Angela A. Wix's Blog, page 3

Event Notice: Tune in for Unicorns!

Tune in tomorrow morning at 10am CST for animated talk about how to find your very own unicorns and all the things in life that light you up from the inside out. Plus, you'll have yet another chance to win a signed advanced reader copy of the book! Go to All About Healing Healthy Life Radio and scroll to "05/22/2019 Angela Wix - Llewellyn's Little Book of Unicorns" Enjoy!Also, mark your calendars for a Meet and Greet where I'll be signing books at Chapter 2 Books during the Fall festival in Hudson, WI. Event is Saturday, September 28th from noon to 2pm. See you there!

Preview, Pre-order, and Win Unicorns!

I have a few things to cover here today, so here we go! Sneak PreviewMy new book was just sent to the printer! To get you feeling the unicorn vibes, here's a sneak peak of a couple of pages (so many sparkles, so much glitter!): Chance to Pre-orderIf you've been feeling disconnected from your source of joy, this book is for you. Writing it helped me rediscover the many avenues to happiness, even during hard times. When it comes down to it, our search for happiness equates to rediscovering our authentic self. I don't magically have it all figured out, but this little guide to finding what lights you up from the inside out is going to be a reference and reminder that I'll be able to access time and time again. Once it's finally in your hands, I hope you feel the same! ContestTo celebrate being one step closer to final print, here is your chance to win one of two signed early advanced reader copies. Get a sneak peak before everyone else! Your name will be entered into the drawing for each action:1) Click to follow me on Instagram @theshabbyunicorn. Tag someone in the comments of that post.2) Like my page on Facebook Angela A. Wix Healing & Creative Arts. Tag someone in the comments of that post.3) Receive bonus entry for each additional person you tag!4) Preorder the book at Amazon, B&N, Llewellyn, or other store and send a screenshot of your receipt to TheShabbyUnicorn [at] yahoo.com.Competition ends June 19, 2019. Two winners will be chosen at random and contacted by DM. Good luck!

The Heart of Struggle

My dad sometimes talks about how when I was born, I fit in just one hand, from his fingertips to his palm. I was reminded of this when I randomly came across an article today. I sort of couldn't believe it, because I was effectively reading about myself, my past, my life, my story.I feel like I should have been informed of it, like I should receive a certificate, or a medal, or a cuddle. Instead, I just happened to stumble upon it and I'm so glad I did! The title read, "FDA Approves World’s First Device That Could Save Thousands of Preemies From Common Heart Condition."I'm one of the preemie guinea pigs that went through with trying out this device when it wasn't yet FDA approved. I was born 3 months premature and at the time was given experimental drugs to try to stop a heart murmur. It seemed to do the trick, but when I developed pneumonia at age 14 the murmur was rediscovered. I had the Amplatzer Occluder implanted back in 2001 when I was 19. There weren't many who had it yet, and without FDA approval this was a pioneering expedition. I don't know if it's done me good, but it took away doctor's concerns that I might get an infection in my heart from blood cycling in circles due to an open vein, otherwise known as Patent Ductus Arteriosis (PDA). There were so many lead-up and follow-up appointments to having that surgery.I remember the fear and overwhelm whenever doctors would hear my heart murmur and say something needed to be done.I remember going into surgery thinking I was going to die, with good-bye notes to my loved ones tucked away in my desk drawer back home. I remember being awake during the procedure, seeing my heart on the monitor, and repeatedly telling the docs I could still feel everything as they were moving through my veins and up to my heart... a surreal experience.I remember struggling for a while to keep up Freshman year of college after I had the device implanted.I remember crying my senior year when I realized I wouldn't be able to make it to a ceremony for an award that I had worked so hard to earn, because I had to go to yet another appointment for FDA processing.I also remember worrying over the financial cost we ended up having to pay, even when we'd originally been told none of the cost would fall to me, since it was a trial.There was a lot of stress, anxiety, and fear that went along with it. But I hope it helps future little ones. If it does, then I can say my struggle was worth it. That's the heart of it, the nugget of concrete happiness tucked away in hardship. I've found the same with other chronic conditions. I struggle until I find answers, and when I find answers I try my best to blast them out into the world, so that others don't have to stumble through it all the way I have. I thank others who've come before, or who walk alongside me, and have done/are doing the same, to my own benefit. And I am grateful for the loving hands that have supported me along the way. In short: we seek love, we find love, we spread love. As an interesting side-note, I went to an energy healer a couple years after this surgery. It was my first in-person instruction for a technique known as Reiki. Aside from setting up our session, I'd had zero contact with the practitioner beforehand. As she was talking she waved her hands in the air in front of me. Mid-sentence she stopped and asked, "Do you have something in your heart?" Um, why yes I do! "I thought so," she responded, and went on totally unphased with what she'd been previously talking about.I've wondered about this devise nestled in my heart over the years. Is it doing harm I don't know about? Or has it helped me in untold ways? I'm sure anyone with chronic illness or implanted medical objects will understand this cycling of thought. For me, between this article now, and that energy session all those years ago, it's as if I'm being sent the message: It's there. It's okay. Let's move on.Today is a period to the end of this particular story. On to the next... .........................People often say disease leaves them forever changed, with new understanding and even benefits. I sometimes scoff at the notion, because disease sucks. But, while I would never wish it on anyone, there is truth in this perspective. What has your "heart of struggle" been? What's the positive take-away that has come out of your personal trials? .........................For more on the new story I will be delving into next, you can check out this page for more on advocacy for chronic invisible illness.

