This is Me

Monday through Friday I start the school day listening to "This is Me" by Super Simple Songs.  My autistic kindergarteners, aides, and I point out all of our body parts as we learn who we are.  At home and in the doctor's office, that phrase takes a different meaning for me. 

Maybe it was getting older, hitting surgical menopause, or all the struggles that come with cancer, but I've learned who I am.  I only care to be judged by the content of my character, not by pieces that don't matter. 

I learned who I am in reference to medicine... I would rather deal with chemo rash or a port poke than put on a cream.  I will choose lifestyle changes like installing faucets that are color activated by temperature and hop from one new rug to another over wearing socks when cold sensitivity exists.  My brain requires time and space to work on more issues, like readjusting to socks, buttons on pants, and new roles. I sprained my ankle the day before an oncology appointment, so I showed up needing a wheelchair (to handle my boot) and put my painful foot up on the back of the chair so I could watch the good tv in the clinic.  

I need to be organized to remember my thoughts, but also I mistype on a regular basis and have to correct myself.  This frustrates me, but is still with me. I prioritize what matters now and move other objects down the line... to the next school break or for a longer time.  If I focus on gracefully eating my salad, I can't scan copies for my home tutoring student.  If I try to figure out the broken healthelink system which kid in kinship kid won't get a new bunkbed?  Which is more important in the long run? 

The newer me knows that I need spiritual and mental breaks regularly so I set aside siestas after school most days before home tutoring, sabbaths on the weekends, and longer time away with God and others.  I prioritize counseling, chiropractor, and massages at the gym (even if I only exercise with my favorite 40lb weight sitting on my lap at school during circle time).  I'll cooperate with others, but my time is my own now.  My house is my quiet space, needed to refresh and refuel.  Only the pets can interrupt that calm, which the cat does every day when he screams at me as I arrive late for the siesta.  

This is me... the scars of 50 staples cutting my stomach in half, my port still bulging out causing me to move kids to my other shoulder, my ankle still hurting from an icy driveway. The chemo brain slowing me down and forcing me to take a slower paced job.  The enjoyment in celebrating the little things, like kids playing together, the sunrise in the morning, and my ability to create art or throw myself a party.  Life has been rough, but I'm able to show up with God's strength in this season.  

This is who I am.  I pray you accept it. 

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