There's no crying in baseball

"There's no crying in BASE.BALL!" -A League Of Their Own

My Dad used to say that line to me when I was a kid. I never even liked baseball and I grew up with Ranger Stadium in my backyard. Oh I loved going to the stadium, but not because I cared about the game, or Nolan Ryan, or Pudge Rodriguez. I simply went for the food, of course! Nachos, Slushies, pretzels, and Ballpark franks? Yes, please!

Anyway, this post isn't about baseball, or Ballpark franks, it's about crying.

A few months ago, someone asked me when, if, how, I cry. I don't, of course! Ever. Because I'm tough. Liar.

Our conversation went like this:

"The post where you said you cried at the drop of the hat, and the hat drops often...that one stood out to me."

"You stepping on your hat, too?"

"Eh, I have big feet."

When I was younger, one of my friends asked my mom, a nurse, why we cry to express emotion: joy, sorrow, tiredness as opposed to just because something is in our eye or we are in pain. I don't remember her answer, and I'm sure studies have been done on the subject, but I think on a spiritual level it must have something to do with the "eyes being windows to the soul" and energy not being created nor destroyed. I believe that emotions are real, that everything in the universe holds energy that vibrates on some level. When we experience elevated emotions we increase the vibrations within us, and the energy needs to be releases somehow, creating tears.

I know I have cried most often in my life from anger, frustration, or unexpected joy because they were sudden floods of emotion that spilled over. I also think that when you are vulnerable, or worn down, or consciously connected to your emotions, you cry more, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. I have been all three lately, so the emotions have come pouring out.

And I think I needed to let it out, still need to let it out. And, luckily,  I have no plans to play baseball anytime soon.

I went to TX, and didn't starve!

Growing up in the grand ole state of Texas, my diet consisted primarily of beef, dairy, casseroles, and baked goods. I thought guacamole came from a packet of powder that you mixed with water. Vegetables came from a can or a freezer bag. I had never had hummus, avocado, Thai food, or brown rice. I didn't know what gluten or Vegan meant. I had heard myths of Vegetarians or Lactose-Intolerant people existing, but like Sasquatch, had never actually caught sight of one. My brain wouldn't have been able to comprehend cheese coming from cashews or milk from rice. Most of my meals came from a drive-thru or a mircowave tray.

Five years ago I moved to California, and was exposed to a world of organic, free-range, fresh foods. I explored Farmer's Markets, Whole Foods, and Trader Joe's. I learned how to use a rice cooker and how to steam vegetables. I introduced edamame, tofu, and kale to my vocabulary and my palate. I stopped microwaving things. I fell in love with Thai, Mediterranean, hummus, Agave, and goat cheeses. I traded in Guiness, Bud Light, and Keystone for Fat Tire, Stella, and PBR. I still ate a LOT of dairy and baked goods. I went home to Texas for barbeque every chance I had.

I used to plan my trips home based on what and when I would eat. Breakfast at Cracker Barrel, followed by lunch at La Madeline's, topped off with dinner at Spring Creek Barbeque. I planned my life around The Texas State Fair and made sure I would be home during the winter months when Blue Bell puts out its peppermint ice cream. Life was simple. Life was grand. Life was about to take a backflip.

After I was diagnosed, I didn't go back to Texas for two whole years. Why bother? I wasn't allowed to eat anything! My sister had to go and get pregnant to get me to come back. Smart move, Sis! Oh, and there was that whole recovering from surgery thing, too...

While I was home for nearly three weeks, I was certain I would starve to death or be living on almonds and carrots which is usually what happens when I travel. This time, I learned a Whole Foods has opened near where my parents live, so we took a family excursion over there. Minds and wallets were blown, interesting stocking stuffers for the whole family were acquired, and Bren-friendly food was found. My Mama made it her mission to ensure I wouldn't starve, bringing me something to eat approximately every 27 minutes:

Fried egg, bok choy, tomato, brown rice, black beans with corn


Rice crackers, cucumber, hummus


Black beans and corn, chicken, rice noodles


Fresh raspberries


Stir fry


And of course, there were the pancakes that she perfected the recipe for!

She even packed my lunch when a friend picked me up so I could visit another friend in the hospital. (That's almond butter in the container, btw)


I was even so nice as to decorate cookies for my family, (while elevating my foot, no small feat). I think my tears added something extra special to the taste.





Much to my surprise, Texas and my Mama did me well.

You have such a good humor about all this...

"Look, in my life you either laugh or cry, there is nothing in between." Elizabeth Glaser

And so, I've been laughing...

I spent the first week or so after my sentencing(diagnosis) in complete shock and denial, and the next three weeks wavering between anger and feeling extremely sorry for myself. By the month mark, I thought I'd accepted things and was fine... You see up until very recently, my range of emotional vocabulary was thus: fine, not fine, and angry (I'm slowly learning to recognize and label other emotions I previously couldn't).

I've always been told/thought I had a pretty high threshold for pain, and physically I think I'm withstanding a lot right now, considering; but nothing prepared me for this overwhelming tidal wave of sadness that nearly drowned me yesterday. I knew at some point a not fine feeling would resurface, but I wasn't expecting the magnitude and sheer force I was blindsided with.

The thing is, in the past, I never managed my pain, I just disassociated myself from it. So while I may have experienced a lot of painful situations, physically, emotionally, spiritually, I never learned how to process and deal with any of that pain. I just sidestepped it.

I feel so raw and vulnerable, like an emo-chick entering menopause. A drink sounds like a really good idea right now. Two dozen donuts sound like an even better idea. Three boxes of It's-its sounds phenomenal! Something, anything, to get me away from this feeling, to get me away from me. But a drink isn't the solution. Stuffing my face full of donuts, or It's-its isn't the solution. Not feeling my emotions is not the solution. Learning to sit through and deal with pain in a healthy way is what I need to do. And I sure am doing a whole lot of sitting lately! (I sat for 3 hours and did a puzzle, start to finish, the other day. Holy cow.)



Someone recently told me that pain is beautiful... I told her she was full of shit. I do think pain is necessary for growth, though. This is a learning experience, right?

This illness is going to prove to be a good thing(it'd better!), in that it's stripping away all my defenses and pride and escape-routes.

Now, if I could just make it a day without bleeding from one of my orifices...