motivation

Monday Notes: Practicing What I Preach: Time Boundaries

~ kegarland ~ 66 Comments

My cousin called me a total of six times the day before my birthday and on the actual day, even though I texted that I would call him back later.

The same cousin typically speaks to his mother, once a day. But for five days, she was with me. This time, he was not only calling to see how she was faring on vacation, but also to inquire about me and why I wasn’t answering the phone, during dinner…in Aruba…every day. As a result, she tried to coax me to speak with him. One time, she said she would call and pass me the phone.

So, I told her, “I know how to use the cellphone, Auntie. I’ll call him later, like I already said.”

Another time, she tried to cajole me into answering by saying that “Someone very special, who you used to cut up with, wants to talk to you very badly,” while we were in process of hailing a cab to ride to downtown Aruba.

The same cousin asked his brother, who was with us on the island, if I was angry with him. I assured his brother I was not, that I was having an amazing time doing all of the things. Then, I dipped my blue tortilla chip into a ramekin of guacamole, enjoyed my appetizer, and cackled with my daughters and good friend.

My cousin called me again, and I ignored it.

After we sat down for my birthday dinner, at a beachside restaurant, where the sun lowered into oblivion, my aunt asked if I was going to call my cousin. That’s when I gave this speech:

“I am not angry. I am fine. I have chosen to pay attention to the 11 people who are in front of me today, to the people who spent lots of money to be with me. I think it’s important to do that. It took a lot of time and energy for everyone to be sitting here. I don’t think I should spend it talking on the cellphone to people who are not here. This is called a boundary, and I want to explain this to you before I have another drink when it won’t sound this nice.”

She laughed and said she understood.

The following day, I called my cousin. He was alive and well; his life did not implode because he couldn’t speak with me when he wanted to; neither did mine.

The example I’ve provided is called a time boundary. This year, I decided how I was going to spend my time on my birthday. Although I always appreciate the outpouring of well-wishes, I wasn’t going to be responding to texts and talking on the phone all day. I replied to most people late that night. Others, the next day. But here’s what this interaction reinforced:

  • Experts suggest you explain a boundary before enacting it. Maybe. A lot of examples I’ve seen require some lengthy speech with consequences. I don’t have the bandwidth for that right now. My cousin didn’t have to know what or why. His job was simple. Wait for me to call. However, my aunt was going to continue ignoring what I said, so I had to explain.
  • People don’t have to agree with your boundaries for you to create and enforce them. Obviously, my cousin had another agenda he thought I should follow. That’s fine. Other people’s agendas don’t negate what you choose for yourself.
  • People will try and manipulate you to do what they want. That’s their issue, not yours.
  • It is your responsibility to stick to the boundary. Had I answered the phone, I would have been sending a message to my cousin, his brother, and his mother that I was not serious about what I decided. Furthermore, it would have set the stage for future interactions.
  • You are obliged to enforce the boundary. That can look like re-stating what you already said or explaining (see bullet one).

Good luck boundary setting, good people! Please feel free to add more helpful suggestions about boundaries in the comments.

Turning 50: Do What You Want

~ kegarland ~ 117 Comments

Today is my birthday, and I am in Aruba.

I have awakened to the sounds of the Caribbean and the smell of the sea for two days. I will rinse and repeat for two more. I don’t think I have to describe it, but just in case: the Caribbean is different than the Atlantic Ocean. It is quiet, unassuming, yet powerful. Every now and then, waves remind you that you are not in control. Sea salt has wafted past my nostrils ever so softly, calming my parasympathetic nervous system and relaxing my body. The sand is fine and white. Nothing compares to the serenity of the sea, and the Caribbean on the Aruba side has not disappointed. I am here because I want to be.

Invitations were carefully crafted. In the past, I wasn’t deliberate about who surrounded me. Haphazard invites led to being in the company of people who didn’t always have my best interest at heart. Sometimes, they arrived because it was a good business opportunity; other times, family were there simply because they were…family. But no more. This year, I focused on my body’s response to hearing folks’ names. Only warm and fuzzies were desired, not people bound by obligation. I invited who I wanted. Those who had the time, money, and energy arrived because they wanted to. They are here because I wanted them to be and because they could be.

