Michelle L. Rusk's Blog, page 34

What would I say?

For the past few months I have been working on a project that takes place in the 1980s. While I'm not ready to reveal what it is that I'm doing, I somewhere stumbled on this photo of me taken in June 1986, when I finished eighth grade and prepared to start high school.

I originally had planned to simply post the photo partly because some people knew me in those days while other people have little idea of what my teen years were like. But in the time that the photo sat on my desk and I've been working on this project, it made wonder something, if I could go back and talk to the fourteen year old me, what would I say to her?

Many times I have heard people talk about how if they got a chance to go back in time all the advice they would give their younger selves to make life different, perhaps easier, perhaps more fun. 

I spent some days contemplating this and during that time I also began to think about how I might have lived those years and my college years differently. I can't remember exactly what I had been reading at the time but there was a part of me that maybe wondered if I hadn't accomplished enough or taken advantage of enough opportunities. 

This was the part where I had to shake my head and remind myself that– especially in light of my sister's suicide when I was twenty-one and in the midst of my college years– of everything I had done. I had taken just about every opportunity that either I sought out or had landed in my lap and run with it. Sure, I could have gone in different directions but it was just that, different directions. I doubt I would have accomplished more, instead just different things.

That's when I realized that I wouldn't tell the younger me in that photo anything. Yes, I can give you a laundry list of what I could have done differently, what I should have done differently, but I know that had I told her any of that, it would have meant she experienced life differently and that wouldn't put me in the place that I'm at now. It doesn't mean that her life would be any better or worse, just not the one that I'm reflecting on and living now.

At each day passing I find myself filled with an immense awareness of how my life has led me to where I stand now. While there are still never enough hours in the day for everything that I want to do, I can see that everything is as it's supposed to be, that I'm where I'm supposed to be in the journey. I just need to keep running with not just the oportunities that come my way but the thoughts and ideas that stream through me, too.

Forging Forward

It's hard to believe that it's July. While I am healing well from my surgery a month ago to remove my uterus because of fibroids, there's a part of me that feels like I lost an entire month. And yet I know that's not true but it's because I'm not where I had hoped to be as we traveled from June into July.

I felt as if most of June was spent just trying to keep on top of my life and there was very little room to move forward. There were days– because anesthesia and I aren't friends and never will be– that I found myself overwhelmed at the idea of multitasking. I longed to feel normal again, to feel not just inspired (which isn't usually a problem) but to do something about feeling inspired. 

When I had the surgery, it was like I had hit the pause button on my life but what I realized a few weeks later when I began to feel the effects of anesthesia that I had to press pause again. The 4th of July is always a time when I think about what I haven't accomplished yet now that summer is already half over (after all, in my world, Greg will return to school and soccer as soon as August begins).

I've hit the play button again but I'm doing it with a gusto to put in the forefront of what's important to me to do before Labor Day comes running by and heads off into the sunset. It's not different than any other time of life. Time is fleeting, life is fleeting. We only get one shot. Take it and run with it.

I know I am.

Life Realities

While the suicide of Kate Spade hit me hard because she had been such a big inspiration in a very challenging point of my life (when I divorced and was redefining my life and where the new journey would take me), what doesn't surprise me is the seemingly befuddleness (if that's not a word, it is now) that I'm reading and hearing from people of the recent high-profile suicides. I could give a list of reasons why this doesn't surprise me (although frustrates me because I'm not seeing true change happen) but there are two major messages I've had on my soap box for several years now and they continue to fall on deaf ears. So here they are again.

It's okay to feel bad.

Life is hard. I'll be the first to admit that I learned a long time ago (even before my sister's death and probably from my dad) that life wouldn't be perfect or easy. I believe this came from his own struggle with finding happiness and peace. I'm sure there moments after drinking when this was said in sarcasm but I believe mostly he was saying, "Suck it up and keep moving forward. You won't be flying high on clouds daily." 

Most people have suicidal thoughts at one time or another. That doesn't mean they have any intention of killing themselves. It means that they used these thoughts as escapism. It means they had a bad day or a bad week or longer. It means a whole bunch of things. And instead of standing there in the darkness with them, allowing them to feel the pain wash over so it can go away (like a storm standing by that needs to drop rain before the sun can come back out), we tell them they have a great life and they have no reason to feel bad.

