Rest

In my perfect world, I would sleep in the sunshine for the next 72 hours. No school. No students. No parents. No grad school projects. No social events. Just rest. Plain, simple, rest. Our culture really does not allow enough time for, nor does it value, rest.

Lately, I’ve been keeping hours that seem to seep too far into the evening, trying to squeeze in all the necessary IEP meetings before month’s end, only to rise again the next morning before the sun is up. What is left over for Cary is an emotionally and physically exhausted version of me. A me who is till trying to process the complexities of cancer, and what it means for both my present and my future. To integrate this experience into the rest of my life. I’ve been feeling lonely and craving connection with other women who have experienced breast cancer. Searching for recognition--someone to recognize, to mirror back, this totally insane wave of emotion I've been riding. I’m counting the days until the next BAYS meeting (May 20th).

In the meantime, I find myself totally wiped out by the time Friday rolls around. Yesterday being no exception. After getting up early in order to take care of a speeding ticket at traffic court (thankfully my jury duty was postponed), I returned home to spend most of the day in bed. Totally exhausted by a long work week. And yet, instead of luxuriating in the fact that I have Fridays off and can indeed spend the day in bed if needed, I found myself fighting it. Boxing gloves on. Unwilling to accept the lack of energy, frustrated by a day in bed. How hard it is to let go of the attachment we feel to what should be happening, versus accepting what is happening.

The end of treatment has felt irritatingly confusing and uncertain… So much of my life in question. Can I teach and nurture myself? Can I teach and nurture my relationships? Can I be happy not teaching? Am I happy now? What would it mean to step away from what I am most passionate about? The thoughts continuously tumble around my head, sometimes only in the background of my life and sometimes pushing their way to the forefront. Erupting in tears of sadness and frustration at the end of tiring days and long commutes. Shedding layers. The layers of these last nine months, of Xcel...

Cancer was the necessary sign in my life yelling STOP! And yet, it feels like life’s momentum has again picked up speed and is barreling forward, and I want to jump off this fast moving train, but I can’t.