Activities were tailored to my wants. Multiple years out of the country with my husband have taught me what I can and cannot tolerate. This is not the trip for countless guided tours, where someone drones on about how their country chose to colonize indigenous people. Nope. I will have none of that. Yesterday, we enjoyed meals and champagne on a catamaran. We donned lifejackets and flippers and waded in water clear enough to see striped zebrafish. Tonight, we will dine on the beach, and I hope there will be a resounding Happy Birthday song. Tomorrow, we will parasail. I have been doing what I want to do, and those who wanted to join me have as well.

Some people may read this and think that I’m being selfish. You will hear no arguments from me. Perhaps, I am. But so, what? “Selfish” has gotten a bad rep, lately. I’m here to announce that it is okay to do what you want to do, as much as you possibly can.

We were not born to toil for employers; we were not born to be in committed relationships, where we constantly acquiesce to someone else’s needs; we were not put here to procreate and then be at our children’s beck and call. Well, I wasn’t. I know this is a common theme of mine, but I wholeheartedly, in my bones, feel this. It is okay to do what you want to do, as much as you possibly can.

So, on my 50th birthday, the fifth thing I’d like to share is that you are always allowed to do what you want to do, even if others disagree. I’m also leaving you with a song that my favorite DJ plays, aptly called “Free.” You can read about the history of the making of the song here, or listen below. Either way, I hope I have affirmed your deep desires. I hope you take heed.

I’ve turned 50, and I’ve processed and documented it here. Being on the earth for half a century, interacting with people, has taught me a few things, and I’ve shared them, but I have one more lesson. Be sure to come back and read what it is in June.

Turning 50 Series:

Monday Notes: 4 Lessons Learned from Rotator Cuff/Bicep Tendon Surgery*

~ kegarland ~ 67 Comments

Guess who was released from physical therapy? That’s right. Me!

I convalesced for six weeks in a sling. I maintained physical therapy for nine weeks. Now, two months ahead of schedule, I’m back in the business of being me. And so, I have a few lessons learned or reinforced from this experience:

It’s okay to have a range of emotions.

I was angry when I tore my rotator cuff and bicep tendon. I was anxious at the idea of having surgery. I was sad that I wouldn’t be able to use my dominant arm to do everyday activities; things like blogging, revising my memoir, or grading online work. I was bothered by the idea that I had to sit around and…heal. But I didn’t allow others to force me into a space of gratitude, joy, or happiness. I didn’t allow others to invalidate my feelings.

I knew any emotion that surfaced would be fleeting, that I wouldn’t feel angry, anxious, sad, or bored forever, and I was right. Eventually, my emotions shifted. I was joyful on some days, and once I was able to exercise, less moody. Just to reiterate…it is totally fine to have a range of emotions, even if others are uncomfortable with you having them.

It’s okay to ask for help.

For various reasons, I have hyper-independent tendencies. I can do it myself, I often say, even if doing it myself is more challenging. However, there is no room for hyper-independence when you are one-handed. Showering and dressing require assistance.

And I didn’t like it.

Days after surgery, my voice shrank smaller and smaller each time I had to ask Dwight for another glass of water. But these circumstances left me with no choice. Over time, I grew more used to asking for help and not seeing it as a weakness. I’m not saying this has totally resolved itself, but I have accepted that receiving help is not bad. Sometimes, it’s necessary.

Listen to your body.

Part of what got me into this situation was not listening to my body. And what’s gotten me back to 100% is…listening to my body. Once I was out of the sling, I noticed that my shoulder ached when I slept. I didn’t reach out to the doctor or physical therapist to ask for advice. Instead, I put a pillow under it for support. Later, Dawn confirmed this was the right thing to do for all kinds of medical reasons. First, I listened to my body, then I did what I thought was best…in a lot of situations, this is the way toward strengthening your intuition.

Ultimately, I didn’t need Dawn to confirm if I was doing better. I learned to monitor my own progress. If I could move my arm higher, then I was doing well.

Healing is not just physical.

My husband has been amazing. I could write 1200 more words about how he has embodied the phrase in sickness and in health. He has done everything you’d think he is supposed to do because I couldn’t fend for myself.

But others’ love and care has also been integral. For example, my oldest daughter put some braids in my hair; my youngest daughter cooked dinner a few times, took my braids out, and detangled my hair; my sister talked to me daily for two weeks and sent money for lunch. My father-in-law texted me every day, until my two-week appointment.