Catching Unicorns: Finding Beauty Even Among the Shit

About a month ago I was rushing through the yard and came across a butterfly slowly spreading it's wings open ... closed ... gently open, those delicate yellow and black painted wings ... closed now, and open again ... all while it sat on a pile of shit.I stood caught in my tracks, staring, confused at first because butterflies are supposed to be on flowers. Then I burst out laughing. It was the best metaphor I think I've ever heard or seen.This is life, one big, huge, stinking mess. Now go out into it all and look for as much beauty as you can possibly find. This was the exclamation point to the end of what was a very long roller-coaster kind of year. While I can't believe the year went as quickly as it did, I also equally can't believe it hasn't been TEN years instead of just the one. Time can be so odd that way. A fellow Spoonie checked in with me this past week, concerned because they hadn't seen an update from me since I last posted all the long way back in November. I was surprised to realize it had been that long since I last wrote, but then again, not. I had to think about it, but I've been away for a number of reasons:1) Self-shame and guilt with sharing. I'll admit, there's been a sense of shame and guilt at the thought of all the "TMI" and "oversharing" I went through last year, and those feelings have caused me to stay away and sort of recompose myself before I returned. Being seen has always been difficult for me. At the same time I can't stop myself from sharing raw truths, because they are so real. I needed to acknowledge that. When I and countless others have constantly been told real is not real, I needed to add my voice to setting things straight. Yet, a part of me has wanted to go through all those past posts and delete, delete, delete, because we're taught this kind of sharing is so wrong... it's self-indulgent, attention-seeking, and inappropriate. But I wrote every post authentically and I decided to put them out into the world because they are the exact thing that I needed to find and read 20 years ago, 10 years, ago, even just 2 years ago! So while I feel odd displaying so much naked truth for anyone to see, I remind myself it's worth it if even one person is able to find it and gain new understanding.The non-self-shamed side of me knows treatment of these kinds of chronic conditions won't change for the better until more people actually know about them ... and know the real facts, not the rampant misinformation. So, I continue to share, but I've needed some "rebuild" time to recover from that shaming voice and allow for quiet germination of new creative pursuits and inspirations.2) Processing and recovering from the aftershock. My experiences threw me into a bit of an early mid-life crisis. I wanted to throw my life away: my house, my job, relationships, hobbies... It's a hard thing to explain, but while I knew I wasn't physically dying, I felt to my core that I was dying. My life was this strangely foreign and unraveling thing. It was not mine.I needed to be lost on my own (in the good company of my therapist) for a while. I'm now out of those dark woods, but am still recovering from the aftershock. I've taken things at a slow pace this year. Whether this means keeping my calendar low-key, writing for just myself, going to talk therapy or pain management support group, or just floating in the pool under the sunshine with my hubs, I'm trying to learn how to be "healthy" even when there is an unending sense of "disease." Some days I succeed at this more than others, but I'm still learning. 3) "Chronic" sounds like a broken record. The nature of chronic illness means it doesn't usually end in a clean "recovery" and that wasn't what I wanted to hear myself talking about. If I shared more here, ideally I wanted it to be about...recovery. But I haven't felt like I've made it there. That doesn't mean it's not worth talking about, it's just that I was disheartened to the point of silence. I can gratefully say that both of my 2017 surgeries resulted in certain levels of success that I am so thankful for. But it's amazing how the laundry list of remaining chronic symptoms and issues can still drag me so far down. I just didn't want to examine it more than I already tend to as I go about my days. At least not yet.4) I've been on the search for unicorns. After spending so much focus on knowingas much as possible about the facts of darkness (i.e. disease), I eventually saw that the pendulum needed to swing back into light. I needed to find my unicorns.I needed to figure out once again what made me vibrantly happy. What inspires me to the point of making me feel like I am expanding and vibrating? Where do I lose sense of time? What lights me up and makes me sparkle and shine? Poetry, live music, the dogpark (heaven on earth, I'm telling you), and plunking around on the piano all make the list. It can be hard to find these happy things along the way of our bumpy roads, because so often they are butterflies sitting on poo instead of flowers. But if we focus on finding beauty wherever it may be and even in spite of all the crap, maybe we'll be able to recognize when we stumble upon it anyway.

