Costochondritis- The Emotional Journey

Today I found out a few things:

• I'm not allergic to the normal rap sheet: dairy, corn, meat etc. - yay.
• That the lab messed up my Celiac test and I'm having to do it all over again- booo.
• Some times I have a crappy pissed off attitude that needs serious adjusting.- Oops.

I woke up in a terrible mood when I became aware that I had other pains in addition to my chest pain. I. was. Perturbed. Then the lab calls me to share the glorious information that my Celiac test was jacked up, and I'll have to re-do it. And once I do the test, and it's back to the lab, I should receive the results in 7-10 business days. I don't know why, but I hate that answer. 7-10 business days is a crappy answer. giggle.

And then was ticked off that I was ticked off. lol. There's this judging of myself that I do when I'm angry. It's like I can't seem to rise above myself. Ugg. Do you do that? Judge how you're handling a certain situation? Or your pain? So today, I decided to just let myself feel it. I did my ticked off granny stroll extra granny style, and just let myself be. When I allow myself to feel my anger, it always goes back to the root of the anger, disappointment and/or fear.

TMI alert: What I call the fear-anger has been a life long battle with me. I was born with a birth defect called hypo-mid-facial-plasia. Now there's an awkward blog. It's a fancy word for the face not being fully developed. Yeah...eek is right So...I didn't have the equipment to breathe, and thus a slew of surgeries followed. I've had so many, I've lost count. Ummm...I feel weird sharing this, but here goes. My dad says there was one night during the months they told my parents I couldn't breathe and they didn't know if they could fix it....that he started praying. He told the Lord that he'd devote his life to teaching me about Him if I could live. He said that the next morning he was able to see me and instead of looking like I couldn't breathe, I just look pissed off. HAHA! Anyhoo, It was like God lit something in me that to this day, comes out. A lot. Anger was a survival tool at the time. But now, I'm trying to change my tune.

So over the years, I've had many surgeries...a tumor removed from my head, many surgeries on the structure of my face, I have no tear ducts, PTSD, and my eye lids don't work- yeah, that's awkward. I wear sunglasses as often as I can because I don't dig it when people stare at my eyes and the scars I try to cover up. I get so hacked. I'm kind of a mess. I like to think I'm a hot mess. -) And if you poor water in my nose like from a netty pot? The water does not drain out the other side, where does it go?!? HAHA! I know it's weird to laugh at this, but truly. it's funny.

My last head surgery was when I was 18....In some weird way, I thought I had served my time, ya know? Lived through it. Survived. In my head, I had a challenging start and was gunna be the girl who was on Broadway and sit on David Letterman's couch and say, "yeah, it was rough start, but here I am world!" And you know, that's okay that I feel this way. I'm not going to judge myself anymore. Because then I'm denying where I am. In this moment. It doesn't mean we can't move through the pain of disappointment, mourning, anger, or fear...but before we move on, maybe we can acknowledge these pieces of ourselves.. Give them a voice. Maybe some crevice of our soul just wants to be heard. And it has to tap into our raw emotions in the disguise of anger because we won't give it a voice.

I think I use to get so angry as a kid and teen because I had no words for the fear that captured my body. But today I'm an adult, fully capable of allowing a feeling to permeate, mature, exist, and then move on from it into hope and light.

Maybe the Lord is giving me a second chance at this gig. lol. Maybe it's another chance to tear down the walls, take off the sun glasses, be real, be truthful, put down the emotional gavel of judgement on myself, and just be the creation He made me, in all His glory, not mine.


If you met me today, you would barely see the scars from my past. Someone said to me last week that I needed short blond hair because it matched my personality. That made me laugh...and think. There is a piece of me that is very blond, bubbly, and fun. That's the little girl in me who is blond, and so crazy. She'll always be a part of me. But my adult self? She's a strong brunette who's not ashamed of where she's been and who's trying to acknowledge where she is. And who knows? If the ever present scars of 18 years of surgeries can look so minimal now, maybe the scars of this battle will be but a dim memory as well. That is my prayer, my heart, my plea, and my truth without the shades.