Bootstraps, Stiff-Upper-Lips, and Other Useless Coping Mechanisms

By: JANA GREENE

Some days, I just need to have

a teeny-tiny Nervy-B.

And not have to worry about

yanking myself up

by my bootstraps.

Because,

I’m not even wearing boots at all.

I seem to be wearing

emotionality Crocs –

my feelings just as bulky, utilitarian,

and full of holes as a worn-in pair,

(a pair that is – of course –

completely strapless.)

Since the bootstrap method

isn’t working out,

shall I try the “stiff upper lip”?

Channel the ways of my ancestors,

those British stiff-upper-lippers,

And the Irish, stoic in the face of

calamities and potato famines.

Or worse, wail like a banshee

stuck in the quicksand of grief?

Slowly going under, trapped.

Or…

If my spirit feels beat-up

battered, and bruised,

shall I approach this trial

as a soldier?

Standing firm, poker-faced,

trained to tamper down feelings

and alchemize them into rage?

“I’ll give you something to cry about,”

it says,

not realizing I’ve had a lifetime

of things to cry about,

and right at this minute, cancer

is waiting for her

emotional release.

Yes, some days I really just need

a mini Nervy-B.

I’m giving the boot to

pulling myself up –

because I could really use a hand.

I’m giving my emotions

a safe place –

because I could really use

my own permission to feel.

And I’m quitting the “armed” services –

laying down the weapons

I use against myself.

Telling the rage-filled

Drill Instructor in my head

to shut the f*ck up,

please and thank you.

Because this is my Soft Era,

cancer or not.

And tears are welcome here.

Blessed be, friends.