Samantha's Sweet Sixteen

I promised all my friends on Facebook a post about Samantha's Sweet Sixteen Bash, so here goes!

Samantha turned 16-years-old at 2:44 this morning. But we celebrated this milestone on Saturday at the home of one of our two best pairs of friends. We live in a relatively small two-bedroom apartment, so there was no way that we were going to fit 25 teenagers and four adults in here. So, Amanda and Eric Lanser graciously allowed us to invade their home and to turn it into Hogwarts.

All three of us are Harry Potter crazy, so the theme was an easy one to land on. It helps that Samantha hangs with a pretty nerdy crew. We chose the theme in October and immediately got to work. My birthdays weren't celebrated from ages 15-19, so it was really important to me that Samantha have an awesome memory. As a result, we had been stashing away little bits of money for about six months so that we could afford to throw her a party.

First, Mark began making wands... and turned into a regular Ollivander. He has become quite the skilled woodworker over the past two years. I should post some pictures of the incredible loft bed, freestanding bookshelves, tables, bathtub caddie tables and other goodies he has made. But he really outdid himself with these wands. Each wand was handcrafted (mainly from poplar, I think) with a unique design. We were total boneheads and didn't take pictures before he set up "Ollivander's Wand Shop" at the party, but I think I can put up some pics of the wands that didn't "choose any wizards" soon. When the guests arrived, they were told to visit Ollivander's. Mark then had each guest choose three wands that they thought might suit them. He then had each guest "test" out the wands by giving them a wave in turn. When a wand had clearly "chosen" the guest in front of him, Mark hit a secret button in his pocket which illuminated a spinning, multicolored light to signal to the wizard that the wand had chosen him or her. The guests (of course) got to take their handcrafted wands home.

Up at "The Three Broomsticks," Amanda, Eric and I set up a dinner of sloppy joes, fruit and chips so that the kids would have somewhat normal food in them before we brought out the goodies. And oh, what goodies there were. We made spiced apple cider, Butterbeer (butter brickle ice cream and cream soda), Pumpkin Juice (pumpkin spiced frappucino mix combined with lots of extra milk and tons of spices), licorice wands, "Nearly" every flavor beans, pink lemonade cupcakes with lemon frosting (Samantha's birthday cake... it was gross, but it was her party, so whatevsies), freshly baked chocolate chip cookies, goldfish, chocolate treats, sherbert and sprite floats, etc. etc. etc. The kids ate a LOT of sugar. Edina parents... I'm sorry.

In addition to screening the two Harry Potter 7 movies, I created a Harry Potter version of the game "Headbands," modified ColorKu to act as "Gobstones," set up the Wii and the ping-pong table, put up posters encouraging each guest to name their Patronus (a very serious business you know... I am an Osprey, Samantha is a Saint Bernard and Mark is a Deerhound... I find it funny that I live with two dogs- one of which is Sirius's animagus), hung up menus and signs and provided all kinds of other things for the kids to do while they were going nuts. And literally the only challenge of the night was that a bunch of the girls insisted on yelling the entire Hamilton soundtrack at the top of their lungs, which got to be a bit much for some of the tamer kids. Other than that, it was brilliant.

The best moment of the evening though, was when Samantha was sitting around opening all kinds of incredibly thoughtful gifts (including a five-gallon drum of nacho cheese from Amanda, because why not?). She looked at me and smiled so brightly and I could tell that in that moment she was completely happy... just to be surrounded by people who loved her enough to show up and celebrate with her in fun and nerdy ways.

I have been thinking a lot about how when Samantha was first placed in my arms, my first thought was, "Oh, it's you! I know you!" because it was like I was being introduced to someone I had known all my life long. It has been such a privilege to get to watch her grow and evolve from a tiny, sweet, precocious girl to a polished, hilariously funny and kind young lady. Especially because both of us have known exactly who she is all along and she has held her identity as sacred through these challenging teen years. I love this kid more than anything. And now she is my sweet sixteen Hufflepuff girl... just as in some ways she always has been and always will be.

My Year in Books

Goodreads provides this awesome service related to the books each subscriber reads annually. When you join the yearly reading challenge, it tracks what you have read and helps to keep you focused on whatever your reading goal may be. At the end of the year, the site gives you all kinds of fun information... like which book you read over the past year is the most highly "rated" on the site, the most widely read, the least widely read, the longest, the shortest, etc. It also provides you with a list of everything you have read the past year.

My goal for 2016 was to read 75 books. I am currently reading number 75, so I gave myself permission to look over my end of the year list. What I read in any given year says a lot about how that year has progressed. 2016 is not an exception to this rule. As a result, I thought I'd give you a peek into my list and offer some recommendations of titles that have inspired me this year.

This year was pretty Young Adult Lit heavy. I think that has much to do with the fact that I spent so much of this year sick as a dog, and YA is generally pretty darn engaging. When you spend most of your waking hours alone in bed, there are few things more comforting than good movies, good television and good books. I was spoiled rotten in each of these categories this year.

The year was pretty evenly split between lighter and heavier fare. I usually read several books simultaneously, and I usually have at least one "fluffy" book and one serious/challenging piece going in the mix so that I can bounce around depending on my mood.

I also revisited some great series this year. I read "Harry Potter" during the even years so that I don't read it too often and allow its magic to diminish. Thankfully, I seem to get more out of it every single time I read it and ALWAYS want to just start over again the minute I finish. BUT, I exercised some restraint... so, good for me! I also went on a Pride and Prejudice kick this year which was mega fun. Every girl needs a little Elizabeth and Darcy sometimes, you know?

So! Here are my top ten recommendations of books you might not have heard of (I am purposely leaving REALLY popular pieces like "Persepholis" and "Harry Potter" out of the mix because really, who (other than one of my two best friends) needs to have their arms twisted to read "Harry Potter"????). There is hopefully a little something for everyone in this list inspired by my 2016 list. Happy reading!

10(tie). "Endgame: The Calling" by James Frey - Holy moly. This is the only YA text on this list simply because it is the best YA book/series that I have read this year and it has therefore earned that honor. Set during the present day, in an unaltered world (not a dystopia) 12 teenagers descended from the original "lines" of humanity are forced to "play" to the death to determine which solitary line of humanity will survive an apocalyptic event. WAIT! I know, I know it sounds like it sucks. BUT IT DOESN'T. I read this book in a single day because I couldn't put it down. The last in the trilogy comes out on December 27 and I am already wanting to skip over Christmas just so I can read it!

10(tie). "The Royal We" by Heather Cocks and Jessica Morgan - And THIS is the only "Chick Lit" on this list because it is the best chick lit I read this year and it has therefore earned this honor. I love this book. Both Samantha and I were really frustrated when we finished because we wanted to hang out in this world with these characters a little longer. Thank goodness that Lauren Graham (yep, THAT Lauren Graham) and Mae Whitman are writing the screenplay! Anyone who thinks that they might like a book very, very roughly based on the commoner meets royalty romance of Will and Kate should RUN to Barnes and Noble to pick this up.

9. "Between the World and Me" by Ta-Nehisi Coates - The only reason why this book is ranked number nine and not closer to number one is simply that I am still processing it. I read this piece very shortly after reading the "March" trilogy by John Lewis (which IS ranked number one) and it was strange timing. As someone who identifies much more strongly with the teachings of MLK than Malcolm X, I found this piece to be unquestionably important, provocative, passionate beautiful and (at points) really disturbing. I couldn't help but think that Coates would have been one of the figures in "March" who pushed for violence rather than non-violence and may have altered the civil rights movement as a result, had he been alive during that time period. It is undeniably critical to hear the voices of individuals like Coates alongside the voices of individuals like Lewis. I just simply identify so easily with Lewis that it is taking me longer to process the experience and ideals of Mr. Coates. Anyone who wants to read this book and then chat about it, I am totally game!

8. "When Breath Becomes Air" by Paul Kalanithi - An autobiography written as a neurosurgeon lay dying of terminal cancer. It will make you think about your own mortality in ways that are thought-provoking and uplifting, introspective and important as opposed to frightening and upsetting. I applaud the author's efforts and insight... this was one of the few books I NEEDED to read this year given where I am in life and I am profoundly grateful for its existence.

7. "The Looming Tower" by Lawrence Wright - This Pulitzer Prize winner traces the roots of both Al-Qaeda and the 9/11 terrorist attacks. But what struck me most about this piece is how much it helped me to understand the roots of Daesh (ISIS). If you are struggling to understand Daesh, please consider checking out this provocative piece.

6. The "Pottermore Presents" trilogy by J.K. Rowling and Pottermore - I saw surprisingly little chatter about this trilogy when it was released and very, very few of my friends on Goodreads have read it. Read it! If you are a "Harry Potter" fan (and come on, I know you are) you will enjoy these short and sweet pieces about J.K. Rowling's original magical world. Unlike "Cursed Child" - (Sorry, had to pause to gag a little) the Pottermore trilogy does not seek to rewrite much of what we know and love about Hogwarts and the characters informed by it. Instead, it sheds a little bit more light on several beloved (and hated *COUGH-Umbridge!-COUGH*) characters, locations and objects without undermining anything related to the reader's original understanding of them. Worth a read!

5. "Me Before You" and "After You" by Jojo Moyes - I wrote a post about these books earlier this year, so I will keep this recommendation brief. "Me Before You" is thought-provoking, heartbreaking and made me laugh out loud repeatedly. Louisa's backstory is far more fleshed out (in critically important ways) in the book, as compared to the movie. Moviegoers who had not read the book likely had no idea why Louisa had never left her hometown. The book gives us these answers and makes the story all the richer for them. "After You" was unexpected in so many ways... and I am so grateful that I took the time to read it. These stories will stay with me forever. And I do not say that lightly.

