I’ve noticed I’m saying these three words a lot lately: Not my problem.
As a classic over-giver and caretaker (and I want to say former good girl) I’m feeling and loving the power of those words.
Being asked to reschedule my afternoon to fix the mistake you made? Not my problem.
Tying myself in knots as a mother over something I want to be different (and isn’t mine to control anyway)? Not my problem.
Being asked to do something you could do yourself but is “inconvenient” for you? Not my problem.
I feel like I’m unlearning my primary role as caregiver (as I write this I’m thinking back to 2010 when I first started my business. I did a series of interviews called “The Doormat Diaries” with a range of powerful women. We spoke about the path from being a doormat to reclaiming our power. I’m still talking about it. I’m still teaching this. There are always more layers and rocks to overturn. And midlife offers its own particular type of… opportunities).
I’m setting new boundaries to create new expectations for other people. Not my problem brings me home to where I want to put my focus. The more I act on not my problem, the more spaciousness opens up in my life, and the more life there is for me. I’m amazed at how much more time I have for myself. This feels right and true and good.
In that space though, I’m also noticing a couple of things that are new and unsettling:
What do I actually want?
So much of what I used to want I don’t want anymore. So much of what I used to care about I don’t care about anymore. Some things I have cared about for a long time I care about more than ever. I’m choosing to focus on this level of care as my true north.
Making decisions about where I want to put my energy at this stage of my life is so much more difficult than it used to be.
Decisions seem to carry more weight now. They’re more complex. I am more aware of consequences and aware of more consequences. My capacity at midlife is different. My energy is different. My longings are changing.
I’m noticing grief showing up in her glad rags with a few important reminders too: Choosing one thing usually means letting go of another. Decisions born of truth and power have a price. If they’re life-changing decisions, grief accompanies them.
One thing I’m learning is that asking myself what the “right” decision is isn’t necessarily helpful. Sometimes there are no “right” decisions, but “least worse” decisions. These days I lean towards asking myself, “Can I live with this decision? In five years’ time, if I don’t do this, will I be able to live with myself? What does my inner wise woman know and want for me?”
So… I made a big decision
My health has recently become a stronger focus. Niggling things I can’t ignore anymore that seem to start happening during midlife, along with something that has been with me since I was 14 years-old. I have severe scoliosis (curvature of the spine) that has continued to progress. After it was discovered – during a routine check in the change rooms at high school – my parents took me to an orthopaedic surgeon. He said, “Let’s keep an eye on it.” The curve wasn’t considered severe enough for a brace or surgery.
My parents took me to a chiropractor who suggested we get an inversion table so I could hang upside down. They did, and I did. He also said to do exercises holding a large can of fruit to build up strength on one side of my body. I thought that was dumb and didn’t do those exercises for long.
My scoliosis hasn’t caused me pain. This has been considered a miracle by the people who know about these things. As my curve has continued to progress my body has adapted in whichever ways it has needed to. These days that looks like obviously lopsided hips, a protruding rib cage on my right hand side behind me, and a curved spine that’s impossible to miss if I wear a strappy dress or singlet. Every time someone hugs me I wonder - and worry about - how obvious my back hump is. Every time I see a photo from a recent wedding I’ve officiated I see everything that’s misaligned.
Over the years I’ve had regular chiropractic treatment and massage, and have taken action to do more when I’ve heard about something potentially useful. I’ve always been told that there’s not much that can be done, and I’m lucky I don’t have pain, but one day it will get really bad and then I’ll need spinal fusion surgery. This has made me feel powerless. I want to avoid surgery if I can.
Scoliosis tends to be hereditary, and I discovered when my daughter Lila was 15 that she has it too. My chiropractor told me about a business that focuses solely on scoliosis. It started in Australia and is world-renowned. With their help, Lila managed to reduce her curve by doing exercises. Her posture is excellent. As long as she maintains her exercises she’s unlikely to have spinal progression and accompanying problems later in life.
Feeling hopeful, I took myself off for a visit for an opinion on my scoliosis. I didn’t receive an encouraging response. Four years and four degrees added to my curve later, I tried my luck again with a different practitioner in Melbourne, where we now live. He had taken care of Lila’s treatment for two years. I realised I’d been sizing him up for many months, to decide whether I felt comfortable to have him give me his opinion on my own condition. I asked him to be honest with me. I told him that while I want to be able to do something to support my spine and ideally stop its progression, I want him to tell me if what he’s offering will genuinely help - or not. He was positive that the treatment will help me. He suggested exercises and a brace. I immediately said yes.
