Pecs like The Rock

Raise your hand if you also feel like you are running somewhere between 15-30 minutes behind in life. OK, cool. It’s not just me.

The feeling caught up to me this weekend when we were in Chicago for CURE Epilepsy’s annual benefit. It took me longer to get ready than usual because I don’t feel comfortable in my body right now. I even debated just not attending because clothes suck – but given we were staying in the hotel where the event was occurring and Miguel was performing and I sit on the board, that didn’t seem like the right decision. So, I swallowed my vanity and showed up to the cocktail hour wearing the dress option I’d packed that was the most comfortable… 20 minutes late.

And then, 12 hours later our family was stuffed into an Uber heading back to the airport so that Jackson only had to miss one baseball game that weekend, not two. Anessa and I would skip Jackson’s flag football game that evening, opting for a movie night in our pj’s. That the boys survived the day on so little sleep is a testament to their shared energy.

I’m not sure why the fall always catches me by surprise. I see it coming, I try to mentally prepare. But every dang year it knocks me on my ass culminating in a sprint to the end-of-year holidays. This year though, I’m feeling it all a little extra. I’m just more tired. Is it because my energy is still compromised after a year of surgeries (#FuckCancer)? Am I simply out of logistical shape and I just need to stretch these planning muscles a little more? Or maybe this is a part of getting older? I know that witnessing the dismantling of American democracy is not helping. Then again, could this be a side effect of Tamoxifen…

Ah symptom roulette, how I despise thee.

While I’m going off on tangents, I would also like to share that prior to these surgeries I had never noticed my pectoral muscles before. As in, I knew they were there, but they weren’t exactly something I focused on or could even engage. Now I can flex them like The Rock. I mean, he is MUCH better at it than I am, but with enough practice I might be able to bounce a berry off my chest too.

Why does this matter? Because every time I lift something I feel my pecs engage. It’s bizarre and makes me worry I’m going to pop or push out my implant. Don’t ask me how that could happen, I’m not the breast specialist, I’m just telling you what my brain says could happen. As a result, I haven’t done any laundry and our house is a disaster. All of which is super not helping the being behind in life issue. Ok, so maybe not as big of a tangent as I thought.

I would love to sit here and write that I am not going to let the aftereffects of cancer or the terrifying political landscape sap my energy, but I also know myself too well to make that promise. They will both affect me, and to be fair, I think they should. (Side bar: do you remember years ago when you could go days, weeks even, without hearing anything about or from the president? I miss that.)

In moments like these, where it all feels like a lot, and I can’t keep up, and everything is spinning away from me – I do my best to focus on what I can control. This week that was scheduling cleaners to come ASAP and help with the house because lordy can two kids, a dog, and a Miguel make a mess. And Jackson doesn’t know it yet, but he will be helping with the laundry this weekend. If you listen close enough you too may even be able to hear his groans of complaint.

It also looked like letting go of self-imposed work deadlines and trusting that “it will get done.” Even if I’m not sure how or when in the moment, I trust that it will because I am me and I make shit happen. Even if it happens to be at 10pm before the actual deadline, I will justify that by insisting I do my best work under pressure. Which is true.

This season is a lot for a lot of us. We all have our reasons and a multitude of causes to blame it on. Control what you can, let go of what you can’t, and don’t forget to vote in November.

Oh, and pre-order The Luckiest, please and thank you.

ID: Kelly wearing a peach plaid shirt looking up at the camera with one eyebrow raised and puckered lips while pointing to her breast. Behind her is a stack of her book, “The Luckiest”.