Letting Go

If I had to pick a theme for 2014 it would be “Let go.” It was a lesson I learned over and over again as I faced some of the most difficult times in my life. 

This year I sat in my sister’s corner as she fought bravely against her cancer and won.  I am(was) the ultimate control freak, but I knew this was beyond me.  I let go.  I prayed hard, laughed when I could, cried when no one was looking, and did my best to hold our household and family together.  What’s more, I let go of the little stuff too.  If people are mean, they’re probably just hurting.  If I don’t have enough money, it will come. It always has.  Stupid argument with my husband?  Totally not worth not cuddling over.  I wouldn’t wish this experience on anyone, but I’m truly a better person for it.  

And just when I think I have it all figured out, my devastating trip to and subsequent deportation from Japan rears its ugly head.  I wanted that fight so badly.  I felt that if I had done one of a million little things differently, I would have the story of a lifetime instead of jet-lag and a broken heart… And then, in a seemingly unrelated story, Kevin Ross (one of the best kick boxers in the sport) fought for the same promotion at the end of this year and won.  His win was reversed, by the promoter, in the locker room.  WHAT?  While I’m sorry this happened to him, it allowed me to let go.  This same promoter tried so hard to “ice” me that I didn’t get to fight.  That’s all there was to it.  I was amazed at how tightly I was still holding on, and didn’t even know it.

I live how I fight and fight how I live, and in September I learned how to let go in the cage, aaaand I let my knees go… possibly my personal highlight of the year. (Please enjoy the video below)

Now it’s time to let 2014 go and I can’t say I’m in the least bit sorry.  I’m ready to see the days get longer, my sis get healthier, and I’m ready for the lessons 2015 has for me.

Breast Cancer Awareness

Two months after my sister's diagnosis, I finally cried.  She triggered it with a facebook post expressing her deep gratitude for the time I took to shave her head.  I asked the stupidest question in the world, “Why?” Like cancer has a reason, like it’s fair for anyone to go through this. 

I thought I was aware.  I do my monthly exams.  My grandmother had a mastectomy,  I’ve seen the pretty bald ladies on posters and the cover of pamphlets, and it’s impossible to miss the pink ribbons.  I didn’t know… I can’t say that I do now, or that you will after reading this, but this is what breast cancer awareness has become for me: I see my sis fighting to go to work, through the side effects of chemo, and come home to a son that needs more than she has to give.  I see her overwhelmed by paperwork, appointments, finances, and relationships... And she still rallied to take Ollie trick-or-treating. 

I’ve always said that you will see a person’s true character when they have every excuse to be intolerable.  I have watched her every day as she puts on her game face for the whole world.  She comforts people as they cry for her.  I’ve watched her put her feelings aside and accept everyone else’s reactions to her cancer (appropriate, judgmental, thoughtless, and downright mean) with grace and dignity.  She is grateful to work when she can, and grateful to her job for understanding when she can’t.  She keeps her head up and her shoulder down.  She is going to beat this.

In life’s nastiest moments, the only thing we can control is our own outlook.  I’m sure I’m not done with the tears.  I’m sure she isn’t either.  I am also sure that we’ve been making each other laugh for 34 years now, and we’re not done with that either.

Amanda and Oliver with her "Chemo Pac" from ItAintChemo.org

The Power of Mom

I know everyone thinks their mom makes the best potato salad in the world, but mine actually does.  It’s been clinically proven. On a more important note, she raises strong, empowered, free thinking women, because she is one too.  In a world where a pretty face and thin body can skew priorities, she taught me what really matters.

She told me I was beautiful through my awkward years.  She encouraged me to participate in activities where I would be valued for my creativity, athleticism, and intellect.  She found the money for me to dance when she was a single mother of two.  She rarely missed a game, a judging competition, or an opportunity to give me a hug.  She taught me to take care of myself and to care for everyone around me (especially when no one is looking).  When I shared a new dream or goal, it was never impossible, we just needed to make a plan.

She didn’t just tell me I could do anything, she lived it.  If a fence needs building, you build it.  If your kids need a horse costume for a pep rally and you live where renting isn’t an option, you put one together.  She worked full time as a teacher and cooked dinner from scratch every night.  She never complained about it being too much or being tired, not once.  She always had her garden and her book for herself, and plenty of time and energy for dancing with us in the kitchen.  She also chose a partner who is worthy of her awesomeness, which is not easy when you’re that awesome.  She married a good man that appreciates and respects her, and also knows that she can do anything.

I saw a video on facebook in which Taryn Brumfitt  asks women to describe their bodies in one word.  Sadly most women said “fat” “imperfect” “stumpy” etc… My words would be “capable” “athletic” “powerful” “beautiful”.

Thanks Mom.

Why I Don't Celebrate My Birthday

“You’re not old!” 

I know.  In fact I’m pretty proud of how awesome I am at 36.  I happen to suffer from severe depression as the weather changes from winter to spring.  My birthday falls right in the middle of all that, and I don’t feel like celebrating anything.  It’s not Vitamin D, or it would happen during the winter.  It’s common among fighters, and while I’m sure the head trauma doesn’t help, I’ve been this way since childhood… long before I ever put on the boxing gloves.  Depression is not rational.  I can’t speak for everyone, but here is my truth:

I feel like my spirit shrinks back two inches from my skin, like I’m trying to separate myself from the world and protect those I love from the sorrow I can’t stop.  My skin hurts and my body aches.  I can’t stop myself from crying at work, or at dinner, or any other number of public places, for no other reason than because I’m depressed.  When anyone asks what’s wrong I can’t say “I suffer from depression”, because that seems to trivialize the magnitude of what I’m feeling.  So I suffer alone.

