Don’t Curse Me for Saying What I’m About to Say

I have picked up bell hook's all about love and it is stirring up the biggest feelings in me. Before I begin, let’s back up a little bit.

At this current juncture, where am I mentally, emotionally, and physically? I think it’s safe to say life feels hella whirlwind-y right now. When doesn’t it? (lol) I sat down to start writing, because I’ve been talking myself out of writing for, about three months. Writing publicly or privately. I am sitting in this moment—with you all—to think through why that might be. If I don’t force myself to stop thinking about writing and just write, it’ll be some years before I do.

Don’t curse me for saying what I’m about to say…

I am completely over the notion that recovery takes time, and everyone’s journey is different. Okay, thanks for that tidbit, but it doesn’t take away the fact that bouncing between gratitude and anger are two very real constants for me. This goes back to the both/and theory.

I am both grateful and angry. I recently met up with my fellow The Bee Foundation for Brain Aneurysm and Prevention Ambassadors 💛🐝 in PA. It is always a great time being able to connect with others who know your story. By know, I mean they have lived some iteration of it in their own right. The train ride getting to Philly was cool. My hotel room was perfect with its ADA accessible options. Seeing the other ambassadors always warms my heart.

Do you know the feeling where you feel seen and valued just by being in the presence of someone or something else? That was the exact feeling I felt the moment I connected with my comrades at the hotel. And then… this thing happens that reminds you of how different you are, even in a room full of people who have experienced the same type of trauma you have. You are glaringly reminded that you survived, but they survived, survived.

Writing that sentence out for your consumption is extremely hard, because I KNOW how blessed I am to be here. To have survived something that many people do not. To have the opportunity to keep going despite what has happened. I’m blessed AND I am frustrated.

Or is the feeling jealousy?

For the sake of numbers, let’s say it was roughly 15 ambassadors present. Two of the 15 had physical deficits as a result of their rupture. Out of those two, only one was able to walk with a cane and be less dependent on a rollator or wheelchair.

Who was the one that needed the most assistance? I don’t even have to answer that because you knew exactly where this was going.

Let me be a crybaby for a moment…

I think this journey has felt the most difficult because at every turn there are heavy periods of isolation. Understand me clearly. I do not mean isolation like I am completely by myself. Instead, I mean isolation in the sense that no matter how many people are around, loneliness hugs you the tightest and begs for your attention the most. It begs so much and demands every second be about them that you eventually give in and allow it to sort of snuggle in close to you.

This does not mean I am dangerously sad. I am not. I simply feel lonely and alone more days than not.

I am so happy my group members are living thriving beautiful lives AND I can’t help but wonder why did I get the shitty end of the stick.

But, you’re here so shut up, Jaleesa.

I know. I know. If someone could tell me what to do with the sadness, though, I would really appreciate it.

This is not me crying simply because they got the ice cream and I didn’t, because I know to another person’s family member looking in at me, I don’t have the right to complain. They would be happy just to see their family member here in any capacity. I beg of you to know that I recognize how my complaining could come off to others. I also beg of you to know, my complaints are not to encourage anyone to feel bad for me. Me sharing is simply that—me sharing.

Back to me being a crybaby…

I am amongst these beautiful warriors and I couldn’t help but think, “Damn! I am both happy for them and jealous of them. Figuring out if we’ll be able to take an uber somewhere is never a question for others. It’s a question for me, because in order to get a car with a big enough trunk to store my wheelchair means I will likely have to pay more money. For some shit I can’t control.

I am blessed at being able to use my rollator most days. That also means when I go out of town I have to take my rollator and wheelchair because long walks NEED a wheelchair, while local and small facilities allow me to walk with the rollator. Most people struggle walking around with a suitcase, personal bag, their cell phone, and a bottle of water. Yet, I am supposed to be able to do that while being in my wheelchair, managing the heavy bag on the back of my chair, with the rollator folded up and standing erect on my lap, with my cell phone near by and easy to grab because I’m in a new place. By the time everything is settled I am completely over traveling.

I haven’t even seen what this will look like with me trying to navigate a resort 🙄

Again, not complaining to be an ass, I promise. As soon as I get in front of the person or people I need to be around, I will have the biggest smile on my face, because this is the fault of no one.

At times I may choose to sit out from something to avoid seeing people adjust in every way for me. Even with me knowing people adjust because they want to and they want me around, it is a concept that is extremely hard for me to contend with. I just want shit to be easy. I don’t want to have to think if it makes more sense to take my rollator or wheelchair. I don’t want to pick and choose activities based on my energy level.

Is anyone else experiencing this?

Rhetorical question! Although, my group members may not have as heavy a physical burden as me, our mental and emotional struggles often run parallel. 🫂

Relating it Back to More About Love

I bet you all thought I’d never make the connection. We’ve arrived! bell hooks wrote:

We can never go back. I know that now. We can go forward. We can find the love our hearts long for, but not until we let go grief about the love we lost long ago… All the years of my life I thought I was searching for love I found, retrospectively, to be years where I was simply trying to recover what had been lost, to return to the first home, to get back the rapture of first love. I was not really ready to love or be loved in the present. I was still mourning — clinging to the broken heart of girlhood, to broken connections. When that mourning ceased I was able to love again.

Reading these words jolted me.

The difference between her beautiful words and my brokenhearted story, is that I am not clinging to the broken heart of girlhood. Or am I?

As a young child, I think we all—hopefully—are allowed to dream and imagine what our lives as adults will be like. I was a happy child. Full of life and love and ideas. I always did well in school. I was an active member of my school’s Student Government Association, I was voted best peronality three years in a row. Sure, I struggled in college for a second, but I got my shit together and became a spacial educator, dean, and assistant principal. I bout my home on my own. As a young girl I thought I’d be a broadcast journalist, married to an NFL player, with a son and maybe a daughter, and while none of that became a reality, my reality isn’t so bad. I am 35 years old, and none of that has played out. Instead, what I’ve gotten has been years of heartache. Yes, I’ve laughed A LOT! Beautiful rich laughter.

Like everyone else, I have also had my share of heartbreak. Life has taken everything from under me and dared me to complain or cry in the process.

The biggest heartache in my life has been recovering from a ruptured brain aneurysm.

It’s like a bandaid being ripped off every single day with no warning. It is constant ebbs and flows of highs and lows, and self-doubt, and proud moments, and frustration, and confusion, and… I’ll stop here because I have many more “ands” to include (lol)

However reading bell hooks’ words shook me in the best way possible. I will never be able to go back to being a young unbroken-hearted young girl where laughter was endless. However, I CAN be a woman with a lived heart who can choose to see God’s grace in every moment I am here to breathe, cry, laugh, wonder, and scream a little longer. This has been my mourning period. The young thoughts of that girl are gone and replaced with lived experiences, laughter, and God’s Grace.

I am angry and sad some days, but I am also really at peace when the mean thoughts don’t creep in. I’m okay. I’m annoyed, but I get to be annoyed (see that very small shift?)

I don’t have all of the answers and I know there will be days that are harder to navigate than others. I think the difference—in this moment, anyway—is that I no longer want to fight the moments that don’t feel so good. I want to embrace them. Embracing them means that I am loving me in all of my vastness, in all the uncomfortable moments, in all the beautiful moments, in the mundane moments. It means I am here!

It means that stuff WILL be hard, but God’s love and grace will carry me through if I just let it. It already has in so many ways. I’m done fighting myself about being physically disabled and being nervous to say it out loud. I’m done stopping myself from crying or laughing. I am surrendering and choosing love of self.

Now, don’t be all in my business if I backslide a lil bit. I’m human! 🙄😉😁