Dear Big Brother: Words matter, I get it

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A little-known secret about me: my writing editor was a real hard-ass. He had a fancy job at the Bangor Daily News as a political reporter and he’s one of the only people I know who got paid to attend Harvard for a year. He knew the ins and outs of writing better than anyone I knew, so I stuck with him when it came to my own writing. But as much as he was known for his talent as a word-slinging reporter, he was known for not mincing his words.

I thought Chris Cousins cut-to-the-chase communication style may have had to do with the fact that he was my older brother, but I learned differently at his funeral in August. His boss Robert offered a hilarious account of Chris’s no-nonsense expectations for writing pieces with a fine example.

My brother was a humble guy, but he had no problem giving his boss hell when it came to what he considered to be lazy word choice in headlines. He was not shy about it, especially when it came to the word get. “Don’t ever, ever use the word get in one of my headlines,” Robert said he was known for saying repeatedly.

We all laughed, knowing how passionate my brother could be when he truly believed in something. I laughed, recalling editing sessions with him on Google Docs that may have stung my ego but served me well as a writer. For those who aren’t familiar, Google Docs has an editing program that allows more than one user to be in a document at the same time. I adored watching him in action. He would transform what I considered to be an “okay” piece into something worth publishing, in mere minutes.

These editing sessions with my brother were not for the faint of heart. My brother expected the best from me, as he knew I did from myself. In this situation, there was no time for leading questions such as, “is there a stronger word you can use here in this sentence?” He preferred the more direct approach, “change this, passive verbs piss me off!” I suppose you’d have to know him but that was the ultimate expression of love from Chris Cousins. Furthermore, the lessons resonated with me.

I would often send my brother writings with no title. I would tell him I just hadn’t thought of one yet but that wasn’t the case. I had long-since dubbed my brother “the headline king,” and nothing pleased me more than to get my writing piece back with a title suggestion from him. Never did the title he provided have the word “get” in it. Ever.

Yesterday I posted a blog. Clearly still delirious from narrowly surviving a two-week bout with the flu, I thought I had a snappy title with “Getting comfortable with the cringe-worthy.” (Hey, all of the teenagers are using the word “cringe” these days, right?)

Then it hit me. It hit me harder than any comment from my brother on Google docs had ever had. I had committed the Chris Cousins cardinal sin of headlines. Robert had the good grace to refrain from mentioning my lame, cringe-worthy title when he saw and re-posted my blog. Upon my horrifying realization that I had disappointed my brother and he was giving me the much-dreaded look of shame from above, I knew I had to act swiftly. (That disappointment is rough guys, even from the beyond)

This morning, I did something I have never done and changed the title of an already published blog. Now called Sounding off on the cringe-worthy, I can rest knowing I’ll never make that writing mistake again. Six months after his passing, we all have much to learn from Chris Cousins about life and writing. Most of us have a tendency to get lazy or impatient regarding the things we claim are important in our lives.

The truth my brother never seemed to forget is that every effort worth making at all, is worth taking your best shot at. This is true when it comes to pursuing our relationships, our passions and even those things we don’t want to do; but must. Every step we take, every word we choose to speak or write, matters more than we realize. Our every choice leaves an impression on those around us while we are living: and a legacy for those we leave behind. What choices are you making today that affect people’s lives and your legacy? Choose wisely, Big Brother is watching.

Sounding off-the cringe-worthy

Photo taken three days before brain surgery

Recently it was brought to my attention by a concerned, well-meaning friend that I may have taken a prolonged trip to negative-town. Noting that I haven’t been myself lately, she was growing increasingly concerned that I would sink into a depression that I would have a hard time coming back from. It was my pride that responded to her initially, reminding her in no uncertain terms of all I have gotten Up off the Mat from already in just three short years.

For new readers, the hurdles I have fought my way back from include: brain surgery, the passing of my long-time best friend, the untimely passing of my only sibling and most recently; caring for my mother as she endures terminal illness on hospice. I made an agreement with myself long ago that I was going to come back from these adversities in a way that I would like myself for. More than that, my ultimate goal was to face fear in a way that would help others get Up Off the Matt as well.

