Bouncers and Nope Cats

I can’t get in. I’m out in the cold. No matter how hard I try, the situation doesn’t change.

Perhaps, you’re like Kitty here. 

See yourself shoved into a corner, with no affirming view, other than the wall? Is your life currently one big, fluffy Nope Cat?

“Some days are sulky. Some days have a grin. And some days are bouncers that won’t let you in.”

U2, “Some Days are Better Than Others”

Those lyrics have become front and center for me, especially lately. Cancer and caregiving have pressed my face to many walls, with no seeming way of escape. I’d wake up, having an important “to-do” list, motivated and inspired to only encounter the bouncer du jour, who decimated my mindset. Sometimes, it was fatigue. My 2017 diagnosis, surgery and radiation, indeed, ushered me into a brand- new experience of the word, “tired.” Bad reports and/or fear and anxiety over medical tests also slammed the door shut on me. I couldn’t concentrate on breathing, let alone, on “getting stuff done.”

And then there’s my mother. Oh, man. Where do I start? Enmeshed mother-daughter issues? Her increasing fogginess?

I had many Nope Cat instances, just hoping the bouncer that would not let me in for that particular circumstance would also not beat me to a bloody pulp.

It’s great to have aspirations.

So, what do we do when we get bounced?

I have a few strategies.

Write.

I don’t have to be Shakespeare or Stephen King (although they both were great at conveying grisly drama). I just have to express myself. Bad spelling, punctuation, mess, it doesn’t matter. Get it out of my system however I need to.

So, that may mean teeny or gigantic print of one favorite expletives, written one thousand times while I simultaneously scream. That may mean some truly horrendous poetry. That may mean I just stab the paper with an ink pen. Whatever works. Really. Whatever works.

In the case of my mother and my diagnosis, I’ve written some scathing stuff directed at them both. Cuss words have been involved. Just letting it rip. And then, after I’m done with my rampage, I destroy it, via my paper shredder.

I do this as tangible proof to both my conscious and my unconscious mind that I have done something. I don’t know the details of how the brain works. But I do know I have taken action. Cussing, screaming, stabbing, shredding, bad writing action, but action, all the same.

And I deal with that particular bouncer and my Nope Cat growls with satisfaction, not frustration.

So yes, whatever you’re struggling with, whatever is preventing you from gaining entry into life for that certain situation, get it out of your mind and onto paper.

Read.

It sounds cliché, but reading helps the human being’s mind.

And, yes, speaking of minds, sometimes, it’s helpful to get out of ours for a while and into someone else’s. Novels, classic literature, self-help, memoirs, comic books (a/k/a, graphic novels for you connoisseurs), or even, Dr. Seuss- it doesn’t matter.

The weekend before I received my biopsy results that yes, indicated I had Breast cancer, I was absorbed in Mayte Garcia’s autobiography, “The Most Beautiful: My Life with Prince.” I’m a Prince fan and from Minnesota, like the superstar, so, I was naturally engrossed in learning what is what like to be the Purple One’s Beloved. The book was juicy, with romance, love, drama and yes, tragedy. And, it took me out of my “Do-I-have-cancer-and-am-I going-to-die” thoughts. I still needed to face my biopsy results after the weekend was over, but, for that “time being,” it was all about great love, great sexiness and great loss. My bouncer and Nope Cat were tinged purple.

Likewise, if you’re going through it, bounced out of a day, a week, a month, or any epic era in your life, transport yourself however you need to...and read.

Pray.

It’s not about “Thee’s” and “Thou’s.” It’s not about using the King’s English. No. Prayer is that visceral connection to Our Creator. It’s most often referred to as “God” or “The Universe.” It’s that intelligent Higher Power that spun us into being. We didn’t just hatch on our own, after all.

Prayer has gotten a bad rap. It can be viewed as irrelevant, impotent and foolish. It’s also been a tool to shame and intimidate us. We just aren’t “good enough” to pray and seriously expect our prayers to be answered. We’ve sinned too much, screwed up too much. We’re not cultured or well-versed enough to access it.

Go back to your dank, hopeless hole, then, you peasant.

Something like that.

I’ve prayed most of my life. And, most of my prayers were not of the noble, erudite or selfless variety.  Especially now. Between the joys associated (sarcastic emphasis, please note) with my elderly mother in a care facility and my ongoing reality of my cancer diagnosis (what it is, what it could turn into, what I fear), yep, my prayers do not employ the King’s English. I mainly use these two words instead: “Look” and “Help!”

“Look…”

When I’m not in an immediately urgent state, just dissatisfied on some personal issue, I usually start my prayers with this word. It’s a preface; it lays my complaining groundwork. Yes, I’m a complainer. But, concerning humanity, I mean, gritty humanity, aren’t we all? Leave Pollyanna to Hayley Mills! The rest of us have to deal with the real world. So, I just lay it all out there, unvarnished, whiny, but true. Why mess with dishonesty here, after all? That’d be pointless.

“Help!”

