What do u struggle with most? Someone asked me this question and the answer for me is immediately forthcoming. I struggle with being a twin. A surprising statement to actually voice, shocking almost when you consider my relationship with my identical twin sister. We often joke that we are each other's soul mate, we talk of completion and total understanding, of being joined in such a close inexplicable bond. So struggle seems an odd sentiment, it doesn't correlate, how can such a bond be categorized in any way as strife?
I do know that part of the strife does come from the closeness of our bond, our dependency on each other. When you feel such a connection with one person it can be very easy and even unintentional to shut others out. Why take the time and effort to explain yourself to others when someone else understands you with an ease and such grace? Quickly other relationships can feel dimmed under the spotlight of such dependency and attachment. Boundaries are necessary but are not always easy to set. This dependency is a new part of the struggle. For a very long time I was content in this reliance, this beautiful if unbalanced friendship and bond. Only in the last few years, when my life has been on such a shaky foundation, have I realized the drawbacks and the effect of our closeness on others. I haven't fully invested in other relationships or in attempting to foster closeness with others I love. The realization of how my twin relationship affects my other relationships has created a need for balance, thus creating struggle.
My struggle of being a twin cannot solely be attributed to dependency. My struggle has always been in finding myself, defining myself, setting myself apart from someone who looks almost identical to me and acts very similar in many ways. The balance in embracing our similarities while drawing out our differences has been hard for me. Often I have went to one extreme while others chose the other extreme. We are categorized as "the twins." When together the focus is most definitely on our likeness to each other. Often people assume we like the same things, feel the same things, want the same things. I can't tell you how many times we have received the same gift or compliment. Often as children we were dressed alike, our identicalness was celebrated and fostered. And while this happens, I find myself going to the other extreme, screaming out for my own identity, place. I've talked about it before, her zig became my zag. You want long hair, well then mine will be short. You want girly-girl appearance and make-up and dresses, well then I'll do natural ponytail and jeans. These are simple things but often I went to extremes. Overachiever/slacker. Compliant/Rebellious.
For years I felt I lived in her shadow or in the shadow of our twinness. I would guess in ways she has felt the same. Even today at times I feel it. I wonder when I feel it now if it is just remnants of past thoughts and emotions. Yesterday someone remarked that they didn't know she was a twin. I thought how odd, we are truly living separate lives now, in different cities. How odd that something so key to my identity is not known or visible by everyone. Someone else remarked how much my oldest daughter looked like her. I thought "Hey wait a second, she's my daughter." Logical? No, I know when we both look so similar but it did rub me a little wrong. My pride, my joy, my sweet daughter;link her to me. Illogical, the thoughts of a twin sometime.
The struggle to be noticed and not just noticed but celebrated for who you are while not being compared or measured to someone else has always been my fight. I shared a room, a closet, a life and everything it entails with someone who became my own personal measure of self-esteem, beauty, acceptance. We shared friends, experiences, secrets, clothes, a bathroom. We still share all of those but a bathroom. We still spend hours talking, still sometimes late in the night. She is always one of my markers for joy, the one I laugh with over silly things, the one I cry to and confess to. I'm truly blessed to be able to call my sister my closest friend. I'm thankful that the competitive atmosphere of our friendship is rarely present now. My choices now are my own, not brought about my knee jerk reactions to distinguish myself as separate. I still cringe when I hear someone call us the twins though, even when they say 'the gorgeous redhead twins.' (I may have added the gorgeous part but I love descriptive words, the more the merrier!) I want to say we are so much more than what you see as us together. We are individual and deserve to be recognized for that.
So in reading this I am offering you a public service announcement. When you see twins, do not, I repeat, do not call them twins. Take the time to learn their individual names. :)
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Thursday, March 11, 2010
A step in the right direction
Man, I am struggling tonight. It was a very busy, full day, an emotional rollercoaster of a day as well. And I am reminded tonight about how life is about moments. Moments that shape you, mold you, change you, reform you or sometimes even break you. We don't get to pick the moments I have learned that, but we do get to pick how we respond.