4. "Alexander Hamilton" by Ron Chernow - I made it my mission to read this massive biography before allowing myself to dig into the Broadway show "Hamilton." I am so grateful that I did. Lin-Manuel Miranda picked up a copy of this book to take with him on vacation after concluding "In the Heights." He was so inspired by the text and the stories within it that he began to write what would eventually become "Hamilton." The piece is as beautiful as it is informative and engaging. Chernow may not have crazy editing skills, but the man can WRITE. And the story he has told has made me appreciate "Hamilton" in ways I otherwise could simply not have grasped.

3. "Rejected Princesses: Tales of History's Boldest Heroines, Hellions, and Heretics" by Jason Porath - A Disney animator has detailed the lives and legends of dozens upon dozens of women who have inspired history. What makes this book unique is that the author has specifically aimed to tell the stories of women whose experiences aren't "safe" and "clean" enough to regularly show up in history books. Each frank, funny and often disturbing description is accompanied by a gorgeous picture of what each "rejected" woman may have looked like as a Disney princess. But there is nothing "fairy tale" about this book. It even contains a rating guide in order to allow the reader warning when sexual violence, abuse, murder and other challenging topics appear. I read virtually every feminist text I can get my hands on and there is nothing quite like "Rejected Princesses."

2. "The Great Big Book of Horrible Things: The Definitive Chronicle of History's 100 Worst Atrocities" by Matthew White - This fascinating and important text details the 100 deadliest "events" in history ("events" caused by the violence of man, not acts of God, epidemics, etc.). The reason why this text is so illuminating is that one of its core purposes is the examination of how "we" (historians, statisticians, etc.) calculate death tolls given the limitations of examining history hundreds or thousands of years after the events in question. Understanding the scale of human injustice is critical if one is to learn from the past and honor lives that have been lost due to ignorance, greed, hatred, bigotry, boredom and other dark forces within human nature. I encourage anyone who is concerned with social justice or with history to allow this book to inspire you with some food for thought.

1. The "March" graphic novel trilogy by John Lewis - This autobiographical graphic novel trilogy primarily set during the civil rights movement should be required reading for the American public. I cannot speak highly enough of this series nor can I express fully just how profoundly this series inspired me. It was a true blessing to read this during the 2016 election cycle... pick up a copy and see for yourself.

What the Heart Wants

When I was younger, I never thought much about my physical heart. I was a very active person and I was healthy, so I suppose I didn't need to. But since my diagnosis, I have thought about my heart quite a bit. Especially now that its function is at odds with what my metaphorical heart wants so desperately.

My doctors are not quite sure why - the main theory is that some of the ultra toxic meds I am now weaned off of did damage and somehow caused this reality - but my cholesterol levels are now about as bad as they can get. From what I understand, it is pretty much unheard of to put a woman in her early thirties who is not truly heavy (I weigh more than I care to, but a weight in the 160s is not terribly unreasonable) on a statin. Most women of child-bearing age who are not truly heavy have natural protective processes that tend to guard their hearts. Also, while I don't eat as well as I'd like to, I certainly don't eat "badly" on any sort of regular basis. But, the reality is that my cholesterol levels combined with some Lupus complications have necessitated that I take a statin and some other meds in order to essentially ensure that I don't have a heart attack or progressive heart disease.

HOWEVER. Statins can cause serious, serious birth defects. So, I had to go off my statin and other harsh meds six months in advance of starting to try for Project Jellybean. Therefore, I have now spent three-quarters of the year off medications that I am in desperate need of.

This morning, I woke up twice because I had such a profound feeling that my heart was swelling and pushing on my front and back ribs that I had trouble moving. Added to that fun was a shooting pain in my left shoulder and upper arm. "Ohhh... crap."

This summer, one of my two best friends provided me with the gift of some of her honest concerns about Project Jellybean. Primary among them was what it could potentially do to my health. This is a completely legitimate concern... and it probably would have been strange if she hadn't been worried. Sometimes, the benefits of something outweigh the risks. And I believe that Project Jellybean does. But I would be lying if I didn't confirm that her voice was in my head this morning as I worked through several visualization techniques for the better portion of two hours in order to get my chest to calm down enough that I could fall back asleep.

The fact that my metaphorical heart and physical heart are at odds is a little poetic and a LOT annoying/frustrating/scary as hell. The heart wants what it wants. And I suppose what I am asking for now is positive energy from all of you in the service of my metaphorical heart winning this particular battle.

What's in a name?

I am a superstitious person. I throw salt over my shoulder after spilling some, I make wishes on eyelashes and I will NOT turn a calendar page until the new month has begun. But, it turns out that Project Jellybean has given me a new sense that sometimes looking forward (even when there is no guarantee of outcome - which I would normally interpret as "TEMPTING FATE") can be profoundly hopeful.

For example, a truly lovely friend of mine is selling us much of what we will need for the jellybean... at prices that will allow us to keep feeding the child we already have! It is such an insane blessing that I can't let the opportunity pass me by... even though our jellybean is not a guarantee. And I can honestly say that thinking about "making room for" the jellybean in this way makes me happy several times each day.

Similarly, we have effectively already named our jellybean. We have boy and girl names... and are compiling a list of "backups" in case said jellybean does not "look" (aka: seem) like the names we have grown SO attached to. The girl name was chosen during the first few months of our relationship more than eight years ago (Mark: I LOVE this name. Kassie: I LOVE that name too!!!) and has just plain STUCK. The boy name is one I have loved since shortly after Samantha was born and (praise the heavens!) Mark loves it too.

I have also attached TWO middle names to each of these first names, and Mark is being a great sport about it, even though he thinks that kids should generally only have one middle name. But I feel really strongly about name meaning... and each boy and girl name currently consists of a first name (one that they can truly make their own based on their personalities - just like "Samantha"), a middle nickname that highlights the fact that Mark and I believe that education and lifelong learning is the cornerstone of a life lived well AND a middle name that highlights the fact that Mark and I believe that love is the cornerstone of both a life lived fully and life itself.

Here's the problem... this election has REALLY made me want to tack on a THIRD middle name into the mix. One that speaks to the values that Mark and I hold more dearly now than ever before. One that speaks to everything that this election stood for. But I kind of think that Mark might interpret giving a kid THREE middle names as borderline child abuse. He MAY have a point...

When I think about everything we want for this little bean, everything we hope for it, I have to actively fight the urge to address it all at once. I struggle to remember that my brilliant, kind, FUNNY Samantha... who is SO DAMN BEAUTIFUL inside and out... was not "built" in a day. So it shall be with this jellybean.

And yet, looking forward is proving to be fun and hopeful... even if doing so is making me want to "knock on wood" about 75 times every day. Because no matter WHAT... if this jellybean comes sooner, later or not at all (God forbid)... the dream of what we hope for - summed up in the jellybean's MANY potential names - is a beautiful, beautiful dream that I am treasuring with each passing day.

Getting Up Off the Mat

(Forgive me in advance if I have told this opening story before)

During the 2004 election season, I was vice-president of the College Democrats at Lawrence University and was ultimately in charge of all election activities alongside one of my best guy friends at LU. With the rest of the dems, we organized a huge voter registration drive, organized rides to all three polling stations (a three-block campus of 1,200 liberal arts kids was divided into THREE congressional districts... thank you, gerrymandering!) organized a hugely successful call center and planned a big election night party in our student union. We were pumped... invested... passionate... and ultimately devastated when the returns started pouring in.

Three days later, my comrade in arms Andy and I went to see Tim Russert speak at our local PAC. His intelligence and charm helped to clear away some of the fog that seemed to envelop us both. When it came time to ask Tim questions, the only people who stood up at the microphone were older white men. Knowing me, it should not surprise you that I jumped up more out of principle than anything else. Thankfully, by the time my turn came as the last question of the evening, I sought advice that I hadn't realized until that moment I was desperately seeking. "Sir," I began, "Many of us young Democrats are feeling truly crushed that the president will be serving for another four years. This is the first time that many of us have experienced a blow like this after investing so much of our time, energy and faith into the process. What would you say to those of us who are having a difficult time getting up off the mat?"

Russert was gracious and wise. He told me that elections had occurred before and would occur again that would leave people like me feeling this way. That the only thing we can do is indeed, get off the mat, shake off and continue standing up (in word and deed) for that which we believe is right. I can't say for sure, but I suspect that he would say the same thing to all of us now.

This election has left me exhausted. I am not drained of motivation. In fact, I am perhaps more motivated now than I was even then, when I was still in college and had not yet left for law school or the wider world. But I am physically and emotionally exhausted. I will admit it. And yet, Russert did not tell me (or all of us feeling this way) to get off the mat only after I began feeling like doing so. Doing what is right means standing up even when your legs feel like jelly and your chest is so heavy that you fear you might tip over with the weight of it.

I have tried to employ this advice over and over again since my diagnosis. This is harder. Having my view of my nation altered fundamentally and questioning my place in it is harder than battling my own body. But perhaps that means that taking Russert's sage advice is that much more pressing. It is harder because it is even more important. And so... two weeks after the previously unthinkable has happened, my knees, elbows, fists and forehead are leaving the mat.

Lupus and Jellybeans in Trump's America

I am not yet ready to discuss the election generally. I am still processing and struggling. But one matter simply cannot wait to be addressed... so I might as well update you all now as I am working through it.

As you all know, my body does not handle stress very well. Stress creates inflammation in the body. And in my body, inflammation goes absolutely wild. I was therefore not terribly surprised when I woke up early this morning in terrible pain. The stress of election night flowed through my body like water. So, although heartbroken and wanting nothing more than to stay in bed holding my husband, I got out of bed, stretched enough to walk comfortably and went to the gym.

