All Apologies

My boss asked me this a few days ago: “Are you a Canadian?”

He asked me that because I apologize a lot. Too much. All the time. 

Canadian graffiti 

I apologize when someone bumps into me. I apologize if I get sick. I apologize when I ask to use vacation time. I apologize when I am right and someone else is wrong.

Over-apologizing is a manifestation of guilt. And I certainly suffer from guilt. When I am at work, I feel bad about not being able to be on mom duty. When I am getting an MRI, I feel guilty about missing work. When I can't make it to a school play, I feel guilty. When I do make it to the play, I feel guilty.

So, I apologize.

Last Saturday night, the Derby girls were having their end-of-year party. It was a costume party with a superhero theme. I've always been more partial to the super villains. They are just more interesting. So I put together an awesome, sexy Darth Vader costume.

I spent an hour getting ready. As I did, the snow started to fall. And it continued to fall. And it dropped about 3 more inches. And then froze to the road. I tried to drive to the party. My poor little car was sliding all over the road. And my poor little eyes couldn't see anything through the combination of wet roads and storm darkness. So I missed the party and stayed safely home.

Then I promptly posted an apology to Facebook. I said I was sorry that I was missing the party and unable to deliver the plates and napkins I had promised. What I should have posted is: It's too dangerous for me to drive. I'm staying safely at home. I hope you all drive carefully. But that isn't what I wrote.

Once, when I was skating with a group of Fresh Meat skaters, my toe stop came off, tripping me. I took down three other skaters on my fall to the floor, including Biz, the Fresh Meat Mama.

"Sorry, sorry. I'm so sorry," I said as I scrambled to retrieve my toe stop before it rolled into another skater's wheels.

"There's no sorry in Derby," said Biz. "Just don't be an asshole and you will never need to apologize."

 

People have taken notice that I apologize too much. That hurts me both socially and professionally. But, there is a much more important reason that I need to break this habit. My son is inheriting my apology disease. Kidlet is apologizing too much. And I don't want him saddled with this burden.

I will talk to him tonight. proposing that we work together to break this bad habit that we both have. Here is what I plan to tell him.

We need to stop mindlessly apologizing. It makes sincere apologies hollow and meaningless. We need to stop saying sorry. When we need to apologize, we need to say I'm sorry.

We should not apologize as a form of politeness. We should instead say what we actually feel: That is so sad. We should say what we actually need: I need to interrupt you to tell you that I need that immediately. We should acknowledge what actually happened: Oh, you startled me. I didn't see you there.

When someone does something considerate, we should say thank you instead of sorry. Thank you for helping me with that. Not Sorry you had to do that for me.

We need to protect the integrity of a true apology. There is no point to constantly saying sorry. When something isn't your fault, don't apologize. When it is your fault, fix it. It really should be as simple as that. 

Kidlet and I need to help each other by pointing out our habitual sorry statements when they occur. We should become aware of when we mindlessly toss out a sorry. When a true apology is necessary, we both need to work on saying I'm sorry. Once.

I am going to do my best to not have to apologize. I will try to stop mindlessly saying sorry. And when I do apologize, I will do it with deliberate thoughts and feelings. And I hope--with all my heart--that my son can do that too.

Borrowing Energy

One thing I have noticed in the past couple months is how tired I get. Not need-a-refreshing-afternoon-nap tired, but true fatigue. Now, I'm not sure that this is all because of the MS.  I've been bone tired well before my diagnosis. I am a single mom that works full time. Most working moms I know are exhausted.  But I have a feeling that the disease isn't helping my energy levels.

I can't really remember a time when I haven't had trouble sleeping. I can fall asleep in a matter of minutes, but staying asleep is difficult for me. And if I wake up in the middle of the night, going back to sleep is nearly impossible. My doctor has told me how important it is for me to get sleep. She also told me that MS might be the root cause of my insomnia. MS--the gift that keeps on giving. 

Lately, I feel like I lose my mojo really quickly. I notice this at skate practice. I'll be moving along fine one minute, and the next minute I will feel like someone pulled the stopper on the drain. I can feel the energy spinning away.

