Sobbing on a Speeding Train…
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Terri Wingham is the founder and CEO of A Fresh Chapter, a cancer survivor, and someone who believes that we are not defined by the most difficult aspects of our story. |
The dark underbelly of the train station presses up against the window as fluorescent lights above me flicker and go out. Before my eyes adjust to the blackness, my boot knocks over one of my bags and my heels begin to bounce in a restless jig. The stranger beside me unwraps his toasted meatball sandwich and as the tinfoil crinkles against my frayed nerves, my stomach flips in hungry protest.
Claustrophobia wraps its arms around my shoulders and I suck in oxygen across my teeth and visualize myself walking the leafy streets of Montreal so I won’t give in to the urge to wrestle my luggage off this steel monster.
As the lights flicker again, my seat mate balls up the remnants of foil and takes a loud, sucking bite from the apple in his fist. I press down hard against my legs and begin to count.
Thankfully, before I reach 9-Mississipi, the train shudders beneath me and we chug out into the light. Unfortunately, the desire to run doesn’t disappear and as I stare past the graffiti covered walls, the pressure continues to build until its only escape is through the tears that run in stubborn rivers down my cheeks. Angling my body towards the window, I will the tears to stop, but they don’t listen.
These are angry, pay-attention-to-me tears. Tears of exhaustion from a year without a fixed address; tears of fear over the mammoth Fresh Chapter Foundation building challenges ahead; and tears of pain over the pulled muscle in my ribs which makes every single breath feel like the sting of unsuspecting skin as a band-aid is wrenched off. And, if I am really honest, the tears are about being angry at myself. After promising I would not give stress a place of value in my post-cancer life, I find myself running ragged in an attempt to ensure that Big Hairy Audacious Dreams come together as “perfectly” as possible.
Like a leaky faucet, the tears continue to drip. They pool near my nose and dive onto my sweater. With my face angled towards the window, I paw through my bag, searching for a Kleenex, and come up empty-handed. Eventually, I settle for using my toque to mop up the carnage. I keep each sniffle to a whisper so the apple crunching stranger won’t ask me if I’m ok and I won’t have to break into the ugly cry and tell him that “no I’m not ok” and “yes, I’m feeling more than a little on edge.”
Instead, I slip my headphones into my ears and stare out the window until the city streets turn into wide open fields. Until the tears stop dripping and until I see a skype message from a friend who reminds me that the occasional snotty-nosed cry on a train is not a sign of failure. It’s a sign of being human.
We are all capable of ending up in places we swore we would never go back to. And, even if my pit stop in the land of stressed and overwhelmed is a small price to pay for chasing big dreams, I’ve learned that when all I want to do is cry, maybe I need to let it out and then find ways to lean into joy.
Which brings me to right back here with you…
Inviting you to step on that train with me so you can smell the meatball sandwich and maybe even feel a little less alone with your own challenges makes me forget about all of stress and reminds me why I’m chasing these big dreams in the first place.
It reminds me that it’s not about perfection. Sometimes, the only solution to a complex and overwhelming, steepest learning curve of your life, dream is to boo-hoo all over your winter hat and then to admit that you don’t have all of the answers before deciding to keep inching forward anyways.
“Remember, success is not measured by heights attained but by obstacles overcome. We’re going to pass through many obstacles in our lives: good days, bad days. But the successful person will overcome those obstacles and constantly move forward.”
~Bruce Jenner~
Olympian
Whether you feel like joining me by sharing your most embarrassing sob fest or writing about the big dreams you are chasing, I’d love to hear from you. Perhaps it will give me some good reading material the next time I am stuck between a meatball sandwich and a volcano of emotion…
Comments (11)
I was at this very nice resort in Spain once. A woman I’d barely met began talking about this big dream she had to travel around the world and volunteer after she’d survived a cancer diagnosis.
I bawled, snotty and uncontrolled.
Okay, okay, you know that one. Here’s one you haven’t already heard.
I took my very first yoga class in college when I was around 21. It was a semester-long course that counted for some credit I needed to graduate. One day, for no reason, I started crying in savasana. It was a quiet though extremely snotty, sobby, ugly cry. The lights were turned down, so no one could see me. I had no tissues, so had to wipe my nose and eyes with my shirt. When the lights came up, a few people saw my splotchy face (remember, I am not a graceful or beautiful crier), they just smiled and patted my arm. I was so thankful no one asked if I was okay!
