Choose You Blog

I thought I’d have more time — isn’t it always that way? But her end sneaked up on me, too fast. And so, I’m running this sooner than expected, with a heavy heart and much sympathy for the family of Elizabeth Edwards. Her grace and inspiration go on, although in this moment, that is cool comfort for all who wish to have her, too.

A few years ago, Elizabeth Edwards inspired a lot of women, including me. She told us to get a voice, and use it. Then, when a group of women sitting in a coffee shop one day decided to take that advice literally, she once again was supportive and encouraging. Personally. When those women asked me to join them, I jumped at the chance and my life has been enriched in a thousand ways just by knowing them, and doing incredible things with them. All the while, inspired by, supported by, and encouraged by Elizabeth Edwards. All while she is living with cancer. And now, we have learned, she is nearing the end of her journey. This makes me unspeakably sad.

It’s because it’s happened in my life before, with people who aren’t front page news, but who, nevertheless, have also been supportive and inspirational.

It’s because it’s happened in the lives of people I care about, with people who aren’t front page news but who are, nevertheless, of enormous value.

That means I am sympathetic and empathetic to Elizabeth and her family. I understand. I know what this news feels like. I feel what this looming loss means, and personally, it is a loss for me, too.

When I posted the news about Elizabeth Edwards, my brother-in-law Dave, who lost both of his beautiful sisters to cancer, said, “She’s hearing news from her doctors we’ve heard ourselves, and it drops like a hand grenade in a room that had previously been filled with at least some vestige of hope. This is the painful reality of cancer treatment. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. :-(”

Amen, Dave. I don’t wish it on anyone. It makes me grateful for the gift of that person, but that’s a bittersweet sort of gratitude because one some level, you never really accept loss; you just learn to live with it as best you can. Which is sort of a misnomer, because it’s really just coping. I’ll never really understand cancer, or accept it, its cost, its loss, our loss. But, I’ll appreciate, find the value and valuable in the having, focus on that, as best I can. That’s what I do with Elizabeth Edwards, as I try to wrap my mind around this end of journey message in the news, and in what she has said, her farewell that doesn’t say goodbye.

Elizabeth gave me this one gift, in particular. It was drawing an important boundary between myself and other people, and how much of my life they get to label, or, more importantly, the value I place on those labels. A little over three years ago, she made the decision to not let cancer hold her back, or hold her family back. She earned some harsh criticism for that, and in response, she said, “You don’t get to say I’m a terrible mother.” That moved me, deeply. When we choose ourselves, or choose for ourselves, sometimes, others disagree, or worse, disapprove. When we have health issues, and people know about them, they sometimes feel the right to judge, out loud, the choices we make. Elizabeth is the first person I ever heard say out loud, publicly, that this crosses a boundary, and she won’t accept it. Later, in fact, nearly exactly one year later, when her marriage and health were once again front page news, people once again crossed that boundary, and once again, Elizabeth kept her personal boundaries firmly in place, and chose as she felt was best for herself and her family.

At the time, I wrote:

But also, for me right now, it is, as I said a few paragraphs ago: a lesson in value and worth, a lesson in investment.

Elizabeth Edwards’ situation reminded me of this story and what it means to me. This story, combined with Edwards’ message about boundaries, once again inspired and reminded me that we don’t get to say, we don’t get to judge, we don’t get to determine right, and most of all, we don’t get to know—whether it is about marriage, fidelity, childrearing, or something else—someone else’s life and choices as if it was our own, as if it was ours to decide about.

. . .

This point is especially essential to me right now. I’ve finally come to understand that although I have a strong sense of my own ideas of what I ought to do, I am too frequently governed by supposed rules, by what others think—what they think of me, what they will think of me—and I measure my decision by making sure it would garner the most approval. This doesn’t mean I always do what I think others think I should—or tell me I should, but it does mean on some level I feel defensive or anxious about it.

Also, it means I let those voices, the ones that tell me what to do, in my head. Further, it means I spend an unproductive amount of time worrying about what I should do. How I ought to be. Putting pressure on myself to meet that expectations, and putting guilt on myself when I do not—wondering which thing is the thing that will so ultimately disappoint that I will no longer be worthy. I cannot bend my oak self into a willow, no matter how much I think I should or how hard I try. Thus, lately, I’ve been thinking it through, working on the concept of being me and finding the balance of being me, expecting others to accept me as I am, and then, knowing, wisely, when the moment has come to fulfill their hope or expectation of me, even if only in my own way.

I’ve frequently compared this stage of life to the teen years. I’m not new to this. Mid-life crisis, people you’d never expect attending reunions, old contacts popping up. It’s all typical. It’s also the maturing and growth, plus the physical changes, too. My body is changing, and so is my mind. In my teens, I belligerently and defiantly lived by: You don’t get to say! Here, once again, I am saying the same, albeit more gently, much less defiantly. I am saying it measuredly: hmm, I’ll take that under consideration, but in the end, it must be my decision.

I am also asking, as I did as a youth, please respect that, and trust my judgment.

But now, as then, I realize I have to earn that, too. There are quite a few areas in which I have earned that and these are the areas I am working most diligently on making mine.

Thus, in lieu of Elizabeth Edwards saying it about her own life now, I will say it—calmly yet determinedly, kindly and respectfully yet firmly—about my own and maybe this time it will really get through to me and to the unsolicited voices in my head and around me that is is right and true and reasonable:

You don’t get to say I am a terrible person because you think you wouldn’t make my choices in my situation. You don’t get to blame me or criticize my choice, not even if you think you have some right or say. You don’t get to judge me because you think you know exactly what you would do if you had my situation. I want to be really clear: you don’t know. In the end, it is my choice and it must be my decision. So you don’t get to say, not what I should do or who I should be. And you don’t get to tell me I am not worthy because I do not fit your ideas and expectations.

So much of this was a major epiphany for me, and that time period is very much when I was dealing with my own health and life issues, and managing some major transitions. It’s very clear to me that at the time, I made a choice to make myself and my health important. It’s very clear to me that Elizabeth Edwards was a strong voice about making choices in life, even when facing a challenge to life and lifestyle. She was a huge inspiration, right when so much about my life seemed to intersect with her, and she stood strong, which helped me to do the same.

Since then, my life has really changed, in so many ways, so many positive ways. I’ve stuck to my commitment to make my health a priority each day: continued to eat right, stay active, protect my skin, and get my regular health checks. Since then, the choices I’ve made have kept my health checks more on the positive side. Because of that, I’ve been able to achieve a lot in a few years, and steer my life into a good place. It’s not perfect, and I do have challenges. But I have courage. Like so many women I see sharing their stories.

Who is your inspiration? Who is the person who isn’t front page news, but matters to you anyway? Is it you? Another?

What’s your Choose You story? Send it to me atchooseyoujulie@gmail.com and tell me which Choose You pledge(s) you’ve committed to, and how you made that choice!