Let people feel bad. There are days when I say to Greg, "I don't feel so hopeful today." It happens occasionally and I find ways to work through it, but sometimes saying it Greg– or writing it in my journal– is enough to help the feelings dissipate and I can move on. I remember once that my high school journalism teacher had said of my sister Denise and I– she had Denise in English class– "The difference between you two is that when you have a bad day, you bounce back. She doesn't."

While I'm not saying this is a complete answer to more complicated issues around mental health, I wonder if maybe she didn't feel she had a place to express her feelings and I did. I was able to go forward while she stood there stuck in place. It might have been that everyone wanted her to feel good and tried to shower her with messages of love that she couldn't feel while I was in the corner writing all my crazy feelings into a journal and then running through them later that afternoon.

And that's the second point– when I was moving on from the field of suicidology I saw so much work in warning signs and so little on the reasons to live. I still believe we need to spend more time asking people what keeps them here and how can we help them reach inside themselves and find them and use them.

Late yesterday evening I was doing something in the kitchen when I heard the old tv show "The Jeffersons" on the tv in the next room. Quite honestly, I was enjoying seeing the clothes and furnishing of the mid-seventies. And the comfort of the thought of watching the show in another life (in syndication mostly, around dinnertime). I thought of Kate Spade who was not quite ten years older than me and I wondered about those things in her life that had brought her that kind of happiness to think about, the very things that I know she wasn't thinking about that morning two weeks ago when she died.

And then I wondered, where do dreams get lost? 

Kate Spade: The Initial Inspiration for Chelle Summer

Quite honestly, I'm not sure where to begin. Two of my worlds collided today with the suicide of Kate Spade.

What most people don't know is that I stopped buying Kate Spade products partly because she had sold the brand and each time Greg and I went into one of the stores on a trip, we agreed that things didn't look new and inviting.

However, there was a bigger reason than that: I had started to create my own brand, Chelle Summer. Initially I had wanted to call Chelle summer "Michelle L." and when the lawyers came back and told me that Fossil owned "Michele" with one L, they were clear that I could never win against such a large company. I was so disappointed that I had to come up with a new name but at some point I thought of Kate and how awkward it must have been (even though she had chosen to sell it) to see a brand with her name on it while she might not have always liked what the new brand had to offer. Chelle Summer was born and I quickly realized it was a better name than Michelle L., while also allowing somewhat of a separation from my own name.

When I look back on the time when I purchased my first Kate bag (in this photo), I was facing many challenges of my own trying to move forward after a divorce and two moves across the country. What I didn't see then was that in looking at what the brand offered and her style of which I had been aware of for so long (but couldn't afford to buy), I was slowly realizing what I would want my own brand to be. Kate was the initial inspiration for Chelle Summer (with Trina Turk taking the lead later). Kate made me feel that I didn't have to settle for what I saw in the marketplace, that I could create my own items and I also could choose to wear bold prints and colors.

I obviously don't know what led her to take her own life, but with vast experience in suicide over the past twenty-five years I know that there is never just one answer. It was probably a combination of events and thoughts that made her believe ending her life was her only way to find peace. The irony of this is that early this morning on my walk as I was contemplating my own life journey that's following my surgery this past Friday, I realized that for a period of time I'm not going to find peace as much as I would like to. I'm working to embrace some challenges ahead of me (mostly writing related) to fulfill the prayer to God that I've been asking to help me go forward and be the person I'm supposed to be.

I also understand how as a creative person it can be challenging because you're in your own world where sometimes you can think too much. It's why I work hard to balance my life of running/walking early in the mornings where I have several people that I chat with and why I host so many pool and dinner parties. Those keep me balanced while also allowing me to have that time create and be alone in my thoughts.

I'm having a hard time wrapping my head around her suicide. That's the honest answer. But I also know that life is hard and overwhelming at times. That's also one of the one reasons I post so many blogs and photos about moving forward. I see it that if I have something in my life that helps me go forward, maybe it can help someone else, too.

