In Medias Res

The Journey of Finding the Way Back to Myself

I think I remember who I am.

When I look in the mirror, I do not know that person.  Her hair looks familiar, but that is about all.  Ten years after the beginning of my health decline, my looks have changed so much that the person I imagine myself to be  is not the person peering back from the mirror that  needs cleaning.  She has too many chins, her arms are a little chubby, and is overall just too round.

Where did I go?  Am I still in there, this person I remember?   The kick ass one with the great legs, distracting rack and flat stomach, can she come back?  Is this inevitable, the aging that we all face at some point, or is it reversible?  

Recently, I have decided to stop avoiding mirrors and tackle this shit head on.  I joined a great gym, signed a contract with a trainer, and have ordered new shoes for my aging, aching feet.  Three weeks in and no significant, lasting, injuries and have not lost faith in myself yet. But is she in there?  The Tiger that was?  Most days I feel like all that is left of my former self is the roar. 

The way I see it, my journey started ten years ago when my husband returned from the Shock and Awe campaign and we decided to expand our family.  I hope the summit of my journey has been reached, or at least a nice wide plateau that will last a couple of decades.

For these last ten years my attention has fell to these things: baby creating, baby making, baby expulsion, breast feeding, a bizarre changeling baby that never slept (no, really), mono, Hashimoto's, Follicular Thyroid Cancer; then the husband's turn with: PTSD, stroke, partial paralysis, job loss, new job; then back to me: finding a job after years of stay at home mommy duty, adjusting to job, lumps in breasts, biopsies, loss of motor control, wondering with the doctors,  is it MS?  The last one is still up for discussion in another six months after more tests.

Basically, when people tell us we have yet to experience hardship in our marriage, I want to punch them in the throat.

Facing these obstacles put myself, and to some extent, my husband, in basic survival mode.  We gave our much loved daughter everything she needed to thrive and took for ourselves the bare minimum, meaning the bare minimum of time and worldly goods.  There are no regrets, but it is time we return some of the focus to ourselves.  

Holy Shit, we now have the money and time to care for ourselves! What do we do now?  What do we do first?

For each of us, my husband and I, this means different things, but I am going to use this space to tell this part of my journey.  

The Journey of Finding the Way Back to Myself:  the lesser me (mass wise), the stronger me, the happier me, the journey to find the Tiger whose bite was as bad as her roar.