Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

Super Love

The following piece is a vulnerable sharing of where I’ve been this past year in mind, body, spirit. It will remain posted as an “Offering” titled SUPERFOODS on the home page here on the Archives. I am so grateful for all those following the Archives, and the time felt right to tune in and express where I’ve been and where I’m now going…Wishing healthy abundance to each and everyone of you!

This whole WordPress experiment began seven years ago when I started blogging as a single mother of a six-year old, posting nearly every day. At the time, the blog was both my challenge and my lifeline. Never did I imagine after my 40 day commitment that I would still be here, years later, typing out words to the ether.

For those that have followed the Archives over the years (thank you for your time and encouragement!), you may have noticed that posts from me have significantly dwindled as of late.

Currently, Jeb’s officially a teenager (with the ability to forge agreements not to divulge all of those personal mom-stories anymore). And four years ago I married the Bohemian, bringing a love into my life that I had dared to imagine, but wondered if I’d ever truly find.

Nowadays, Jeb does his own laundry and takes solo bus trips around town. I live with the love of my life in a house in the country. Last year we welcomed a dog into the picture, the sweetest Labrador I’ve ever known. We are healthy and living in Hawaii. I’ve come a long way from the days of raising a toddler in a converted barn with a hot plate, a John Deere tractor, and an empty refrigerator.

I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I’ll confess that at the end of 2016 I was left to really look at myself and see that despite all of the gifts threading my life, there was something deep within that was unhappy. There was nothing specific that I could pinpoint as the cause, there was just a low-level hum of angst that reverberated at the baseline of my everyday.

This dissatisfaction was made manifest in many ways. I withdrew from friends, hunkering down like a hermit, opting out of social gatherings. I lost inspiration in my art, writing less and rarely taking photographs. I became more impatient, hearing the edge in my voice with my son and husband over small household issues. As I watched myself souring to the nectar of life, I added insult to injury by looping critical, self-judgements in my head. Had I just become some post-40 year old woman with too many creature comforts to appreciate? Had I fallen into the realm of having luxurious “problems”? I judged myself for judging myself, and felt helpless to stop the negativity. I felt ashamed to be struggling when I knew there were others in the world with life and death predicaments, real problems. I believed I should be happy and felt guilty that I wasn’t.

As 2016 came to a close I dug deeper. It felt like the whole world was suffering through massive changes and I was powerless to affect anything. I sought my own quiet space within and earnestly asked how I could help. The answer that came was to make it better with myself. It made sense that if I was in a clear and balanced place, then I would be in finer form to contribute to the whole. Yet I wondered how to make things better for myself. I’d been struggling with this for years and hadn’t made any headway.

The Bohemian and I booked an impromptu session at the local spa to celebrate our four-year wedding anniversary. As I sat in the mist of the steam room, sweating out the funk of 2016, I welcomed in the new. I asked for more guidance. How could I help myself?

I guess I expected a directive that would be philosophical in nature. Something broad-reaching and poetically profound. But what beamed through the haze of that tiled closet of steam was something much more practical and utterly clear: change what you’re eating.

The guidance was surprising, but so apparent that I didn’t question it. Changing what I ate was something that I could certainly affect. I wasn’t sure how much of a difference it would make to the world, but if my coming in to balance was to start with food, then that was a small step I was willing to try.

What followed was a connection with a long-time friend, who had been regularly posting on Facebook about the transformative results of ingesting superfoods. She claimed they had radically changed her life, not only in her physical health, but in her mental and spiritual realms, as well. I was skeptical that some powder and tablets could help me anymore than the organic fruits and vegetables I was regularly consuming, but dedicated to following the direction from my steam-room request, I agreed to try the superfoods for 10 days.

What transpired is the basis of inspiration for this post. I’m finally articulating the dis-ease I’ve been experiencing over the last few years. This is a cathartic measure. And I’m celebrating the beauty of such a simple step that transformed everything in my reality. When I incorporated those potent, high-density, organic, non-gmo, superfoods into my body, my cells changed. My body changed. I lost eight pounds and gained muscle tone. My mind became clear. I was inspired. Errands in the world became opportunities to share connection with friends and strangers. My work was easier, as I no longer felt exhausted mid-day, but instead, experienced a consistent energy that sustained until bedtime. My patience with my family was markedly improved. The negative jabs towards myself in my mind, had been replaced with compassion and encouragement. I looked in the mirror and saw my true self. I was home again.

