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Messages in the Shower

I’ve had many reflections over this recent full-blue moon on August 30th. Have you? Please comment if you have!

One reflection I had is, exactly two years to the date I started Chemotherapy to rid my body of breast cancer cells. So, this full moon reflection got me thinking.

Who hasn’t written something in the steamed glass of a shower stall? Maybe you transcribed your wishes, hopes, and grocery lists? Or prayers, poetry, thoughts, ideas. What’s beautiful about the steamed glass is that you can instantly wipe away your message if needed. Or if you don’t, the next time you shower and the words appear as the humidity hits, you’re reminded of your past shower scribbles.

I haven’t written a blog post about cancer lately because it’s not on my mind, or at least I’ve forced it to the back of my mind because I’m not actively battling it. I’ve put the sword down. I finished all treatments and surgeries over eight months ago, yet what comes back to me in memory blasts is the trauma, the battle I went through, and the messages I wrote on my shower stall.

I’ve wanted to move to a new abode that doesn’t remind me of what I went through as I battled through the drudgery of illness, especially in my bathroom and shower. Oh, that room saw the worst of it. And the best of it. If that bathroom mirror could talk…it saw a woman go through many physical and emotional stages of change; I’m not sure my reflection could dialogue it all. But the shower, oh, that shower.

Now, when I get in this shower with its fake but not gaudy white marbled wall tiles and glass sliding doors that enclose it, I remember that this is where I battled cancer with long warm showers or baths to ease my pain and discomfort. This is also the place I saw my hair fall out and swirl around the white bathtub before it made its way into the drain. This is where I sat on the shower floor, too weak to stand, for hours to alleviate the nausea and pain. It was also where I cried while I ached and wondered if I would ever get past this stage of my life. I would enclose myself in a safe cocoon of water and try to steam away the hell.

Back then, every time I stepped into the shower or took a long bath, I’d write love notes to myself on the steamed shower glass. I’d write everything from I love you, Laurie. Keep it together, stay strong; wow, this sucks; you can make it another week, another day, you can make it another hour. Sometimes, I’d draw flowers or anything pleasant. I wrote these things to myself, and then I would scratch them away because I felt if I wiped away the message in the steamed glass, I could remove the reality of what I was going through, but it wouldn’t get rid of anything. Because within hours, at the worst of it, I would be back in that shower looking for relief.

The shower became my respite, safe place, and elusive desire when I could not shower for weeks after surgeries when I could not get wet. Or when radiation side effects caused too much discomfort to be in a shower. At that time, I desired a shower or a bath more than anything in my life. When I couldn’t shower, I lost what felt like my best friend, my sanctuary. Mainly because I had nowhere to write my steamed shower messages to remind myself everything would be OK. Sure, I could write on paper, but being in my shower extinguished the pain enough and helped me feel I could write.

So, tonight, on this full blue moon, as I was showering, now healthy and beyond it all, I wrote myself love messages that have nothing to do with cancer; I wrote things like, Hey Laurie, remember to hug yourself. Hey Laurie, remember to stretch. Or hey, Laurie, feed the cats. Sometimes, I write my prayers for others I love on the glass stall.

Everyone can relate that the shower is a space that can spiritually wash away the day’s negative energies, but also, it’s the place where we can disappear when we need an escape. It’s where we can cry, sing, or laugh out loud. Or a place we can make love. Lord knows showers are an excellent place for that if you don’t slip. And a place to draw a heart in the steamed glass of your beloved’s name, and they do the same in return.

Showers are miraculous, and I am so grateful to be back in mine, even the one I fought in, because it’s different now. It’s full of gratitude. Instead of looking at my shower as a place of battle, I look at it as my championship court where I revel, celebrate, and write messages of achievement. And my to-do list.

© Laurie Markvart 2023

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Island Poem

I haven’t written a poem in three years. I’ve written song lyrics but not a poem for the sake of being just that. A poem. Words that rhyme and tell a story and take a heart somewhere. And yet poetry was my first love, even before music. So, welcome back the words and the joy.

Isn’t it stunning when we change our whereabouts, silence our racing mind, and let our muse come alive again? What is yours?

So, here on the island of Kauai, Hawaii, on a mini-vacation, I brought my journal/notebook/songbook/idea planner, lol, you get it – papers that are bound together for potential words, and out came a poem. I was staring at the stunning ocean, and the words came. Words had been vacant, but they arrived with the salt-dabbed winds of the Pacific:

Inspiration comes from nowhere,
And yet everywhere.
The browning of a leaf’s end,
The flowering of a dare.
The start of something new,
The ending of a flame.
Troubled thoughts that escape,
Feelings of love that remain.
Knowing when it’s done,
Believing love is not to be won.
Trials, passings, how time endures,
Facing our misgivings but reality cures.
Inspired by a breath to have, don’t forget.
No time travel back, no regret.
Faith in a future that’s yet to give,
A heart left open, time to live.