On the Edge of Vulnerable: A Lesson from Ailment and Healing

I have this thing for surgeries in the fall. Or I should say, I have this thing for facing death while facing life. I am an autumn baby. My arrival was WAY early (don’t worry, I learned my lesson and am now chronically late to everything). As such, I pretty much died at the same time I was being born. Breath stopped and then was restarted. Last rights were read, but 3 months later I emerged officially born from the hospital and into life.Since then, hospitals have not remained unfamiliar to me. I recently realized this is the third year I am spending my birthday recovering from a surgery. When every new year is a notch declaring, "You made it! Let's try another one!" it feels like surgery heightens that precarious feeling of those years being a fragile gift. Some are able to barrel through, ignoring our impermanence until the end. But this life has given me a body that reminds me of the delicacy. It demands love. It requires compassion, attention, and helping hands.On the surface this can feel like a fight against negatives: fear, pain, dysfunction, disability, disease. Deeper, though, it is life swinging its pendulum, showing me the edge of both ends and heights. And on that other side I am lucky enough to realize and know support, a kind of connection that says, “You are worthy as you are. No proving. No doing. Just be and I will love you.”This seems to be something that life really (really really) wants me to get a firm grasp on. I will say, it is difficult being in that space of vulnerability and need, but when I am able to feel this message of worth down to my bones, it is a birthday gift better than any other. ___Poem: "Consoled"When the pain ate my composure:"Remember," you consoled,"this is temporary."When the painshook my hands,my legs, my core,like brittle and dying leaves:"Remember, you are fightingback for good."When the pain chilled my body, but boiledthe salty tears, forcing them to rise,shake the lid, spill over...When the pain punchedmy gut, gouged knotted nerves,the relentless lowhum of swarming bees...When the pain when the pain when the pain pain pain PAIN:"Remember, I am herewith you."

