Saturday I woke up to a clean kitchen, breakfast already done, and the dogs taken care of. It was a nice precursor to Mother’s Day.

That kindness opened up the space for me to make dinner and dessert for the next day. It was the only gift I wanted and yet one I didn’t dare ask for…time to do what I love. Added a bit of gardening in there and Minecrafting and my Mother’s Day got off to an early start.

With the actual day came a bit of nervous energy knowing how badly I’d be needed at work, especially with two other major players in the kitchen being out sick. I knew I couldn’t help the kitchen in the capacity that I wanted, or even in the capacity that they truly needed, but it didn’t stop me from taking half of the New York Cheesecake it took me 11 hours to make up to the restaurant so the kitchen and waitresses could divide it up amongst themselves on what has been known to be the busiest day of the year for them. When I drove up there to drop my son off for his shift as a dishwasher, the parking lot was full of double parked cars and standing customers waiting for their names to be called so they could finally be seated at a table. Even though I knew that scene would be waiting, my heart sank as I felt something I hate to feel…incapable of helping. I parked along the water’s edge and with each step towards the restaurant my legs felt as heavy as the cheesecake did. Despite that I had a thought.

“Maybe I can push through and do my job anyway. Maybe I can badass my way through a few hours and restore my faith in myself while possibly shining some light on them in the meantime. …maybe I can do it.”

We went around the back and with the opening of the door I was reminded of the temperature shift in a kitchen that’s been pushing out copious amounts of food all day long. The ability to breathe properly…gone in a blink of the eye. And despite walking through the next doorway that brought even more hot unbreathable air, I was hit with an unprepared level of cheers for merely existing. My sank heart lifted tremendously and when they found out I had brought cheesecake the hugs and I love you’s came out in full force. One hug was really tight and really long with a plea for me not to leave, while another was tight but short lived with a warning to leave while I still could. Within that few minutes of seeing multiple people do the job I used to do, witnessing the baskets of food over fryers waiting to go with the food being finished on the grill, and seeing the 20-some-odd bowls of slaw waiting to be plated I got a taste of what it would be like now to constantly whip my head around at what used to be my normal speed. To take in everything at once and to mentally grind out the game plan that was to follow with a full dining room trying to talk over one another and I was brought back down to earth real quick. It was within that chaotic mess I used to thrive in that it was made clear that after taking days to mentally recover from my first MRI with two more on the horizon the next day that there would be no pushing through anything I didn’t absolutely have to. …and I didn’t have to Wonder Woman anything. No one put that on me but me. So it was me who decided that there would be no hands lent to take the weight off of the shoulders of others to make myself feel better about my current flawed state. There would be no proving to myself that I could still be my old self for a brief period of time as long as my mind decided to be stronger than my body. There would be no more days of pretending that despite what professionals say there’s nothing wrong me and that I can behave as a normal person from one minute to the next simply because I feel okay enough to do so. That level of ignoring a core issue was over. I didn’t believe I could accept that about myself, but in that moment I was forced to and while it gutted me to accept, it was with a coworker’s tap on my arm on the way out leading to a “Please take care of yourself” request that confirmed that I had nothing to second guess about doing just that by walking out the door. It’s a status that may change in the future, but for now this is not a simple convincing myself that I can do something and so it shall be. This chapter doesn’t work that way. This is a full stop chapter that’s making me finally stop focusing on others and direct that attention on myself to examine and deal with what’s transpired, saving my pushing through energy for a journey I have nothing to compare to. From the mental, physical, and emotional tests that I’m not prepared for like MRI’s, surgeries, and hearing news that could truly affect the quality of my life more than it already has, to having to hang up my cape and rest more than take the lead on everything in sight so others aren’t too burdened in their daily tasks. This chapter is about embracing limits, things I don’t want to hear, and wrestling with the demons within that have always used a weaponized version of anxiety and fear to cut me down…but now they’ll have an actual scalpel aiding them in their quest. That’s not today’s battle though. Today’s battle was getting through a brain and orbital MRI with music that lacked the ability to help me disconnect me from the setting I was in. I was too present with the loud noises of the machine and warmth that was radiating within my head. I was too aware of the physical sensations radiating throughout my body while the repetitive loudness of the machine pierced through the ear plugs and headphones to hit my noise sensitivity at its fragile core. Time slowed but I got through it without needing days to recover from the experience, unlike last time. I was able to grocery shop afterwards while holding my husband’s hand and grabbed some pizza for my guys before the anxiety truly took me over tonight as I relived the experience today and the possibilities ahead through these words. Sometimes writing is therapeutic. It’s not in this case though.

A day of beautiful nothingness awaits though before getting on the road to meet up with an oncologist who I hope won’t see our meeting as a lead in into a surgical appointment. I’m not ready for that. I’m not ready for any of this really. But breathing life into that possibility steals the joy away of the now where dogs play before bed and Gordon Ramsay is about to announce the next Master Chef. There’s no real threat here. No reason for fear to exist. And yet it does. That’s what anxiety does. It weaves a future scenario together and creates a movie of sorts in your head taking away from the peace and beauty of the now because it thinks preparing you for a what if will somehow protect you in some way. Like rehearsing your reaction to it will make you more equipped to handle a situation when all it does when you entertain anxiety’s stories is feed the storyteller that thinks it’s doing a great job at entertaining you…creating a pathway for more even stories. It’s a vicious cycle. One that greatly needs to be broken in order to enjoy life more. It’s one of the few things I can actually work on these days and not feel like I’m incapable of making progress.