It’s a decision that the me in five years’ time - at 59 years-old - and at 65 and 75 (and maybe even beyond) can live with in a way that feels powerful and clear.
I can’t tell you how daunted I felt though at the prospect of wearing a brace. Committing to daily exercises was one thing, but a brace? It confronts my vanity and the reality of ageing, and I was surprised by the level of vulnerability and fear I felt in the lead up to receiving it. The first time I put it on I wondered how on earth I’d manage. It’s rigid and tight. It digs in to my left armpit. It grates on my hip bones.
I can’t bend over when I’m wearing it. When I sit down at my desk to type I feel like I’m sitting sort of sideways. I had no idea it would be such a huge adjustment, nor the grief that would arrive with it.
I remind myself: No matter what decision I make, I can never know what all its consequences will be and what it will be like to live with that decision (it reminds me of when some people say they wouldn’t have had kids if they’d known what it would be like, before quickly adding before anyone judges them, “I love them more than anything and wouldn’t change it for the world.”). One thing I know for sure though is that an honest and wise decision helps me sleep at night. It can feel hard and peaceful at the same time. When I make the wrong call, because I’m not being honest with myself, it creates a layer of what I’ll call “truth-interference” that never quite goes away.
I’ve been doing my exercises for six weeks. They’re difficult. I often cry. I’m using muscles in ways they’ve never been used and I feel so… weak. I’ve had my brace for 10 days. I wear it for 3 hours a day, and that will increase to 4-6 hours. I’m hoping I’ll be able to wear it to bed. So far, my experience is a mix of so many things.
I felt different in my body after the first time I wore it for just one hour. My centre of gravity had shifted. It was palpable. After the second hour the next day I felt taller. My posture has already markedly improved. This brace is magical.
And - Sometimes I feel so annoyed wearing it that I want to throw it in the bin. I’ve fantasised about putting it in the huge bin in the refuse room of our apartment building, under a big pile of stinky garbage bags. I’ve been fighting it and I’ve been grumpy, sad and flat. Sometimes it’s extremely uncomfortable. Sometimes it’s tolerable.
And - The brace is making me slower. It makes me focus more on what matters. It makes me rest more. I’m reminded that I create my best work when I rest. I make my clearest decisions when I’m well-rested.
And - I know I have a choice: fight or surrender. I’m choosing the latter. I’ve named my brace “Isis,” after the goddess of spiritual surrender. She embodies the power of surrendering grief to gain strength. Every day, when I lie down on my yoga mat to put Isis on, I take a moment to make it a ritual. I take a few deep breaths. I thank Isis, from the bottom of my heart, for her support. When I feel agitation or struggle arising, I take a breath, put my hands on her and say, “Thank you” with all the love I can muster. When I’m wearing her, she’s in charge. I trust that surrendering to her will help me achieve the best results.
I’m committed. I want to be the woman who keeps promises to myself to look after myself.
That’s powerful.
So is surrender.
Need to make an important decision? I made this offering to help you. Light a candle to mark a moment of ritual. As you look at the offering, ask your inner wise woman what she knows and wants for you. Can you live with the decision you’re considering making? If you don’t do it, will you be able to live with yourself in five years’ time?
I also drew a card and asked that it be for everyone who reads this. It’s the Rest card. Perhaps, as you consider your decision, you’ll find more clarity when you rest. Perhaps it’s a reminder that you don’t have to do everything on your own. You’re always supported. Perhaps you just need a rest, or maybe it’s none of the ideas I’ve just written. Take from the card whatever feels true for you.
Thank you for being here. Writing these articles with you as my witness helps me stay true. It means more than you can know. I sincerely hope you find what I write useful.
If you’re new here, welcome. This space is where I write about owning our power, with a focus on love, loss, beauty and the tender art of being human.
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I read most of this will reread though. My right hip was giving me issues and after seeing a couple doctors the last one said I want you to see a spine doctor because I don’t think you need a hip replacement. The pain 😢 Saw the spine doctor and it’s my spine that’s causing the issue in my hip. Just found this out so he want me to do exercise then physical therapist in the coming weeks but he feel as though no surgery is needed. Praying for us both. Thanks for sharing this.