Thank you for sharing your story my sweet friend. I wish I could come down to Austin for a visit, but hopefully soon:) xo p.s. I don’t think any of us are beautiful criers…
oh, my dear terri,
thank goodness those tears flowed, no matter how messy and unrelenting they were. and thank goodness you have such an incredible gift and are able to convey the raw and honest picture of those heart-wrenching moments on that train. because i know it will resonate with so many of us who put on our armour and gird our loins to keep from falling back into an abyss we get soooo tired of struggling to climb out of. the really, really dark one where promises we’ve made to ourselves come back to taunt us and take us from our solemn resolve to be strong, to be resilient, to be expansive, to ignore the pain, to be grateful, and keep looking ahead, to stay in the moment, to be fearless, and to appreciate that we are still up on our hind legs.
at those moments when it all comes crashing down, knocks us to our proverbial knees, and leaves us in a sodden, sad, and bewildering heap, we wonder – WTF??? and if we are very, very lucky we have that kind of catharsis just like you had. you cried, and cried, and cried. but you didn’t give up! you let the light back in and gave yourself permmission to be human. and then, maybe you cried some more – because you COULD, and because it was such a relief.
all the nearly 30 years of being a hospice nurse i stuffed and stifled my tears – until i got back into my car to go to the next visit, the next patient. patients and their families who lived days, and weeks, and months with sorrow and tears needed and deserved to have their nurse dry-eyed and at the ready to give their all to render support. (though there were times it was totally appropriate to cry with them, and i did.) i used to say that if all the tears that had dried up in that car became wet again, there would be enough to drown in! then came my husband’s diagnosis, then mine. i WISHED that i could cry, but only managed to be able to have a jag now and then – for no apparent reason. hah!
then i discovered that certain songs would open the flood-gates; my number one favorite is ‘SUPERMAN”, by five for fighting. “…wish that i could cry…” and “…it’s not easy to be me…” always does it for me.
so terri, i wish for you what i have wished for myself – the gift of being able to continue to feel vulnerability, to be able to respond with however many tears it takes to wash away whatever big pile of stuff piles up, and then to come back into the light, and keep shining it on the truth -that there’s never a damn tissue around when you need it!
love you, XOXOXOXO,
karen, TC
Karen – I love reading your comments and so appreciate the support!! Sending you big love and light too. xo
I feel so much for you, Terri. I don’t have many sob-fests, but when I do, they are big ones. I have a lingering pain in my ribs that radiates to my back, so I know what you mean about pain that makes it hard to breathe. And I’ve been suffering from stress for over a year now, not cancer related. I, too, vowed never to stress out after my cancer, but stress out I did. Just know we are there for you, Terri, and any time you want to cry, our virtual shoulders are there. xo
Jan – You are an angel. Thank you. Here’s to being real every day and allowing ourselves to feel the hell out of the struggles and then move forward with as much light as posssible. Big hugs! T xo
Thanks for sharing, Terri! I’ve been going through one of those emotional roller coasters lately and it’s always comforting to know that I’m not alone. People like you help inspire me and make me realize that even though we might hit some bumps in the road, there’s always a way to overcome them!
Thanks so much my friend! Trying to build something new is scary and overwhelming, but we’re all so very human. I look forward to continuing to keep in touch and I am cheering you on. One step at a time! xo
Terri,
Although I am older than you (just turned 50) I feel in you a kindered sister spirt. Unforturnatley it wan’t until thanksgiving that i stumbled across your website and Dehli 2013 project. I would have loved to applied. I have been out of treament for breast cancer for one year after a roller coaster 1 and a half years of treatment. I tell myself -well that trip wasn’t for me-someone else really needs it-you would have to reshedule your reconstruction bla bla bla.
Then I was in my rasa yoga class on thursday. The instructer was talking about the arm channels that run from you fingers to your chest wall and heart. As we were practicing running our fingers up these channels I felt forbourne. I tried to focus on something else as my fingers rounded my prosthetic and found my heart. When we got on the floor I thought “well I can do this”. I tried with all my being to stop the sniffling and the wave of pain that ran through my body. I ended up SOBBING in a room of fellow yogis with my teacher stroking my back telling me to “let it all out”. It was during this time I thought I wish I would have found you sooner. I am still a work in progress on survivalship.
Perhaps this Dehli 2013 will be just a start and I will have an opportunity someother time.
I stood outside after yoga that night and watched the seaguls in the river-they were dancing, playing in the wind. I was lucky to stand there long enough to watch some salmon work there way upstream.
They too are my kindered spirt. Like them I am working my way upstream.
Polly,
Thank you so much for your email and yes, I can tell you are a kindred spirit. I definitely hope that #Delhi2013 is just the beginning and would love to have you on a Fresh Chapter Adventure of your own. We are all a work in progress. Here’s to being real and choosing to move forward, even through the hardest of times. Big hugs my friend! Terri
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