A friend bought me the cutest and most comfy house shoes ever because she intentionally wanted me to be comfortable, while I “rested or wrote!” One friend talked to me once a week on my walk. Another friend sent me chocolates that spelled out a recovery message. A different friend picked me up and took me to the movies and lunch to relieve my boredom.

And of course, the blogging community has been instrumental in allowing me to share a range of emotions and offering well wishes publicly and privately.

Relationships are important to me, and I’m sure my healing process would’ve gone differently had friends and family not actively shown love and compassion.

* I promise this is my last post about my rotator cuff and bicep tendon. I’m about to go prep for my birthday trip 🥳

Turning 50: Don’t Be so Binary

~ kegarland ~ 36 Comments

One of the best lessons to come from the non-binary gender conversation is simply this: don’t be so binary.

The self-love movement is a great example of what I’m saying. Initially, self-love was a women’s issue that was based on taking time for oneself, which may have included pedicures, salon visits, and spa days. Then, another school of thought came along, which basically said, self-love isn’t about pedicures and spa days. It’s about going to the doctor, seeking therapy, and getting in touch with yourself. There was a huge pendulum shift that didn’t seem to allow for two things to co-exist. Why can’t self-love be both? I mean, it’s about love of self, which could be as varied as we are. What I think loving myself looks like may not be what you think.

Nothing is black and white, but we’ve made everything black and white.

I once read an example where someone used the bible to explain non-binary gender and its terms. What follows is a loose interpretation, with no citation, because I can’t find it, so here goes: This person had described how even though the bible says that God created the sun and the moon, we know that’s not all that exists when we talk about the sun and the moon. We’ve experienced sunrises and sunsets, both of which illustrate the “sun.” We’ve seen half-moons, full moons, and as I’ve shown on this blog, waxing gibbous, which are different moon phases, yet each of these is the moon. They are just variations of perception.

Two things can exist at the same time, but conversations steer us to only choose one.

My friend, Dr DB sent this IG meme to me: If EVERYONE needs therapy, then the problems EVERYONE is dealing with are systemic, cultural…too big to be confronted alone between two people. It’s actually a grave injustice to make individuals responsible for this.

My first thought was maybe. While it’s true that we are a part of a few overwhelming systems that require us to live against our nature, I fear that messages like the above will make people stop working on themselves because it seems pointless. Systems are phkd up, but so is running around with unresolved trauma and unhealthy behaviors, which impact your inner self, inner circle, and society as a whole. In Rest is Resistance, Tricia Hersey suggested that “we can craft a life outside of toxic systems,” and I agree. Hersey’s manifesto requires everyone to heal on an individual level, in order to effect life on a societal level. Therein lies the nuance between binary schools of thought, right?

There’s nuance in everything, even people.

I’ve experienced people seeing me as one thing, based on who I’ve shown myself to be: I’ve been characterized as rude, mean, intelligent, and brave. Those who see me as rude and mean have stuck with that; it doesn’t matter what I do outside of those markers, that’s who I am to them. Those who believe me to be intelligent listen to what I say, sans critical thought. For them, I don’t have to qualify anything because their minds are made up. See how binary thinking can also cause you to miss out on someone’s whole self? Separately, neither of things define me; however, I’ve been all of them…at some point or another.

When we choose to make something black or white, we are literally denying nuances. We are saying to one another that an experience can only be this or that, that a person can only be one thing. And that’s not reality.

So, that’s the fourth major thing I want to share. Nothing is binary. Everything is shaded, even ourselves as human beings. I get it. Believing things are cut and dry makes life easier, right? Life seemed simple when there were just “men” and “women.” There was nothing to figure out. But ignoring subtleties is not reality. Reality will always be found in that gray area, and depending on what we’re talking about, it can be as beautiful as a sunrise, or as messy as healing in a toxic world.

Postscript: I am not entertaining vile conversations about the LGBTIQ community, transgender surgeries, or anything in between in the comments. I’ve only used the term non-binary as an example for this write-up.

I’m turning 50 on May 23rd, and I’m processing and documenting it here. Being on the earth for half a century, interacting with people, has taught me a few things, and I’ll be sharing them with you through June. Here are the first three:

Monday Notes: 4 Similarities Between Physical Therapy and Mental Therapy

~ kegarland ~ 54 Comments

These days, I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about all of the things, and one thing I’ve noticed is how similar physical and mental therapy are.