Life in America is not going to be easy for the next 1,454 days... and should we re-elect our next president, this new era of American history will stretch even farther than that. And as a Lupus patient, I am going to have to be smart about my approach to my daily life in some unique ways. Self-care is always a critical issue for me. When the news gets particularly challenging, I have to find ways to offset the toll that remaining educated and engaged takes on my body and the progression of my disease. I am going to have to turn into a self-care guru in order to navigate this next chapter of my life and of America's "life" successfully.

I recently attended an appointment with my new high-risk fetal and maternal medicine physician in which we discussed the inherent and potential risks of carrying a pregnancy while battling dangerously high levels of inflammation. My situation is scary and humbling. I fully understand that I must remain as healthy as possible not only for me and for my loved ones, but also for the future Jellybean. And yet, tuning out the news of my country and the world in which I live is not an option for me. I am simply going to have to learn (even more than I already have) how to offset the inherent stressors of being invested in our nation and our world.

So, this is my new reality. The outcome of this election has truly left me heartbroken, confused and deeply angry. But as I told Samantha this morning, it is now time for us to mourn, to grieve and then to work harder than ever at becoming the best versions of ourselves. I told her that in the battles between our lesser and better angels, there are defeats. That this defeat is life-changing. But we must not embrace bitterness. We must see the world more clearly and then move forward, intentionally and towards light, one step at a time. I must do this because this approach aligns with my deeply held spiritual beliefs, my duty as a Patriot and my purpose as a human being. It aligns with my feminism, my commitment to the cause of advancing human rights and my core identity. And honestly, it is absolutely necessary in order to minimize any progression of my disease that may occur as a result of living in an increasingly unrecognizable America.

Jack and Charlotte

Okay. It is time to tell this story. I have resisted telling it for an incredibly long time for a myriad of reasons, but it is time. A specific exchange during the last presidential debate has inspired me to be brave. I hope that I will not lose friends or familial relationships as a result of this admission, but if that is what will happen, I am willing to accept those consequences.

During my third year in law school, I became a surrogate for an Italian couple. The genetic material from both parents was sound, but the wife had lost her uterus due to cancer. At the time, I had been looking for a way to raise enough money to keep fighting for custody of my daughter... and I felt very, very strongly that I wanted to raise this money in a way that would help others. There seemed no better option than helping a couple to become parents, given that I was fighting to be the best parent I could be. Also, I had dealt with some challenging pregnancy-related circumstances in the past and now that I was healthy enough to be cleared for surrogacy, it felt appropriate to give back in this way.

I became pregnant with twins. My views on when "life" begins are complex, but I felt deeply attached to and fiercely protective of these little beings from the moment I was aware of them (and honestly, even before then... fertility treatments tend to do that, I think.)

During the pregnancy, it became apparent that the twins (which I felt in my bones were a boy and a girl) had died. I was told that a surgical abortion procedure was necessary as continuing to carry dead fetuses would endanger my health. My body refused to miscarry, so there was really no other option.

The procedure was beyond terrible. My doctors were incredible and took excellent care of me. But even then, I began to panic in the wake of the procedure, repeating to my significant other, "Something is wrong, something is wrong." He assured me that there was something wrong, which is why this experience was necessary. He was literally never kinder than he was during that time. In the wake of the procedure, my hormones went bananas and the depression was overwhelming. I also suffered multiple hemorrhage episodes that led to multiple stints in the emergency room. My one comfort was that just as I did during Samantha's pregnancy (hence, why she is named Samantha), I had two dreams in which names were revealed to me. Knowing that these little beings were called Jack and Charlotte helped to keep me sane during the grief. It took just over a year to feel like the world was no longer falling out from underneath me.

It will not likely surprise any of my regular readers to learn that I am both a believer in God/deeply spiritual person and pro-life. Because beyond any discussion of when life begins, I do not believe that it is the government's place to tell me that I must (to use this story as an example of one legitimate reason to seek abortion) carry a dead pregnancy to term while seriously risking my own health. One of the lives that must be respected by the government is mine. And even though the entire process was excruciating and forever changed me, I do not regret terminating my pregnancy due to the in-womb death of Jack and Charlotte.

I am sharing this now because I suspect that many of you may not have heard a story like mine. Whether it ultimately influences your position on abortion is personal to you alone. But I believe it is important for stories like this to be shared. And I am also sharing it because "Project Jellybean" is influenced by my loss of Jack and Charlotte. It has been scientifically proven that each pregnancy changes a mother's body on a cellular level. And although I am anxious to meet the Jellybean at whatever time he or she wishes to appear, I will forever be Jack and Charlotte's birth mother as well. And so... there's that.

Embracing Autumn

There is really nothing like being in pain the vast majority of the time to make me truly appreciate the moments that I am not. Similarly, there is really nothing like having to avoid the outdoors the vast majority of the time to make me truly appreciate the times that I can enjoy being outside.

As I have previously mentioned, Lupus flares tend to crop up around severe temperatures... this is why so many Lupus patients end up moving to Southern California beach towns and other steady, temperate climates. But, I live in Minnesota. And I love Minnesota, so I plan to stay here. For better and worse, Minnesota summers and winters are beastly. Much of the year is either oppressively hot and humid or so cold that the temperature and wind chill inspire severe weather warnings that can last for weeks or even months. During these times, I have to be careful to remain indoors or my Lupus flares so badly that it is difficult to get back on track. My pain tends to flare in cold and every other major symptom (fatigue, nausea, eye problems, headaches) tends to flare in the heat.

As a result, the autumn and spring are pure paradise. I am blessed enough to live within a newly certified wildlife habitat. As a result, my property is bursting with greenery, flowers and water features. We also have Adirondack chairs all over the property stationed near fountains and statues, situated in the middle of gorgeous green areas and close to our pools, tennis courts, playground and clubhouse. Finally, we have a newly renovated, spacious area devoted to insanely comfy lounge chairs and couches set next to a number of stone gas rock fireplaces. Any time I am not working, sleeping or doing something necessary inside, you can find me out in one of these places.

I know that this weather will not last for long. Minnesota summers and winters are much, much longer than its autumns and springs. But I am trying not to focus on the short amount of time that I can enjoy the outdoors right now. Instead, I am focusing on being grateful for every single breath breathed beyond the confines of an enclosed room.

"I Just Know There Are!"

This morning, I went to speak with Samantha's academic counselor about an issue with her AP Stats and Trig teacher. No big deal, I just thought it would be nicer to speak with her counselor in person rather than communicating my questions via email. When we finished talking about her math situation, we began speaking about some of Samantha's activities.

I have always told Samantha that if she has a passion for a specific interest and no club exists to facilitate that interest that she should think about starting one. I started one organization at Lawrence University (VDay) and co-founded one at UCHastings (Law Students for Reproductive Justice) that gave me an outlet for important activist work that I otherwise would have had difficulty engaging in on my own. Well, Samantha has decided to create a club and it is a doozy.

Apparently, my girl has approached her counselor and is working with the school social worker to start a club for kids whose parents suffer from a chronic illness or who have lost their parents to illness or injury. This morning, her counselor told me that Samantha said to her, "I just know there are other kids like me out there. I just know there are!" (Cue my tears and a feeling like I have been punched in the gut.)

I know that my diagnosis affects her. I know that. Of course I do. But I didn't know how much she craves the association of other individuals whose parents are dealing with the same kinds of issues. It makes perfect sense... after all, one of the primary reasons I write this blog is that I crave connection with others while weathering these particular circumstances. But I hadn't put two-and-two together in regards to her need for connection. And I admit, that lack of empathy and understanding on my part makes me feel pretty crummy.

With that said, I am now eager to support her endeavors and I am proud that she took my advice to seek connection and an outlet for a particular interest/passion by initiating her own group. I sincerely hope that she finds what she is looking for and will do anything I can to help.

If you are aware of any resources that a teen struggling with a parent's chronic illness diagnosis could benefit from, please don't hesitate to reach out!

Points

Stephen Colbert is a Tolkien FREAK. Apparently, Peter Jackson got wind of this fact and invited Colbert down to New Zealand while he was directing one of the Tolkien films. For funsies, a trivia contest was held. And Colbert absolutely spanked everyone else in attendance. Tolkien experts, researchers... Colbert bested them all by a long shot. And thank God for that. Because Colbert's insane Tolkien nerdiness empowers me to embrace my own insanely nerdy passion. Because if the brilliant and talented Stephen Colbert can hold a ridiculous amount of Tolkien quotes and trivia in his head while leading a productive, meaningful and influential life... I can do the same with Harry Potter. Long live Stephen Colbert.

So, I think we have now established that I am a Harry Potter freak. I can quote most of the books and movies by heart and I spend a fairly ridiculous amount of time contemplating the Harry Potter universe. And it is from this obsession that my little family's tradition of "points" came to be.

As HP fans well know, each of the four Hogwarts houses compete for points. These points determine the annual House Cup champion. When a student does something commendable, a teacher often awards that student house points. Points are taken away when a student misbehaves. And so it goes in our little house.

J.K. Rowling has admitted that in rare cases, "hybrid" sortings do exist. (Which is a bit contrary to her theory of hatstalls, but the co-existence of these phenomena work in my favor, so I just go with it.) Hybrid sortings can occur when a student essentially belongs in two houses instead of one. A "divergent" Hogwarts student, if you will. And each member of my little family just happens to fit this bill.