Part of that has been just plain getting up again after I “fell.” When I had brain surgery, I fought my way back with a tenacity that made my caretakers frustrated and at times, nervous. (No one wants to see someone in recovery from brain surgery hiking the rocky driveway everyday, but I was determined to get stronger.) When my best friend passed away from an overdose, I finally began tackling my goal of starting college to become a substance abuse counselor. I put that goal on fast-forward by participating in public speaking engagements on the topic of addiction. When my beloved brother passed, I started a new semester at college two weeks later and earned Dean’s List. I began my current semester with my mother on hospice. For me, it is all about progress in spite of everything that threatens to hinder it.

With each challenge life threw at me, both the reader and the writer in me were inspired. First, I would set to Google and see what I could learn about each topic. Knowing all I can about what I am facing helps ease my mind. It gives me a sense of control when I feel like I have an idea of what to expect in the days to come. What I found with each topic was that there was plenty of information out there in medical-speak. There are copious amounts of medical articles written by doctor’s and psychiatrists that will educate you on grief, terminal illness and even on craniotomies. (Don’t google that one, you can’t unsee that.)

For me, what was lacking was personal accounts of what it felt like for someone who was actually going through a major illness or loss. What could I expect from that point of view? Was what I was feeling normal? Would I be okay again? Finally, I wanted those who were maybe just starting their trip down “negative-town-lane” to see that I made it. I got Up off the Matt. Every. Single. Time.

That’s not to say that I didn’t get knocked out more times than I can count at this point. There were times I even laid there for a while, flailing and kicking; resisting the fall. Heck, there were even times I had to be rolled out on a stretcher. Guess what I did when I woke up from that much needed nap? I got up and I walked out of that place. Chin down, hands up, ready for the next round.

That’s really what Up off the Mat is all about. I know I’m not the only one who has been knocked down by life repeatedly. My mission is to be a witness to those stories, I know they are out there. Speak on them. Tell your stories loudly, no matter how they may make people cringe or hurt for you. Then you show them. You show them that you may fall down a time or two but you will never, ever, tap out.

From the Archives: What Inspired Up off the Mat?

The following is part one of a three-year old story from my old blog. Why is it my “old blog,” you ask? I have spent much of the past three years following a major health scare redefining who I am as a person, a mother and as a writer. Believe me when I tell you, I relate to none of these role’s in my life the same as I did prior to brain surgery.

Up off the Mat is about new beginnings, the bravery it takes to face them and acknowledging the pain we sometimes endure getting there.

Here is part one of the story that inspired Up off the Mat, taken from my old (and now inactive) blog, Glovesoffsportstalk.wordpress:

Still a Fighter

See the last white tree on the right? That was my goal just now, walk to there and back. A month ago, before diagnosis and surgery, I never could have imagined what a challenge this could be. I was active, grooming dogs (sometimes handling 15-plus dogs a day) and was always up for a good hike. I was pursuing my passion of writing, putting myself out there and having some success at it. The universe appeared to be conspiring in my favor and man, was I grateful. I was happy.
A headache, neck pain and a case of the spins lead me to an MRI, which lead to surgery (yup, on my brain) two weeks later. Diagnosis? A benign brain-tumor, about the size of a golf ball, pressing on my optic nerve. Well damn, that was a game changer.

Now, three weeks post-surgery, this walk was my biggest challenge today. Nearly desperate at this point to take control and get stronger, I trembled and wobbled my way through it. I felt frustration, I fought back tears, thinking of how very far the road ahead of me is. That effort will likely exhaust me for the remainder of the day. But I will do this, day after day, until it becomes easier for me. I will not let this set-back kill the fighter in me.

