Living in the Gray
I met a woman the other day who shares a similar history with me: we both hail from very conservative faiths, were reared on truths made up of very concrete terms like black and white, right and wrong, godly and ungodly. We met on an occasion where I was wearing my get born businesswoman hat—in a boutique that has generously agreed to carry my magazine. Therefore, I described to her the mission, vision and founding principles behind get born: that I strongly believe mothers are at a disadvantage as long as we’re not free to tell our truth. I told her that get born is very personal for me—that it embraces a nuancing of the truth that, for me, has been life-giving and brought me freedom where before there was frustration and anger. I told her that embracing the reality of my life as a conflicted woman—a mother, a spiritual being, a self—has given me tremendous fulfillment and, I hope, brought similar relief to the women who read get born. She nodded her head in agreement, shared some of her story of how she, too, was reared in a very black and white, cut and dry world, but how she often gravitates toward the middle. Then she told me something a friend of hers had said, and I recognized the moment, as I so often do these days, as truth. I can best describe it as something someone says or a quote I read in a book where the words and the way I hear them resonate deep within my self, far beyond the surface of my skin and deep into the hallows of my soul. Her friend had said to her, in the midst of a conversation that sounds so similar to the ones I have with my strong sister-friends, “I have to believe in the validity of the gray.” When she spoke the words, I stood still for a second, then asked her to repeat them, then begged her to send them to me. She did so, just this morning, and the timing couldn’t be more perfect.
In this black and white world of cancer diagnosis, treatment planning, and sheer terror, gray seems out-of-reach and foolish. Gray means that cancer isn’t as powerful as we’ve been led to believe, but is a maybe, a remote possibility, even, which is not a concept that the medical community or my own fear have allowed me to embrace.
But last night I attended the engagement party of the son of one of my longest and dearest friends. I ran into women I hadn’t seen since I student taught—ages ago—and I had the golden opportunity to answer the question I love to answer: “What are you up to these days?” I get to watch eyes widen as I say “four little girls, ages 8, 6, 4, and 2” and respond to their comments about how I must be so busy. I nod sedately, murmuring agreement, and then I get to say, “And I also co-founded and now publish and edit a literary magazine for mothers.” It’s just so exhilarating to start talking about what has become such a passion for me. I live in life when I get to talk about it.
As I talked about get born, cancer took a back seat. Fucking finally. Triumph. And I relished dwelling in the gray. Cancer lurked, dark and black and ominous in the background, but I pushed it away by talking about my light, my truth. When I speak to friends who remain with me through my journey through fundamentalism, I often quote Jesus: “You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.” Since I was a girl, this line has resonated deeply with me. It continues to do so, because it’s not factual, it’s not logical, it’s truth. Truth defies the restrictions we set up for it, the parameters we arrogantly believe will hold it within proper boundaries. Truth busts through them all and burns away pretense and prior belief and the chains that keep us captive to our own imaginations and fears. Truth truly sets free.
And my truth is this, for today: I have not changed—I’m still a fiery, passionate, sometimes angry, bitchy, funny, gregarious woman. I need people who respect my boundaries and won’t take advantage of my vulnerability to medicate their own damaged souls. I need to get to work on my magazine and play that delightful Wii with my girls. I need to talk about a grand God who doesn’t deal in fear or glory with Cathy and Kyndra and Tom and Makeesha and the rest of the Hoochie Mamas. I need to feel my husband’s arms around me even though he’s shaking from the terror of it all. And I need to live in the gray. The gray gives me hope, much like the gray cloud cover of today reminds me so palpably of days I spent in Ecuador, a young, faith-filled, naïve girl. I spent hours in my bedroom listening to the rain pound the roof and knew a safe place where God met me where I was and didn’t love me because I believed the right things. God loved me because I was Heather. I think She still does. Cancer can’t take that away, try as he might. I won’t be made cancer’s fool, remaining imprisoned within the terror. Many have done the same, and called it positive thinking. They are right. My name for it will be “living in the gray,” and kicking some serious ass all the while. Amen.
In this black and white world of cancer diagnosis, treatment planning, and sheer terror, gray seems out-of-reach and foolish. Gray means that cancer isn’t as powerful as we’ve been led to believe, but is a maybe, a remote possibility, even, which is not a concept that the medical community or my own fear have allowed me to embrace.
But last night I attended the engagement party of the son of one of my longest and dearest friends. I ran into women I hadn’t seen since I student taught—ages ago—and I had the golden opportunity to answer the question I love to answer: “What are you up to these days?” I get to watch eyes widen as I say “four little girls, ages 8, 6, 4, and 2” and respond to their comments about how I must be so busy. I nod sedately, murmuring agreement, and then I get to say, “And I also co-founded and now publish and edit a literary magazine for mothers.” It’s just so exhilarating to start talking about what has become such a passion for me. I live in life when I get to talk about it.
As I talked about get born, cancer took a back seat. Fucking finally. Triumph. And I relished dwelling in the gray. Cancer lurked, dark and black and ominous in the background, but I pushed it away by talking about my light, my truth. When I speak to friends who remain with me through my journey through fundamentalism, I often quote Jesus: “You will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.” Since I was a girl, this line has resonated deeply with me. It continues to do so, because it’s not factual, it’s not logical, it’s truth. Truth defies the restrictions we set up for it, the parameters we arrogantly believe will hold it within proper boundaries. Truth busts through them all and burns away pretense and prior belief and the chains that keep us captive to our own imaginations and fears. Truth truly sets free.
And my truth is this, for today: I have not changed—I’m still a fiery, passionate, sometimes angry, bitchy, funny, gregarious woman. I need people who respect my boundaries and won’t take advantage of my vulnerability to medicate their own damaged souls. I need to get to work on my magazine and play that delightful Wii with my girls. I need to talk about a grand God who doesn’t deal in fear or glory with Cathy and Kyndra and Tom and Makeesha and the rest of the Hoochie Mamas. I need to feel my husband’s arms around me even though he’s shaking from the terror of it all. And I need to live in the gray. The gray gives me hope, much like the gray cloud cover of today reminds me so palpably of days I spent in Ecuador, a young, faith-filled, naïve girl. I spent hours in my bedroom listening to the rain pound the roof and knew a safe place where God met me where I was and didn’t love me because I believed the right things. God loved me because I was Heather. I think She still does. Cancer can’t take that away, try as he might. I won’t be made cancer’s fool, remaining imprisoned within the terror. Many have done the same, and called it positive thinking. They are right. My name for it will be “living in the gray,” and kicking some serious ass all the while. Amen.
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