Me - Gryffinclaw (Gryffindor and Ravenclaw)
Samantha - Huffledor (Hufflepuff and Gryffindor)
Mark - Slytherpuff (Slytherin and Hufflepuff... the strangest possible combination, but Mark is a singular guy and I dig that about him)

When one of us does something awesome, one of the others tends to holler, "Five points to (insert house name here)!" and when we're being dorky, the refrain is, "Don't make me take five points from (insert house name here)." It has gotten to the point where I actively ask for and/or insist that someone give me "points" when I have done something good and am feeling particularly unappreciated. This serves as a gentle reminder that this mama/wife (and many, many mamas/wives, I'm sure) does a LOT around the house that goes completely unacknowledged and it is nice to take note once in awhile. I can sometimes be found running around the living room yelling, "I want points!!!!!!" And I can often be found yelling, "POINTS!" in acknowledgement of Mark's efforts or Samantha's.

The "points" tradition in our house is a silly one. But we like silly. And when said silly tradition helps us to acknowledge each other's efforts (and brings a little more Harry Potter into my life on a daily basis) why not?

Kassie's Toddler Years: Challenges of Returning to Work

So. I have been back at work for three weeks. And overall, I feel really positive about the experience. Unlike the last time I attempted to return to work after medical leave, I feel like I can handle coming back. I feel really optimistic about continuing to "ramp up" and feel that I am getting stronger, more acclimated and more productive each day.

That is not to say that my body is altogether happy about me returning. I am very, very tired a great deal of the time. My hands and wrists hate all the typing, my eyes and migraine-prone noggin do NOT like looking at a computer screen all day and my body wishes it had more time to gently stretch than it does.

But the truly challenging part about going back to work has been surprising. It has been the emotional component of returning. I spent my five months of medical leave very, very quietly. I didn't talk to many people because I was concentrated on healing. And I avoided stressful interactions because stress exacerbates flares. But when you return to work, you have to interact with others. You have to embrace stressful situations and constructive criticism.

Normally, this isn't a problem for me. I genuinely enjoy my co-workers, believe constructive criticism is necessary for growth and believe that a certain amount of challenge-related stress tends to keep work interesting. But I am uncharacteristically bristling at many of the interactions I am compelled to have on a daily basis right now. I am not sure if it is simply that I have been quiet for so long that I am overly sensitive and fearful of judgment/rejection or if something else is going on. But I am having a rough time letting things flow through me in the ways they normally would.

For example, my boss decided to treat my return (given the fact that I was gone for five months and five months is a LONG time in our business) basically as a "fresh start." And in many ways, that has been really helpful. A great deal of our systems have changed and my Lupus brain is just straight-up slower than it once was. But in other ways, it has made me want to cry. Regularly. And a LOT. I have been at my company for seven years. I initially trained the majority of my team in writing and research skills when they first arrived. And I am now being asked to run literally every word I write by others for critique. My co-workers are lovely and are just doing their jobs. But being treated like I have absolutely no idea what I am doing after seven years of writing this kind of content is demoralizing. And frankly, it makes me want to construct a fort in my living room and never come out of it again.

I told Mark today that I have said to myself "Stop acting like a toddler and just do it" so many times in the past few weeks, I have lost count. Because I am drained. I feel undervalued, micromanaged and drained. Which perhaps isn't fair... after all, I am the one who had to leave for five months and who is taking FOREVER to get a good rhythm going. Mark insists that I need to avoid being so hard on myself. But it is hard not to be hard on myself when I am sitting around on the verge of tears all the damn time because I feel like I am being treated like a child and am responding to the situation by ACTING like a child.

If I felt like I could get out of this loop, it wouldn't be a problem. But no matter how often I tell myself not to take my temporary situation personally, my childish reactions to it just rear their ugly heads ten minutes later.

I apologize for the fact that this is not an uplifting post. I feel it is important to remain honest at all times and that is what I am trying to do... even if the most honest version of my life right now makes me look like a brat.

Samantha and the String Bikini

If you know me personally or follow this blog regularly, you are aware that my 15-year-old daughter Samantha is the absolute best thing about my life. She is not only the sweetest spirit I have ever had the privilege of encountering, she is also one of the funniest people I know, smart as a whip, empathetic and engaged, lovely inside and out, grounded and loving. But, I am a human being. And as a result, there are moments when my daughter's choices test my patience. And even though I want a Jelly Bean terribly, sometimes her choices make me question (just for a moment) whether I want to go through the challenges of parenting again, given that I am far older and less healthy than I was when I had Samantha.

Example... recently Samantha came home from the mall having purchased a bikini. I have no inherent problem with bikinis. But this bikini was fushia and was a string bikini. She may as well have taped a sign to her forehead that screamed "Ogle my body, please!" Now, I am a very vocal feminist and it goes without saying that I do not believe that the way one dresses gives anyone a right to treat that person in a degrading manner. But there is something to be said for being classy, self-respecting and reasonably modest in one's dressing choices... especially before one has reached the age of majority. If she chooses to bare all when she is older, I will probably feel like I have failed a little bit, but it will ultimately be her right. However, I have no interest in sanctioning a string bikini for a 15-year-old... and she was not happy about it.

It is funny... she is normally so grounded that these kinds of situations shock the hell out of me. As we discussed why she would not be wearing this bikini outside the women's locker room at the gym (we hot tub like it is a sport because the hot water really helps my leg pain), I kept thinking to myself "Why the hell am I having to explain this to her? Doesn't everything I have taught her to this point clearly illustrate why I am not cool with her wearing virtually nothing in public?" But no matter how smart, sweet and grounded she is, she is also a human being. She is going to test her limits and reach independent conclusions that drive me nuts sometimes. It is the way things are supposed to be as kids grow... but that doesn't make these mother-daughter challenges straightforward or easy.

I never second-guess myself more than when my sweet, smart, grounded daughter finds me or an argument of mine somehow lacking. Most of the time, when I go over my positions in "post game" I feel that I am standing on a solid foundation. However, other times I need to re-evaluate and either change course or apologize for articulating a position that was under-informed or stated from a place of little more than knee-jerk emotion. As my child gets older and smarter (if not always wiser) assuring myself that I "know what I am doing" gets more challenging.

I fully, fully understand why new parents or parents of young kids sometimes feel like they have been thrown into the deep end of the pool. However, Samantha's baby/toddler/little kid years were almost always fairly straightforward for me. She was a happy kiddo and was content to follow my lead... and I usually felt solid in the direction I was leading her, even if I didn't always feel solid in the direction I was leading myself. But now that she is getting closer to adulthood, I feel myself questioning my approach and my methods more and more often.

I really look forward to (God willing) being able to discuss baby things and little kid things with you all as the Jelly Bean grows older. I was the first of my friends to have a little one, so I never had anyone to talk to about those things. And with the Jelly Bean, that will not be the case. However, I am also the first of my friends to have a teenager. And once again, I find myself without anyone to talk to about raising a person going through that phase of life. Example... "So, Samantha came home the other day having purchased a string bikini..."

Holy Crap: Going Back to Work

So, I didn't end up losing my job. Even though my FMLA leave has been used up for the year for some time now, my employer ultimately did not decide to back fill my job while I was on medical leave. I was hoping that seven years of company loyalty would mean something, and I think it probably did. I am incredibly grateful to have retained my position and I am beyond excited to get my health insurance back. There is nothing that makes me want to hide from the big, scary world like having a gap in my health insurance.

And yet, despite my profound gratitude for retaining my job, I am about as nervous as one can get about returning to work this Monday. My rheumatologist has cleared me, but neither she nor I am sure that work is something I can truly handle anymore. Going from five months sick leave to full time employment is a HUGE jump. Although I am much better than I was when I initiated this latest leave, my health is still really precarious and I am anxious about it all falling apart again like it did the last time I tried to return to work. The thought of undoing all these months of recovery is frankly, very, very scary.

To add a level of complexity to the situation, my body is rejecting the stress I am experiencing at the thought of returning to work. A few hours after having a conversation with my new bosses about returning, my hands swelled up so painfully that I couldn't move them and I broke out in hives all over my body.

Soooooo... it seems that having a positive and optimistic outlook on things is not only beneficial right now, but a critical necessity. My family needs my income and I need my health insurance back, so I am returning to work without any real certainty that I can handle it. But it must be done, so I need to be as positive as possible in order to guard against stress-related inflammation and flares. Basically, being positive and at peace is becoming my new job title as I return to my old one.

Thank God that the Olympics are on right now. There is absolutely nothing like watching disciplined, dedicated and hard working individuals show up for a profound crossroads in their lives to inspire me to show up for mine. If you haven't taken a minute to watch the "Salute!" video I posted on my Facebook wall on Thursday, take some time to do it now. It will almost certainly inspire you to show up for whatever is challenging you right now in your life too.

My Partner in Time

I last posted one month ago today. The reason for the hiatus? Well, that is a bit of a story.

Over the past several years, Mark has become an incredibly private person. Although he is very friendly, funny and easy-going at work and with more casual friends, he really only opens up emotionally to family and very close friends. He almost never checks his Facebook account and would rather eat poisonous mushrooms than open himself up in a blog. And yet... it really never occurred to me that he would hate if I opened up about our personal lives in my blog. Yep. Me. Relatively perceptive and absurdly empathetic me. Never really occurred to me. Yep...

Late on the Fourth of July, Mark casually mentioned that he HATES that I write about Project Jellybean in a public forum. And I swear, my jaw hit the floor. I know that he worries that I will be hurt by negative reactions to my writing. And I know that he took it even harder than I did when a family member recently condemned me as a person for writing three sentences about a single night of my adolescence. But he has never once even hinted that it bothers him that I write about Project Jellybean.

I think the reason why it took so long for this information to come to light is that Mark understands a great deal about why I write my blog. He understands my desire to connect to others, to process my experience, to keep interested loved ones "in the know" about what is going on. He also understands that I write for other reasons that he doesn't personally identify with, but he supports me and what is important to me.

