The Necessity of Dignity

If there was one thing that I am taking from this experience, it is the beauty and necessity of dignity. When I first arrived at the hospital, I was completely helpless. I could not lift my hand to drink water. I could not dress or bathe myself. I could not cover myself with a blanket if I was cold. I was entirely at the whim of my caregivers...and I was fine with it. My body was so badly broken that I found comfort in being cared for. I felt valued. I began to bask in the needed attention that I was being given- until I grew stronger.

As soon as I happened upon the Rehab Ward, I realized that I had been given the green light to try. As I wheeled through the halls and glanced at the state of my neighbors, I soon realized that I was the youngest patient here. I saw the feeble wrinkled bodies of my peers. I saw where the atrophies of life had taken their toll. I realized that I was far from where I believed many of these individuals were- at a place of giving up...maybe even at a place of being ready and willing to die.

If I was to survive at all in an environment like this, I knew I had to set my heart and mind like flint in the direction of health and healing. I intrinsically vowed that everyday that I found myself to be here, I would give 100% until I was ready to go home.

As the days went by, I watched as the tasks that I had to complete went from the status’ of needing assistance, to me being able to complete the tasks with full independence. I passed challenges of eating, grooming, toileting, getting dressed and bathing. I overcame my fear of scalpels and going to the bathroom alone.

As these milestones occurred, I also noticed that I began to be treated differently. I became less of a patient, and more of a counterpart to the staff on the floor. They began to open up to me- sharing stories of their personal lives and hobbies. They shares stories of their dreams and ambitions, families and deepest sorrows. I was entrusted with hearts and was able to take a glimpse into the souls of these caregivers beyond their badges and titles. I felt human again. I felt like a traveller amongst friends.

I recall a time in this very same hospital, many years ago, when these pleasantries would have never been afforded to me. I had MRSA in my blood and found myself to be ostracized in a small wing of the hospital where patients recovered from hysterectomies.

I had recently given birth to my oldest son at 24 weeks gestation, and he was fighting for his life in the NICU. Little did he know that I too was fighting for mine. The strongest medicines the hospital were not working for me. I broke out in a painful rash on my body. I had many fevers, sometimes to 104 degrees and my husband was constantly fighting to advocate for my care.

There was even a time where I would call the nurses for help, and although a cheery voice came on the line, promising assistance, or a meal, no one would ever come. I was in that place for a month. I felt like a prisoner in this very hospital. I remember telling God that I never wanted to come back. I had been completely stripped of my dignity and did not get it back until I was well again.

Fast forward to the present.  The differences between then and now are like those of the night and day, but something happened last night that brought me back to that desperate place.

It was late in the evening, and I was hungry. I recalled how the nurses told me that since I was independent, I was able to check myself off of the floor and go get food, coffee or go shopping within the facility if I desired to. I was closer to going home, so i thought an independent outing would be a wonderful opportunity for me to prepare for “life on the outside.”

I checked myself out, and kindly declined a nurse to escort me. I would be fine. I rolled down the halls and could feel the chill of the night on my skin and in my heart. I was happy to be able to have a nice meal...but I was missing home.

I waited for 10 minutes in line and mentally chose what I would be ordering. Finally it was my turn to order. The woman behind the counter looked down at me and smiled. As her smile faded, she said these words, “Oh, I’m sorry. We don’t serve patients here.”

It was a simple phrase, but I was instantly crushed. In all my striving for independence, and the accolades of achievement, I couldn’t even order a sandwich for dinner. I figured it was because of dietary restrictions of patients there, but I couldn’t stop the tears.

I wheeled down the hall, hiding my face and tried the find the nearest bathroom. I spotted one, but the door was too heavy. Handicap accessible my butt! I rammed my wheelchair into the opening of the door until I could pass through. Immediately, there was another obstacle. I finally cleared it and retreated into the largest stall I could find.

I closed the door and just balled. I could feel my shoulders heaving from the deep sorrow that I felt in my heart. I yelled at the ceiling and told God how unfair this was. I told Him how frustrated I was. It was then that I decided that I wanted to go home. This was how I felt in that lonely ward so many years ago. Helpless and defeated. Broken and alone. I slammed my fist at the wall in anger and then I stopped... I suddenly realized that this time, something was different.

