsafe for me to even attempt. I meditate. I pray. I wake up early to read my Bible or simply watch the sun come up. I've let go of people that I feel are a negative influence, and have surrounded myself with those who strengthen me.

I guess I'm learning to overpower the negative with the positive, something that--guess what?--takes a lot of practice, just like anything else.

What else? Let's see...Hayden is a splendid child, and I mean that non-sarcastically. I delight in him. And my husband. I am learning to delight in the ones I love. My cup runneth over, and all that. Even on the worst days, I recognize that I am blessed.

I want to go to school. I want to be a midwife, but feel unready for that particular load of work right now. Any suggestions, my lovelies?

I want to have another baby. Not right this second, but V. and I have talked about it and are watching for that moment, the moment, when we'll know it's time.

I'm starting to actually enjoy myself while knitting, instead of literally grinding my teeth while I count stitches. Again with the practice.

I'm addicted to Pinterest.

I'm going to paint my kitchen bright-ass yellow, very soon.

I'm reading Gone With the Wind.

xo

homemade face wash.

From left to right: cinnamon, nutmeg, tumeric, dried lemon balm, chamomile, and sugar.

I love whipping up a quick face wash with things I have around the house. The cinnamon and nutmeg are natural anti-fungal's and anti-inflammatory's. The tumeric I added to give my face a little glow, to beat back some of this winter-white complexion. (Though, if you choose to use tumeric, go easy. Add to much and you'll look jaundiced.) Lemon balm and chamomile are calming and reduce redness. And I threw the sugar in there to give my skin a little exfoliation. You'll see above that I also chopped up some oats and added those in, which are wonderful for fighting itch and inflammation. I didn't do any actual measuring here, but I'd say I had close to a heaping tsp. of all the ingredients.

Directions: chop and/or grind the chunkier ingredients. Throw everything in a jar and shake to combine. To use, wet your face and apply using your fingers. Massage in slow circles for roughly 30 seconds. Rinse. Keep this tightly sealed for one week.

***IMPORTANT***
If you have very sensitive skin, please keep the cinnamon to a minimum, as it will inflame whatever area you apply it to. I mixed everything so that there is a ton of the other stuff in addition to the cinnamon, therefore a bit "diluted", if you will.

the slowest days.

Useful tools for handling pain and boredom: amazing coffee, my favorite Pho soup, and a magical book.

Days around here are incredibly long and incredibly slow, mostly because I'm constantly uncomfortable, but also because I'm living in a haze of pain-killers and muscle-relaxers. I was musing yesterday, amazed that there are people who want to be on this stuff all the time. That's something I'll never understand. To me it feels...well, it feels like shit.

There is surgery on my horizon. (yay) It will probably be along the lines of this, if you want to read about it. But it won't be happening anytime very soon, due to all the appointments and test I'll have to have prior to the actual procedure. I'm scared, but oh well. I want to feel better. I'm sick of feeling like half a person.

In the meantime, there is much cutting of paper snowflakes. I recovered a lampshade with book paper and it looks mighty pretty. Oh, and I gave my mother a manicure today for her birthday. I'm managing a 30 minute walk each day. I'm getting better. Now the real work comes in: figuring out how to stay that way.

news.

Yesterday I was diagnosed with extremely severe anemia. I'm starting treatment and I will let you all know if I start to feel better.

This explains so much...why I've felt so incredibly tired and sick.

If any of you believe in God and would like to pray for me, I'd really appreciate it. <3