He hasn't asked me to stop writing about Project Jellybean, and after a month of thinking about the entire situation, I have decided that I am not going to stop writing about it. Although he doesn't like me sharing our personal business with the world, I genuinely believe that he values what this process does for me more than he does his privacy in this regard.

I must admit, this situation has caused me to spend a great deal of time thinking about how all of this is affecting him. Although Lupus is my personal challenge to weather, it does not solely affect me. It affects Mark, Samantha, our closest friends, my work relationships and a host of others. Project Jellybean obviously affects him tremendously... it is not easy having an incredibly specific timetable for one of life's most significant events imposed upon you.

I have started to quietly refer to Mark as my "partner in time." Project Jellybean is a very time sensitive issue... and it is affecting both of our lives in dramatic ways. I am endlessly grateful that Mark respects my need to write about this process, even if doing so makes him incredibly uncomfortable. One of our little family's favorite sayings is "Love is a verb, first and foremost." Supporting my blog despite his personal discomfort is a pretty outstanding use of said verb.

Rainbow Babies

It is 6:10am and I have yet to sleep. I have had something on my mind... and light sensitivity or not, I feel the need to write about this. I will gladly endure a headache from my laptop's brightness in exchange for opening my heart a little bit more than I have before.

A few days ago, I came across a gorgeous picture of a newborn little one who was sleeping on a sunburst of fabric in numerous colors. I read a caption underneath the photo, which explained that this little girl is a "rainbow baby." Given that I have babies on the brain lately, I was surprised to hear of a term I had yet to come across in my baby-related research. Apparently, rainbow babies are those babies who are conceived after pregnancy loss or infant loss. Their presence is "rainbow colored" in nature because it represents the beauty and ache of joyful light emerging in the wake of a storm. A rainbow is precious in its own right... but it is also often all the more precious because it would not be unique in the same way had a storm not preceded its existence.

I am going to be brave and tell you that the Jellybean will be a rainbow baby. I hope you will understand that I don't actually want to talk about my "storm" because I have learned that it is healthier for me to grieve my loss privately. However, I also believe it is important to share the reality that the baby I hope to have relatively soon will be a rainbow baby, because this reality is impacting Project Jellybean significantly enough that it seems dishonest not to address it at all.

Pregnancy loss and infant loss affect so many women as individuals, couples and families that it is sometimes bewildering to me that it is not discussed more openly and frequently. However, it never takes me long to remember that I now hold on very tightly to my privacy in regards to this particular loss. In fact, I can count on my fingers and toes the number of individuals I have discussed this loss with in any sort of detail or with any true vulnerability.

One of the freeing, beautiful things about the concept of honoring little ones as rainbow babies is the idea that one can truly embrace the full joy of bringing a new life into the world while honoring the reality that a storm has sincerely influenced the arrival of that joy. One need not forget the pregnancies or little ones who came before... in fact, by proclaiming that a new little person is "rainbow" in nature, one honors the storm that helped to aid in its specific creation.

Just as every great love in my life has helped to shape the person I have become, so has every great loss. Similarly, both the profound love I already have for the Jellybean and my previous loss are inevitably shaping the approach I am taking to Project Jellybean. The other day, I found myself so excited about the prospect of a successful Project Jellybean that I almost threw up. The joy that this possibility brings me is absolutely overwhelming. It is entirely possible, especially given my present health challenges and temporary financial challenges, that I would not be nearly so joyful at the thought of navigating a pregnancy and becoming a mother again if my journey as a mother had not begun at 17 years of age and if I had not weathered terrible loss in between Miss Samantha and the Jellybean. Everything that I have been through has led me to this moment. And I choose to honor that fact rather than sweep it under the carpet.

And if I am being honest, even though I choose to grieve my loss privately, I have no interest in forgetting the deep love that I have known and lost. In September of 2015, the New York Times published a piece regarding a study that had been completed at a prestigious research center in Seattle. The study concludes that most mothers acquire new cells during every pregnancy. In a profoundly poetic way, the phenomenon of pregnancy-related microchimerism allows each pregnancy to leave a lasting physical presence within a woman's body. At this moment, some of Samantha's cells are almost certainly residing within my body, as are cells that originated during the storm. Hopefully, I will soon have rainbow cells within my body as well. And I will treasure the presence of all three of these visitors.

I could not be more excited to (God willing) have a rainbow baby. And rather than causing me to "push aside" the storm that helped to shape this moment, I find myself even more grateful and even more in love with what came before. Because in some strange way, that loss helped to lead me to Project Jellybean. And there is no other journey I would rather initiate more than Project Jellybean... aaaaannnnndddd a published book "baby" to match. *Wink!*

The Power of Engagement

If you happen to follow me on Facebook, you have likely noticed that I have become quite "vocal" over the past two weeks. This particular burst of activity is unusual for me, as I am generally wary of utilizing social media as a platform for political engagement and social activism. There is absolutely nothing wrong with using social media in this way. However, I tend to shy away from this approach for a few reasons, not least of which is that it is difficult to initiate/engage in/sustain a discussion colored by any kind of nuance on a platform like Facebook.

Lately however, I have felt compelled to vocalize several different views and concerns on Facebook for a few reasons:

1. My lack of various pain meds and autoimmune meds (see previous discussion on temporary suspension of health insurance and lack of income, which has been very, very rough) has made me WIRED. When I am awake, my senses are on high alert. Literally everything in my body hurts, it feels like my eyeballs are swelling out of their sockets, etc. As a result, it feels like I have been injected with heavy doses of caffeine at all times that I am not asleep. I therefore find it very difficult to keep any thoughts to myself, as my mental and emotional filters seem to have disappeared along with my pain medications.

2. The news cycle has been particularly challenging lately. Orlando, the gun control sit-in, Brexit, Supreme Court decisions, and on... and on... and on... I react with an abnormally deep emotional pull to these kinds of stories at the best of times. At the moment, I am so worked up that I think I am seriously freaking Mark out on a regular basis.

3. (MOST IMPORTANTLY) I am deriving sincere energy and strength from re-engaging with social and political causes that I care about. Ever since I was a freshman in high school and joined debate, mock trial and forensics, I have read newspapers on a daily basis. My unique majors in college were designed with a life of engagement in mind. And I went to law school to focus on international human rights law and constitutional law in theory and practice. Engagement is a very significant part of who I am as a person. Since I got really sick this past autumn (and have yet to recover... sigh), my practical political and social engagement has waned significantly. While I have continued to watch political and socially relevant programming and have continued to read both newspapers and other specialized publications regularly, I have felt removed from the world around me. I didn't actually realize HOW removed I felt until the "old me" came flooding back to me over these past few weeks.

Not to be a total downer, but if I am being honest, I have felt pretty useless as a human being since my mega flare began about 8 months ago. I have felt that I am not contributing very much to my household, I have had to stop working and I have had no energy to write, perform pro bono work or otherwise contribute to society. I spend so much time in my giant, mega-comfy bed that my life has begun to feel... well... stupid. I could never feel that my life is meaningless due to my faith and my loved ones. But I certainly have felt useless and that my life has lacked direction, focus and much of a wider purpose since I turned into one of the grandparents in Willy Wonka. Engaging in my "old" habits of research beyond my everyday publications, voicing my concerns, writing my legislators and PLANNING FOR THE FUTURE in regards to my political and social activism has made me feel that I am waking up from a deep, deep sleep.

I have long understood that my voice is a unique one. The thought that I am feeling cognitively capable of engaging with the political and social realities of the world on any significant level is incredibly empowering. I was deeply crushed when I had to wean off medications that aid me in my pain management and the management of my disease due to financial necessity (NO ONE should EVER have to do that), however the single silver lining of that challenge is that my mental acuity is slowly returning. And while I may be an emotional nut ball right now, the decrease in my medication-related cognitive challenges has allowed me to return to the world in ways that I have missed so very, very much. And for this, I could not be more grateful.

Once Upon a Time

When my Samantha says, "Mama, you HAVE TO watch/read/listen to this!" it is impossible to ignore her recommendations. Miss Samantha and I are two peas in a pod. And although her tastes are evolving so that they no longer COMPLETELY mirror my own, our tastes in virtually every art form are so similar that ignoring her recommendations would be folly.

Most recently, Samantha insisted that I begin watching the ABC hit show "Once Upon a Time" which is streaming on Netflix. At first, I was a little thrown by some of the forced acting and the somewhat clunky ways in which the plot is initially developed. But, sure enough, by a few episodes in, I was absolutely hooked. It certainly helps that I have a broad imagination and regularly read kids lit for fun... so fairy tale plots intrigue me, rather than annoy me. But what has kept me riveted is the same basic truth that links all books, music, dance, visual art, television, film and plays I am attracted to and inspired by. "Once Upon a Time" places the challenges and beauty of the human condition at the heart of its storytelling.

I am specifically drawn to the ways in which this show portrays relationships... both with the self and with others. It is difficult to write much about any of the story's particulars without articulating spoilers. But I can discuss one relationship in particular without giving virtually anything away. The audience learns in Episode One that two of the show's three talented female leads are compelled to grapple with a common challenge. Snow White is forced to miss her daughter's childhood due to a curse. Emma Swan has given her son up for adoption in order to give him his "best shot" in life and must mourn the time she has lost with him as well.

As my faithful readers are aware, I had to spend large chunks of my darling Samantha's childhood away from her due to great physical distance between her father and myself. While I had her almost exclusively until she turned 5-years-old, circumstances led to a change after I graduated college. My law school was located in San Francisco and her father's graduate school was in Irvine. We split time fairly decently during my three years in law school... but the economy completely collapsed only months after I graduated in 2008 and I could no longer afford to live in San Francisco after graduation. Due to economic necessity, I moved back to the Midwest. You can understand how it would be difficult to ensure that both parents receive significant time with a child when more than 2,000 miles separate them.