Walking the Path of Pelvic Pain: Vulvar Vestibulitis

I have a broken vagina.Yes, this is a real thing. No, it is not all in my head. I am not a frigid or hysterical woman. I do not just need more social activity, baths, wine, or therapy. I need social understanding, kind helping hands, loved ones who listen, and doctors ready to hear, research, and treat with compassionate care. Also, someone get me an ice pack. . . I stepped out of the metaphorical medical closet this spring, increasingly voicing my experience with various pelvic pain conditions, including endometriosis and adenomyosis, for which I had surgery this past summer. Earlier this week I dove deeper into the “face your fear” waters with my second surgery of the year. This time it was for a condition known as vulvar vestibulitis/vestibulodynia (VVS), something I've lived with from a young age.Like the other conditions, this one is extremely painful, restricting things like clothing options, biking, walking, sitting, standing and, as I’m sure you can imagine, intimate relationships. Burning, tearing, and knife-like stabbing are all common sensations. It can be provoked (brought on by touch) and unprovoked (existing just for the hell of it). Muscle spasm (vaginismus) can often be a secondary reaction to it, adding pain on top of pain in an unrelenting cycle. Also like the other conditions, VVS is not well studied or understood, is often misdiagnosed, dismissed, and can take years for someone to finally recognize it.In my case, after a decade of struggling I brought my own research to my doctor who was then able to confirm it. Later, in 2004 I learned about this surgery (vestibulectomy) in an issue of Good Housekeeping, surprisingly enough. At the time, I was relatively newly married, a broke college student, and equally intrigued and terrified. Should I do this? Could I do this? If not now, someday? Would it work for me? What if I tried and it actually made things worse instead?Soon after, I found a specialist who was very familiar with VVS and we tried everything from drugs and creams to physical therapy and even botox injections (it’s not just for face-lifts, ladies!). Surgery was still an option, but the questionable statistics kept me from moving forward.I despaired, ignored, rose above, fell again. Life moved on, but at the same time I stood stalled in the same place. Finally in the spring of 2017 it was as if someone whispered directly, "Okay, Angela. You've had enough now... It's time. You've got this." When even a month before I would have still said no to it all, I was suddenly *flip-the-switch* ready to take on so much chronic pain with surgeries I'd been gathering knowledge about over the previous decades. While adeno and endo can be hard for people to talk about, being that they are conditions tied to the reproductive system, I’ve pretty much gotten over that. While I don’t want to embarrass anyone, I talk about it with those who are curious. I have a wealth of knowledge to share and I want others to find accurate answers sooner than I did. Keeping mum makes finding answers that much more difficult. What’s worse, it makes it seem like there are no answers to be found. From the inside, I know that silence is the killer of hope. For the sake of others, I am determined to somehow, in some way, speak.However, with VVS, I find sharing to be more difficult. When I started sharing about some of my other conditions, I wondered if I would ever be able to share about this. I believe that extra hesitation is because the other conditions are more internal. We don’t see them, so they almost become hypothetical in discussion. “What kind of surgery did you have?” can be responded to with a vague and single word: abdominal. This time a more authentic response would be “vulvar and vaginal.” Does that language make you cringe? After growing up thinking “vagina” was a dirty word, it’s taken time for me to shift my thinking from shame toward acceptance of my own existence. I’m getting there. And I’m determined to get there, because being okay with my own body and experience…whether broken or whole… will allow me to be of more help for others who are still searching for answers in the dark. As with my last surgery, I don't know if this is the final piece to the puzzle, but if nothing else I hope it will have been a step in the right direction. Either way, I'll be reporting back for those who are walking parallel journeys. Good luck to you, sisters.___Poem: An Impossible Kind of MagicI awoke,starch sheets against the rubof a crackling paper gown,the shuffling of a nurse nearby.Eyes still closed,I let the tears riseand spillsilent yet speakingdecades of tender fear."Dear," she asked,love on the tongue,"are you in pain?"I shook my head, eyes still closedagainst the medicated bluroutside of me. "No,"I whispered with a quiver."What is it?"Grief swirled, hopemixing in like caramel. The idea that relief,an impossible kind of magic,might be in sight...Neverland on the horizon."I finally did it," the only wordsshe heard. My happy thought,so many new beginnings.

