Episode 1 of 29.
(reposted from June 11, 2018)
It began with an obstacle race, a pregnant cancer patient, a wonky heart chakra, and a trophy wife trying to keep it all together without having to snort Xanax to make it through the day. About three years ago, I had a mini-breakdown. And thirty-three years ago, my mother died of cancer. In 29 days, I will be alive longer than my mother. All these things needed their story told, so I decided I would write every day for 29 days, telling the story of my pregnant mother who passed away only weeks after being diagnosed with cancer, leaving a 4 year old me, 2 year old brother, and 6 week old sister behind to navigate life. As well as the story of my breakdown and eventual transcending—the journey of ending the trance I had numbingly settled in for 34 years, only to come alive, like the bearded lady sings in The Greatest Showman. I came alive.
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Hashtag TruthTime: This makes me nervous—being vulnerable and baring my journey to the social media world, letting everyone know I don’t have my sh#* together (sorry, Aunt’s—I love Jesus but I cuss a little.) But like my good friend Brene Brown says, (Brene, call me!) vulnerability is the core of shame, fear, and our struggle with worthiness. But it is also the birthplace of joy, creativity, belonging and love. For 34 years, I was content to numb my emotions, however, you cannot selectively numb. You numb pain and fear and unworthiness and loneliness, but you also numb joy and gratitude and happiness. Glennon Doyle Melton also tells me, “I used to numb my feelings and hide. Now I feel my feelings and share.”
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So, social media world, I’m feeling my feelings and sharing: I invite you to join me on this journey, maybe you find yourself also numbing your feelings and trying to hide, maybe you were a friend or a nurse or doctor in Athens, Georgia in 1985 and were a part of my mother’s journey (I’d love to hear from you!), perhaps you are trying desperately to be the perfect trophy wife/woman/sister/mother/person and it’s just too damn hard. Me too, girl. Me too. I invite you to sing along with the bearded lady as I unfold the story of how Sue Marie Trane’s untimely and tragic death lead to her daughter finally coming alive.
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“You stumble through your days, got your head hung low, your skies’ a shade of grey. Like a zombie in a maze, you’re asleep inside but you can shake away. Cause you’re just a dead man walking, thinking that’s your only option, but you can flip the switch and brighten up your darkest day. Sun is up and the color’s blinding, take the world and redefine it. Leave behind your narrow mind, you’ll never ever be the same…so come alive.” –The Greatest Showman