© 2023 Laurie Markvart

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Goodreads Giveaway for Mental Health Awareness Month

Somewhere in the Music, I'll Find Me by Laurie Markvart

Somewhere in the Music, I’ll Find Me

by Laurie Markvart

In honor of Mental Health Awareness Month in May, Goodreads is giving away 14 signed and personalized hardcover copies of my book. Enter to win a free book between May 21 to May 31.

Please know you are not alone in your mental health struggles. My book has resources but also here:

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-TALK (8255) – Available 24/7

NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness) is Available 24/7, confidential, free crisis counseling. Crisis Text Line: text HOME or NAMI to 741741

SIMS Foundation – Emotional wellness and support for the music community in Austin, Texas. http://www.simsfoundation.org

I’m sending love and positive light to everyone.

XO, Laurie

See the giveaway details at Goodreads.

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My Top 5 Ways to Stop an Anxiety Attack!

Anxiety sucks. It’s been my constant companion for most of my life.

If you’re like me and deal with anxiety, it may present itself differently for you. Each person has unique triggers and experiences. Nonetheless, it is unpleasant, sometimes leads to an all-out panic attack, and can be debilitating and embarrassing in public. But if you have anti-anxiety tools, it is possible to regulate yourself to a calm state.

Please note: I am not a doctor, psychotherapist, or medical professional. These are tips that I’ve learned through therapy, research, and experience in the anxiety trenches. Please get in touch with your doctor or other mental health professionals if you need immediate help or think you may harm yourself.

My anxiety started in my early teens with overthinking situations. Living in an unpredictable, emotionally charged home with a bipolar mother coupled with typical teen pressures, I’d chew my nails or retreat into playing music to ease the discomfort of repetitive thoughts of how to prepare for situations or get myself out of them.

Anxiety escalated in my twenties, but I’d quell it with alcohol (not recommended), intermittent anti-anxiety medication, exercise, and talk therapy. But even those “helpers” never solved high-voltage anxiety attacks that came with intense, invasive negative thinking. If they happened in public, they left me exhausted, mentally tortured, and on the run from social situations. I knew I needed more tools, but it was also a time when society would not openly discuss mental illness. And there was no Google to get community answers. I felt alone and isolated, which is not great for someone already stuck in their head.

My anxiety went full-blown epic in my thirties when I became a parent. Terrifying, distorted visions of something tragic happening to my child overtook my mind. Hormone changes and post-partum depression would leave me in a state of fear. Negative invasive thoughts would be on repeat. If I were in public with my child, I’d get a tightness in my chest and shoulders and sometimes dizzy. My way to cope was to remove myself from situations I knew I could be triggered. But there were times it seemed like life itself was a trigger. As I state in my memoir Somewhere in the Music, I’ll Find Me, which tackles mental illness head-on, “My anxiety was like walking on my own eggshells. My brain was a loaded gun, and I didn’t know my triggers.”

As the years progressed, and recently after a breast cancer diagnosis, I realized the time had come to find tools to pause the anxiety or stop it. I couldn’t heal from cancer in a constant state of fear. If I could discover tools for in-the-moment anxiety attacks, I could use these actions to quell the swirling thoughts, stomach unease, dizziness, and the urge to run. Especially if I were in cancer centers facing treatments, surgeries, and tests.

So here we go. Here are my TOP 5 ways to stop an anxiety attack!

  1. GROUNDING – Touch a wall or a chair with your hands and focus on the sensation. Observe the room and internally describe the color of the walls, furniture, etc., in detail to yourself. Take your shoes and socks off, and feel the ground beneath you. This grounding tool of focus and presence will get you out of a panicked feeling. As well, get up and move your body. Body movement helps! Shake things out.
  2. DEEP BREATHING – Put one hand on your chest and one on your belly, and take at least ten deep breaths. In through your nose and out your mouth. The kind you feel down to your stomach. There are many anti-anxiety breathing techniques out there. Google for more!
  3. ACCEPTANCE – Accept where you are and what is happening (unless the situation is harmful to you – leave!), but for example, if you’re at a concert and crowds trigger your anxiety, look around and accept that it’s simply a concert. And you’re okay! It is what it is!
  4. GO WITH THE FLOW – Don’t fight it. For example, if you’re leaving that concert and the crowd is frustrating (typical feeling even for those without anxiety), go with the flow of the situation. Don’t amp yourself up by stressing about the number of people and the time it will take to get to your car. Also, use #1 and #2 at this time.
  5. GOD and FAITH that EVERYTHING will be okay – I say mantras and prayers to still myself, which greatly helps. As well, be gentle and kind to yourself. Treat yourself like you’d treat someone else struggling. Don’t be saying to yourself: “What is wrong with you? Pull your sh*t together!” Instead, be like: “Uh-oh, we’re not feeling so good, and that’s okay. Time to use our tools.” 

