C is for Confession

I'm not very good at confession.  In the Catholic Church it's called the Sacrament of Reconciliation, and my First Confession happened as a 4th grader. Learning the Act of Contrition prayer was easy but my first Examination of Conscience was terrifying.  It should be a thoughtful, prayerful process of calling to mind our sins before we confess, but my guide through this first time was a plump, negative, overzealous nun. She drilled into us the abomination of our sins, and reminded us repeatedly that forgetting to confess a sin to the priest was in itself another horrific sin.   It's easy to blame a crazy nun for turning me away from this sacrament, but in truth, I've never been very comfortable with the act of confession.  I'm actually much, much better now at examining my conscience and owning my mistakes and eccentricities; I just don't want to hash those things out with anyone else.

If you've been a regular reader of this blog, then you may think I have rainbows painted on my walls and sleep with a stuffed unicorn. Truth time? Confession?  This past week has been incredibly difficult, physically and emotionally.  The side effects from the drugs I am taking are wreaking havoc on my body.  I'm not sleeping very well, am bloated, swollen and in pain from retaining water, have a dry, raspy cough in addition to shortness of breath and have very little energy.   I just cancelled a work trip that I've been looking forward to for weeks because I know I'm not up to travel.  My doctor is tweaking my meds and I'm hopeful that I'll have some relief soon, but right now I'm just miserable.

In the spring of that same 4th grade year, my father was transferred and we moved from Dallas, TX to Brighton, MI. I didn't want to go and remember crying hysterically when I told my best friend the news.  She was understanding and sympathetic, but the closer we got to our move date the more she disengaged from our friendship.  We were just ten years old and I know now that she was protecting her feelings, but back then it felt like a betrayal.  Ready for confession number two?  What if my friends now slowly drift away, weary from slogging through the ups and downs of this disease with me?  No, I don't really think this will happen.  But oh, the insecurities of my former ten year old self take over at 3 AM when I am wide awake and uncomfortable.

I've said from the beginning that I want this blog to reflect my determination to stay positive and grateful, but several wise friends have reassured me that it is OK to to share the good with the bad.  They've actually encouraged me to do more of that.  So I confess - it's been a crappy week.  I'm wallowing, feeling sorry for myself, wishing I was on that business trip with a wonderful colleague.  But don't worry - next time I write, C is for.....well, I'm not sure yet!  But C is always for Colleen, and I always bet on myself.