**Originally published November 19th, 2015

Part two, What grew back when they cut out a piece of my brain:

https://glovesoffsportstalk.wordpress.com/2016/01/18/what-grew-back-when-they-cut-out-a-piece-of-my-brain/

Part three (the conclusion)

How I found my way out of the darkness after brain surgery:

https://glovesoffsportstalk.wordpress.com/2016/02/04/how-i-found-my-way-out-of-the-darkness-after-brain-surgery/

Surrender of the Fiercest Kind

With every intention of accomplishing some meaningful tasks for the first time in more than a week, I shuffled into the kitchen. After all, every productive day starts with some nourishment for the body. That’s what I’m told people’s grandmother’s tell them, anyways. I never met either of my own grandmother’s but the advice of other people’s seems solid enough. For the record, I wash behind my ears, too.

Heading into day seven of what the doctor casually referred to as a virus (and I have begun dubbing the exorcism of viruses, though I don’t feel saved from anything yet) I was pretty sure someone’s grandma would recommend some soup. Surely this would help energize me for the day ahead. After all, it was Monday and I had a to-do list that had been forming itself in my head all weekend long.

I proceeded to fight harder than anyone should ever have to with my canned good cupboards. I was determined to locate the can of soup that was sure to save me from the last of this “virus” that I am increasingly convinced is the latest plague. By the time I found the can of soup, I was dizzy with exhaustion. As I crossed the kitchen to grab a pan to heat the soup in, I became short of breath and fell into a violent coughing spell.

The effort it had taken me to prepare someone’s grandma’s suggested can of soup had not only robbed me of my energy but had stolen my appetite as well. As I stumbled through the house in search of my inhaler (from the casual doctor who calls plagues a virus) I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Ouch.

The reflection staring back at me was humbling. My most recent coughing spell had drawn all of the color from my face. Near-constant coughing spells for the past week had been so intensely violent that they had actually split my face open in several places. Today’s coughing spell had re-opened them, causing pain I liken to being burned.

Had I, only moments before, seriously been considering completing a work shift? Suddenly I was more alarmed by how completely unaware I had become of my own state of being than I was of the clear evidence of my desperate need of some serious self-care. Neglect was written all over my face. Something had to give or it was going to be me.

It took me nearly an hour to work up the guts to let someone down. It took me that long to give up on the idea of perfection. I have adopted a persona of endless strength in the face of what are often some abnormally difficult circumstances. It wasn’t intentional, I’ve had to adapt. Unfortunately, sometimes we adapt to the detriment of our own well-being.

So I did the thing I never do. I emailed everyone but family that was expecting me this week and told them that I was out. That’s right, down on the mat. In the hour before I composed these emails, I made a list of the three things that were important priorities for me to tend to this week. The only rule while making this list was that I had to be on the list. My hope is that it is a long time, if ever, that I experience seeing a reflection in the mirror that I have neglected to the point where I am of no use to others again. If I do, I hope I am strong enough to surrender and drop the priorities from my plate that can wait for another day.

Are you guilty of self-neglect? If so, what does picking yourself Up off the Mat look like for you? Let us know in the comments section!

Reaching vs. Retreating

She messaged me to check in. I responded right away, telling her I had been sick with the flu. This was my way of apologizing for my lack of communication recently. At this point I still thought it was my lack of presence that was the problem. Admittedly, I had been absent from many of my regularly scheduled activities for several weeks. More than that, I hadn’t seen much of my friends or family, either.

I told myself and those who asked that my state of near-isolation could be boiled down to feeling under the weather. That response seemed to get me by until she didn’t respond how I had expected her to. For whatever reason, I had anticipated the generic “feel better soon” message back. Surely at that point, I could continue my isolation in peace. She had other ideas as she saw through my short responses.

My phone rang with another text. “Have you reached out to your fellow Pranic Healers for healing?”

I knew already she had known the answer to this question before asking. The short answer was no but I knew that wasn’t going to suffice. Instead I opted for a weak attempt at humor with, “I hadn’t thought of that…” I hadn’t thought of that. She proceeded to connect me with a fellow Pranic Healer who was glad to offer me relief.