#1: Physical and emotional wounds require some type of healing.

This may seem like a ‘no, duh’ statement, but it really dawned on me during the last three months. If I told ya’ll I had no intention on going through physical therapy, you’d think I’d lost my mind. You’d google all of the information and comment or email me reasons why this was a bad decision. However, what do we do when folks are walking around in emotional pain? We offer toxic positivity, or we ignore their emotions. What we rarely do is say, hey, maybe you should try to heal that, so you can be whole again, so you can stop ruminating about the time that person did that thing. Like a physical wound, emotional wounds also require healing.

#2: Just because you feel better, doesn’t mean you’re healed; it just means you’re on your way.

Two weeks after surgery, I was doing so well, the doctor gave me some at-home exercises usually suggested for later. I felt a lot better and resumed my regular typing schedule. But my shoulder was fatigued and started to throb. I was able to swing my arm in a circle and do table slides, but typing all day was too much. I was still wounded. Emotional wounds are similar. We start doing self or professional therapy after a divorce (for example), and we think we’re ready to swipe left or right. The reality is there’s probably more healing to do, especially if for some reason, everyone you date reminds you of your ex.

#3: Just because you’re healed, doesn’t mean you should return to business as usual. In fact, you may need to develop some new habits altogether.

There is nothing I want more than to walk into a hot, steamy room, with a strong bass line playing in the background, while I perform beautiful āsanas. I miss Bhakti yoga. But I know it is not time. This is a little different than #2. Although I can return to yoga, I do not need to return the yoga I was doing before…not yet anyway. I have to do something different, something I used to think was boooring—restorative. Mental therapy is similar. For example, maybe your healing requires you to stop drinking alcohol. If that’s the case, it’s probably not a great idea to go back to that group you used to do shots with. This seems like common sense, but it’s not always. A lot of times, we want to return to the scene, but we’ve changed, and the scene has not. The scene is the scene.

#4: If you’re not careful, physical and emotional wounds risk re-injury.

The sling I was in served as a physical reminder that I was injured. The sling prevented me from using my hand or reaching too far. Once the sling was off, there was nothing stopping me. The first thing the physical therapist told me was to be careful of thinking I was fully healed. I still shouldn’t have reached for anything; otherwise, I could risk re-injury, and if that happened, I’d begin back at week seven. Mental therapy is a part of a healing journey, but there is no big black sling reminding you of your emotional wound. Oftentimes, the reminder comes in the form of people or experiences, like that family member who hasn’t grown or that place where the trauma occurred. If you’re not prepared, re-injury comes in the form of triggers. Suddenly, there’s a familiar smell that takes you back to being hurt. Just like a physical wound, you must be careful; you’re the only one who can protect yourself from being re-injured. Whatever those measures may be, you’re the one responsible for avoiding emotional pain.

I could only think of four of these, but if you have more, please share. I strongly believe we can help one another do better.

Monday Notes: Friday in Phoenix

~ kegarland ~ 82 Comments

My husband decided that he wanted to plan a surprise pre-birthday trip for me. The “surprise” part ended up being revealed for various reasons, but ultimately, he had planned to take me to see my favorite DJ, Roger Sanchez, who would be in Phoenix on March 24th.

I have been listening to and following DJ Roger Sanchez’s music for at least five years. On any given day, his house music beats blare from my Jeep. Our previous neighbors used to bang on the wall when a mix reverberated too loudly. Sanchez has produced Grammy-award winning songs, to which I know all the lyrics, even the Spanish ones. I. love. Roger. Sanchez.

So, when Dwight said he was taking me to see this DJ in flipping person, I just about lost my mind.

Next, my husband said he was also buying me an outfit to attend this event. Dwight is the most well-dressed man you will ever meet. His clothing choices are carefully choreographed ensembles, with levels of detail most people ignore. He has bought me outfits before, but it’s been without me. This time, I was going to choose whatever I wanted, with no spending limit.

Dude.