Not just a Beatles’ song, Folks.

When I need to cut to the chase, this is my prayer. I’m in danger; I’m in despair. Cancer often fits the bill concerning both. I need a lot of help these days. Preventing myself from screaming at my mother, noticing a weird symptom that, yes, could be cancer all over again, feeling alone and disconnected- all areas necessitating a “Help” prayer.

And after I’ve gotten out of a jam, I do try to say another prayer: “Thank you.” But I’m mortal. And so, sometimes, unfortunately, I’m quite a rude little thing. And that requires a whole ‘nother prayer: “Forgive me.”

I don’t know what your spiritual take is, but if you find yourself leaning toward saying a prayer, using any old string of sincere pleas, go with it. Don’t fight it. I believe Someone is listening and will respond. Even to us mere mortals.

To the bouncer and to the Nope Cat here, I say, Amen.

Cry. (Or whimper. Yowl. Howl. Sob. Sniffle. Take your pick).

My own personal dam breaks on a regular basis. Once upon a time, I could keep it together. I could hold back tears. I could power through, being stoic. No more. Now I cry. It’s not unheard of for it to happen on practically a daily basis. Bleak cancer situations. Bleak mother stuff. Bleak, I’m a woman, imperfectly living an imperfect life. I ping-pong from issue to issue: fear, obligation, guilt, frustration, loss. You know, like the rest of us out there. It can be too much.

And, since my diagnosis, there has been a raw intensity to issues, emotions and life. It’s Technicolor, but without Bugs Bunny. And so, I let it out. To deny my real, raw, intense feelings is to possibly sprout a recurrence. If I don’t get it out now, it could poison me.

So, I cry, bawl, weep, whimper, sniffle, whine, wail. I do it all. Whenever. Wherever. I try not to do it in public so much, but still, sometimes, the dam breaks. Take that, you bouncer. My Nope Cat needs a hanky.

And, Sweet Soul, if you, likewise, need to address your bouncers and Nope Cats with some boo-hoos, please do. We are feeling beings. And feeling beings cry.

Rest.

Bouncers and Nope Cats can be exhausting. They challenge our self-worth and pull energy from us, as we struggle to adjust, heal and soothe ourselves. Yet, how rarely do we actually rest from all of this taxing work?

I have gotten into some “Inner Child” stuff in my therapy. And boundless self-compassion has been the reoccurring theme, no matter what age or stage I’m at, as I try to “re-parent myself.” Viewer discretion is advised.

But seriously, a hallmark of this compassion, directed toward my needy inner child identities, insists I be gentle and do what I can to love myself in a healthy manner.

And, just like being in charge of an actual child, including their nap times, we need to make sure that little critter stops and recharges. He or she cannot just go-go-go. The creature will hit a wall, sometimes, literally. A strawberry jam-filled, sticky fist print may be smeared on a surface, somewhere, as the little one finally gives way to a temper tantrum, overtired and shrieking.

Come on. You’ve been there; I’ve been there. But I personally prefer cherry preserves.

However, now, my cancer diagnosis, in particular, grabbed and admonished me, “Pay attention! Rest, Little One!”

So, yes, I have to consciously make myself aware, I have to consciously practice this statement AND behavior: “I give myself permission to rest.”

And that goes beyond nigh-nigh time. Sleep is important; I make it a priority. But rest incorporates other things as well.

I walk away from a person or a situation that doesn’t work for me; sometimes, I leave a conversation. To do otherwise is to invite a drain that is quite detrimental to me. It’s detrimental to any single one of us. And we need to give ourselves permission to step away from disease-causing stimulus.

And sometimes, rest includes being done with a particularly challenging circumstance.

There is a character from “The Lego Movie:” Uni-kitty. Part pink cat, part unicorn, all block-y Lego. In the animated film, she interacts with the other characters as a sweet and innocent cat face smiling as the adventures unfurl.

But, inevitably, Uni-kitty reaches her breaking point, fed up with playing nice and in an outburst, exclaims, “Ah, forget it!!!”

She then explodes into a red, furious version of herself and startles everyone in the process. Mama means business.

Rest sometimes means you have to be done. Be done with being mistreated and abused in a relationship. Be done with a frustrating behavior. Be done forcing yourself to “achieve” some impossible standard. Sometimes, in order to rest, you and I have to say, “Ah, forget it!!!”

To the bouncer and to the Nope Cat circumstances, I say, “Behold, the wrath of Uni-kitty!”

Again, whatever works.

Do What You Need To Do:

And, in the end, sometimes that’s what it all comes down to… whatever works. No judgment, no fear, no shame. Get through it however you need to get through out.

Bouncers and Nope Cats happen to us all. Can we re-channel ourselves? Recalibrate?

Even when everyone and everything else, seemingly, says “no” to us, we can make the choice to answer our lives with “yes.”

“Some days are sulky. Some days have a grin. And some days are bouncers that won’t let you in.”

So, what? We have ourselves. That’s enough.

Copyright © 2019 by Sheryle Cruse