I spent the morning with a room full of lovely girlfriends. I held a sweet little baby, who was not my own, hugged an almost-due beautifully pregnant friend, listened in on other conversations of friends voicing their desire to have more babies. Celebrated with a dear friend's joyful news, and talked of how I am feeling post-op, physically, emotionally. Then had lunch and headed off to my first post- op doctor appointment, a room full of beautiful, abundant, glowing pregnant ladies and a few late in life ladies. I sat with the late in life ladies. I read a senior magazine on bone density, I couldnt bring myself to look at all the Pregnancy and Conception Magazines. I texted my sister, sending out a plea for a lifeline. Quick, make me laugh, distract me, pray for me, save me from myself right now. Then they called my name and off I went to speak with my fabulous doctor.
It was a great check-up, I have to say I have bounced back rather nicely. But he had pictures and discussion for me. Oh I was expecting it but still so not ready for it. My hysterectomy was a direct result of mistakes made from my c-section; I think I have shared that before but if I havent, there it is. And I saw close-up in color pictures of the mistakes, pictures of my damaged womb, my damaged ovary and tubes. And I learned the damage was more extensive than I had originally thought. I dont mind gore, blood, organs, tissue, doesnt bother me in the least. But I have to say seeing my organs and the damage was shocking, upsetting. I have a wonderful surgeon who was able to repair what he could and remove what he couldnt. I am caught up in the removal, in the loss, in the senselessness and the carelessness of it. Preventable, all preventable, and I am not sure how to wrap my mind around that. But you see today I was reminded life is about how you react to the moments. The damage done to my body was in a moment, in that same moment I received the gift of a miracle, my beautiful baby boy. Oh I have heard it so many times over the last two years, "Just be glad you have Caleb, focus on that and dont worry about the rest." It's so hurtful when someone else recommends, even sometimes demands, that you move on. But it is beautiful and freeing, when you, your self can move on. My moment was at least two-fold, loss and blessing. What an interesting dynamic to come to terms with.
I told you of the pictures, I have several sheets of them. My doctor was kind enough to make me copies. I had them on the counter at home. Seneca was fascinated by them, asking what organs were what and where the incisions were made. Sierra was disturbed and covered her eyes and could not look. And my sweet Vanny, standing in the middle of both of them, stealing glances and then hugging me after each look at the pictures; my reassurer. This scene with the girls, struck such a chord with me. I've been like each girl in the midst of this struggle. Most often like Sierra, not ready to fully deal, avoiding. Sometimes like Vanny, diving in for a look, for a reality check and then pulling back, all the while reassuring myself and others. And recently more like my logical, realist Senny. Let's look it in the face and see what we are dealing with, no fear, no disgust, just focused interest and introspect. A key to moving on, at least a step in the right direction.
I'm so thankful I have beautiful amazing friends who share their lives with me. I am so blessed by my wonderful girls and the promptings they give to my spirit on a continual basis. I am amazed by the gift, the miracle of my sweet boy. It makes dealing with loss and ache much easier.
I spent the morning with a room full of lovely girlfriends. I held a sweet little baby, who was not my own, hugged an almost-due beautifully pregnant friend, listened in on other conversations of friends voicing their desire to have more babies. Celebrated with a dear friend's joyful news, and talked of how I am feeling post-op, physically, emotionally. Then had lunch and headed off to my first post- op doctor appointment, a room full of beautiful, abundant, glowing pregnant ladies and a few late in life ladies. I sat with the late in life ladies. I read a senior magazine on bone density, I couldnt bring myself to look at all the Pregnancy and Conception Magazines. I texted my sister, sending out a plea for a lifeline. Quick, make me laugh, distract me, pray for me, save me from myself right now. Then they called my name and off I went to speak with my fabulous doctor.