It should be noted that I myself am a level four Pranic Healer. I could write numerous blogs about the rapid healing I have experienced through Pranic Healing and Twin Hearts Meditation but that is not what this is about. I knew that the Healer that this friend put me in touch with would likely connect me with much relief from healings I have experienced over the course of five years. The question was, why hadn’t I asked? I am glad to offer healing to others who are suffering and have done so on many occasions. It was not until my friend asked me why I had not reached out for healing for myself that I realized that I could count on one hand the times I had asked for help.

I went into the healing session with this question at the top of my mind. When my friend had asked me why I hadn’t reached out, the question had hit me in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t feel I had wronged her or the practice of Pranic Healing that I had grown to love so much; I felt I had been shorting myself. The healer she linked me with provided healing, then reached out to see how I was feeling. I thanked her for the session and explained that regrettably, I had not experienced much relief with my symptoms. Sleep still eluded me, my sinuses were still a mess but mostly, I still didn’t want to face the world.

It was then that the Healer hit me with it. She asked the question I did not know I had been waiting to hear. “What exactly is going on?” Such a direct question. Later I found myself trying to remember the last time someone had been so specific when asking about my well-being. I gave in a little, telling her that I had been sickly, had begun a new semester at college and that my mother was on hospice. She side-stepped the invisible wall I had just put up and probed further.

What followed was an unleashing of a cascade of emotions I had been carrying intractably on my own for months. Suddenly, for an oddly blissful moment in time, I was able to say the unsayable about the realities I am and have been, shouldering. The conversation started with me saying, “these are the things I cannot say,” and ended with me saying just those things. How liberating it was to tell her what it feels like to start a new semester without my only sibling, while caring for my mother who has been on hospice since December. I was overwhelmed by how much lighter these things felt with someone to bare witness to them. Acknowledging these truths had once felt like an indulgence, a betrayal to the strength I have become known for. In this moment, speaking them out loud liberated me.

The weight we carry in our lives threatens to become a part of us that we carry for longer and in more solitude than is necessary. No matter how heavy or awkward the load we bare is, life and the responsibilities that come with it continue to nag at us like a pack of toddlers that missed both snack and nap time. If you can picture that scene, you can begin to picture what those who are grieving, in the process of losing a loved one, or recovering from trauma endure as they face each day. Do not get caught up in the illusion that they must not need help if they appear to be managing all that they have on their plate. Lot’s of us have a great game face.

I was unable to locate my game face the day my friend reached out to me. Because of this, I had retreated to an isolated state, trying to decide which weight in my life was most important to pick up next. Fortunately for me, both my friend and the healer were willing to reach more than halfway to help me figure out how to rise again, carrying a bit less weight this time. Some days we are the healer. On such days, we should reach out to both the weak and to the strong. Other days, we require healing. On those days, may we be strong enough to reach out for healing.

**To learn more about Pranic Healing go to: http://www.pranichealing4me.com

Lessons in Gratitude From a Cardinal

How do I stay positive after repeated hits from life? Throughout the past several years; or should I say, through brain surgery, the loss of my best friend of twenty years and the recent loss of my brother, many close to me have asked a similar question. Others simply make statements regarding my strength and tenacity.

You have to know, these claims about who I am are part of why I write. We all have many versions of ourselves on rotation. Some versions get shared with the world, others get kept in the more private parts of our day. We often cope with the “darker self” in solitude. I suppose different people do this for their own reasons, but it started to weigh on me when people started to view me as “the strongest person they knew.” Was I only showing the world my successes and not the challenges that deserved just as much credit for my achievements? Viewing it that way made me feel like a fraud of sorts. I didn’t want to give others who were struggling to get Up Off the Mat the wrong idea about the grit it took to get myself up again after each fall.

Just this morning I was feeling low. Weekends, when things slow down, tend to be tougher on me in the way of memories and those I miss. Also, someone I love is very ill and that has been heavy on my heart. The weight of racing thoughts became heavy and anxiety set in. I craved a good cry but the tears would not release and sat heavy in my throat instead. I thought, as I often do, of calling a friend. After three years of tragedy, talking it out seems a futile effort at times.

