(from a year ago… I wrote this as I was a little more than half way through chemo)
It’s the Monday before my fifth treatment on Wednesday. My life has taken on this new, abnormal chemo-pattern. This is the day I begin fighting anxiety and start having “nesting” instincts. It’s a sort of panic to get everything in order – all my ducks in a row- before the next infusion. I almost hyperventilate over EVERYTHING. My poor family has to endure all the stress and flipping out that I do. By Tuesday night I have worked myself into a frenzy, accomplishing nothing – well, except for bringing a spirit of discouragement to my husband and kids.
I have come to realize that the stress is my way of trying to regain control of my life. It’s my futile attempt to show that I have a say in how things are going to go. Our church is currently going through an eight step recovery type emphasis. The first step, or choice is – realize I’m not God. The actual confession reads, “I admit that I am powerless to control my tendency to do the wrong thing… my life is unmanageable.
That statement has so resonated with me. Everything about my life is unmanageable right now. I can’t control my health, my family, my schedule, my image, my house… not one thing. As I realize this, it brings both a sense of freedom as well as fear. Matthew 5 says, “Happy are those who know they are spiritually poor.” I am admitting that I am powerless to do it on my own. I am spiritually poor. I need other people, and I need God.
Now I’m longing for the “happy” part of the promise. Letting go means letting God. That’s a tough order for a recovering control freak such as myself.