It was a great check-up, I have to say I have bounced back rather nicely. But he had pictures and discussion for me. Oh I was expecting it but still so not ready for it. My hysterectomy was a direct result of mistakes made from my c-section; I think I have shared that before but if I havent, there it is. And I saw close-up in color pictures of the mistakes, pictures of my damaged womb, my damaged ovary and tubes. And I learned the damage was more extensive than I had originally thought. I dont mind gore, blood, organs, tissue, doesnt bother me in the least. But I have to say seeing my organs and the damage was shocking, upsetting. I have a wonderful surgeon who was able to repair what he could and remove what he couldnt. I am caught up in the removal, in the loss, in the senselessness and the carelessness of it. Preventable, all preventable, and I am not sure how to wrap my mind around that. But you see today I was reminded life is about how you react to the moments. The damage done to my body was in a moment, in that same moment I received the gift of a miracle, my beautiful baby boy. Oh I have heard it so many times over the last two years, "Just be glad you have Caleb, focus on that and dont worry about the rest." It's so hurtful when someone else recommends, even sometimes demands, that you move on. But it is beautiful and freeing, when you, your self can move on. My moment was at least two-fold, loss and blessing. What an interesting dynamic to come to terms with.
I told you of the pictures, I have several sheets of them. My doctor was kind enough to make me copies. I had them on the counter at home. Seneca was fascinated by them, asking what organs were what and where the incisions were made. Sierra was disturbed and covered her eyes and could not look. And my sweet Vanny, standing in the middle of both of them, stealing glances and then hugging me after each look at the pictures; my reassurer. This scene with the girls, struck such a chord with me. I've been like each girl in the midst of this struggle. Most often like Sierra, not ready to fully deal, avoiding. Sometimes like Vanny, diving in for a look, for a reality check and then pulling back, all the while reassuring myself and others. And recently more like my logical, realist Senny. Let's look it in the face and see what we are dealing with, no fear, no disgust, just focused interest and introspect. A key to moving on, at least a step in the right direction.
I'm so thankful I have beautiful amazing friends who share their lives with me. I am so blessed by my wonderful girls and the promptings they give to my spirit on a continual basis. I am amazed by the gift, the miracle of my sweet boy. It makes dealing with loss and ache much easier.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Not just the pretty girl in a dress
Yesterday, I wore a dress and high heels and make-up and hairspray to church. I looked great and felt misleading to some extent. I'm such a jeans and t-shirt kinda girl, I probably wear a dress or skirt six or seven times a year, hairspray even less! Because of my surgical incisions, I did not want to wear jeans yet, I was concerned the waistband would rub against my stitches. So my choices were sweats (and only rough looking ones because the others were unlaundered, aka dirty) or a dress. Now to be completely forthcoming,I could so get by with sweats at my church, it isn't about a dress code there. In fact, I think in the past I have worn sweats on days I was teaching Sunday school and I do tend to rock my WVu sweatshirt in the fall after great victories. I chose the dress and the hairspray and lipstick and heels because I wanted to look nice, more than nice, womanly, pretty again. Realizing in some ways this surgery has robbed me of some of that feeling of womanly or youthful confidence. And before you start to think I am completely shallow and vain for spending a paragraph on what I wore to church, hold on I am going somewhere with this.
I wore the dress most of the day, rocked the dress, but the whole time I was in it I was internally crying out for my jeans and t-shirt. (and flip flops; the weather was springy yesterday!)
In a way the dress felt ingeniune, something I put on that did not represent me, embody me. Now I am a girl who doesn't struggle too much with body image issues or beauty issues. I am quite comfortable in my skin, not constantly comparing myself to others. I know I have flaws but I tend to focus on my attributes. I am not sure how or where I picked up body image confidence; my struggle is more with personality insecurities. I was completely comfortable with how I looked in the dress, that wasn't the issue. What was vexatious about my appearance yesterday was that I felt like it was not a true representation of me, or it wasn't the me I wanted to present. I wanted the ponytail and the fresh face and the jeans and flip flops.
Those features or items speak comfort to me and I am all about comfort in every aspect of my life. I desire to be cozy and warm. But more than that I am a giver of comfort, of calm. Several years ago I recognized I had an inclination to encourage people. I can very easily walk alongside individuals and support and cheer for them. I believe it is a gift I have that has helped in many of my relationships. It has helped to make me a good mother, a good friend, even in management when I worked outside of the home. I think it even comes out in my writing. I have this desire to see people where they are, love them there and encourage them to strive for more and believe for more. So for the past five or six years I have worked on this gifting or this personality trait. I am an encourager, it is a central part of who I am. I will also go as far to as to say the last four or five years most of my encouragement has pointed people towards my faith, towards Jesus, towards hope in a living,loving God.