I think there are a couple reasons for this. The first one is totally on me. I am really out of shape. I work on my skating skills, endurance, and overall fitness every day. And I'm getting better, but I can't go from couch potato to mash 'em, bash 'em derby girl overnight. However, there are some other things that are affecting my energy level. The bright flash of light in my right eye--the one that originally drove me to the doctor--is still there. It makes it hard to sleep sometimes. And the medication I take makes me very tired, while simultaneously making sleep even more challenging. So, there are several forces sabotaging my energy levels.

Today at practice, we learned assists. Biz and the other coaches taught us Whips and Pushes, two of the most basic moves in Derby. The Push is exactly what you are picturing: a teammate skates behind you and shoves you forward to get you moving. When performing a Whip, a teammate extends her hand behind her. You grab her arm, and while you pull yourself, she swings you around her and shoots you forward like you are a rock in a slingshot. It's pretty fun, actually.

The great thing about these assists is that, in essence, you are borrowing someone else's energy. You are able to leverage your teammate's momentum to move forward. While we were practicing these moves, it occurred to me that I couldn't think of many other sports where someone else can boost you forward. In most other sports, while you are working as a team to accomplish a task, you  rarely are able to literally draw strength and power from another member of your team.  That is one thing that makes Derby so special.

It did occur to me later today how that is a life lesson we should all learn. Giving your all to something is great. Working together makes things easier. But being able to rely on the people on your team--your friends, family, loved ones--to give you an assist when you need it is a truly special thing. To be able to fill your life with people that can whip you around the obstacles in front of you, when you just can't do it yourself, is something amazing. 

Thanks for the Push, Derby team. Thanks for the Whip, Life team.

41 Is a Prime Number

My Year 40 was a shitty, shitty year. I was stuck in a bad job that continued to get worse with a long commute and an asshole boss. I had some "female" troubles in early 2013 that resulted in a hysterectomy and a week in the hospital. Relationship troubles plagued me, and hurt my very scarred up heart. There were chickens loose for years that were coming home to roost. (Said chickens will be named in future posts, I'm sure.) I was certainly not feeling especially happy or optimistic.

Then April happened. That month started with this weird, funky light flashing in the corner of my eye and ended with me sitting in a neurologist's office with him explaining that I had MS. I had 18 "holes" in my brain--areas bright as a dying star that were evident on my MRI. Life was about to change dramatically because of the golf course being constructed in my head. Well, fuck...

My good friend Sara did something then. She made me join her one Saturday for tryouts. Roller derby tryouts. She dragged me to the warehouse that contained the track. She strapped skates on my feet. Feet that have had no wheels on them for 30 years. She grabbed me by the hips and launched me forward into the pack of incredibly cool women that all harbored the dream that I had secretly had since I first learned about Derby. And I fell. And I fell again. I was fighting the side effects of a medication that I was taking that was making me shake. It was making me dizzy. And I tried to balance on 8 wheels.

My endurance was terrible. I couldn't skate forward. I couldn't stop. I was completely drained after a single lap. My legs burned from the exertion of muscles that had long since retired into a quiet existence.

Exhausted, shaky, and drained, I sat on the bench and watched these amazing women skate. And fall, and get up, and skate some more. I couldn't hold the tears back. Trauma, the team medic, gracefully skated over and sat near me on the bench.

"I'm not hurt," I told her. "I'm just frustrated."

"No you're not." Trauma looked at me and said, "You're pissed off. Your pissed that your body has betrayed you."

She told me to stand up, and try again. Then try again, then do better next time.

Biz, the Fresh Meat mama (that would be the veteran who is in charge of teaching the rookies how to skate), called me aside. She looked over my tryout sheet with notes about my woefully pitiful test scores. She asked, "Do you want to do this?"

I wanted to do this. Hell, yes I wanted to do this. If I had to go through the Fresh Meat class ten times, yes, I wanted to do this. I wanted to take my body back. I wanted to get strong in preparation for the days ahead when my physical abilities might be tested. I wanted to know that if I was in the emergency room, it was because I took an elbow in the nose while blocking the other team's Jammer. Not because by brain was being rebellious.

Biz made the announcement. We were all invited--I was invited--to begin the Fresh Meat training. Sara leaned back and gave me a wink.

Fuck you 40. Fuck you body. This is going to be epic. 41 is a Prime number.