My personal revolution… of sorts

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20 days ago I started a program through my yoga studio called “40 days to a personal revolution.” This “breakthrough program is intended to radically change your body and awaken the sacred within your soul.” I was so excited to “dive deep into the wisdom of myself to liberate my true nature”

However, this beautiful program intended to enlighten me through daily yoga, meditation, inquiry, weekly group meetings and healthy eating did the opposite. I went from being highly intentional and living each day to the fullest with radiant joy to being anxious and stressed out.   As someone who doesn’t shy away from a challenge and just simply isn’t a quitter – I dug deeper. Reading, breathing, reflecting


But, instead of enlightenment I found more pain. I kept thinking this is what I need to do – I need this program to help me continue to live in the light. I must do all this – I must step out of my comfort zone if I want to grow. I have to pass through the messy and painful to get to the bliss on the other side.

However, tonight as I hurried around to my kids’ practices, grabbed dinner to go and was racing out the door to get to class – I just sat down and cried. And, instead of going to class I am sitting in my room writing and reflecting on what this program is doing to me. What it has “stirred up.”

I love all the values of the program – the laws of transformation include; commit to growth, shift your vision, relax with what is, be true to yourself…. It’s beautiful. It’s what I want to do. I sought out this program to help me answer the deep question I have been wresting with – how do I live the most beautiful life I can?

I desperately want to feel, to know, I am doing all I can to live each moment to its fullest, most brilliant potential.  I’m seeking some kind of reassurance I am making the best choices.

When I dug deeper I uncovered a whole lotta pain. The reality is when you live with a terminal illness there is no end to the messy. And it’s not just messy – it’s repulsive. By digging in I was digging myself into a hole filled with uncertainty, sadness, fear and death. A hole without light. By adding extra requirements to my already busy day I was stressing myself out. I work to focus my intention on balance and be fully present with my kids. This was becoming increasingly hard. And, the sense of comfort I had that I was living the most beautiful version of my life was slipping away as I questioned my eating, my priorities, my decisions. My anxiety increased and my fears started to deteriorate my ability to make decisions.

Jay asked me what I was trying to get out of the program as he had noticed an increased level of fatigue and agitation. I told him my hopes for a deeper sense of purpose and clarity on how to live the best life I can. I am looking for some kind of reassurance that as the time bomb is ticking – I am doing everything I can to make the most of my time. Our time.

He reminded me – that’s been a goal I’ve had for the past couple years and that I was doing a pretty good job of it
 before I set out on this new personal revolution.

Perhaps searching for how to live the most beautiful version of my life is itself the revolution. There isn’t a magic moment of clarity where I am going to feel complete peace with my choices, but rather the very act of living the life is what brings the peace…

This week, I lost another friend to metastatic breast cancer. A young friend from Louisville with two adorable boys – the same age apart as ours. A friend who was terrified of her disease but found a way to live and love and persevere hoping she could hold onto the normalcy of life as long as possible. She did it her own way. And, although her kids won’t feel her hug again – her love is deeply planted inside them forever. She was someone I looked up to because she lived her life as normal as possible – she didn’t let this disease interfere with her joy.

At a time when I am wanting so desperately to do this life “right.” Nikki’s death reminds me how fragile life is. I want to live the most beautiful life possible. But, there isn’t a perfect diet, lifestyle or program that will make this happen. I want to simply focus on LIVING it – not questioning it.

I am living my own revolution – day in and day out. Fitting in yoga when I can, meditating 5 minutes here or there, falling to sleep reading bedtime stories, drinking a good beer with Jay on our patio and laughing spontaneously with friends


Here it is – I am so not a quitter
 but, I am not going to be able to finish this 40 days program. It’s a remarkable program and I admire all the people pushing through and digging deep. But it’s not for me at this point in my life.