I sat in church yesterday in my fun wrap dress and heels, feeling completely at a loss of who I am, feeling unauthentic, even in my dress, but more so in my faith, in my personality, and in my life right now. Struggling with a desire to still want to encourage others; yet I am so disheartened in my own faith and the reality of my life lately. I would not go so far as to say I am faking anything. I can still feel beautiful and fun in a dress. I don't believe I am faking the faith either. My faith is still there, it just seems so distant and marred right now. It's more than a choice of dress, it's more than a discouraging feeling.
Who am I as a mother, a friend, a daughter, as a woman when I am in the midst of struggle and unquiet in my faith, in my life? Me who gives calm and quiet, who points towards peace yet doesn't feel the peace herself?
I know others have solutions for this, some answers have touched me, others aggravated me. I feel a pushing and a pulling along as if someone else can just drag me back into an accord. Right now in my life there is struggle and dissatisfaction and anger and frustration, loss. I guess the thing I can still pull from my faith, still rely on is that there is hope. All of this will be worked out but I get to be who I am, in the midst of my struggle, in the day to day of my life, all of who I am,not just the pretty girl in a dress.
http://holdonandbelieve.blogspot.com/
I wore the dress most of the day, rocked the dress, but the whole time I was in it I was internally crying out for my jeans and t-shirt. (and flip flops; the weather was springy yesterday!)
In a way the dress felt ingeniune, something I put on that did not represent me, embody me. Now I am a girl who doesn't struggle too much with body image issues or beauty issues. I am quite comfortable in my skin, not constantly comparing myself to others. I know I have flaws but I tend to focus on my attributes. I am not sure how or where I picked up body image confidence; my struggle is more with personality insecurities. I was completely comfortable with how I looked in the dress, that wasn't the issue. What was vexatious about my appearance yesterday was that I felt like it was not a true representation of me, or it wasn't the me I wanted to present. I wanted the ponytail and the fresh face and the jeans and flip flops.
Those features or items speak comfort to me and I am all about comfort in every aspect of my life. I desire to be cozy and warm. But more than that I am a giver of comfort, of calm. Several years ago I recognized I had an inclination to encourage people. I can very easily walk alongside individuals and support and cheer for them. I believe it is a gift I have that has helped in many of my relationships. It has helped to make me a good mother, a good friend, even in management when I worked outside of the home. I think it even comes out in my writing. I have this desire to see people where they are, love them there and encourage them to strive for more and believe for more. So for the past five or six years I have worked on this gifting or this personality trait. I am an encourager, it is a central part of who I am. I will also go as far to as to say the last four or five years most of my encouragement has pointed people towards my faith, towards Jesus, towards hope in a living,loving God.
I sat in church yesterday in my fun wrap dress and heels, feeling completely at a loss of who I am, feeling unauthentic, even in my dress, but more so in my faith, in my personality, and in my life right now. Struggling with a desire to still want to encourage others; yet I am so disheartened in my own faith and the reality of my life lately. I would not go so far as to say I am faking anything. I can still feel beautiful and fun in a dress. I don't believe I am faking the faith either. My faith is still there, it just seems so distant and marred right now. It's more than a choice of dress, it's more than a discouraging feeling.
Who am I as a mother, a friend, a daughter, as a woman when I am in the midst of struggle and unquiet in my faith, in my life? Me who gives calm and quiet, who points towards peace yet doesn't feel the peace herself?
I know others have solutions for this, some answers have touched me, others aggravated me. I feel a pushing and a pulling along as if someone else can just drag me back into an accord. Right now in my life there is struggle and dissatisfaction and anger and frustration, loss. I guess the thing I can still pull from my faith, still rely on is that there is hope. All of this will be worked out but I get to be who I am, in the midst of my struggle, in the day to day of my life, all of who I am,not just the pretty girl in a dress.
http://holdonandbelieve.blogspot.com/
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