I hate how I feel, and I know some things that will help, but I just can’t force myself to do it.  When I hear people say (usually after someone they know takes their own life) “If you are depressed, get help!”  I think, it must seem so simple to the rational mind, but depression is not rational.  And for the record “getting help” can leave you with a counter full of prescriptions, each to combat the side effects of the last, and numb from the neck up. 

So what are you supposed to do if you love someone who suffers from depression?  You can help in the simplest of ways…

Keep loving us.  Even in the worst moments, it’s a comfort.

Let us know it’s OK to be sad and there’s nothing wrong with a little extra sensitivity.

Hugs are good medicine, even if only a temporary reprieve.

Gently nudge us toward the things that will make us feel better.  For me that means exercise, doing something to lift someone else’s spirits, or spending time with my nephew.

Don’t feel like any of this is your responsibility, if you love us unconditionally, it’s all you can do.

PLEASE don’t list all the things for which we have to be grateful.  I know you mean well, but it really makes me feel worse.  I know I have all these blessings. I’m still sad.  I’m really F’ed up.  I judge myself.  I feel more alone because that person doesn’t understand me at all.  It’s like saying “You have no reason to feel what you feel.”

I think our society separates depression from other mental illnesses, like it’s a choice.  If someone has autism, OCD, or Tourette’s syndrome, we applaud them for their efforts to lead “normal functional lives".  We are taught to look for the beauty in their spirits.  Depression makes your spirit shrink, but it’s still there, and it’s still beautiful.

White Belt Pride

I’ve always been kind of proud of my clean, white, belt.  I guess it has something to do with my base in kickboxing, and the fact that people would introduce me as a “black belt” because that somehow held more valor than the fact that I was just a fighter.  That, in combination with a bunch of different systems, self promotions, and expensive belt tests led me to this:  My growth has never been marked with tape, a new color of belt, or any other kind of promotion.  It is mine.  I’ve discovered my personal milestones only as I’ve reached them.  My white belt represents my freedom from any specific discipline, yet I can learn from them all.  I proudly own this humble symbol of "one who has a lot to learn."

I took my first Jiu Jitsu class this week.  It was humbling to say the least.  No one expects much from a white belt with no stripes… except me…I’ve been grappling for years and I’m pretty comfortable with ground fighting.  This was very different.  Not only does the gi prevent 90% of my game from working, but took me to a level of discomfort resembling claustrophobia.  In truth, I was only going to support the new “women’s class” and because I’ve been nagging my husband to get back into his gi.  What I found was a new challenge, a new way to push myself, and a new milestone in humility.

My motivation has always been intrinsic and I’ve given little thought to belts, championship or colored.  I just want to learn and grow.  I can’t let my pride in my white belt get in the way of that.

www.KatieCasimir.com

Not exactly sure what Shannon & I are doing here... But here I am, in a gi! 

Mirrors

Be careful when you look at your reflection.  There are mirrors that make you look small.  They can motivate you to become bigger, but can inspire self-loathing if you look too long.  There are mirrors that can make you look big.  They show you what is possible, but can seduce you into complacency if you look too long.  A glimpse is good, but remember it is a reflection of possibilities, not an accurate representation of who  you are… because you are awesome, not perfect, and exactly where (and who) you are supposed to be right now.  

The Culture of the Weight Cut

French Fighter: “I’m a man, I don’t need to cut weight to compete!”

American Fighter: “Be a man and get your ass in the sauna!”

Cutting weight is one of the most controversial aspects of weight class based sports.  If you’re not familiar, cutting weight is a process of rapid dehydration to put your body at its lowest possible weight, while maintaining your body mass.  This allows you to be larger than you should be, and should give you an advantage in competition.  The fact that everyone generally does the same thing means that we actually do it to negate a disadvantage.

When I tell people that I lose 10lbs in one day, they look at me like I look at parents that give their toddlers soda.  “WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?  WHY ON EARTH WOULD YOU DO THAT?” I guess the idea of being “healthy” is a matter of paradigm.  I know cutting weight is bad for me, as is taking head trauma, and depending on who you ask, the list doesn’t end there…

I’m not exactly sure why fighters cut weight in the U.S. while Europe and Japan tend to fight in their natural weight classes.  I suspect it stems from our wrestling culture, and body building culture which seems to be inexplicably linked to MMA.  I can only speak to the American mentality, but having a French husband has caused me to take a closer look at something I’ve always just accepted as the way things are.

I think we all start out, to some degree, thinking like the French fighter.  Dieting is not fun, and done improperly can seriously derail your training.  Dehydrating yourself is even less fun.  Then there are the tragic stories of guys dropping dead on the scale, and the ones that didn’t make it that far…  Everybody in the gym has an opinion and advice, some of it’s helpful, some of it is horribly wrong.  Most of us would prefer to avoid all of that… in the beginning.

However, at some point, our paradigms shift.  First, you become aware that if you want to be competitive, it’s part of the game.  Then, you start to look for your advantages too.  It becomes something like picking up an accent or a style of dress, the culture becomes a part of who you are.  Some commit to the process kicking and screaming, some learn to embrace it, but everyone gets there eventually.

 For me, it’s extremely spiritual, a purification before battle.  It is a test of my strength and will, unparalleled even by the fight.  It’s a time you spend with those closest to you on your journey to the cage… No one else would brave those hours in the sauna, steam room, or hotel bathroom.  It’s a time of meditation.  My focus on my breathing and relaxing keeps my mind above the discomfort of my body.  It also distracts me from the anxiety of the coming fight.  Making weight is a battle of its own.

It’s always easy to judge the strange practices of another culture, but until you have immersed yourself in that culture, there is no way for you to truly understand.  I don’t glorify the process. I don’t ignore the dangers.  I am an adult who is capable of assessing both, and making my own choices, based on my cultural paradigm.

www.KatieCasimir.com