Samantha returned home for good one year ago... and it has been HEAVEN to have her home the vast, vast majority of the time. But I find that even now, I am still grieving the time that I have lost with my girl. Time that I cannot get back. However, the fact that inspiration comes from the most unexpected places at times, is both a hopeful and hilarious reality. "Once Upon a Time" has become an unexpected source of strength for me as I work through the grief that does not yet seem to want to let go of me.

As Emma navigates the process of bonding with her son, her focus is almost laser-like. Although it is obvious that she is processing grief for time and opportunities lost, she chooses to be profoundly present. Rather than allowing her relationship with her son to be defined by the time they have lost, Emma pours her energy into whatever time they are allowed to have together in the present day. This approach boggles my mind in the best possible ways.

And magically, Snow White impresses and inspires me even more than Emma does. Like me, Snow White is a sincere and deeply, deeply emotional creature. This temperament can be a challenging one when emotions like grief arise. Yet, as the series progresses, it becomes staggeringly apparent that she is brave and strong in virtually every way that a woman can be. She feels the loss of time with her child profoundly. And yet, she does not allow those completely justified emotions to make her bitter, to make her insecure or to swallow her whole. (While I have always identified most strongly with Belle and Rapunzel in terms of Disney Princesses, Snow White is my new favorite. It makes me wish that I had a picture of when I dressed up as Snow White for Halloween when I was a kindergartner... come to think of it... Samantha did too, and at the exact same age! Spooky...)

I try to embrace the world with an open heart and a willingness to accept inspiration in whatever form it appears. It is quite lovely that even as an adult, I can find true power in stories that begin "Once upon a time..."

Holy Information Overload, Batman!

Even though I am weathering some serious financial challenges and a debilitating chronic disease, I am still rapidly approaching my "start" date for the conception part of Project Jellybean. That's right, folks... in less than two months, I will have rid my body of toxic chemo drug after-effects, and will be medically cleared to start "trying." And given how insanely narrow my "window" is, this is proving to be a critical time period. If Mark and I want to have any biological Jelly Beans, we have to act really fast before the physician-approved window closes.

SO... I have been doing some research. And holy moly, was I ever under-prepared for the avalanche of information I need to digest with regards to this specific topic.

Mind, I am former Lawrentian and a former UCHastings law student. I research and write for a living. My pro bono work for the UN and other organizations revolves around research and drafting. I also read more voraciously for pleasure than anyone else I know. For God's sake, I spent the summer before junior year in high school pacing around the University of Michigan reading room trying to process Judith Butler and writing the world's most complex "Gender is Burning" policy critique. I am no stranger to reading piles of information, nor am I a stranger to seemingly insurmountable piles of research. However, I have NEVER been more intimidated or overwhelmed by research for a topic as I am by this one.

Here is what I have learned so far:

1. Every drug I am currently on is either Class X (absolutely cannot be used during pregnancy, as fetal abnormalities will almost certainly result) or Class D (Positive evidence of fetal risk based on data from human studies) or Class C (Animal reproduction studies have shown an adverse effect on the fetus; no adequate and well-controlled studies in humans in re: potential risk). Technically, I can use Class C drugs, but several of those I am on are risky enough for various reasons that it would be ill-advised for me to keep taking them. For example, my primary pain medications at the moment are high doses of Tramadol and fairly high doses of Percocet. Both drugs are category C, meaning that risk to a fetus cannot be ruled out. However, it seems that newborns can suffer withdrawal symptoms if their mothers take Tramadol in-utero and are likely at a heightened risk for neurological defects as a result of exposure. Similarly, Percocet can cause withdrawal symptoms due to fetal addiction and can cause respiratory depression. Therefore, even the "safest" drugs I am on are too dangerous to take. So, that's fun.

2. Conception is a hell of a lot more complex than it was when I was 17. Yikes. Apparently, I need to chart temperatures and fluids (gah!), cut out even more stuff from my diet (while adding all kinds of things I am not supposed to eat because of the lupus... being a whole-food vegan pregnant lady is going to be really challenging), exercise more than my body can handle right now and cut out stress. Sure. No problem.

3. Every single one of my fertility books is heavier than my Bible.

4. Trying to prepare for this narrow window while having to postpone my high-risk OB appointment because my health insurance has been temporarily suspended is a pain in the ass.

5. Did I mention that I need to cut out stress? Stress is enemy number one of conception and healthy pregnancies. I would be more than happy to cut stress out if my life would cooperate. (I know it doesn't work that way... but if anyone out there thinks they could live my particular life stress-free, I would SINCERELY appreciate some tips.)

6. Mark has it easy. I insisted that he conquer his Diet Coke addiction 90 days out... and he has done a beautiful job. He cut it out cold-turkey, despite a decades-old habit that had him drinking an INSANE amount every day. Now all he has to do is eat well and exercise and he will be good to go, theoretically. I love him tremendously, but I also hate him just a teeny-tiny bit for how easy this journey will be for him in comparison to how challenging it has been and will continue to be for me.

7. In order to access the forums on "The Bump" and other fertility websites, you must basically read a host of pages regarding forum rules, ethics and manners that rival the length of a car manual. People take talking about fertility seriously.

So, I am digging into research and mapping out a plan. It is an intimidating and overwhelming project, let me tell you. Samantha was the shock of a lifetime... the Jelly Bean will be planned out within an inch of its existence. Hopefully and God-willing, Project Jellybean will ultimately prove as successful as the "Holy crap, I'm pregnant?!?!?!?" episode of 2000.

My Birds of a Feather

Things have been heavy in my life for awhile now, so I thought I would take some time to write a light, fun post. One of the joys in my life that I have yet to write about is my brood of darling, adorable and crazy pet finches. So, I think it is time to introduce them to the world!

We technically are not allowed to have pets in our building. However, Samantha has been desperate for a pet ever since she could articulate that desire. So, for her fifteenth birthday this past December, I decided to get her a little pet. Initially, I thought I might get her a little turtle or two. However, when I walked into the pet store, I was drawn to the zebra finches as if by a tractor beam. Because finches are not at all loud, do not produce any sort of weird smell and are very clean animals, I reasoned that it would be okay for us to keep a cage of them in Samantha's room without bothering our neighbors in any way. Although we now have four little zebra finches (I will explain the arrival of the fourth in a minute) I initially took home three precious little birdies.

We opted to name the birdies after literary characters which match their personalities and circumstances. After several days of observing them, we settled on the following names:

1. Atticus - Literary connection: "To Kill a Mockingbird." Atticus is our only little boy. (Poor Mark. He is so incredibly outnumbered by females in this house.) Atticus was actually named by Mark's brother Grant... I don't know how none of the rest of us managed to stumble upon "Atticus Finch" but I am incredibly glad that Grant made the connection. Thankfully, his protective, chatty and loving personality work well with his literary reference. He is dark grey with distinctive zebra finch orange "cheeks." He is a complete spazmo at times (it turns out that all of the girls are braver than he is... which is funny, because he tends to be really protective of them when absolutely nothing is going on) and is the loudest of the bunch. He is also a stereotypical "guy" in so many ways, including the fact that he is a slob. And he tends to poo in both his food and water dish which never fails to make me shake my head in disbelief.

2. Tabitha, nicknamed "Tibby" - Literary connection: "Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants." Tibby fits her literary name to a tee. She is completely stubborn, a bit bad-ass, a bit moody and ultimately as sweet and wonderful as can be. Tibby is my buddy... she likes to watch me quietly, even though she tends to jump around and show off for Mark and Samantha. The birds really like when I read out loud to them and Tibby seems to anticipate story time. It is a bit eerie. She is obviously crazy intelligent. I also think it is pretty awesome that when our always-randy Atticus is "jumping on" her too much, she pecks and squawks at him until he leaves her alone for a few days. I think Tibby is probably the bird equivalent of a feminist. She is pure white, which makes her orange beak and bright black eyes stand out beautifully.

3. Hazel Grace, nicknamed "Pip" - Literary connection: "The Fault in Our Stars." - Hazel/Pip is our little baby. She is the runt of our little litter and as a result, we humans are all very, very protective of her. She is the color of coffee with an absurd amount of cream in it and she is light, delicate and dainty. Unfortunately, a few days after I purchased our three little ones, Hazel got really sick. We could tell something was wrong when she started pulling her feathers out and Tibby started bullying her in an incredibly aggressive and violent way... and although she was only acting out of instinct, I was pretty crabby with Tibby for a few days as a result. I took Hazel to the vet and she was kept in isolation for about 8 weeks. She was fed a special diet to help her feathers grow back and was treated in other ways for whatever was making her ill. Once she came home, we had to put her in a separate cage (I'll explain in a minute). Her cage has a little swing in it and she chooses to sleep in her swing every night. Watching that little cutie in her swing is pretty great. She also likes to hop incredibly lightly from perch to perch without flying. We have dubbed her particular version of parkour "Pip-kour."

After Hazel came home from the vet, it became clear that Tibby and Atticus had paired off romantically and were not okay with having another roommate. Although Tibby did bunk out with Pip for a bit after Atticus got himself sent to the dog-house for being a sex fiend, Tibby ultimately turned on her when she was ready to return to her cage with Atticus. Finches are very, very social creatures, so we began to worry about Hazel being really lonely in a cage all by herself. All three of the birds began spending most of the day perched as closely to the edge of each other's cages as possible in order to be near one another. But this arrangement obviously did not allow Pip to have any physical interaction with other birds. She began to get very, very quiet... which is not a great sign for a finch. So, we took a gamble and bought Hazel a buddy. Enter...