I didn’t want to put myself into an internal prison. I had worked so hard, why stop now? I said aloud “I refuse to partner with the lie of rejection. I am not rejected. This is just the policy of the hospital.” I immediately began to feel better. Why? Because I changed my mind. I changed the course of where the night could go. I had the opportunity to choose if I was going to cry myself to sleep that night or if I was to overcome.  It was time to overcome.

I left the stall behind and wheeled myself to the door. A stranger on the other side opened it up and smiled at me, saving me from the drudgery of the task. I nodded and went back to my floor feeling a little lighter.

After checking in with my nurse, I came back to my room. Others soon found out what had happened and offered to go and buy a sandwich for me. I thanked them for their regard, but was more than ready to turn in for the night. Their kindness reminded me that I was once again among friends.

What a tough lesson to learn when you face difficult situations! It’s amazing how painful or unexpected experiences can trigger feelings of the past. It was up to me to determine what I was going to do with them. That simple experience is a part of me overcoming my past and the challenges of the present. It was a part of me becoming stronger.

Today I choose to delight in the dignity that has been so graciously given to me. I will remember who I am and not shrink back to a place of weakness and defeat. If you ever find yourself where I was last night, I encourage you to do the same. Embrace bravery and bless everyone you meet with the gift of dignity.

Love,

-Mel

Get in the Water

We live in a world of so many aspirational lifestyles and inspirational people. A belief that we do not add up to what we wish we were, can lead to feelings of failure.  We look at where others are at our age, we remind ourselves of what we could be doing with our lives.

Through it all, we must never forget that we are inspirational too! If not to others, what about to ourselves?
Look where you've come from! You're still standing! Re-read your story. You are where you are today because you didn't give up! You are NOT wasted space. You have NOT wasted time. You poured your life into what truly matters and have reaped the benefits. Celebrate you.
(I am definitely encouraging myself right now.)

A few weeks ago I was dealing with some issues surrounding failure. I did a video blog about it. I've been feeling the weight of failure again this week and I wanted to share my journey with you. In the midst of dealing with failure, we must never forget to keep living, thriving and trying. Don't give up. You deserve to live out your dreams. Don't just stand on the shore. Get in the water!

CHECK OUT THE VIDEO BELOW:

-Mel

Touch and Go

Let’s be honest for a second.
There are some things in your life that aren’t easy for me to talk to you about.
Like the way you pretend you weren’t crying when you walk into the room.
Like the way you’re addicted to the spotlight, and use sarcasm as a defense mechanism to keep people away.
Like the way it seems like you’re cheating on your husband when you hug that other guy at work.
Like the way you hate to be alone with your thoughts, so you fill up your time with worthy causes so that you don’t have to look at yourself in the mirror.
Like the way you feel like you’re swallowed into a chasm every time he tells you he looked at porn again and you act like it’s not ripping your heart into pieces.
Like how you want to scream when you see those bruises on her arms-she always says it was an accident.
Like how you wish you could say you didn’t understand how she felt being secure in another woman’s arms instead of a man's, but you do.
Like how I wish I could say I've never felt like throwing up every single piece of that chocolate cake out of fear that I’d gain another pound, but I can’t.
Like how I want to hold you and cry with you because I know you’re hiding another tragic loss of a baby behind that fragile smile.
Like how I wish I can say that the struggles of cutting, rage, stretching the truth, drinking yourself to sleep or taking pills to treat a condition you don't have anymore aren’t common, but they are. You’re not alone. We’ve been there before. Life’s like that. Sometimes, It’s touch and go. 

I was at the park today, and my oldest son decided to invite a stranger to our picnic. She obliged. For the sake of this story, let’s call her “B.” Maybe it was her piercing blue eyes and warm smile that compelled me to hand her a nectarine and invite her to join us…or maybe in was the persistent kindness of my son. Whatever the reason, I soon found myself deep in conversation.

We began chatting about the joys of having children and she commented about how happy and carefree mine were. I was freaking out inside because I didn't know her from Adam, and she was so close to my kids- still I didn't really feel the need to ask her to go away. Instead, I engaged her. She said she had a daughter. I wondered where she was. Soon our conversation evolved from kids to her appointed rendezvous with a young man who had cheated on her. She only found out because the woman in question sent her a text to tell her to “stay away from her man.”

We exchanged a few “Oh no he didn’t!” moments, but I couldn’t help but think “If we feel the same way about the actions of this guy- that he is probably living the life of a dirt bag, then why are you meeting him here?” As she recounted her story, her eyes almost pleaded with me-seemingly asking me to make her consider walking away…but I said nothing… and still she waited for him. I don’t think he ever came.