For almost a decade, I’ve been explicitly fleshing out what it means to be authentic. I’ve learned that how one dresses is a part of self-expression, and self-expression is directly linked to being oneself. I scoured Sanchez’s social media to see how people dressed. T-shirt and jeans or shorts would’ve been fine. But not this time and not for me. I wanted to wear sequins, sequins shorts to be exact.

“I don’t think the whole outfit should be sequins,” my fashion-savvy husband said.

I value his advice, but this time, I had to ignore it. Every day, we have the choice to be our authentic selves, and this was my opportunity. Not only were the blouse and shorts sequins, but also the shoes and fanny pack!

A couple weeks prior to our flight, I contacted my cousin, who I haven’t seen in a few years to let him know we’d be in Phoenix. Then, I remembered that Krystle, a blogger I’ve been talking to via social media lives in the city, too, so we arranged to see one another.

Ya’ll. I was so excited that I started packing four days before our flight.

Have you ever had a day where everything was perfect—where the birds chirped a little louder, where the sun shone a little brighter? Well, that’s how last Friday was.

That morning, Krystle, my cousin, Dwight, and I ate at Breakfast Bitch, a place where rap and R&B play in surround sound, a place where waitstaff sing the “Happy Birthday” song with a microphone and a boombox. This place was as extra as my sequins outfit.

Meeting Krystle for the first time wasn’t weird. Our conversation flowed, just like it had over the years in the DM. I was immediately reminded of why we need to flow with life, instead of resisting reality. What I mean is this: I needed to focus on the people who were in front of me, not overanalyze why a few friends I’ve known for decades had neglected to ask how I was faring after surgery.

Later, I treated Dwight and my cousin to dinner at a tapas restaurant called Pa’La. My husband enjoys fine dining and I had scheduled this part of the trip as a show of gratitude for taking care of me while I had been convalescing. The food was amazing, fresh, and ethically sourced. We enjoyed ourselves.

Then, it was time to see DJ Roger Sanchez.

Man.

I am not easily impressed when it comes to experiences. I am not the one to fanout because I’m in the presence of a celebrity DJ. However, as soon as Sanchez showed up, I thought I was going to faint. But I didn’t. I composed myself and danced and sweated for nearly three hours. I sang along with hits typically heard in the confines of my car and home. That night, I was satisfied with life and love.

Typically, I have a well-thought-out inspirational lesson. Usually, I wait a couple weeks after an event, so I can consider what I want to convey.

But not this time.

I hope what I’m saying is clear and that you glean what you may from this latest slice of my life. I hope this story inspires you in ways that matter to you.

Turning 50: Life is a Social Construct

~ kegarland ~ 94 Comments

Life is a social construct—marriage, raising kids, traveling, gender roles, and more—all of it is made up. And guess what that means? Anything that is constructed, can be deconstructed: it can be torn apart and reconstructed.

In my observations, though, it seems that we are rarely taught this. Instead, we are born into a set of social rules, shamed if we think about them otherwise, and then pushed back into what are portrayed as cemented ways of being. But this isn’t reality. Reality is we can make up life anyway we desire. Re-constructing life requires choosing a social construct, thinking about what you actually value, unlearning the social construct, and then re-creating life based on your values, instead of those you were born into.

This is no easy feat, but it is possible. Here’s how:

CHOOSE A SOCIAL CONSTRUCT: Celebrating Christmas.

When I was growing up, my grandmother had one rule about holidays. She said her children and grandchild could spend any holiday wherever they wanted, but Christmas was for her. That was feasible enough when I was nearby. But what happened when my family and I moved a thousand miles south? Nothing. Nothing changed. Dwight and I packed up our children, bought winter clothes, packed gifts, and eventually our dog, and we drove every other year to have the Christmas my grandmother desired.

THINK ABOUT WHAT YOU VALUE: Family time.

We did this for 17 years, until I thought about why I was doing it. One reason was because that’s what you do for the holidays…spend it with family. That’s what Hallmark says. That’s what commercials and Christmas movies show, and that’s what my grandmother had decreed. Another reason I spent my holiday on the road was because when I asked my grandmother if she would come to Florida for Christmas, she said I was being inconsiderate. Everyone in Chicago couldn’t come to my house, so I shouldn’t expect such a ridiculous thought.

UNLEARN THE SOCIAL CONSTRUCT AND RE-CREATE LIFE BASED ON YOUR VALUES.

