Good Times

Hey all! Last week's posts were inspired by a trip to Florida with my in-laws. This week I thought I would share some images from the trip and thoughts I had, for funsies....

Here's one of the postcards I sent out:

We started out in Orlando cuz the in-laws had to hit up the theme parks and the outlets. Theme parks and shopping? This is exactly the kind of trip I would  never take. But as my sister says, we have family so we hang out with people we never would otherwise, so off I went, determined to go with the flow and have tons of fun.

And gosh darn it I did. 

I screamed on the roller coasters, stared in awe at penguins and dolphins, and went on every ride at the water park. I made up fairytales featuring my niece and her favorite Disney princess, Cinderella, as the heroines. I ate my weight in candy, and went along to the outlets and happily got some great finds.

It was really great having an opportunity to be with my in-laws in an energetic and happy, pain-free state, something I have (almost) never experienced.  This trip was even more fun than my first trip with them - before I developed vulvodynia - because I have grown so much and become a much stronger, more relaxed person. 

I share this to let you know that there is light at the end of the tunnel, that you too can heal your body, mind, and soul. Pelvic pain won't necessarily be around forever. Keep truckin', darling.

Good things await!

Visiting with My In-laws

Visiting my in-laws is a whole different story than visiting with my family. Whereas my family is reserved, my husband's family is Brazilian.

You can imagine the culture clash. 

My in-laws only met me once before I developed vulvodynia, so they never got to meet athletic Faith or overachiever Faith or actress Faith or loud Faith. They instead see foreigner Faith, quiet Faith, exhausted Faith, and sunburned Faith.

I find it challenging to be around my in-laws because as Brazilians they have endless patience for people. Family get-togethers, late night dinners with friends, even buying toothpaste - everything is done in a group, the larger the better. As a non-native Portuguese speaker, the cacophony of voices that accompanies every activity makes it difficult for me to follow the conversation and quickly exhausts my brain.

Whenever I am around them I feel like a party pooper.

* * *

How have I dealt with pelvic pain with this troupe of loud, loving, social people? By clamming up.The same technique I used with my family, but for a different reason.

In my family pelvic health is personal and therefore confidential.

In my husband's family, such information is legitimate grist for the lightning-fast family communication network.

If I told one person about my pelvic pain, EVERYONE would know: not only my in-laws, but also cousins, aunts, uncles, grandparents, and the cousins, aunts, uncles and grandparents of the cousins, aunts, uncles, and grandparents.

Family friends and their families would know. The barber would know. The car mechanic would know. 

And I would be mortified.

This news-spreading is a national past-time, and in no way would my family mean to harm or embarrass me. Folks simply want to know how everyone is doing, and I have yet to discover a topic that is out of bounds.

So, while I have allowed my family to think of me as lazy, uncooperative, or a disappointment, I get the impression that my in-laws think of me as a weird American, a fragile being from a strange world where solitude is something enjoyable. 

In my early trips to Brazil I tried to attend every activity, but over the years I have learned to ask for time alone, and my new family has chalked up this bizarre request as a cultural difference. 

Being brave enough to pipe up and ask for accommodation, even if it is attributed to culture clash rather than health problems, has helped me a lot in handling the overwhelm of being in pain while in a different family, climate, culture, and time zone.

* * *

These days my pain is gone and my energy levels are up. Maybe some day I will adapt to Brazilian customs, but for now I am happy that I chose to retain my privacy, and even happier that over time my in-laws will get to know the new me: Healthy & Happy Faith. 

Visiting my Family

The hubster and I do a lot of traveling to see our sprawling, loving, close-knit families.

My husband and I live on the West Coast. My family lives on the East Coast. His family lives in South America.

This week, inspired by a trip to Florida with my in-laws, I am addressing the emotional and practical issues of traveling to see family.

While my husband and I love where we live, being so far away from family brings up issues like: How much do I tell them about my health issues? Do I need to? and being frustrated because they don't see on a daily basis how much I am struggling.

My Side of The Family

Vacation time with my family is usually low-key. We are rent-a-house-on-the-beach-or-mountains-and-chill people. Days are filled with the activity of your choice - reading, hiking, napping - and we gather for leisurely dinners. Other than occasional (but, when it happens, intense) drama, I can kick back and enjoy my people.

