Zen and the Pep Talk

Last week was an up/down sort of week. Hospital weeks always flatten me. Weirdly, the flattening extends beyond medical ugh into all kinds of other ugh.  Staying afloat pretty much becomes the goal of each day.

In that vein, I procrastinated about going to the supermarket until we were out of too many things, and my secret stash of kettle corn was threatened by the hungry horde. 

The store was unusually NOT crowded when I went, huzzah! As I loaded my things onto the conveyor to check out, I realized my cashier was one of the special needs adults who works at our store.

The local ShopRite in my town is one of the most inclusive employers I have ever seen. Kudos to them for the support they give to folks of all kinds. 

Anyway, the young woman checking out my stuff was obviously new in this role—she has helped me bag before, so I knew her a little. As she slid each item across the sensor, she oozed confidence. 

“I am doing such a great job!” she announced, about halfway through. She smiled. I smiled. How could I not smile?

A few minutes later, when an organic apple boggled the sensor for a minute, she added, “I’m not scared. There is a lot of stuff to remember, but I can do it.”

 Not only could she do it—she was DOING IT. Doing the thing…

I carried this moment with me,  and over the past week I kept thinking about my young cashier and her positive attitude, her pep talks to herself. Everytime I thought about her, I smiled.

She radiated cheerful positivity, and my day improved just by being in proximity to her pep talk.

This has been a week or two where I could use a self-pep talk, even just a simple, “I am doing a great job” in the little moments where I am, instead of wallowing in the “I am horrible at everythingggggggggggg”  that echoes in my brain in the down moments. So maybe my bathroom grout is near tragic in its biohazardness. Maybe the pile of books I am supposed to read is now about 20 high and I know I have to admit I won’t get to most of them—but I can pep talk my way through one book, one grout wipe down at a time.

A simple pep talk--there is always something to cheer

A little pep talk goes a long way to reframing a moment from ugh to positive. A pep talk acknowledges the hard, but encourages us to push through.  Even if I AM scared about something, even if I don’t have that young woman’s grit in a moment, I can do it.  Or I can tell myself I’m not scared. Scared is a state of mind, and I am not choosing to waste it on something like a to-do list of grout and reading.

I do self-pep-talk sometimes, but my ShopRite moment reminded me that I should up my pep talk game. I don’t have a cheerleader in the house to remind me “keep it up! Keep it up! Keep that momma spirit up! Keep! It! Up! WOO!”

…ok, lies, I actually do have a cheerleader in the house, but she only cheers at school, at home she is 100% teen.  And cheerleaders "don't say "woo!" mom, except in that ONE CHEER." Just so you know.

We need to cheer ourselves on! A little self-pep is a step towards zen. 

So maybe it’s “I am doing a great job!”…or “I got this”…or “Keep on Swimming!”…or “I can do this!”. Pep talks are like mantras, I guess, but really more self-encouragement as opposed to an aid to focus/motivate. 

There is always, ALWAYS something we can pep talk ourselves for. Always.

So give yourself a pep talk. YOU CAN DO IT! And you know what? You ARE doing a great job. 

Below I have included a helpful visual aid so you can give yourself a pep talk RIGHT NOW! 

Everyone loves a good word bank. 

You CAN do it! Woo!

p.s. my kettle corn stash remains safe. I know you were probably concerned about that. 

Find Your People

So, basic math being what it is, even I could see I did not post twice last week.

I beat myself up over this for a bit, and then had to let it go. My husband was away on a business trip last week which meant I took on his half of the chauffeur duties here—no big deal, just flummoxed my schedule…and then a last minute work schedule change (which always throws me completely out of whack) and the loss of a dear friend in the brain tumor community…by Thursday night I knew that second entry for the week was not going to happen, even if all the preliminary work was done.

That’s ok. But I will get it done this week.

And really, the loss of my friend Susan inspired today’s post.

Find your People.

Sometimes, it is impossible to be positive, at least for me. Sometimes things rot. And while I can choose to work through things and stretch to be positive, sometimes you need to have your people.

Your people are the people who can hear you in your bad moments.

Your people know your journey—whether through shared experience, or blood relation, or years of friendship—they are not scared off by the hills and valleys.  They stand below the cliff with a pillow saying “ok, so maybe hold on, but if you can’t, I can probably break your fall with this pillow!”—and you appreciate that, even if you know that the laws of physics are not on your side. It’s your people. It really is the thought that counts.

Your people laugh with you, cry with you, give you truth, and stand by you when you can’t stand on your own.  

Your people have your back.

Your people pray when you just can’t even talk to God, or you have nothing at all nice to say to Him.

Your people think of you, and you think of them in random moments of the day.

Your people may or may not be folks you get to actually hang out with. In this age of social media, some of my people are folks I have never actually met—but that doesn’t matter.

Your people find the humor with you in really, REALLY unfunny things.  Oncology humor has an extremely niche audience...your people are cool with that. 

Finding your People, whether it is through online support, or your kid’s class, or your own old friends, is so critical.

My friend Susan was one of my people.

In 2004, after my daughter failed her first chemotherapy and we realized she was simultaneously losing her vision at an alarming rate, I could hardly think. For the first time I truly understood what “going through the motions” meant. We lived 2 hours from the hospital, we didn’t know ANYONE who had the same thing G had, we were utterly alone—supported by our family (so, so grateful to our family—they are our people, too, always), but in onco world we were an island.

In December of 2004 I found a Yahoo group for Pediatric Brain Tumor parents.  That discussion board became a lifeline for me.  Here for the first time were people who spoke my language—who knew about vincristine neuropathy or the grossness of Bactrim. Here were people who understood why I wasn’t all WOOHOO when we finally got a stable scan. I wanted the tumors to be smaller…stable still meant Tumors Galore. I finally found a place where my story and experiences resonated with people, and where I could contribute something other than being the Elephant of Scary Stuff in Whatever Room I Entered.

Side note, if you have something really bad happen to your kid, you are painfully aware in groups of just how much you are every parents’ nightmare, people apologize for being upset that their kid has the flu or a broken finger…which is silly, obviously as a parent you SHOULD care about those things, smite isn’t a contest, it’s ok, I am sorry your kid has the flu, too, cleaning up throw up is no joke.

But I digress, as usual.

Susan and the other parents in that group are my people. 

I found my people literally through an internet search. Yay, Google! 

Over the years, I’ve found more people, and those people still help me get through tough days. My siblings, my parents (and in-laws), my online support friends, my old friends from high school—in different moments, these are all my people.

I have a lot of trouble being BY people sometimes. Finally realized there’s a name for that (social anxiety is a thing! Egads!)—but I am SO GRATEFUL for my people, who get that about me.

Knowing I am not alone--even when I am actually physically alone-- helps on bad days.

None of us are truly alone, even when everything screams YOU ARE ALONE. Everything is a stupid liar. Stupid is not the word I wanted to use, but...keeping it family friendly, today at least. 

My friend Susan was one of my people. She was utterly authentic, always. She was fabulous and loving and faith filled and funny and smart and knew the pediatric brain tumor journey so well.  Susan was one of those first moms I knew back in the day…she was “my people” for so many brain tumor parents.

The world will miss her…but her people will not ever, ever forget her.

Peace out.

Find your people.