So, I never asked again, but that 17th year, I decided I wasn’t driving there for Christmas until I felt like it. I decided to re-construct what Christmas meant for me. It didn’t mean driving up-and-down the interstate to appease others, while I grew ragged and overwhelmed. It meant creating new traditions with my family in our space. It was not easy. For the first few years, everyone in my family asked when I was coming home. No one ever asked when they could visit my family and me for a holiday. But that’s how social constructs work. When you break them, those steeped in the construct will try and push you back into the norm. However, it didn’t work. My family and I have celebrated at our home for a while now, and I feel much better because we have developed our own traditions, and as our daughters age, they will, too.

So, there’s a family example, but what happens when it’s a place that provides us with income, like work? Trust me, you can also re-create in your career.

When I began my current job, I received several pieces of advice. One person told me I should make my social media account private.

“How am I going to be a public writer, with a private social media?” I asked.

She didn’t have an answer, so I ignored this advice.

Another person told me I shouldn’t speak out about injustices, until I was tenured and had the security with which to do so.

That sounded hella silly, too, especially because I live with a keen awareness that we can die at any moment. I ignored this and published two essays in well-known anthologies about the ill feelings I had about being an affirmative-action hire in academia.

I almost talked myself out of starting this blog, due to the content. I wasn’t sure if my job would be jeopardized because I chose to write about the impact that childhood and adolescent trauma had on my adult life.

I ignored my own fears and so far, I’m still employed.

There are other lesser-known things that I’ve done, such as not being bogged down with what the education field likes to call “service” or attending superfluous meetings, simply to talk about things that could’ve been an email or digital presentation. Part of the reason I’ve been able to function this way is because I have a terminal degree in my field, and I’ve been in education for nearly three decades. I know the manipulative forces that are at play, and I know how to navigate them.

But the fact remains that even how a job is performed is a social construct that can be deconstructed and reconstructed, if only we’d think about what we value and how we can align that with the institution or company. I care about being an effective educator, so does my job. Everything else is negotiable.

Let me reiterate this point: Everything social is made up! And if you have the desire to deconstruct what you’ve learned, in hopes of re-creating something you value, then it can be done. You just have to make up your mind to do it.

I’m turning 50 on May 23rd, and I’m processing and documenting it here. Being on the earth for half a century, interacting with people, has taught me a few things, and I’ll be sharing them with you through June. Here are the first two:

Turning 50: Advice I’m No Longer Taking

Turning 50: The Relationship You Have with Yourself Matters Most

Monday Notes: Boredom

~ kegarland ~ 88 Comments

The days are long with repetition as I heal my rotator cuff. It doesn’t matter what time the alarm screams, each morning is the same—an amalgamation of waking, walking, and stretching, so I’ve turned it off. The time I awake to face the world is irrelevant.

I’ve been here before. I was raised as an only child, who couldn’t leave the house to play with others. It was up to me to entertain myself in a room full of adults, or in a room by myself, so I learned to fill the day with made-up activities. And when I exhausted the list of events: “playing school” with dolls and teddy bears or reading books two years above my age level, I’d sigh heavily and proclaim to my mother, “I’m bored.”

“If you’re bored, then you must be a boring person,” she’d reply, turning the situation on its head. For decades, I’d perceived her response as a comment on my flawed personality. But now, I get it. It was a call to be creative.

However, I’m no longer nine; I’m 49. Throughout the years, I’ve learned how not to be a boring person. Yet, today, I. am. bored. My mother’s words reverberate. It’s funny how an interpretation of a parental lesson can echo in one’s brain, well after the parent ceases to exist. But this is different. I have plenty of ideas and few ways to execute them. No one ever outlined the appropriate protocol for a person who has an overactive mind but no access to manifest her ideas. What should a writer, who doesn’t have full functioning of her dominant hand do with an abundance of time?

Boredom is the uncomfortable state of wanting to engage in satisfying activity, but being able to do it.

Brené Brown, Atlas of the Heart

It is 8:30 in the morning, and the day will be long with routine. I venture downstairs where my husband has prepared a berry smoothie. I’m grateful, but I miss the anticipation of making it myself. I slowly sip its purpleness, savoring separate flavors: the tanginess of the berries lingers on the back of my tongue; the sweetness of the protein powder hits the tip. These are the things I notice now that I have time. It sounds poetic, but it is not. It is boredom expressed as imagery.