4. Louisa, nicknamed "Lou" and "Lulu" - Literary connection: "Me Before You." - Lou is the most energetic, chatty and lovey finch we own. She absolutely adores Hazel (thank God) and they now sleep together up in Pip's swing (insert squeal of cuteness here). Lulu looks just like Atticus without the "cheeks" and is the biggest of our brood. She now engages in Pip-kour but is so energetic about it that she tends to knock everything in the cage over when she really gets going. Lou has made Hazel really happy... and has made us happy by extension.

Mark sometimes remarks that our birds are so temperamental that it is like living with four tiny teenagers. Sometimes I think I can even detect Tibby rolling her eyes when Atticus acts like a dork or Lulu gets too energetic in her Pip-kour. All three of us humans adore these little birdies. And though I have never been a pet person (growing up with a kennel and police dog training as the family business will do that to you), these little cuties make me happy every single day.

My Thoughts: "Me Before You"

I was first introduced to JoJo Moyes book "Me Before You" after watching the preview for the film adaptation, which is being widely released on June 3. After being immediately drawn to Emilia Clarke's and Sam Claflin's engaging performances, I sent away for a copy of the book. While reading the book at breakneck pace (It was the first book I had read in a few months that I simply could not put down) I was made aware of the controversy surrounding the book and the film. Now that I have finished the book and watched every available trailer and clip available of the film, I feel I can share my thoughts on these works in an informed way.

It is difficult to explain the nature of the controversy surrounding "Me Before You" without subjecting you all to spoilers. However, I can safely say that many disabled individuals and disability rights activists are deeply concerned that "Me Before You" presents disability in a negative light and undermines the resilient nature of many disabled individuals. The thing that strikes me most about the criticism I have read so far (including basically every article I could get my hands on in regards to the subject) is that many of the most vocal critics admit that they are reacting to a synopsis of the work. I can assure you that after reading the book in its entirety, the work (in my opinion) reflects neither of these primary criticisms. In fact, the struggles that the characters face, both internally and externally, speak to the dynamic experience of living with disability and uplifts the reality that disabled individuals (like all individuals) grapple with the challenges of life in the ways that best reflect their individual identities and experiences.

It is important to note that both of the main characters have experienced serious trauma. Will has experienced disability-inducing physical trauma and the emotional trauma which accompanies that experience. Louisa has experienced a temporary physical trauma and the emotional trauma which accompanies that experience.

One of the most popular articles criticizing "Me Before You" (And is, coincidentally, one that a respected disabled friend of mine agrees with and supports) asserts that the story "clearly sets up the idea that people can and should be expected to come to terms with certain kinds of trauma but not others." I feel that the story highlights the complex reality that some individuals can and some individuals ultimately cannot or (assuming ability) will not come to terms with whatever trauma they have experienced.

That Louisa can and/or allows herself to open to the idea of moving "beyond" her trauma-related defense mechanisms/manifestations/emotional choices/realities and Will cannot/will not (at least for some portion of the film... no spoilers about how either character's ability/allowance, refusal/inability unfolds over time) seems to be no more than the dynamic nature of human experience, not a judgment on how anyone else copes, fails to cope or cannot cope with their personal traumas and/or disabilities.

***Side note, it no longer fits with the structure of this piece to include them, but if you are interested in hearing my thoughts about how this overall conundrum relates to my views on Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Severus Snape in the "Harry Potter" series, just let me know. (Wink!)***

This issue is a complex one for me personally, as I have been affected by a biological parent's severe Vietnam-related total disability due to PTSD and a parental figure's total physical disability due to a neurological condition sustained at birth. My physically disabled "parent" has been able to come to terms with that disability while my mentally disabled biological parent (assuming ability) will not or cannot come to terms with that disability. I have struggled my entire life to understand why some individuals can ultimately "rebound" (in terms of a very narrowly-focused or broad identity, positive or negative view of life and/or ultimately whether one opts to embrace or reject a full and/or lengthy life experience) from their trauma and my biological parent (assuming ability) will not or cannot.

In addition, I am "temporarily disabled" (in both the legal and medical senses of that phrase) due to my autoimmune disorder and have grappled with the same kind of trauma that Louisa experiences. While I have been able to come to terms with that trauma, I am still in the throws of my physical "temporary disability" and I can only say that I am currently dealing with the physical and emotional trauma of my autoimmune disorder very positively. However, things may not always be so positive... I am not stubborn enough to insist that my future self will continue to cope positively with my experiences as they unfold, given that I cannot see the future, future diagnosis and future experiences. I may evolve in ways that are not so life-affirming. I hope that I will be able to remain optimistic and present, but I cannot guarantee that outcome at the age of 33. That "guarantee" strikes me as foolish when I have (God willing) so many more experiences ahead of me that will need to be processed as they occur.

EVERYONE has a right to their opinions and has a right to react to this story in whatever ways they please. I will not judge anyone for their reaction to this work. Period. What I will do is explain that due to my experiences noted above, I believe I am in a unique position to say that as someone who has been compelled to grapple with the issue of "trauma-related processing and identity matters," I wholeheartedly support this film, its message, its writer, its characters and the actors who play them.

I will also say that I believe that this story is uniquely important. Longtime readers of my blog will certainly agree that I almost never make recommendations, but I encourage anyone reading this post to see this film, read the book (or... even better... read the book and THEN see the film). In whatever format you would prefer to explore the story of Will and Louisa, I encourage you to dive into it. Whether you ultimately love, like, dislike or outright hate the material, it will make you think and will make you feel. It will compel you to explore your own emotional limits and your views on the reality of processing trauma. I LOVED it (I already have my tickets to an early showing this Thursday and I am insisting that Samantha read the book) and I hope you will too, but even if you don't, "Me Before You" is a story worth the time it will take you to experience it.

The Bright Side of Rock Bottom

I almost never drink. There are about a dozen good reasons why I drink so rarely... and one of them is the "in-between-ies." The in-between-ies is a super weird state I find myself in when I drink a certain amount. When I drink very little, I am perfectly fine. When I drink enough to be truly tipsy, I am funny, loud and fine. But when I drink more than a little and less than a lot, I get the in-between-ies. No one else I know deals with this, but it happens to me without fail after I have imbibed a certain amount (more than one glass of wine, generally... although it can happen at the bottom of one glass too). The in-between-ies causes my shoulders, upper back and lower neck to hurt like I have been struck with a major case of whiplash. I writhe around in pain until I drink enough additional alcohol to make the stupid, nonsensical pain stop. The in-between-ies are obnoxious.

I can now see that my last post ("Bootstraps and an Uncharacteristic Rant") is the emotional equivalent of the in-between-ies. I had just enough crap going down in my life that the emotional (and physical... sigh) pain had become obnoxiously unbearable for a few days. Thankfully (???? It would have been nice if it could have lessened instead of increased, but still...) I had even more serious crap dumped on me in the four days following my last post and I have regained perspective. I am at that "drunken" stage of life falling apart in which I am laughing about it and have found a way to be happy and grounded again. Sometimes, life gives you more than you can handle and you writhe around in the pain as a result. However, when life gives you too much to bear, you can sink into the ground for awhile (I completely respect that course of action... and I have done it myself before) or you can regain your balance, laugh at the ABSOLUTE ABSURDITY of how much you are dealing with and move forward in the best way you possibly can.

***In addition, I had an incredibly, incredibly positive experience since my last post as well. While talking to one of my two best friends about my inability to put my head on pillows (and sleep, as a result) she insisted that I borrow one of her two super comfy recliners so that I could have a place to sit relatively comfortably during the day and sleep at night. She got straight to work hauling the thing to my house and I now have a place to ***BE***. (Sometimes Lupus can make existence a pain... thank God for recliners!) Someday, I shall be able to afford my own recliner. But until then, I have one on loan and I could not be more grateful. (Plus, now that I have the recliner, Samantha gets the good spot on the couch, so she is happy too!)***

Thanks to everyone who has been reaching out. And thank you for being patient while I was battling a migraine from Hell itself earlier this week. I'll be getting back to everyone very soon. If you are praying or sending good thoughts/vibes/energy my way... THANK YOU. I believe in the power of these things and I am so grateful for your time and affection.

Bootstraps and an Uncharacteristic Rant

There is nothing quite like the feeling that is inspired by the words, "I can't pick up your medication because your insurance coverage has been temporarily cut off. Can I buy you three or four pills at full price to get you through the next few days?" Gah. Poor Mark. I am not sure if I felt worse hearing those words come out of his mouth tonight or worse seeing how much it hurt him to have to say them to me.

The long and short is that because of paperwork hoops (and more hoops... oh, the hoops), I have yet to get paid any of my short-term disability compensation for my medical leave. This means that I have not received a paycheck since February. We have made it through until now because I am ridiculously (and I do mean ridiculously) responsible with money. But the money has just recently run out. I do not exaggerate when I say that I am OUT. This is a particularly challenging reality given that right now I am expected to pay Samantha's health insurance premium and my own premium out of my pocket (Lupus pajamas do not have pockets full of money, kids), as these expenses cannot be taken out of my non-existent paycheck. I have no money to pay these premiums, so my insurance has been temporarily suspended. (Lupus patients and a lack of healthcare coverage do not mix.) Therefore, my prescription meds are now so expensive that I can no longer refill them. As of tonight, I am out of my statin (used to keep my insanely dangerous cholesterol levels from spiking even higher... my doctor still cannot explain how on Earth my cholesterol is so freakishly high despite my age, weight and diet) and I am out of the medication that controls my Fibromyalgia pain. My other necessary meds will be due for refills soon.

(Writing this post sucks. I hate this stupid topic.)

