Guest Writer--Amy Halloran--Troy, New York

This week guest blogger Amy Halloran from Troy, New York….expert on grains, breads, baking and making pancakes. In today's essay Amy shares what she's learning about relationships:

For a long time I thought that asking was the most important part of getting what I need. If I could identify and articulate what was wrong or what I lacked, then someone would fill in my blanks. If I told my husband that I needed more affection, or help keeping the kitchen clean, I assumed he would work toward fulfilling my request. 

This thinking extended to all my relationships. I need to see you more, I told my sister, and she didn't argue. She agreed. But neither of us made a dedicated plan to make that happen. So we still didn’t, and don't, see each other enough.

I stated my needs and thought my problems were solved. That’s not how things work. Well, maybe they would if I were a queen, and had a royal court to do my bidding. But here in the real world, relationships are dynamic, and require give and take, two parties discussing their ideas and feelings and trying to learn how to dance to a song that you’re writing together. This is awkward and none of us are skilled at the steps, or know the tune. Not even if we’re very familiar to each other. 

 My sister and I grew up in the same family, and my husband and I shared a vision for a life together that was so strong we pursued it like a mountain we had to climb. Given the circumstances, I should be able to communicate easily and well with these two people, and yet I am learning, always learning how to be and work together with them. As much as we share, we are very distinct. Crossing the gulf between two people, any two people, is tough. Why did I think it would be easy?

One reason perhaps is linked to shopping. Consumer culture leads us to believe that we can make a list, and the store of the world will have the goods in stock. But only so many of our problems can be answered with a dollar. 

Relationships are not transactional. While I thought I was problem solving, all I was doing was making a shopping list. 

I think it’s important to note how consumer culture shapes us, regardless of family values. I grew up in a family that was not materialistic. Forcefully so. Once, I wrote a letter to my parents stating a series of inequities I observed. They didn’t treat us four kids the same – I liked math and was good, too good at measuring things, especially love. 

My dad took me out for the day to show that I mattered big to him.  We drove around, and visited my grandfather; help him with some things around his house. Did some other errands. One of our stops was a flea market, and I thought my father would buy me the easy bake oven that I craved. But our expedition was about time together, not things.  

I was a heavy user of the real oven and had been for a long time, so my dad didn’t want to get me the pink plastic thing which would require a steady stream of silly boxes of cakes. He also was demonstrating that love was not stuff. The lesson didn’t quite take. But I understood what he was doing.

My parents’ examples couldn’t fight the impression I got from our environment, a realm that got even more of a consumer bent over the last 30 years. In America we can shop our way to better health, better spiritual lives, and of course better outfits.  All of this helped me function on a premise that I could make lists for my loved ones, as if I were shopping, and we needed more cinnamon or butter in the metaphoric house of our intersections. Then, I assumed they would give me the stuff that I wanted. This seemed reasonable, right? We were out of a supply, I noticed, so fetch it, please.

Yet was I ready to be the emotional store for the people I love as they ask for what they need? That's another series of thoughts to ponder!

There is more to connecting with others than making lists. We can’t just identify our bruised feelings and find gaps that we think people should fill with help. We need to work with other people to get what we need. Identification is just one step in the process. Have I learned this yet? No. But writing this essay is another attempt to teach myself a lesson. #

Amy Halloran is the author of:

The New Bread Basket--

How the New Crop of Grain Growers, Plant Breeders, Millers, Maltsters, Bakers, Brewers, and Local Food Activists Are Redefining Our Daily Loaf

Couples Dancing with Cancer Together

Love in the Time of Cancer is all about how couples cope with cancer. We talk about how to keep love, intimacy and sex alive while your partner goes through a cancer diagnosis and treatments. So the article in yesterday's New York Times is a wonderful addition to our conversation.

The only downside is the insistence on the war metaphor...maybe we could start a change here. How about "Dancing Cancer Together" instead of battling? Wouldn't the metaphor of dancing do more to help couples with cancer? And yes, even dancers trip and fall and get out of step but there are also moments of flow and beauty and dancers seek a mutual rhythm.

Let's think more about this idea of "Dancing with Cancer". But for today here is the very helpful piece from the Well at The New York Times.

http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/05/27/facing-cancer-together/?smid=pl-share

Don't Try to Change Your Man

I love relationship books. I absolutely love them. Given that you’d think I was better at relationships, but maybe it’s just the opposite. Because I see my struggles I am fascinated by what psychology and medicine and theology and even astrology have to say about how to find, make, keep and grow in a loving relationship.

These books are my candy.

This week I’m reading an old favorite: “Change Your Mindset Not Your Man.” By Sally Watkins, MSW. Her advice is pointed and true to her idea—low on theory and heavy on making changes. And boy it’s not for sissies.

One of her main points—and she repeats it --is that most woman have relationship troubles because we lie to ourselves. The man is bad? Well, she says, what red flag did you choose to ignore? If the man is really bad and you are still there, then this is all about you, according to Sally. Yeah, hard to swallow stuff like that. But sometimes those buckets of cold water really are refreshing.

 You will not be surprised that much of her relationship advice is extremely relevant to couples in the caregiving mode. The best way to prevent resentment and burnout is self-care. Radical self-care. Take a day off and even a week off. Sounds crazy right? But a week away can help you to love that person again. And all those people saying, “How can I help?” and “If you need anything…” Call them in and hand over the keys and the schedule.