Lest you think I live in la-la land, please know that this vacation calm is a recent phenomenon. I have been through rocky times with my nuclear and extended family. My angsty teens and twenties, when I was dealing with a lot of personal crap regarding my family, meant vacations were emotionally stressful and made worse by my health problems and the long flight.

And how did I handle chronic pelvic pain on these vacations? By clamming up. I pushed my emotions and struggles as deep down as I could. I never let anyone see that I was sneaking ice packs from the freezer, and thankfully doing PT exercises could be done in the privacy of a shower.

I let people think that I was lazy, uncooperative, or a disappointment rather than tell them the truth - that I was exhausted, scared and hurting. Even my dear brothers didn't know that I have a chronic pain disorder until the last year or so, and I have never discussed the topic directly with my father.

While I would not recommend this approach, I understand why I chose it. I wasn't comfortable telling people about the state of my vulva, and so I chose privacy at the expense of physical comfort.

Even though my health has improved dramatically, I doubt that I will publicize my pelvic pain journey during family visits.

Nor will I hide it.

As my family asks me about what I am up to these days, I will honestly reply that I have been writing a blog for women with pelvic pain, taking a deep breath first and reminding myself that

I need to be the advocate I wish I had ten years ago.

Taylor Swift, Dance Healer?

In my early days of vulvar pain, I noticed very quickly that my symptoms would worsen when I felt angry and powerless. There was something about that disheartening mix that produced searing pain spikes. 

Over the years I slowly learned how to feel angry...but not powerless. I learned how to recognize anger as an indicator that my boundaries had been crossed or my values violated, and that instead of feeling like there was nothing I could do, I could channel that energy for change, either in outside circumstances or how I perceived them.

My emotional boundaries were therefore gifts rather than liabilities, and I learned how to recognize, strengthen, and respect them. Instead of being porous, with everything hitting me right in the heart, I developed a thick skin, allowing me shake off the slings and arrows of life on Planet Earth.

And now, finally, there is an anthem for my newfound freedom... Shake it off, Tay-tay!

Facebook Announcement

This past Friday, August 22 2014, I did something that was very scary:

I came out of the pelvic pain closet - on Facebook.

Some of you may not think that is such a big deal, seeing as I write a blog about pelvic pain for the whole world to see. But I dragged my feet about writing anything about it on Facebook. Somehow, writing about pelvic pain for strangers is easier than telling the vast circle of family, friends, acquaintances, and random people I took a workshop with once. 

I started using Facebook back when it was only for college students. It was a place to share a lot of things, a club whose select few members you handpicked. Then it opened to the rest of the population, and suddenly another generation - parents - joined the fray. Facebook went from being an extension of campus life to something that you edited, whether the content, the friends list, or both. Personally, I have given up on trying to keep Facebook the tight circle of real-life friends it once was, and have shifted to accepting requests I once would have balked at: people I haven't seen since the third grade, and yes, random people I took a workshop with once.

My list of Facebook friends is therefore an amorphous field comprised of people who see me in so many different ways. Most of them only know me in one context. They have known me since birth, as their niece, someone who will forever be younger and of another generation; they know me as the hazy memory of the girl they sat next to in the third grade; or maybe they know me as my body's movement, as a fellow yogi or dancer. Choosing one way to deliver intimate information across a past with so many pathways to human connection was a daunting task.

Coming out on Facebook doesn't only affect my digital life. Many of my Facebook friends are people who I will actually have to face in real life at some point, perhaps regularly at family get-togethers, or unexpectedly, in line at the grocery store. Whether at work, in a networking group, or across the Thanksgiving table, I am now the Pelvic Pain Lady, the story of my lady bits having been officially ushered into the realm of acceptable, indeed encouraged, topics of conversation. 

In the end for my Facebook post I chose video. I was honest, and direct, and to the point, reminding myself that by showing our vulnerabilities we can help others heal. Yes, there is a slice of me that is completely mortified that my private parts are no longer private. But there is also a part of me that is proud I am instigating the change I wish to see in the world.

So. I did it.

...Now my mom is asking when I will do an email blast.