Dwight laces my green and gold sneakers. It’s time for my walk. There is the dog with the hazel brown eyes; they peer at me like a sad girl. There is the guy who jogs every day. I wonder if he’s met his goal. Here is a neighbor with a mustard yellow pick-up truck; he backs into his driveway and gives me the proverbial head nod that Black people know well. There is the green bag of poo that has sat next to the bushes for the last two weeks. Someone’s footprint has dented its side.

When I return home, I’m glad I didn’t choose to receive short-term disability. Working gives me something to do. Part of my day is filled with grading student assignments. I hope dictation accurately interprets my feedback. The other day, a comment with the word titties almost sneaked away into the ethers. Simply. Simply. Simply, I said, trying to correct it, before using my left hand to delete the inappropriateness and to peck out the correct letters.

My amygdala begs me to fly, to find an adventure. We don’t have to be here, it whispers. But I cannot drive, so I rely on dreams. I fade away to last summer’s European trip. I tuck away the corn-maze of a city that was Piazzale Roma; in my mind’s eye, there is no confusion; I ignore Venice’s overpriced taxi rides. I romanticize memories and wish myself there again, aimlessly searching for our gondola ride. I find it and float, as an Italian man in a striped black-and-white shirt sings, while rocking me back-and-forth over the dark black water that lulls me to sleep.

An ache in my shoulder awakens me.

Convalescing is boring, but it is necessary. I convince myself this will be over before I know it, just like childhood memories of teaching teddy bears and adult experiences with European excursions. One day, I’ll be back to manifesting my wildest desires. But until then, I scroll social media and watch a stranger dance to Beyoncé’s “Cuff It.” I roll my eyes at their pedestrian attempts, slightly envious that today, I cannot replicate their movements.

One day, I will. One day, I’ll be back doing what I want. In the meantime, I stare out the window at the same squirrel chasing the same nuts under the same tree.

Post-script: I wrote this two weeks after my surgery on February 6, 2023. I’ve started physical therapy and have entered a new type of boredom, one that comes with doing 30 minutes of PT three times a day 🙃

Monday Notes: My Big Black Sling

~ kegarland ~ 57 Comments

“I hate to see you like this,” my friend said seemingly uncomfortable with the idea of seeing me in pain.

It had been a week since I’d had surgery on a torn rotator cuff and bicep tendon. I understood his concern. The sling is a lot. It’s big. It’s black. Its thick straps wrap around my waist and around my left shoulder to hold my healing appendage and bicep in place.

Arthritis cripples him. He, too, hurts. But he has to announce it. Invisibility obscures his pain behind pearly whites and a sunny disposition. Unlike his sore, veiled and out of sight, friends and family cannot avoid seeing my big black sling. Its sole job to hold one part of my body in place, close to my chest.

“Man, I hate to see my friend like this,” he said after dinner and after he noticed the side effects of narcotics snaking through my veins—my eyelids growing heavy, my head hanging lower.

I admired his fortitude to face his emotions out loud. That’s something a lot of people don’t know how to do. In the midst of well-wishes, I’ve received strange responses. Jokes shroud people’s intent. Comments about push-ups intermingle with words like worry and sleep at night.

Many of us don’t know what to do with visible pain or the thought of our loved one being hurt. The discomfort of another’s distress is…uncomfortable. And so, we ignore it—we sloppily shuffle around it. We hold our emotions close like my big black sling, hoping not to re-injure.

But even if I stand strategically against a wall, people wiggle and bump into me, while uttering unapologetic sorrys. They stare intrigued with the background story. This representation of pain is unavoidable. This sling is big.

“I just hate to see you like this,” he said once more. This time, we stood in the parking lot of a liquor store. He’d insisted on “buying me a bottle for my big birthday.”

I accepted. And I wondered if he spoke to me or himself. His pain is visible only through X-ray. He can smile and no one would be the wiser. If I smile, people can focus on the symbolism of the sling.

“Next time, maybe you can visit when I’m not hemmed up,” I said.

“For sho’,” he agreed, describing a return trip in a couple of months.

I reassured him my recovery would be speedy. “April will be here in no time. We can celebrate life for real then,” I say.