Surgery in the Rearview Mirror: Reconciling Who I am Supposed to Be

Three years ago I was supposed to have ablation (where the uterus lining is burned out) which meant any inkling of having kids was over. However, because there was a golf-ball sized fibroid in my uterus that didn't show up on the ultrasound and because the sodium levels in my body were rising too high after the large fibroid was removed, my doctor didn't have enough time for the ablation. However, he believed that was causing most of my problems so I went on with my life with few problems, happy that I had taken care of it.

This past January I knew something had changed and we gave it a few months to see if it was a freak thing or not. An ultrasound in late April proved it wasn't– two golf-ball sized fibroids this time. My choices were to do nothing or to have my uterus removed. Because then it made sense that I was always running to the bathroom (the fibroids were pushing on my bladder), I opted to have the uterus removed this past Friday. It turned out I made the right decision because my uterus was full of fibroids and my doctor told me that once he saw all the fibroids in my uterus that it explained all my symptoms. 

But this surgery wasn't just about the physical problems I was having. I found out on a Saturday evening what my options were and on Sunday morning I was driving to early mass when I asked God to please help me learn what I'm supposed to from this experience (a blog I had recently written about) so I could move on from it.

To say that it's been a crazy journey is an understatement. 

I never had children– by choice because of certain things in my life, one being that I believe children deserve a lot of time and with the goals and dreams I have, I didn't believe I could give them that. I also was married before and because we divorced and a slew of other things had happened, it wouldn't have been a good situation if we'd had kids. I've had a parade of children come through my life but they never stay for any length of time. I seem to be just part of their journey for a short period and then they can go on. 

I know many women who had their uteruses removed but they all had had children while I was only birthing books, my goal and dream since I was six years old. There has been a lot of sadness over this but deep down I never really saw myself having kids. And yet now part of this journey is completely letting aspect go of that aspect of my life. Yet another loss for me to find hope.

Finally, my parents died when I was 35 and 43 and because they were older when they had my younger sister and I, I'm not willing to take the chance of not being around later as I sometimes feel parentless now (I have lots of "second parents" but we all know it's not the same without our "real" parents). I know they are with me although in a different way.

My life has been filled with loss and I realized that the way children have come through my life is much like life was in Naperville growing up. It was a very corporate transient town and I made friends only to have them move away four years later. It's a lot of work for me to keep grasping hope in the face of loss but that's why I choose to do work that makes me happy– creating through many avenues.

But there was another huge factor to this that most people don't know– I was deathly scared of spending the night in a hospital. I had successfully managed to avoid that since I was three and had a traumatic experience having my right eye muscle tightened. Several months ago I found my baby book where my mom had written it was traumatic for me and that I'd been allergic to the anesthesia (which then also explained why I had a rash after my surgery three years ago). Today there is no one to ask about the surgery because everyone involved (my parents, the doctor, my grandfather who was a charter doctor at that hospital) have died. Once more I had find my way through a maze of questions knowing I'll never really get the answers.

I can't explain how rattled the idea of having surgery and this time spending the night in the hospital left me. I felt as if I were facing one of my greatest fears in life. Somehow I did it but it didn't come without feeling constantly wound up and more tears than I would like to admit to. 

And yet something else came to play in this journey– my writing. I wrote 100 pages in May and I have finished the rough draft of a manuscript. So while there were times when I couldn't stop thinking about things like catheters and the fear of more surprises from my uterus as has happened before, I somehow managed to refocus myself to write 100 pages (and recover fourteen patio cushions). 

This current writing doesn't relate to what I was going through; it was all sorts of creative stuff for my manuscripts (yes, there is more than one) but it felt that because I had left that door open of asking to be open, God could let the writing through. In the face of my fear, it didn't paralyze me, instead it helped me push forward because I also hope that now that I have completely shut the door on having children, a new door will open, one that's been waiting for that to happen.

I believe everything happens to us for a reason– it's one huge way that allows me to go forward in the face of loss and change– and we are put right where we're supposed to be even though much of what happens to us doesn't make sense at the time it happens. I believe this is just one part of the journey that helps me continue traveling on this road of who I'm supposed to be.