Have you even witnessed something painful in the life of friends or even strangers that isn’t easy to talk about? Have you ever been the one with the “issue” your friends and neighbors were whispering about? "Touch and Go" situations happen all of the time, but how do we find ourselves there? Unchecked emotions? Trauma or tragedy? Bad decisions? Let's talk about it.

There have been many times in my life where I was the one that needed intervention. Under the surface, of “Mel” was a minefield. One of the things about me is that I can hide things well to the world, but I verbally and emotionally vomit all over those in my close circles when I am not at my best. When I find myself lashing out at my kids, short with my husband, boycotting cooking dinner, aloof in the corner writing songs and scribbling black randomness onto canvas- you know, doing the whole sackcloth and ashes thing…I need to check my heart. A little rainstorm in my heart can turn into a hurricane if left unchecked. 

I am a huge advocate for counseling and emotional healing through therapy. I went to many counselors and therapists over the years and they have been instrumental in helping me define just what my heart needs. One counselor in particular spoke of the reality that certain interactions in my life can subconsciously trigger inner turmoil inside of me when I have not healed from experiences. He called it “Shaking my Snow Globe.” I hate it when something shakes up my snow globe! Triggers can be tough situations that I cannot control, critical words from others, uncomfortable interactions with strangers, or seeing others in pain. One of my biggest triggers is watching people that I love make bad decisions. That eats me alive.

When my snow globe is shaken, I find myself acting crazy. What cures me is a little quiet time alone with God. I pour out my heart and get honest about how I’m feeling and what was the cause. When it comes to heart wounds, it's crazy how something so minuscule can set me off. I remember one week I was pissed for like three days.  When I finally sat down to figure things out,  the melt down was over my analysis of the life of a musician I respected, after I watched her character embody an unspoken fear that I had in a music video. Eek! That's why I don't watch TV.

Through trial and error, I’ve learned that I need to overcome feeling frozen within myself and initiate routine heart checks. I need to be emotionally healthy for my family and for myself. It’s an actively challenging process, but in time, initiating healing becomes commonplace. I can't afford to melt down for days if my "snow globe" is shaken. 

I don’t want to waste any of my life going through a metaphorical desert. I want to thrive. I want to heal to so that I can be at my best and do what I was made for, even if the process of healing sucks. You deserve the same.

You were made to function at your best. You were made to live without heart wounds. You were made to find joy in your life and to bring joy to others just by being you. The journey to healing may be rough, but it’s always worth it. 

If you find yourself in a “Touch and Go” situation today, love there is hope for you. Believe me, I’ve been in many of them and I am the worst! If I can make it out alive, so can you. 

Matthew 11:28-30 says: 

“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.”

These aren’t just nice words. These words are truth. I’ve lived them out and I’m feeling the grace and peace I’ve always wanted, needed and prayed for. You deserve the same. Lay those burdens down love. It’s time. Write me if you wanna talk about it. 

Love,

-Mel

The beauty of creativity

Driven by a deep desire to craft ones passion into a tangible masterpiece, we weave our efforts into beauty. Some create songs, others scribble prose. Tonight, I created a twig vase...and failed.

Do you ever have a picture in your mind of what a created work will look like, yet as you keep working on a project, it continually morphs into something you don't really care for? Well, I'm actually happy to be able to have creativity at all.

Within the victim of life-altering trauma, there is often one common thread- the death of creativity. I have spoken to individuals who have forgotten that they knew how to knit, paint or dance. Others have stopped dreaming completely. I have been there myself.

As my life has become adrift with stillness and continuity, I am finally able to dream creatively again. Although haphazard, I'm still dreaming! Although there will be a lot of failures along the way, each mistake contributes to the whole of me. Each one working together to redefine my passions and solidify my personhood.

Whether your creativity be amiss in the drudgeries of tragedy, the monotony of parenthood or the disconnect of the awareness of your self and soul, I encourage you to dream again!

The ability of creativity is as a God-placed fingerprint weaved within each of us. Find your passion. Re-write your story. Dream daily and achieve those dreams! Right now, my dreams are to become a carpenter, master the piano, videography and musical production. I have so much to learn, but I can see myself at the finish line. Love, do not give up until you achieve every passion set before you. You are never too young, and will never be too old.

Love,

-Mel

Ps. I'm going to keep working on the vase until it becomes something beautiful.