Smashing Fear with Hope: LungLeavin’ Day

My daughter walks out of her bedroom in her new Elsa nightgown and my first response is, “Oh, honey, you are so pretty!” My son cries over a non-existent, three-week-old paper cut and I sharply say, “Don’t be so dramatic!”  I don’t keep every art project. I donate their toys without asking. I react insensitively to what might be authentic fear and worry. Sometimes I forget to kiss them goodnight. I interrupt and then tell them not to interrupt. I don’t drink milk. What kind of adult role model doesn’t drink milk? I worry about everything but don’t let on that I worry about anything.

As a parent, every move counts. Every word matters. Every action is reflective in the person your children will become. If that isn’t enough to scare the daylights out of you, I don’t know what is.

That is my fear. Am I good enough? Am I a good enough wife? A friend? A daughter? Mostly, though – if I’m speaking from the deepest part of my soul – I fear that I am not a good enough mother. When the first comment to my daughter is about her physical appearance, I immediately think of how I am negating her self-worth and intelligence. When I tell my son to toughen up and lessen his emotional theatrics, I worry that I’m crushing his sensitivity and forcing a meat-headed stereotype onto such a sweet little boy. I worry that they will remember something I did or said that hurt their feelings and will forget all the love and joy and happiness I hope I bring them on a daily basis.

Everyone has a fear. A deep, dark, rarely-verbalized fear that sits in your psyche and eats away at your confidence. This is mine. And I’m so thankful that this is mine. The kind of mother I am is something in which I have all the control. It affects my mind, but not my body. It isn’t something that comes up at a doctor visit or requires health insurance. It simply is what it is and for that, I am thankful. I’m thankful it’s not something worse and that my fear is not sickness or death or missing out on the lives of my growing children.

Some people are not that lucky. For some people, those fears are real. They are part of their physical, everyday lives. My late Aunt Jeanne, my boss, my friend’s dad, my 19-year old co-worker, my late Grandpa. These people have battled, or are battling, various forms of cancer. Some have lost. Some have won. But ALL have inspired me.

I’d like to tell you about a woman who defines inspiration. Know what else she defines? Hope. Bravery. Courage. And my favorite – Optimism.  I recently received an email from fellow Minnesota mom Heather Von St. James, who, nine years ago – just three months after having her daughter – was diagnosed with an aggressive cancer called mesothelioma and was given only 15 months to live. Now that is a cause for fear.

On February 2, 2005, Heather underwent a surgery that removed her lung and she nicknamed that day “LungLeavin’ Day.” It is celebrated every year, and guess what? Heather is still around to celebrate with us! In the email, she asked if I would be willing to open up about my personal fears to help her spread awareness and also request others’ participation in LungLeavin’ Day, which is now a fundraiser for mesothelioma awareness. I was more than honored to participate and promote her good fight, and I invite you to join me.

LungLeavin’ Day is a day for smashing your fears.

Heather was tired of living in fear, so every February 2 she invites folks everywhere to write their fears on a plate and smash it as a symbolic dedication to living life without fear. The event grows bigger every year and has raised over $7,000. The video telling her story is really quite beautiful. In it, she says, “I don’t get into the dire ‘what could happen’ because I don’t operate that way. We operate from a place of hope and a place of living in the moment.” She is beyond inspirational.

Her motto is With Hope, the Odds Don’t Matter. Take that motto and face your fears head-on this year. Maybe my daughter will take up modeling and my son will join the football team to “prove” something to themselves that I may have accidentally impressed upon them. Maybe they will view me as a hypocrite or a hard ass or a fun killer. Maybe they will stop drinking milk because “mom never does.” Maybe… maybe… maybe a lot of things. But, I HOPE they will be who they are and know who they are and love who they are because I loved them enough. I taught them enough. I was good enough.

I will be smashing my plate on February 2 and invite you to smash yours. Life is too short to live in the what-if category. Live with hope and bravery, love with all your heart and celebrate life, no matter the depth of your battle.

Please share Heather’s story and help raise cancer awareness. 

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Now it’s your turn!

What is your fear? What would your plate say?