Surgery in the Rearview Mirror: Reconciling Who I am Supposed to be

Three years ago I was supposed to have ablation (where the uterus lining is burned out) which meant any inkling of having kids was over. However, because there was a golf-ball sized fibroid in that didn't show up on the ultrasound and because the sodium levels were rising too high, my doctor didn't have enough time for the ablation. However, he believed that was causing most of my problems so I went on with my life with few problems, happy that I had taken care of it.

This past January I knew something had changed and we gave it a few months to see if it was a freak thing or not. An ultrasound in late April proved it wasn't– two golf-ball sized fibroids this time. My choices were to do nothing or to have my uterus removed. Because then it made sense that I was always running to the bathroom (the fibroids were pushing on my bladder), I opted to have the uterus removed this past Friday. It turned out I made the right decision because my uterus was full of fibroids and my doctor told me that it explained all my symptoms. 

But this surgery isn't just about the physical problems I was having. I found out on a Saturday evening what my options were and on Sunday morning I was driving to early mass when I asked God to please help me learn what I'm supposed to from this experience (a blog I had recently written about).

To say that it's been a crazy journey is an understatement. 

I never had children– by choice because of certain things in my life, one being that I believe children deserve a lot of time and with the goals and dreams I had, I didn't believe I could give them that. I also was married before and because we divorced and a slew of other things had happened, it wouldn't have been a good situation if we'd had kids. And I've had a parade of children come through my life but they never stay for any length of time. I seem to be just part of their journey for a short period and then they can go on. 

I know many women who had their uteruses removed but they all had had children while I was only birthing books, my goal and dream since I was six years old. There has been a lot of sadness over this but deep down I never really saw myself having kids. And yet now part of this journey is completely letting aspect go of that aspect of my life. Yet another loss for me to find hope.

Finally, my parents died when I was 35 and 43 because they were older when they had my younger sister and I and I'm not willing to take the chance of not being around later as I sometimes feel parentless now (I have lots of "second parents" but we all know it's not the same without our "real" parents). I know they are with me although in a different way.

My life has been filled with loss and I realized that the way children have come through my life is much like life was in Naperville growing up. It was a very corporate transient town and I made friends only to have them move away four years later. It's a lot of work for me to keep grasping hope in the face of loss but that's why I choose to do work that makes me happy– creating through many avenues.

But there was another huge factor to this that most people don't know– I was deathly scared of spending the night in a hospital. I had successfully managed to avoid that since I was three and had a traumatic experience having my right eye muscle tightened. Several months ago I found my baby book where my mom had written it was traumatic for me and that I'd been allergic to the anesthesia (which then also explained why I had a rash after my surgery three years ago). Today there is no one to ask about the surgery because everyone involved (my parents, the doctor, my grandfather who was a charter doctor at that hospital) has died. Once more I had find my way through a maze of questions knowing I'll never really get the answers.

I can't explain how rattled the idea of having surgery and this time spending the night in the hospital left me. I felt as if I were facing one of my greatest fears in life. Somehow I did it but it didn't come without feeling constantly wound up and more tears than I would like to admit to. 

And yet something else came to play in this journey– my writing. I wrote 100 pages in May and I have finished the rough draft of a manuscript. So while there were times when I couldn't stop thinking about things like catheters and the fear of more surprises from my uterus as has happened before, I somehow managed to refocus myself to write 100 pages (and make the patio cushions). 

This current writing doesn't relate to what I was going through, it was all sorts of creative stuff for my manuscripts (yes, there is more than one) but it felt that because I had left that door open of asking to be open, God could let the writing through. In the face of my fear, it didn't paralyze me, instead it helped me push forward because I also hope that now that I have completely shut the door on having children, I believe a new door will open, one that's been waiting for that to happen. As I continue on this journey of becoming who I'm supposed to be.

Clinging to Hope

It's easy to feel hopeless but I believe that when we do, it's because we've fallen away from what matters most to us.

There is a fire inside of all of us, although sometimes it only feels like an ember, barely lit. It's up to us to find out how to make it burn brighter.