When "Strong" Looks Like "Weak"

How I've missed this mat and its reminders.One month ago I started going to senior yoga. At 2 months post-op, it was my attempt to reintroduce the activity without letting myself push too hard. I needed a space that would help me be extra respectful of my body's whispered messages. During the first class, where chairs took the place of mats, there were moments of exasperation and embarrassment. "Everyone must think I don't belong here. They're right! I can do so much more than this!" I judged myself one moment, only to realize the next that a leg lift while sitting was the absolute push of my limits. I wasn't judging anyone else. In fact, gratitude exuded out to the people who surrounded me. So why wasn't I extending that to myself? Sometimes fear smothers love. Worry manifests as criticism. Lack of faith shows up as resistance to self-acceptance. Personally, I was terrified certain pains and weaknesses meant my body wasn't healing, and that maybe it never would. I wanted to force the changes I was desperate to see. But part of me had been fully conscious of all that. It's why I'd dipped a toe in, instead of diving into the high energy class I'd been used to before.I left that first class slowly, aching and feeling like I'd taken a step backward. I realized how right I had been to start there. It was perfect. And I loved it for the next month. Finally, a week ago I could hear my body whispering, "I feel stronger. I'm ready for a bit more. Let's try." So I dipped my toe in a bit deeper. I went back to my regular class. I modified for a bit, then did my own thing, and finally left a half hour into it. "Thanks for coming!" the instructor whispered enthusiastically as I quietly made my exit. I'd explained to her beforehand that I would probably leave early. "Listen to your body," she'd said. And I had. A week later I would amaze myself by making it through the entire class. I would find a deep pose that targeted the pain I'd been fearing. I would breathe and let go, knowing that if/when that pain returns I can find what it needs. I'm reminded of the blessing of yoga, no matter what it looks like when you come to it. Breathe & Be. #youarestrong

The Stillness of Indecision

Sometimes poems need to be in red Crayola marker and surrounded by golden polka dots. They just do. This little note could apply to so many things. I wrote it upon reflection of my experience through healthcare. I find that I worry, as we all do when troubling symptoms arise. With an already active anxiety living in my mind, I often catch thoughts on their incessant loops: "What's that? Oh no, not this again! Could this mean that again? Could that have been caused by this? Maybe I should I try this drug/surgery/diet/doctor/supplement/and-keep-going-because-this-list-never-ends. But what if that leads to this other thing that I don't even have now, but could end up with if I take that path? Did this thing I tried even help?" Ohdearlord STOP! I roll my eyes at myself. I shake my shoulders, dusting off the fear. A few deep breaths. I start again. I remind myself, "Hey, remember how stress makes all of this so much worse?" Oh, yeah. "And remember how the future hasn't even happened yet?" "Yeah," anxious me responds, "but if I do this thing then what if..." Finger up, waving in my face. NO. You can't go there.When I do I enter the land of indecision, stalls, and stagnation. I don't decide. I stew in a mess of fear. Maybe I avoid a new problem here and there, but I think more often than not, I just end up delaying a decision by months, years, even decades.I know I'll come back to this all again. It's such an ingrained pattern. But I also know, eventually, that bold guiding self will break through and remind me with a wagging finger to stop. Be still. You are here now. Make a choice and then move to your next "now." Continue, repeat._____ Poem: "The Stillness of Indecision"We don't have all the answersor know how this will play outin the end.All we have is now,right now.So where are we at?And what can be donefrom here?Because sometimesNow is all that can be held,examined in the palm at eye level,scrutinized for everything that it isand is not.Check this angle, that one, the other.Nothing else is real or known.So breathe.Take a step forwardtoward whatever you decide to do,knowing it might affect a "later"in untold ways,but also knowing here,right here,all you can be is Now,moving one footbefore the next will ever follow.____ #affectvseffect I still don't get it.