Instead I will beautifully revolutionize in my own unique way. In body, mind and spirit. I might not get the free t-shirt but I will continue to work to make peace with my questions. I promise to hold myself sacred. Acknowledging that by living with intention my revolution happens one day at a time. And, that in and of itself, is the most beautiful life I can live.

Namaste… and yay!

Lara

birthday and brokenness…

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A big day came and went last week and in the midst of all our busy-ness I hadn’t had time to reflect on it until this quiet Monday morning. I just dropped the kids off, grabbed a hot cup of green tea and settled into my favorite spot at Heine Brothers coffee. Yoga class in 45 minutes. Aaaahhh. This is the life I am thankful to be living.

Last week Tuesday, February 8th, 2017 Bennett turned 9.

Apart from the consistent parental angst of watching your baby grow up (where does the time go???) this day carries a lot of emotion for me as it marks a time in our life when we were overwhelmed and scared, but also incredibly hopeful. I was diagnosed with cancer originally when I was 30 years old, 7 months pregnant. Together, Bennett and I endured biopsies, scans, lumpectomy, doctor appointments and 4 rounds of chemo. I remember sitting in the infusion chair for the first time watching toxic chemicals steam into my vein and feeling him kick. I had worked so hard to have a healthy, natural pregnancy – no diet coke, lots of leafy green veggies, water, and exercise. And then… chemo.   Yet, through it all we had a deep seeded hope. We would get through it. Every step of the way there was talk of the end of treatment. Remission. The light at the end of the tunnel was brilliant.

On Bennett’s birthday friends and family surrounded us. It was a joyous celebration when he was born healthy and happy. Our hospital room was like one big party. (Despite the fact that I was completely bald and in the middle of chemo.) I was so thankful for him to be here. A complete relief to know he was safe and outside of my toxic body. Nine days after his birth I returned to chemo treatments. On his 3 month birthday I had a double mastectomy. I recently uncovered a journal I kept during this time and was reminded how hard those first months were.

“I feel like these first months of Bennett’s sweet life have been overshadowed by surgery and chemo fatigue. I have an empty disconnect not being the mother I want to be. Yet, through this we have laughed and cried with amazing friends & family. We are not alone. I know we will get through this.”

Now, this little miracle is 9. He is strong and courageous, kind and a problem solver. He loves soccer, basketball, fishing, swimming, hunting and reading.   Yesterday he lay on top of me in the grass and looked for animals in the clouds. He holds my hand and wants me to read bedtime stories. He has a temper as fiery as his bright red hair. His nine years have been joyful – love and hope have shined much brighter than sickness or sadness.

But, now as I face metastatic breast cancer – this birthday is hard. Under my laughter there is a deep seeded fear of a day when I won’t be here to bring him breakfast in bed or look at his baby book together and tell him the story of the day he were born.

This past week I had a short fuse. I was anxious. I realized I was overwhelmed by change- the emotions of Bennett’s birthday mixed with the major Hope Scarves office move.

As I faced these big changes I was really sad for days gone by. I am grateful for all the amazing times in the Hope Scarves office and the pure joy of raising Bennett. But I am sad that these experiences are behind me. I want to freeze time- to go back and live in those magical moments again. I am afraid of the future.

The crazy thing is the longer I live with MBC the better I have felt and the stronger my body has become. I am one of the lucky ones. As time marches on there are moments I forget I have cancer.  I actually care about everyday things like car shopping (time to trade in the minivan) and redecorating. Other days I feel like a ticking time bomb. Like something inside me is just waiting to go off and destroy the stability I’ve cautiously become accustom to.

I work through these changes – I acknowledge they bring me angst. In the acknowledgement I find peace.   And in the peace I find laughter, gratitude and love and allow these feelings to exist with my pain. I don’t know how long I will live- but I know I have the power to live the very best life possible. We are raising our children right now.  Not in the past, or the future.  Right here. today.  We are building Hope Scarves – one day at a time. I may be broken, but that doesn’t mean I can’t live each day in a way that makes me whole.  This is true for each of us.