For real means sipping handcrafted drinks in short gold-rimmed glasses and copper tin mugs, shutting down restaurants, and complaining about the privilege we’ve designed for our young adult daughters. We did little of that on this night. That night, was reserved for facing pain: his and mine. His invisible, mine observable.

Post-script: I wrote this one week after my surgery on January 27, 2023. I’ve started physical therapy and feel fine 😉

Turning 50: The Relationship You Have with Yourself Matters Most

~ kegarland ~ 75 Comments

Do you like yourself? Do you love yourself? Do you accept yourself as is? I hope so, because just like any relationship, liking, loving, and accepting yourself are foundational for developing a relationship with yourself. If you’re having issues with either of these three, there are plenty of self-help books, gurus, and of course, therapists, who can lead the way. I suggest starting there, before reading about my version of developing a relationship with yourself:

Years ago, I wrote a book called The Unhappy Wife. In it, I’d interviewed 12 women, one being myself. As I listened to each woman’s story, it became clear to me that we didn’t love ourselves. It was also apparent that we were detached from our bodies and emotions, and subsequently…ourselves. Yet we had bent over backwards in immeasurable ways to figure out how to be in relationship with men. I remember wondering what it would look like to give yourself as much attention as you did another human being? What would it be like to pour into a relationship with yourself? I think this is important, because withstanding mental illness, no one can really care about you more than you care for yourself.

So, that’s what I did.

One year, I began a self-love campaign. I asked 30 women, who I knew personally, what it meant to love yourself. I’m not going to debate about if pedicures or therapy is the “real” self-love approach, because guess what? There is no argument. For some women, it will be imperative to go to the spa. For others, it will be important to schedule a breast exam. And some may just need to sit down somewhere and be quiet, without distraction. We have to stop being so binary about this. All it does is cloud and confuse the overarching issue, which is simple: Cultivate a relationship with yourself that matters to you.

Another year, I thought about what I’d do if I was dating someone. What would that look like? I would want to find out what that person liked and disliked to see if we vibe or not. I’m married, so on some level, the point was moot, but I decided to change “someone” to me. I began trying different activities. We may think we know what we like, but a lot of times it’s based on tradition and repetition. It’s easy to get into a rut and believe that you only like to watch Netflix on Sundays from 12p-12a; however, there are other things you may enjoy that you haven’t even entertained.

Here are a few other ways to develop a relationship with yourself:

  • Go somewhere by yourself! This isn’t just about “dating yourself,” which is a thing. This is more like thinking about if someone said they wanted to take you on a date, where would you tell them to take you? Now, do it for yourself. Try that new restaurant. Go on a day trip. Take yourself on a picnic. Whatever you can conjure up is what you should do, without any qualms or fears. One time, I took myself on a weekend trip to Panama City Beach. I had a blast…all…by…my…self.
  • Write a list of 10 things you’d do if you had time, space, or money. Now, choose one, and find the time, space, or money. To get to know who you are today, in this moment, you have to be intentional. You think you don’t have time, space, or money, but that’s probably not true. For example, I was invited to a two-hour networking event. When the day came, I felt as if I didn’t have the time. The reality was I didn’t want to make the time. That Saturday, instead of reading or writing blogs, I attended the event, and it was beneficial.
  • Check your city’s Groupon list. One way to learn what you may or may not like to do is to check Groupon. A couple Christmases ago, I saw an offer for viewing Christmas lights in St. Augustine, which is about 20 minutes from me. In that city, vacationers ride on a trolley, with strings of lights, while singing Christmas carols! That sounded really cool to me. Full disclosure…I didn’t do that activity, but my husband planned something similar for us on a small boat around the same city. Remember, learning what you like to do doesn’t always mean you have to do it alone, just that you honor the idea.

Finally, I know I’ve emphasized the importance of women doing this. That’s because I’m a woman, and I know sometimes, women end up acquiescing to other people’s whims, leaving us in a whirlwind of resentment of the consequences of our unconscious choices. However, no matter our gender, we should all learn to develop a relationship with ourselves, because it’s the most important relationship we’ll ever have.

I’m turning 50 on May 23rd, and in true kegarland form, I need to process and document it. Being on the earth for half a century, interacting with people, has taught me a few things, and I’ll be sharing them with you through June. Here is the first one:

Turning 50: Advice I’m no Longer Taking