Yes, some people will think you are nuts, and your partner may think you are nuts, but just keep saying, “Being selfish is the most loving thing I can do for both of us.”

And check out Watkins book. Cancer is a relationship issue too. Cancer makes any relationship a “bad” one. By default you have relationship trouble when cancer is involved. It’s really too bad that oncologists don’t talk about this stuff. But then they are just trying to save bodies while we are trying to save lives.

Fighting to Remember

For two days we fought like cats and dogs—or maybe like Mars and Venus. All the things that the experts and relationship books say not to do we did: Brought up the past, said mean things, accused, said “always” and “never”, got loud, got silent, went to bed mad, didn’t go to bed at all. And then we cried. We sat on the bed sobbing. Were we really going to end this? What was this fury and terrible desperate pain between us? And inside of me I was asking, “Why now?” The past several months had been so happy; we’d had such a wonderful summer; we were making plans. We were both shaking our heads and reeling from our battle. And then…

And then yesterday I came home from work to a phone message from the oncologist. A reminder call that blood tests and follow up cancer screening is this Friday. Neither of us had remembered. Neither of us had put it on the calendar. But here it was and we both knew. Deep down in the body or mind we both knew the scary time was coming again and the risk to us was back. Now even more frightening because we had gotten comfortable again.

Cancer had gone on a long trip.

And we just got a postcard saying, “Be home soon; wish I was there.”

This Fish Needs a Bicycle

I am 55 and I have decided that even though I do not completely understand my relationships --or myself in relationships--they are important to me. I was raised in and influenced by the unsettling mixture of Helen Gurley Brown and Gloria Steinem so I enjoy being in love but always with that odd guilt or shame for liking to have a man in my life and in my bed. I have decided to not care what others think--or in truth, to care a bit less--and I have decided to accept that it may be a past life thing, or a dysfunctional family thing, or maybe it’s a social construction of reality and gender relations thing, but I like men. I have pretended, dissuaded, defended and confounded myself and others because of these men certainly. But it’s true. I do. I like having a man in my life.

Out at Work

Last night John came to the Gala fundraiser for my organization. It’s been distracting me for days—the gala itself-- but also the reality of him being there. It’s work for me and I worried about that. He would see this other part of my life up close. But my worry was also about others seeing him—with me. It was another layer—or un-layering of this relationship. A big part of becoming a couple involves the presence of other people. We are formed as a couple when we are seen by others and also when we see ourselves being seen by others as a couple.

For a few days I have been imagining scenarios of him not coming to the gala with me. Maybe he’d be too tired, too sick, bad chemo. Maybe he’d forget, come home too late, lie down to nap and wake at 9pm. I imagined how righteously angry I could then be, “You missed my Gala”, and I’d have a resentment to nourish until it grew big enough to help me leave him. I watched myself form these fears and fantasies and then I realized finally that I was afraid of this big and next step of coming out as a couple. I was taking him to work with me, and in front of others who matter in my work life, we were being a couple.

My Moon is in Cancer

The problem is cancer. Stage three colon cancer and so instead of romantic dates and lunches and vacations we have surgery and doctors offices and learning about chemo. I am lover and caregiver, but I am also a writer and fierce about what is happening to him and to me and to us. I am writing this blog to tell my side of this story. I am not objective. I am not unbiased and at times I am not a very nice person. But then, cancer is not very nice either.

I am also writing this because I hope at least one person can have their sanity confirmed by this blog. Most of the official cancer resources have tried to be helpful but there have been so many gaps and so many platitudes and so very much condescension. I am also writing this because as Mark Twain said, “I don’t want to hear about the moon from a man who has not been there.” Loving a man with cancer is my moon. Take the next step with me.

I am Sick of Him

I sit on the floor in the restroom at the oncology center and cry silently. I feel my life slipping away. I write this in my journal:


I am sick of him.

I am sick of the New York Yankees.

I am sick of his music.

I am sick of the apples he likes.

I am sick of his schedule.

I am sick of the movies he wants to see.

I am sick of him being sick.

I am sick of him.

Keeping Secrets

In Alcoholics Anonymous we hear, “You are only as sick as your secrets.” The French say, “Nothing is so burdensome as a secret.” My daily meditation book says, “Secrets are a quiet cancer that eats away at our souls.”

That cancer word jumps off the page. I have known the cost of secrets in my life. There were many secrets I kept from others over the years and saw the cost to relationships. I also endured the damage of keeping my family’s secrets: my mother’s addiction, my father’s shame.

But today I know that the most damaging –and most frightening--secrets are the secrets I keep from myself. I worry now, maybe too much, but I fear this: am I telling myself the truth. Am I hiding my real feelings? Not just from John but from me. That’s the big danger.

I have decisions to make. Will I accept the fellowship that means a month away? Will I continue on in my graduate program? If I do is it because I really want these things or is it because other people think I should? If I don’t is it because of John’s cancer or because I am afraid to be away from him now? Am I giving up a part of me that matters or am I grateful for the excuse to give it up? The outsides may look the same but knowing what I really want and need --and telling my self the truth –matters.

Another secret I sit with: I miss my husband. What does that mean? Can I stand to feel that all the way through me? It feels sad and dangerous to allow myself that truth. But I also know that if I shrink from at least telling myself that truth I’ll be in more trouble later. Can I separate admitting that truth from acting on that truth? How will I know?