Do not be dismayed by the brokenness of the world.

All things break. And all things can be mended.

Not with time, as they say, but with intention.

So go. Love intentionally, extravagantly, unconditionally.

The broken world waits in darkness for the light that is you.

L.R. Knost

 

 

 

finding joy…

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One of the hardest parts of having metastatic breast cancer is watching cancer take over the bodies of friends, rob them of their future and rip them from their families. (Harsh… I know. That’s just how I feel right now)  I can’t keep track of how many friends I have lost since my diagnosis in 2014.  Many were friends I connected with online or over the phone.  Hope Scarves widens my friendship circle, which I am thankful for.  But also deepens the hurt when so many I know die.

Mary Eleanor and her daughter on one of many trips together.

This week we lost one of the greatest.  Mary Eleanor.   I met  Mary Eleanor at an event we hosted for metastatic patients in 2014.  I was just new at this – still on very shaky ground as I adjusted to the reality of the diagnosis.

Mary Eleanor took me aside.  Put her beautifully manicured hand on my arm and looked me in the eye.  She said,  “You are too young for this.  They have to figure this out.  You will be ok.”  The thought that I could survive this diagnosis was not an option I had considered.  But, this strong, determined woman was giving me permission to believe it might happen.  And, by God, I had a feeling Mary Eleanor was the type of person you listened to.

Regardless of whether or not this is realistic, Mary Eleanor’s determination stuck with me.  Why don’t I leave a little room for science, for breakthroughs and research?  What could that hurt?

Mary Eleanor faced metastatic breast cancer for 12 years and every one of those years were filled with life.

I probably received 10 cards from her over the past couple years.  She was constantly thinking of others- even when she was the one who should have been receiving a card.  One card stands out most of all.  In it she included a $50 check.  Not a donation to Hope Scarves.  This was a check made out to me personally with a note that said, “Go do something fun with your boys!”  She loved kids.  Being a mom and a grandma were her biggest joys.  This generous and thoughtful gesture was an important reminder to me to not let this time I have with our sons slip away. It also showed me just how caring my dear friend was.

Mary Eleanor donated 5 scarves and shared her story with Hope Scarves.  She sent a Hope Scarf to a friend.  She attended our events and made many donations. Just this past fall she stood on stage with me at Colors of Courage. She volunteered in our office and was the March, 2015 Face of Hope.  Then, when she needed it, we sent her a Hope Scarf.  She embodies the sisterhood of the traveling scarves.  Sharing encouragement to others and accepting support when she needed it too.  It’s full circle – this Hope Scarves thing.  That’s what makes it so meaningful.  In her story Mary Eleanor wrote,

“Live! Enjoy each and every day with family, friends and most of all the children in your life! Children are a source of love, innocence, vitality and joy. My grandchildren are my biggest joy now! Keep going. Try not to sit around lonely & dwell on your illness. When you feel good, be out and about with family and friends… Every day is a good day! I challenge you to find joy in each day.”

So, in honor of Mary Eleanor I left dirty dishes in the sink and I played ping pong with Wills & Bennett.

We are humbled & honored to be one of the charities Mary Eleanor chose to receive donations in her memory.  Her spirit and compassion will be a part of our work forever. It’s hard to say good-bye to friends.  But, it would be much harder if we never met at all.  I think the people we love are with of us forever.  May we continue to share compassion and care for others as she so beautifully did.

Peace be with her family and all who loved her.   Let’s take her words to heart.

With joy,

Lara

namaste

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This is a blog post I wrote for my yoga studio… thought I would also share here…

Breath in. Be fully present with this breath. Breath out.   Your breath exists in this moment. Each breath grounds you to this time and place


When I was diagnosed with stage 4, metastatic breast cancer each breath was a struggle. I was suffocated by the future.

Stage 4 breast cancer or metastatic breast cancer (MBC) is when breast cancer cells move beyond the breast – often to the bones, lung, liver or brain.   When people die of breast cancer they die from stage 4, MBC. The life expectancy for a MBC patient is 2-3 years. There are treatment options, but no cure.