Some days it's easier than others and part of the reason much of what you see me post on social media is what I create is because that is one of my symbols of hope. Being creative makes me happy. Just as writing does and hosting a party.

While I had planned to write this blog before our party today, after it was over I was thinking how helpful it was to be taken out of my head. It's easy for me to think too much and doing something for others (even opening up my home and making everyone ice cream) and spending time my friends reminds me to be in the moment and just enjoy laughter and good conversation. 

A good ice cream cone doesn't hurt either.

Hitting the Reset Button

This weekend is Memorial Day, the official kickoff for summer. And also the time we plan everything that we're going to do this summer. However, what usually happens come Labor Day– the end of summer and start of fall? Often we find ourselves looking back on summer and wondering, "Wait, I had all these things I was going to do! What happened?"

The end of May is the perfect time to hit the reset button, both on what we had hoped to do this year but also what we want to do this summer.

Have we made headway on those goals we planted the seeds of back in January? If not, it's the perfect time to rethink them and maybe tweak them so that we're more likely to accomplish them. If the goal was too big and we easily felt lost and gave up, how do we break the goal down into smaller pieces to make it more manageable?

And if we have made strides in accomplishing our goal (or goals!), what do we want to accomplish next? How do we keep ourselves interested to keep moving forward? What new goals can we set?

Many people see summer as a time to slow the pace down– and that might be our goal for the summer– reading more, spending more time with our families, doing more creative activities.

Whatever you do this weekend, take a little time to reflect on where you're at and where you want to go this year. The start of summer is the perfect opportunity– and a three-day weekend!– to step back and make sure you don't reach Labor Day wondering where summer went. And everything you wanted to accomplish with it.

Changing the Question

Why? Why? Why?

I have spent quite a bit of my life asking that question probably about everything challenging that's happened to me. And quite honestly it's never gotten me very far other than being a way to set loose my frustration over various events and issues that I've had no control over (other than my own reaction).

Finally, I've come to realize that while I understand the importance of asking the "why" question– especially when you've been faced with a traumatic loss such as a suicide, it's part of the grief journey– I do believe there comes a point that we need to stop asking it.

I will always say that when something happens to you, you need to let all the emotions erupt. Let them flow much like a volcano, otherwise they get tangled inside you and they'll manifest in some other way (usually as a physical illness). It's also part of traveling the full journey of life events, we experience the good, the bad, and the otherwise.

However, asking "why" only gets you so far and it does little propel you forward past the event . Finally, I realized that I needed to start asking, "What do I need to learn from this so I can move forward and past what has happened?"

We might not get the answer the first time we ask– especially because we might think we're listening but really we still caught up in frustration of what's happening– yet we should keep asking because eventually the answers will be there.

Remember, they might not be obvious, they especially might not be what you think they will be. But the answers will come if you keep focused on moving forward. After all, life is one big journey made up of small journeys and it's in those small journeys that we form the building blocks that make us stronger and make life more meaningful.

If we ask the right question. And listen.

Letters to God

The stack in the photo is my life from 1986 until almost today (the past few days are in a brand new notebook that I forgot to include). I started journaling as a requirement in eighth grade English and I continued doing it that summer in the top book– bound by my Grandpa Linn who worked for the University of Chicago Press. After that, I always used leftover notebooks from classes.

I wrote daily for years and at some point it dropped off although recently I picked it back up because I was reminded that once I heard that all my writings are prayers to God. It makes sense to me part of the reason I wrote on my journal was to use it as a sounding board to let go of something. In my life I have found that writing is form of finding my way through something.  I just never realized that by putting it on paper I also was giving God a chance to see it as well.

I don't often reread what I wrote unless I want to see my reflections on a certain life event. And some days I write just a few lines, maybe about something in particular that is challenging me, or something with which I need help. Whatever it is, it's no different for me than actually being in a traditional form of prayer. But as someone who has loved to write since I learned to write, it now seems logical that even though I didn't feel close to God particularly for the first half of my life, I actually was writing to him all along.

And I as I continue to journey forward in my life, I see where and how he continues to respond, sometimes in my writing, too.