Facing Shadows: When "Living" Feels Like "Dying"

In conversation with myself and loved ones I've found myself stating, "It's like I'm dying," or "I feel like I'm dying," or just the straight up BAM, "I Am Dying." Chronic illness has had the worry over mortality nagging the edges of my mind for some time, but the process of recovery from my recent surgery, along with a second one that is just around the bend, has aggressively shoved all those shadows to the forefront. There's no ignoring or side-stepping. Time to walk through. These words bubble up and out of me, like a force that has no choice but to get into open air...to breathe, to be seen and heard.Each time it happens, time slows and the moment is magnified. "Pay Attention," it says. Over the years I've come to realize these kinds of moments mean intuition is kicking in. My higher self is calling out. Spirit is speaking to me.So I've noticed. And while I've been falling down Alice's rabbit hole, I've tantrumed against the forced experience, but also tried to hold a curiosity about it. So I'm dying. What does that mean? A literal end to this life? Likely not. At least for now...no. So it's a transformation, shedding of skin, and a close look at value, intention, and desire, among many other things. Amidst it all, and in Divine timing, I have been sent supports. Friends, family, an unexpected book or poem, a song that I finally really *hear* for the first time, the offer to join a course in facing shadow work for self-healing of emotional pain (shout out to the amazing @TanyaMarkul@thugunicorn). Many times I've looked in the mirror and seen a tired and broken woman looking back. Her face is pale and blotchy. Her shoulders slouch under a hidden weight. Her chest rises with shallow breathe and tired air. "I'm so sorry," I've said to her through tears. "I've tried all I know to try." And she's cried with me. When I was asked recently to tell my story, I pictured that kind of moment. I see her. I love her. My heart breaks for her pain. Physical. Emotional. All of it. I wish her peace. I wish her solace. I tell her our truth...we are dying. But this time she replies no, we are coming alive. Hands together, we step forward into all that dark.....Poem: "Facing Shadows""I'm dying,"I saidto the careworn facein my mirror."No," she replied."You arecoming alive."

The Challenge of Healing: Getting through Withered Moments

I've been away awhile. Healing.It's been slow and serious business trying to recover. In my case, at the moment it's from surgery following endometriosis excision and hysterectomy for adenomyosis. While I was exuberant early on in a kind of "post exam" euphoria, the heavy side of it all soon took hold. Limitation, lack of exercise (i.e. lowered natural happy-making endorphins), and anxiety over lingering pain has all been taxing. Depression following surgery is apparently a normal deal. It's also a partner to chronic illness. So it's unsurprising that it has become my unwelcome companion. I try to raise my head above it all. My therapist has become a key ally. My naturopath, a rope I cling to. But it's as though I've been thrown into a mid-life crisis of sorts. What am I doing with my life? What's the purpose of any of this? What are my goals? Am I achieving them? I'm sobbing to songs and am brought to my knees at the sight of a butterfly and the idea of forced metamorphosis. On the cusp of 35, I suppose that's ok, but the desire to toss my life in the garbage and recreate myself is disorienting, especially during a time when I'm physically bound, asked to change while standing still.I still look for hope. I'm dancing with my dog, laughing at myself conspiratorially in the mirror, and hearing a muse I wouldn't have known without the pain. I think of a clover plant I bought in March when I first decided to move forward with surgery. A plant for luck. Within a month I'd killed it. It shriveled under dampness and lack of light. I moved the pot outdoors, planning to put something else into it. But soon the clover reappeared without assistance, stronger than before...the spirit of nature working magic behind the scenes.Could that be me? I've wondered. Am I just in my withered moment? I let out a little scream this morning. I looked out the kitchen window in the flurry of another "running late" morning. Amid the neglected, weed-spotted landscaping (courtesy of the aforementioned limitations) was a single delicate pink rose. I'd sworn the plant was dead. I'd given up on her. But silently, she worked her spell among the weeds. Without help from anyone, she bloomed anyway......Poem: "This Beautiful Thing"I didn't senseit dawning, yetSuddenlyit was there...this beautiful thing.