Many years ago my husband named every new year “The Year of…” whatever. Usually, it was business-related so years were christened “The Year of The Sprout” or, “The Year of the Micro Green”.

I decided to approach this year in the same way for myself. After the year we’ve had – I’ve had, undergoing cancer treatment for Triple Negative Breast Cancer – I started to play around with “The Year of Health” or “The Year of Healing”, but it didn’t resonate with me. It seemed so similar to other years when I’ve wanted to “regain my health” which was code for “lose weight and stop being such a loser”. 

See, I’ve often associated my weight with my success. I recognize intellectually that exercise is related to my feeling well. Science proves it. Beyond weight loss, exercise improves mood. 

Six months post-chemo, I’m feeling very well, all things considered. I am as patient as possible with my body. It’s gone through so much this year. I see photos of myself from four years ago when I was running half-marathons, I see photos of myself from five months ago when I was deep in my chemotherapy treatment, and I want to cry. What a difference between the two. What a difference between the Now Me and the Six Months Ago Me. I’m not sure which Me I am right now. 2020 was surreal.

Six months ago Me, July 1, 2020

My body continues to heal and repair. As one of my wise daughters said, “Just because you’re done with chemo doesn’t mean you are done with cancer”. Excellent point. My surgery was clear and the radiation is complete. Now I’m in the waiting and watching period. I will get “there” wherever “there” is. But right now I’m here. “There” looks stronger. “There” feels more flexible. But maybe I’m already “there” if :there: is stronger than I was six months ago. I increased in strength that one doesn’t gain in the gym. I long for the strength of my half-marathon days. That past and future seem a long way away.

Yes, slowly but surely I need to be patient in getting “There”. The only way to get “There” is to Be:::Here:::Now.

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I saw a magazine article recently on visible mending and now I’m obsessed. Are you familiar with the concept of visible mending? The concept is that as your clothes get holes or frayed with wear and tear, instead of hiding the repair, you feature it. It’s similar to the concept of Kintsugi, the Japanese ceramic technique, where broken vessels are rebuilt with gold adhesive to feature the repair instead of hiding it.

Visible mending seems so contrary to our American mentality of hiding the bad stuff and focusing on achievement, or the goal of winning. We say we value process over product but we don’t seem to allow people compassionate space to run, fall, rise, and fail unless they emerge victoriously. Then we celebrate the win. The World Record seems to matter more than the personal best.

I’ve fallen into that trap for most of my life. That mindset has torn me apart. I don’t want to do it anymore. So I’ve decided to frame this year as The Year of Mending. The dictionary defines the verb to mend as 1) to repair something that is broken or damaged 2) to return to health: heal 3) to improve. I desire restoration. My holy soul longs to be stitched back together slow and strong like shattered bones. 

I got to thinking of how I have literally been sewn back together sometimes. Between the childhood accidents where I needed to get stitches, to my C-Section and lumpectomy, and all the holes in between, I have been mended; surgically, back together by a healer. 

It’s going to take time. I freak out about time, knowing I have a limited amount of time on the planet, often concerned that it’s running out. I gotta work on that freak out too.

It’s going to take an internal, mindful revisiting of the abandoned places in my heart and head. Like a pair of worn socks, I choose to mend instead of chucking myself and replacing myself with a new improved version of me.  I’ll care. I’ll look deeply at the holes in my heart. I’ll see what it takes to weave myself back together, treating myself more preciously.  I’ll look at myself with pride knowing that I’m not exactly back to factory settings, but proud that I took the time and heart to make myself whole instead of leaving the hole. 

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We all had a hard year. Between all the opinions about COVID, racial violence, politics, vaccinations, the election, the isolation, fear, economic uncertainty, there has been so much apprehension, it’s been exhausting. It can be hard to look forward and see or believe in bright and gay days. The holes are part of us. This can be a year for mending all of it. 

But this year, I need to be the healer. I need to be the mender. And it is a process, just like the mending of clothes or the mending of bones. 

I need peace and to remember that I am a gorgeous beautiful thing. 

You need to remember that too.

We all need to mend.

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In addition to visible mending, I’m also currently obsessed with this Bill Withers Song, “Can We Pretend”. The guitar work is exquisite. The song is a total sneak attack – simple in its presentation but complex in its message. I think it’s so appropriate for this moment. My favorite lyrics say, “Can we pretend, the pain is gone, and go our merry way? Paint a portrait of tomorrow, with the colors bright and gay. “

I know it can all feel so lonely and hopeless. I don’t want that for you, though it is inevitable. Know that I am with you, and whatever concept of God – Infinite Love – you ascribe to – is with you, lifting you up and out of the darkness into the light.

That’s what this season is all about. Longer dark nights, short light days. But we always return, cycling back to the light. These dark days provide us with lots of time to rest and dream. The new year allows us to shake off the experienced and to embrace hope.

Whenever you need a lift, find some sun to warm yourself. Imagine it entering you. Fill yourself with light. Play some good music. Find something to fix. Take the time to fix it. Focus on the blessings. Gratitude is a balm. Reminding ourselves of all we have is a balm. Light, good music, gratitude: all of that is healing.

Let us visibly mend. In our next cycle, we become something more beautiful, more colorful, more bright, and gay.

Happy New Year