I know it may sound radical, or even hard to believe. That by flooding my body with phyto-nutrients, I could affect change on every level of my being in such a short time. But this is what happened. And the Bohemian noticed. The shift was so evident that he started sampling my goods. He’d long been struggling with a dullness in his days. Uninspired by work, and overtaxed, he was left exhausted by the end of the day, and feeling stuck in a habitrail of routine, going nowhere. His body was constantly sore, and the structural integration and acupuncture treatments he’d been trying were not eliminating the discomfort.

After three days of sharing my superfoods, my husband was whistling around the house again. That old tune from our early days together, “When the Saints Come Marching In,” was now coming through between smiles as he washed dishes at the kitchen sink. As we were lighter, Jeb noticed too. He began mixing up his superfoods power shake before school every morning, telling me that he felt healthier.

It’s been about 40 days since all of this began. We’ve incorporated the superfoods into our daily routine, and we are experiencing a potent shift. In this 40 day period I have been resetting my metabolism and bringing my body back in balance. The Bohemian is newly inspired, full of energy, whistling and planting trees. Jeb’s learning about what it feels like to put real nourishment into his body. We’re still a family finding our way, but our home reverberates with greater harmony and ease.

I didn’t think that change could be this simple. Superfoods may not solve every challenge life brings, but they offer a foundation of wellness that can assist in facing any problem we may have. Life is better when I put these potent, high quality, phyto-nutrients in my body. These tools have been so powerful for me I want to share them with anyone that is looking for a change.

Contact me, and I’ll tell you all I know. I’ll point you down the path where you can learn more. I’ll help you get the superfoods delivered to your door.

Never did I think that I’d be writing a blog post about this. But then again, I didn’t imagine after my initial 40 days of typing out some words on single motherhood, that I’d still be here in the Archives and sharing.

Lao Tzu said, “The journey of a thousand miles begins with one step.” I encourage you to take your step. Let it lead you in the direction of your heart’s beckoning.

May we all be well and living our dreams.

#itstartswith10days

Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

All Clear

“That’s what your ovary sounds like.”

The technician administering my ultrasound has the volume turned up on the monitor, and I can hear the blood flow through my uterus in a heartbeat-synced rhythm. Above me on the screen is the land of mystery. A fuzzy, sepia-toned display of an upside down triangle, housing hazy organs that shift in view every time she moves the wand at my womb.

I listen and study. Realize that I’ve been investigating this hub my whole life. From my first gynecological exam at age 18, when the doctor discovered a dermoid cyst on my ovary and ordered surgery to remove it. After that, I was always checking in with the land of mystery, the place that could promise me life, or surprise me with loss.

At 23 it was loss. Another cyst on the other ovary, a surgical removal, the cyst, taking the ovary with it. With a life-long desire to be a mother, I feared having only one ovary may jeopardize my ability to conceive.

Doctors reassured me that one would be sufficient, and they were right. I was gifted a beautiful, healthy son the year I turned 30.

Moving into motherhood, diapers, toddling, and kindergarten, the woes of my womb from the past seemed behind me. I was a healthy, strong woman in my prime. One child was enough. I maintained my yearly check ups with the doctor, but I no longer worried about the invasion of my uterus by another growth.

However, at 38, I heard a whisper: “Go get an ultrasound, it’s been a while.” I had no pain, no sign of anything amiss, just a hunch that I should check in on the land of mystery. With the history of my chart, the doctor agreed to order one. It revealed that yet another (most likely) dermoid was on my remaining ovary. The doctor suggested I have surgery to remove it.

For anyone that may have been reading the Archives five years ago, you’ll have been privy to my ponderings on that discovery. Though I was aware that my repeated cyst issue was not life-threatening, it still pained me to be dealing with pesky invaders that were settling in where they didn’t belong. I didn’t want surgery. I didn’t want to potentially lose the last ovary I had.

Deeper still, was the lingering question- the one ‘they’ say is futile to ask: why?

But I couldn’t help it. Why was my womb so prone to misdirected growths? How could I stop them from happening? What was I doing wrong?

This took me on a soul-searching journey, from which I explored the concept of “No Enemy,” a philosphy/life-perspective I’m still seeking to master.

I asked the doctor to give me three months before we finalized surgery plans. He agreed, and I began journaling. I had actual dialogue with the growth. Asking it questions, making peace. Honoring its existence but asserting that it was out of place.

I worked with energy healers. I made adjustments to my diet. I contacted holistic doctors, who basically told me there was nothing they could do to help me, that this one was all about me figuring it out for myself.

Three months later another ultrasound. The doctor read the report and changed his tune. It didn’t look like surgery was necessary after all. The growth seemed stable. Another ultrasound was ordered in sixth months. That report indicated the same. The cyst was still there but holding steady. No indications for surgery. No need for another ultrasound anytime soon. That was 2012.