So, there it is…ground, deep breathe, accept, go with the flow, and faith. When I apply all five, I can reduce my anxiety attack significantly.

Lastly, if you’re in public and an anxiety attack hits, go to the nearest restroom stall for privacy (maybe not take your shoes off). Or go to your car. Anywhere that is private and calm. Believe me; I’ve found restrooms in the middle of Time Square, the Hollywood Bowl, Heathrow Airport, and even a music festival Porta Potty (during this one, I only used numbers three to five). And most of all, if you can have a laugh at the situation, that’ll help the most.

Just remember, you’re not alone.

You can find the video of my Top Five here:

Somewhere in the Music, I’ll Find Me: A Memoir can be found on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and ordered through any bookstore: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0B6RWLV2T?ref_=cm_sw_p_kb_dp&tag=kpembed-20&linkCode=kpe

© 2023 Laurie Markvart

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Poetic Musings

Her eyes, her eyes,
I know the blue,
The depths and hue.
For they are mine too.

Her hands, delicate and frail,
Her spirit strong,
She fought to no avail.
The mirror she looked upon
To see herself was me.

She was a force, a shrew,
At times there was no clue,
Which way this woman would waif,
So burdened, bruised, and blue.

She’d shine so high,
She’d fall, we’d cry.
Her heart was ours,
Her way-our disguise,
She made many a surprise.

She is the power, the shame,
For there is no one to blame.
She casts a glow, a heartfelt blow,
Never to show.

Empowers many, disables few,
Takes hearts and destroys any clue.

She created me,
I am bewildered, amazed, and amused.
She’s everything I see, and,
Every memory I flee.

© Laurie Markvart

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I started this blog and then stopped. And then started. And stopped. Primarily due to extreme heat in the Los Angeles area. Well, my laptop gets hot (bad battery). But the heat left weeks ago. So in between the heat going and me starting to write this again, I stopped. What’s my excuse? I have no idea. But I started writing again, so here we are. No longer in between.

The “in-between.” That time between saying you’ll do something and doing it. Like, when I said I’d write this blog and the time it was published.

In life, we are often in-between jobs, relationships, vacations, and places. The in-between can be exciting and fun. Or it can be frustrating and scary. It all depends on how we handle it. 

How about booking a vacation? Between the flight confirmation and the actual trip, I fantasize about vacation clothes, activities, and the restaurants I’ll visit. I also reserve the best deals at the best places in advance. There is nothing like the desired snorkel trip, and it’s sold out when you arrive because you didn’t book it. But vacation planning can get excessive. I know! I like to plan so there are no surprises, but it can be detrimental as I get anxious with “what ifs” during that in-between stage. That’s not how
to live! But I minimally want to know where I’m gonna lay my head. And let me tell you why.

Back in the late 70s, when my parents took us on long-haul road-trip vacations, like from Wisconsin to Florida, the only way my parents could get directions was through their travel memories and a foldable paper map. This was long before mobile phones, onboard navigation, and Google. My mom would sit passenger and navigator my father’s driving. This was fine until my dad would get hell-bent on seeing how far he could drive every day. It was like he’d be on a driving “bender.” Sure, we’d stop mid-drive for potty breaks or gas, but his personal driving goal would be forefront until he’d cave into my mom’s begging to pull over “for the kids.” At her urging, he’d surrender to the next motel at the next exit IF it had a vacancy. Or he’d keep driving for the next motel! And the hope that a restaurant was still open. Mom’s premade ham sandwiches and Chex snack mix could only get us so far. But a blinking motel vacancy light was a friendly beacon to my weary brother and me in the back seat. 

The glove box of our 1970s Plymouth station wagon was stuffed with many unsuccessfully unfolded maps. I was amused at my dad’s tenacity, apparent road vendetta, and my mom’s failed attempts to re-fold a paper map. I must say, it is an art to re-fold a paper map. Have you tried it? 