Instead I put on some music, which has long been of comfort to me in times of anxiety. The tune wasn’t right, I couldn’t find a Pandora station that matched what was on my heart. Frustrated, I stepped outside into the morning air for a breather.

Right away I saw him. First I noticed his rusty-red feathers, then his fire red beak. The beautiful male cardinal jumped from one branch to another while looking right at me and chirped the most beautiful sound. I said a quiet hello to him and he chirped again. I felt the weight that had been on my heart lift. Instinctively, my hand went to my heart, my gaze still following the cardinal. Love filled my heart as I silently thanked him for coming back to visit after such a long absence. I took several more deep breaths of gratitude before he flew away and I went back inside, my energy successfully changed from anxiety, to hope.

As I fixed my next cup of coffee, I remembered something a friend told me once. She told me it was impossible to feel anxiety when you were experiencing gratitude. I took that message to heart at the time and have carried it with me ever since. It is not that I am incredibly strong or an exceptionally positive person. What I have learned is that life will knock you down to the mat repeatedly and without warning. It even attempt to pin you to that mat until you are sure you are done for. A lesson that has penetrated even deeper for me is that there are countless reasons to get Up Off the Mat, and a beautiful cardinal in the morning is as good a reason as any.

Thanks For the Refill

Image may contain: 2 people, people smiling, people sitting, child and shoes

Have you ever looked back, holiday celebrations behind you and gotten the feeling that the people in your life truly understand you? It could be a thoughtful gift, a sentiment shared, or quality time spent. You just know when you are with people that have taken the time to get to know you in an intricate way. They know what digs at your soul and they don’t touch it. These people also know what lights you up inside; they keep giving you more of it and you don’t even have to ask for the refill.

I, like many others, needed the above-mentioned refill often through this holiday season. The first holiday season since losing my brother had not been a void, I was looking forward to facing. I went through the motions of holiday preparations with a weight on my chest that threatened to crush me at any moment. Never one to stay down, I pressed forward. I did this in part for my son and partly because I feared the grief would “catch me” if I stopped for too long. Unsure of what the grief would do with me once it had me in its grips, I pushed forward and did my best to plan festivities sans the traditions my brother and I celebrated. Then Christmas Eve Day came.

I prepared the normal holiday treats with a heavy heart. Would anyone even show up? Maybe it was too soon yet to set myself up for possible disappointment. I carried on. I baked everything I knew how to make, my brother heavy on my heart. “He’s not coming, he’s not coming” echoed through my head. I looked up new recipes and made some of them twice, my grief-stricken brain still playing tricks on me. “He’s not coming. They may be too busy with their families to stop by.” I looked up cookie recipes I had not made before and made those, too.

One-thirty in the afternoon on Christmas Eve Day arrived and the all-day gathering was set to begin in thirty minutes. I was still preparing a cheese platter when my fiance alerted me that the first guests, long-time friends that I had not seen since the summer, had arrived. A short time later, my neighbors arrived, with a box full of food in-hand to contribute to the party.

Family and friends continued to arrive late into the evening. All brought warm smiles and hugs with them; every single one seemed to know what I needed in each moment. I caught myself looking around my home, observing all the love and celebration happening around me and I felt a deep sense of understanding and peace for the first time since I had started to dread Christmas.

Celebrating Christmas or any other day without my brother will never be okay. There will never be an event big or small that the heaviness of his loss is not felt or noticed in. What I learned about getting through my first Christmas without my only sibling is that there are things that were true when he was here that will forever remain true after losing him. My brother would never have left me or any of his loved one’s to fight this battle on earth alone. If he were here, he would stand by us all and celebrate our lives with us in the biggest way possible. Since his passing, I believe more and more that he has left us all in the best, most loving hands possible. If we are willing to get “Up Off the Mat” and reach out for these hands as we move forward in 2019, I believe we have no reason to be afraid of any challenges we may face.

pro (1) Jen Cousins