In 2016, I’m lying on the table listening to my ovary. At 43, I’m reflecting on my lifespan living with the land of mystery. There is a deep tender place inside that feels the yearning of all-things-possible, golden, light, expansive. It collides with the vulnerability of potential destruction, black, dark, overpowering. I, the vessel, lie at the crossroads, subject to the whim of forces unknown.

“You know I’m not allowed to tell you anything. The doctor will call you with a report on this in a few days.” The technician parts the curtain to exit the room, and kindly says, “Good luck.”

What the tech doesn’t know is that I was watching. And when she measured the black mass on the screen, I memorized the numbers that automatically calculated dimensions in the lower, left-hand corner. Again and again in my head…”1.89×1.64…1.89×1.64…”

I had the 2012 report in my files at home, and if my calculations were correct, it appeared that the growth had only grown by .3 centimeters in four years. That didn’t seem so bad. This possibility took the edge off of the next couple of days of waiting to hear the official news from the doctor.

Besides, I was distracted with other things. I’ve been tackling sun damage on my face, and treating it with a daily dose of cream (a process written about in my last post). So there’s been a waiting for the inevitable breakout of sores to appear, while trying to navigate the world from beneath the floppiest, biggest brimmed hat I’ve ever worn.

In terms of the doctor’s call, I was seeking simple, and gratefully, that’s what I got. Uterus good. Blood flow good. Cyst stable. Most likely a dermoid. About the size of a “fat grape.” If it worried me, I could remove it surgically. But if it wasn’t bothering me, no need to do anything. I confirmed there was no pain, and I wanted to avoid surgery. His response: “Ok, then. See you next year.”

I know there is something foreign lingering in the land of mystery that doesn’t want to let go. I’ve made peace with that for now. At this point, if it’s not causing any trouble, it can stay.

I’m turning full attention to my face now. Dealing with this physical body and trying to heal it up. I’ve got the ‘all clear’ from the doctor on my womb, and now I’m watching 40 some-odd years of too much UV, bubble up on my face. Anything but clear, here. I want it all to rise to the surface, slough off, and start anew.

courtesy of PNASH
courtesy of PNASH
Posted on by Jessica Dofflemyer

In the Balance

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One gift of being a bit under the weather is that it slows everything down.

After Jeb went through a fever and nausea last week (post-Halloween-induced, I’m convinced), I’ve been hovering on the edge of health myself the last few days. I haven’t been sick in ages, but I could feel something wanting to tip me over the into illness.

Not wanting to follow Jeb’s course, I immediately began drinking mugs of ginger-turmeric tea, ingesting healthy doses of Echinacea, and chewing big chunks of noni fruit leather.

As I sensed my fragile state, I was aware of my fear of getting sick, and my very clear resolve that I did not want disease to overtake my system.

I also noticed my words when speaking about my condition. So easily, I wanted to summarize my state by simply repeating a common phrase used when describing attempts to stave off illness, “I think I’m fighting something.”

However, I would pause at “fighting.” Because I don’t want to fight. How can health be nurtured if the body is a war zone? Besides, when you’re feeling less than 100%, the last thing you have energy for is a battle.

Taking this perspective further, I entertained the idea that my sore throat and exhaustion were quite possibly allies. Emissaries, sent to slow me down, lay me out. Cleanse me of all routine and running. I dared consider that malady could be a healing.

That’s not to say that I wanted the funk to settle in for the long-term in the house of my human body. My little “non-enemy” messengers were certainly indicating I was out of balance. But I changed the way I was thinking about them.

There is spaciousness when resistance is released. A peace when there is no enemy.

And power in our words. So, I shifted my vocabulary.

As I sipped my steaming cup of ginger tea, I would say that I was bringing myself back into balance. Not fighting anything, just redirecting.

And even a little submitting. As in the instance of my morning walk, which is typically brisk, often followed by a jog, and usually an hour.

Despite my fatigue, I decided to get some circulation in my veins, even if it meant I moved at a snail’s pace. In fact, as I set foot on my familiar path, I watched a snail in slow-mo, moving across the grass as a gentle reminder.

What unfolded was an abbreviated amble. No hills, no jog, half the distance. Bucking routine, I sat and watched the sunrise. Moving at a slower pace, I noticed flowers opening in the morning sun. I took photos of feathers and leaves.

Joggers passed me by as I meandered. I didn’t need to keep up. I had my mission. I was taking cues from the messengers. Slowing down. Coming in to balance.

 

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