Actually, I can.

In one of my first memories I am standing on a school playground with my mother, on the day of grade primary orientation. I am shy, and hesitant but also excited and interested in making friends.
A sweet girl my age, with blond ponytails and a welcoming and fun spark of energy calls out to me to come play on the monkey bars. “She can’t play on those” my mother says. Both of us, myself and the pigtailed girl are visibly disappointed. Me understanding why, she having no idea.  This is my first strong memory of being “unfun” and “unable to join”.
My mother meant well and thought that if I dared to play on the monkey bars, or on the beach, or at the park, or in the damn kitchen, that I would end up back in the hospital. While this was valid in some capacity, it created a bubble it would take decades for me to break out of.
I was born with an ostium primum atrial septal defect with a cleft mitral valve; essentially, I had a hole in a valve of my heart. I had open-heart surgery at the age of four to repair the valve.
My memories of this time are very limited. I would dream of a toy chest in the ICU and ice cream carts in the middle of the night. The accurate things I do remember are moments of being told on repeat that I couldn’t do something. “You can’t run.” “You can’t play so long with your cousins.”  “You can’t use your arms to lift yourself up on monkey bars.”
Post surgery, as I aged, each check-up with my cardiologist was a success. I was doing well and wouldn’t need another surgery. I could play with my friends if I wanted. That is what my cardiologist wrote in my medical notes, which were sent off to my family doctor. That is what he told my mother. That is never what I was told. I learned this years later as an adult when I received copies of my old medical records. 
In 1989 (6 years post surgery) my cardiologist wrote: “Amanda is left with mild mitral regurgitation. She can be allowed fairly free activity. Anything that causes her significant respiratory distress she should continue to persevere with. She can be allowed whatever she feels comfortable with. I feel that her mother is a bit overcautious with Amanda and not really allowing her to do as much as she could”
In 1993 he simply wrote: “Amanda is allowed full normal activities”
Later in 2001 he wrote: “Remains asymptomatic from a cardiac point of view”. I heard this, but didn’t yet fully absorb the information for what it was, which is that I was okay.
By 2007 he wrote: “exertional shortness of breath which is very mild and is most likely related to deconditioning” I heard this too, but ignored it, still afraid to push myself.
Because I wasn’t privy to the information in my file back in 1989, I was careful. Really careful. I was careful not to run. I was careful not to lift heavy things or to play on monkey bars.  I was careful to avoid gym class in school and to never ever consider doing a push up or anything to build strength in my body. I was careful to never try to be strong.
At the same time that I was being careful, my mother too was being careful to keep me in a bubble. A bubble that I would later realize was created of her own anxiety. 
Anxiety which transferred onto me. Anxiety can keep those in a bubble who are not taught how to cope with fear.  Fear, which can be a driver to accomplishing big things.  We don't change or grow if we don’t challenge ourselves. We don’t thrive if we remain in a bubble. We don’t get strong.
So, I spent my life being anxious about a whole bunch of things.  About unnecessary things. I coped by saying no as my first instinct, never yes. By remaining weak. I would always consider first what rest I needed instead of what fun I could have. I was doing such an injustice to my heart, which my surgeon had dedicated his life to learning to fix, and had successfully fixed!  My heart was capable of allowing me to do whatever I wanted.  I just didn’t know, or feel, that for such a long time.
I honestly thought that if I were to exercise and cause my heart rate to increase too much that the valve that had been carefully and expertly fixed, would just come undone. I pictured an over-heated radiator that exploded under pressure. I imagined too much blood would flow through it too quickly and the force would cause it to break apart. And I would either die on the spot or need to have my chest cracked open again and live through another surgery.
As I let myself become more deconditioned by the minute, the world was being faced with a global pandemic.  I started hearing about the respiratory effects of the Covid-19 virus, and that unlike the regular flu, keeping your lungs and heart in use (as opposed to resting) can have positive effects. I don’t know if that is valid, but it certainly stuck with me and was a catalyst for me to be more respectful of my heart.
In April 2020 I couldn’t climb a set of 5 stairs without being out of breath, and I became a different kind of scared.  So, I did some research. I researched what a person’s maximum heart rate can safely be, and what is a good resting heart rate for a person my age. Knowledge is power, and as I learn time and again, it has the power to diminish my anxiety.  Having learned my maximum heart rate, I set a goal.  I would work to get my resting heart rate down.
I started slow, as one should do if they are to build manageable consistent habits. I walked on a treadmill on a slow pace for 15 minutes for a few days and gradually increased my time and pace. 
I began lifting 3-pound weights and working my lower body with squats and lunges.  And then, one day I did a standing push up from a table top.  My chest muscles were so tight. I could actually feel them pulling, and it really friggin’ hurt and was actually scary. But I reminded myself that it was just the muscles stretching, and I was going to build strength.   
Then I watched a short fitness video on Instagram that was posted by Andrea Marcellus, a fitness trainer in LA. She was showing people how to do push ups.  How to start slowly if you have to and to work your way up over a month with small steps.  She said “Push-ups are a metaphor for life. We feel the weight of the world on us. To be able to push your own damn self off the ground without help builds confidence and every time you do you get stronger in your mind and your body. When you can handle your own body weight you change as a person. Nothing can hold you down because you can always push yourself back up.” And I never forgot her saying that and it still motivates me today.
I do 10-20 push ups everyday now (sometimes reluctantly).  My heart rate has changed from 145bpm after mild exercise to 95bpm during brisk exercise.  My heart surgeon has passed away, and I want to tell him about my progress. I want to thank him and tell him his time was not wasted on me.  I want to be able to tell my mother too, to tell her that I am stronger than she led me to believe. Even if my mother were alive, I think the information would be lost on her.  So, I tell myself.  Repeatedly…  “Actually, I can.”

​This was just the beginning, and has been a huge catalyst in a much bigger journey of challenging my anxiety and fear. Nearly 2 years later, after finding multiple ways to push myself, and after some amazing (and borderline torturous sessions with my fantastic therapist) I've booked a trip to Kenya, Africa.  Which, is the furthest thing from reality I ever expected to say yes to, or have happen in my life.  The moral of my story is that if you are anxious and something is holding you back, and you don't want it to, you will do yourself a great service to take time to understand why you feel that way, and to learn what your triggers are. That work is hard and enlisting professional psychological support is important. I waited 40 years to do the work. I wish I'd done it sooner, but also feel like it is right on time.

The cover photo for this post is of me post surgery (you can see the tape over my incision).  It is hard as fuck for me to look at  – but I am trying to see a determined girl who is not limited by something she couldn't control – and I really owe this girl a an opportunity to see what is beyond an anchored boat!  She wasn’t given the tools before now, but now that she has them, she really can be quite limitless. 

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