small realization
I had trouble getting to sleep last night because there was something nagging the back my brain and I couldn't quite figure out what it was. My whole day yesterday seemed to have this low voltage, electrified anxiety but I got some of that resolved at supper. My life has felt very up in the air and I needed to get a few things settled so I can plan what I'm doing over the next few months. Had a chat with the roomies and they are not sick of me yet. I will be staying until the end of April, at least. That relief was helpful and I calmed a bit. But when I came upstairs for the night there was still something in there I just couldn't seem to put my finger on.
I woke up late this morning to a call from a friend. She is not feeling well so I will be headed off to the consult with the surgeon on my own. No big deal, I've done most of my appointments over the past year on my own. Once we get off the phone I realize I still have that thing rolling around in my brain but it is starting to take form. I get my morning tea together and go to the patio the same as every morning. In the quiet of the late morning with the squirrels scampering through the trees and burying things under the leaves on the ground, it suddenly hits me.
It makes me feel strange when he tells me I am beautiful.
When I'm out and about I run into people I know on a pretty regular basis and they all give me a huge greeting followed by, "You look GREAT!". What they mean is I look great in comparison. I look great compared to when I was going through chemo and bald. I look great compared to that time they saw me and I was pale with bags under my eyes and zero energy. I look great compared to limping around with impossible bone pain or being confined to a hospital bed too weak to even laugh at a good joke. Well, compared to all of that, I do look great.
It makes me feel strange when he tells me I am beautiful.
He doesn't have all those images of me. He only knows what he sees now. I don't feel beautiful. My hair is growing in thinly and slowly because I'm still in radiation. I have three surgery scars from this experience. I have awful radiation burns. The Frankentit is simply not attractive. It is red, swollen, peeling, has paint pen targets drawn on it and has two good sized scars. He hasn't seen how damaged I still feel. He knows what he sees on the outside and he knows what he sees on the inside but he doesn't see the brittle, damaged surface.
It makes me feel strange when he tells me I am beautiful.
When I was first diagnosed with breast cancer I could never have imagined all the body issues that would come with it. I have not allowed myself to dwell on them too much because it is counterproductive. Getting back to a healthy body image is taking time and being celibate for 11 months made things easier then but I wonder if it is making things harder now. I don't have all the answers right now. All I know right now is that he is helping me start to feel alive again but:
It makes me feel strange when he tells me I am beautiful.
.
I woke up late this morning to a call from a friend. She is not feeling well so I will be headed off to the consult with the surgeon on my own. No big deal, I've done most of my appointments over the past year on my own. Once we get off the phone I realize I still have that thing rolling around in my brain but it is starting to take form. I get my morning tea together and go to the patio the same as every morning. In the quiet of the late morning with the squirrels scampering through the trees and burying things under the leaves on the ground, it suddenly hits me.
It makes me feel strange when he tells me I am beautiful.
When I'm out and about I run into people I know on a pretty regular basis and they all give me a huge greeting followed by, "You look GREAT!". What they mean is I look great in comparison. I look great compared to when I was going through chemo and bald. I look great compared to that time they saw me and I was pale with bags under my eyes and zero energy. I look great compared to limping around with impossible bone pain or being confined to a hospital bed too weak to even laugh at a good joke. Well, compared to all of that, I do look great.
It makes me feel strange when he tells me I am beautiful.
He doesn't have all those images of me. He only knows what he sees now. I don't feel beautiful. My hair is growing in thinly and slowly because I'm still in radiation. I have three surgery scars from this experience. I have awful radiation burns. The Frankentit is simply not attractive. It is red, swollen, peeling, has paint pen targets drawn on it and has two good sized scars. He hasn't seen how damaged I still feel. He knows what he sees on the outside and he knows what he sees on the inside but he doesn't see the brittle, damaged surface.
It makes me feel strange when he tells me I am beautiful.
When I was first diagnosed with breast cancer I could never have imagined all the body issues that would come with it. I have not allowed myself to dwell on them too much because it is counterproductive. Getting back to a healthy body image is taking time and being celibate for 11 months made things easier then but I wonder if it is making things harder now. I don't have all the answers right now. All I know right now is that he is helping me start to feel alive again but:
It makes me feel strange when he tells me I am beautiful.
.