I should eventually receive back pay at a rate of 80% (it would have been 100% if I had been able to wait one more week to leave, as my five year work anniversary kicked in at the beginning of March... but I was too sick to wait another week... so, that's fun). However, I have no idea at this point when that back pay will actually come through. Governments, insurance companies and employers do not generally like to make anything about getting paid benefits when one is unwell simple. And until I get paid... well... there is no more medical care or medications in my future until that point. Feeding, clothing and providing for Samantha comes first and I cannot touch the funds I have budgeted in order to make sure that her needs are met. I just can't. And I won't.

When I was pregnant with Samantha, I remember feeling genuinely frustrated when adults would look at me with disgust. After all, these same judgmental adults would probably have condemned me to hell if I hadn't decided to keep Samantha. From the moment that my pregnancy test came back positive, I have been responsible. I have been completely financially and physically independent from the age of 18, save for some WIC assistance, a brief period of a few months on food stamps and some child care assistance money from the county. I worked full-time (or close to full-time) and went to school full-time for seven years while attending a prestigious college and a top-tier law school, all while raising an incredible kiddo. I found my way through passing the bar and securing a job despite the fact that the Great Recession began only a few months after I graduated from law school. I have pulled my bootstraps UP. TO. MY. NECK. I am living the "American Dream" and have never once shied from taking full responsibility for myself and my sweet Samantha.

And yet, 11 years out of college and 8 years out of law school, I am saddled with student loan debt that is so crushing that I can't even talk about it. I tried to type out all the consequences of having three very, very large student loan payments due every single month, but I started crying, so fuck it. (Yep... just wrote the words fuck it. Which is so not like me. Man, I must be hitting my limit.) In addition, I am likely going to lose my job, despite seven years of devoted service to the same company because I haven't been magically healed during the 12 weeks that FMLA protection grants within a single rolling 12 month period.

Even if I don't lose my job, I have lost my healthcare coverage because I simply cannot pay for it with no paycheck coming in for three solid months. And no healthcare means no necessary treatments and no necessary medications. And it means no trip to the high-risk OB so that Mark and I can try to take advantage of the single window of time available to us. (Yes, it is not the world's best decision to have a kiddo when you are going through a period of financial instability... BELIEVE ME, I know. But this is the ONLY SHOT WE HAVE during the ONLY LIVES WE HAVE TO LEAD in order to have a child together. Please don't judge me. And please don't ask me to justify myself, apologize or back down from wanting a child despite this period of financial instability... especially when I spent nearly 10 years of my beloved Samantha's life having to parent her from nearly 3,000 miles away. Please, please don't judge).

I have been a responsible member of society. An incredibly responsible one. I have cared for my child on my own while going to school in order to better my chances of finding stable, gainful and productive employment. I have (this is worth repeating) pulled my bootstraps up to my neck. I have done everything that both liberal and conservative lawmakers could have possibly asked of me. And yet, I am sitting here likely to lose my job and too financially strapped to pay for my own NECESSARY medical care all because I had the audacity to get really, really sick.

There is nothing wrong with the American Dream. But there is something wrong with the state of things that I am finding myself in this position under the circumstances. I feel betrayed by my bootstraps. And betrayed by the messages that lawmakers and society have sent me all these years. I have done what anyone could possibly have asked of me. So, why can't I afford necessary medication and medical services? Not cool, Universe. Not cool.

***This bummed out, uncharacteristic rant has been brought to you by the letter F and the number 11. Today's reality is a production of the "Lupus patient in 2016 America" television workshop. Thank you.***

Writing Vulnerable Truths

I recently posted a piece that I have since taken down. I honestly do not know if I did the right thing by taking it down, for reasons I will explain, but out of love for my sisters, I have decided to remove it at this point in time.

In this piece, I discussed a fraction of the challenges I experienced while I was younger. I used a single story (in which I was berated severely by one of my step-parents) to illustrate a larger point. I prefaced my post by noting that I had written and erased virtually a dozen drafts of the piece before posting it because my larger point is such an emotionally raw and vulnerable topic for me to write about. I wrote the piece primarily because I blog about my life... and the challenges inherent within my relationship to myself are central to the unfolding of my life and the management of my disease. I believe that sharing one's vulnerable emotional self with the world is brave and strong. I believe that facing the challenges in one's life and sharing one's experience with others is important. I really do.

I suspected that my piece would be controversial, because no expression of one's most vulnerable self is ever an easy task. Nor is any truly vulnerable creative work well received by everyone. But I absolutely did not expect the responses I received. Within the past 20 hours or so, I have received messages of support, love, admiration and praise. I did not seek these things, but they were kindly offered and gratefully noted. However, I also received brutal, brutal comments that cut me down to the quick.

***It is important to note that I WAS INDEED short-sighted when I posted this piece because I did not consider how one of my sisters in particular would react to it. I take full responsibility for that short-sightedness and I sincerely apologize for that.*** However, the post was not written with an angry heart or out of meanness. It was simply expressed as an important, vulnerable part of my experience. I thought I was being brave by sharing this piece of me with you all. Some others did not receive my message as such.

Today I have been called by one person: "selfish to the bone," a "mean jerk," someone who believes that the "world revolves around" me, that I have attempted to "make (myself) more 'special' by torturing others," and that my piece was "completely unnecessary, cruel and self-obsessed." Finally, I was told to "see someone about (my) narcissism" as it is "eating (me) alive and poisoning others around (me)." All because I posted (within a much larger post with a larger point) one story about a single challenge I faced in relation to one of my step-parents.

Writing is a vulnerable thing for me. The most vulnerable thing I do, actually. Every word I write could be looked down upon, criticized or used against me. I honestly do not know how authors who address issues of abuse in their memoirs live with the fallout. And I don't know how I will again write something that is so personal or vulnerable due to this situation.

Dear readers, I need you to know that I always write with positive intention. I have never intentionally tried to hurt another individual or even make another individual uncomfortable by my words. If anything, I hope that my words will comfort others who may have had similar experiences or perhaps even inspire individuals in some way. I have taken down my latest post because I have unintentionally hurt someone in the process of attempting to be vulnerable with my readers. I do not know if it was the right move to make in the larger context of being a brave and open writer. But, I do feel it is important to right any wrong I have committed, even if it was unintentionally done.

In Dreams

When I was a little girl, I had horrible nightmares on a regular basis. I dreaded going to sleep because I knew what was coming. But it wasn't until I was 13 years old that I started really paying attention to my dreams as a source of inspiration and self-understanding. At 13, my friends and I learned that dreams occur as a processing mechanism for one's experience. My dear friends Olivia, Allie, Lia and I would dissect each other's dreams with some sort of dream "dictionary" in hand.

At the age of 13, I also began to test a theory put forth by Clarissa Pinkola Estes in the book "Women Who Run With the Wolves." (Wolf metaphors seem to follow me... hell, even "lupus" is Latin for "wolf") This theory essentially insists that women experience "dark man" dreams when their creative instincts are being restricted, hidden, rejected or neglected. As I have been very, very creatively driven since I was small, I felt that this theory might serve as an interesting test for whether it made sense or not for me to put much stock in the hidden meanings of my dreams.

I don't know about anyone else, but dark man dreams follow me to this day whenever I am neglecting my creative drive. They haunt me until I am compelled to acknowledge them. I cannot hide from my dreams. And this reality, in and of itself, is both a blessing and a curse. After all, it is important not to hide from one's innermost truths. However, if I am hiding those truths, there is usually a pretty damn good reason for me to do so.

For example, for the past four or five years especially, I have been struggling with a phenomenon that initially made me really ashamed and embarrassed. I have deeply and profoundly loved three men in my life. Mark is one of those men. However, it is rare that I ever dream about Mark. He and I have such a ridiculously honest and open relationship that I seem to be able to process whatever we are dealing with during daylight hours. However, in addition to being wonderful and inspirational, I had very complex and sometimes challenging relationships with the other two loves of my life. And I dream about them both in either supremely lovely or completely devastating ways at very, very specific times in my personal spiritual journey. I dream about one of these individuals when I have swallowed a great deal of anger or frustration at myself and I dream about the other individual when I have swallowed a great deal of anger and frustration at the world/God/life in general.

These dreams used to make me embarrassed and ashamed for two reasons: One, I felt guilty for dreaming about other individuals while in a loving relationship with Mark. Two, I felt embarrassed and ungrateful for being angry with myself or the world/God/life in general. I strive so hard to be a positive, optimistic person that swallowing ungrateful, angry or frustrated feelings felt only correct. I thought that in order to move forward in a positive way, I needed to neglect, deny or squash any feelings of inadequacy, failure, anger, sadness or frustration.

Thankfully, when I finally admitted this phenomenon to Mark roughly 18 months ago, he was so incredibly supportive and insightful that my first reason for embarrassment and shame melted away. Mark is secure in my love for him (thank God) and actually gave me some valuable insight into this situation when I finally admitted it to him. In addition, I have come to understand that I cannot neglect, deny or squash my challenging emotions related to myself, the world, God and life in general. I must process them and allow them to flow through me in order to let them go in a healthy way. So, whenever either of my lost loves shows up in my dreams (in lovely or challenging ways, it doesn't matter which) I wake up with a sigh in the understanding that I have been swallowing emotions I need to process and that this process needs to take priority in my emotional and spiritual life during that day.

From nightmares to dark man dreams, indescribably lovely dreams to ones in which my teeth all fall out (yes, these tend to coincide with freaking out about money), my dreams now serve as a solid inspiration for my life's direction. Even when I wish I could, I cannot hide from the realities that my dreams alert me to. All I can do is allow them to guide me and to remind me of the emotional and spiritual work that has yet to be done.