I was first diagnosed with stage 2 breast cancer in 2007. In 2014 it returned in my bones, making me a metastatic breast cancer patient. I was terrified. My kids were 5 and 8. I was 37. How could this be happening? I was consumed by terrifying questions about our future. How would my disease progress? How long do I have? How can I cause so much pain for my family?

I couldn’t face the day because I lived in fear of what was coming.

Yoga helped me release these fears and focus on the day before me.

502 Power Yoga became a place of peace and power. When I come to my mat – I let everything else fall away.   I focus on my breath and I focus on the strength I have today. My body is responding to treatments and the cancer hasn’t grown in three years.   Three years! I am what some call an “exceptional responder.”  This small miracle is something I treasure deeply.  Recognizing this can all change quite quickly.

yogapic

I have learned to take the principals from my practice and live them out in my daily life. Living a life of intention, I embrace this time of health. Instead of being consumed with fear of a perceived future of sickness, I focus on what is certain right before me each day. My breath reminds me I am living. I live a rich, full life.   The other day I even “flipped my dog into full wheel.” (yogis get how exciting that is!) Perhaps the only piece of goodness that comes from the pain of this diagnosis is this perspective of how fragile and beautiful life is.

I breathe in each moment. Letting go of that which I can’t control.

Each Sunday there is a donation based karma class at 502 Power Yoga from 5:30-6:30pm. Money raised supports local community organizations. In January the Karma class supports Hope Scarves. I founded Hope Scarves in 2012 as a way to turn this scary experience into something positive to help others. We collect scarves and stories from cancer survivors and pass them on to others in treatment.   We have sent over 6,000 scarves to every state and 13 countries. The scarves and stories connect us and help us find common ground. After my metastatic diagnosis we started a research fund to help accelerate the discovery of treatment options for people like me facing this terminal diagnosis.

I look forward to seeing you on a Sunday afternoon to support Hope Scarves – thanks to those who have already been a part of the class.

I am grateful to have found a place that helps me live the healthiest, most hopeful, intentional life I can.  I hope others who face similar struggles will give yoga a try.  Perhaps it can also help you cope with the overwhelming fear of a metastatic diagnosis or other challenges of life.

Namaste, Lara

The universe is laughing at me…

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On January 2nd I wrote an inspired blog post on gratitude and living each day to the fullest. You may have read it
 I closed with “cheers to 2017.”

Full of hope, I started the next morning with a sunrise yoga class. I had a productive day at the Hope Scarves office. Our Program Director Erica told a volunteer – “ today she’s even more fired up than usual.” Ha!  I picked up our boys from school and smiled in the afternoon sunshine.

Gratitude overflowing. Then


I opened the door to our home to find our little dog Keeper had left gigantic turds all over the kitchen.

As I prepared dinner I dropped a dozen fresh eggs from our chickens all over the floor.

When I went to the cleaning closet to find a towel to clean up the mess, a light bulb rolled off the shelf and shattered around my bare feet.

As I tucked Bennett into bed and lay down to read with him I slipped off my slippers only to find they landed in a giant pile of dog barf.

Moments later I heard Keeper puking in the dining room.happens

2 hours and 5 piles of puke later I lay down exhausted.   Thankful that this was the s*^% I was dealing with.  Not discouraging treatment decisions or painful side effects (like so many friends I know).  I can take a whole lotta dog puke. This is what life is made of.

Even people brimming with gratitude and happiness have days that go wrong.

My husband Jay texted me the next morning – “today will be better.”

I texted him back “Today will be
 and that in itself is the blessing”

Then, I went into the bathroom to find the toilet overflowing and little turds floating all over the tile.

I can hear the universe laughing and I laugh along. Thankful to be living every bit of this life
 the happy and the “crappy.”

Keeping things in perspective,

Lara