So, when I travel, I like to know my full itinerary ahead of time: Flights, hotel, is there a mini-bar or late-night room service? 

Oh, I have another “in-between” example. Say you bought a house but haven’t got the keys yet, but you’re already buying decorations at Target and fixtures at Home Depot? Whoops! I’ve done this one, home buying – twice, and purchased furnishings in advance! I think it’s normal to plan! There is a lot of fun in this. But I’ve learned with home buying that nothing is guaranteed until the contract is signed and the keys are in hand. Literally, the keys are in hand. Things can change, the result not being as expected, and you’re left with decorations and fixtures for a house you didn’t get. 

It’s normal to fantasize, plan, and prepare, yet it can take away from the present, especially when we can’t do a damn thing about the future. How about the in-between moment of taking a final exam at school and waiting for the results? Or waiting for pathology reports or blood test results? Filing your tax returns and waiting? So, it’s important how we handle the in-betweens. Because the in-between is all, we have. During these times, we must focus on being present and not worrying about what is to come. Easy for me to say, yes? No, it’s not easy. Cancer showed me the truth about scanxiety (anxiety over scans), so I’m learning to stay present between the scan and the result. Still sucks, though.

Now, I’ve had other in-betweens that were beautiful! My most anticipated and longest in-between was when I was pregnant with my son. During those nine months, the in-between, I was very excited about what he would look like, and I even fantasized as far ahead of who’d he become as an adult. It was a beautiful time, and I remember every moment while pregnant. The hopes and expectations. The burps, morning sickness, skin tags, the gorgeous belly, healthy silky hair, and the knowing I’d be blessed with a human who’d call me Mom. But as much as I thought about him during that nine-month in-between,  nothing prepared me for his full head of jet-black hair and dimples at his birth. Oh, those dimples. To this day, those dimples have won him many a mother-son battle. I never once thought about dimples during the in-between because that’s the point: the unexpected can and will happen with anything and everything. It can be unthinkable or beautiful.

While writing about this blog, I’ve thought about how I’ve been in-between. I finished this blog, yet during it, I floated between starting and ending many other moments of life – good and bad. And I remained as present as possible without worrying about what would come next except finishing this blog.

I wish you the best in-between for whatever or wherever you may be.

©Laurie Markvart

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Poetic Musings

Gotta find that girl,
The one with less fear,
The one in first gear, 
Much more fun.

She had a lot.
But no reflection,
To connect the dots.
She ran on empty,
In search of love,
Forgot original plot.

She’ll get back,
A destination, a thought.
Spirit prevails while heart fails,
Forgive the sin, the trials.
The mirror clears,
After all these many, many years.

Who is she? She will know again.
The girl who never gave in. 


© Laurie Markvart
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Memories in Boxes of Love in Storage Locker #39

I stumbled on a journal entry about my mom that I wrote in 2017, a year after she passed. I’m glad I kept it. And that I found it, stuffed between my other journals and books in a box labeled “stuff” at the back of my closet.

The journal entry now gives me insight into an agonizing time when memories were not formed but discarded.

When Mom passed, I was with her, an agreement we had previously made, and the experience hypnotized me. We were very close. Those memories of her departing are beautiful and crystal clear. But I have shreds of anxious, heartbreaking memories in the weeks, months, and year after her death, the year I refused to return to Wisconsin and sort out her belongings. No one was pressuring me to return. My brother and his family were dealing with their grief and were in no rush to sort through Mom’s stuff. Who wanted to go through a storage locker of someone else’s memories? Or was it our memories too?

A week after Mom’s death, I returned home to Los Angeles and back to an entertainment job I thought I could handle while processing grief. But was I processing? I sure put on a happy face and dove back into a job I was satisfied with, but it was not enough to distract me. Her memory infiltrated almost every hour of the day, and the idea of returning to her storage locker gave me an ache that meant I’d have to admit she was gone. So, I had no problem writing a monthly check for $119 to the storage unit in Wisconsin to hold her possessions, and apparently, my grief.

I was numb. I was a robot to my job, boyfriend, music, and my teenage son. That worried me the most. But her loss plagued me, and I thought, who was I, without the woman who made me?

Within two months of her passing, my son and I took a trip to Hawaii, in which I thought beaches, a Luau, and a rented Corvette convertible would uplift me; and provide my son and me time to regroup. But I discovered a Corvette or even Hawaii couldn’t fix a broken heart.

In the months after Hawaii, I fantasized what Mom would tell me about returning to Wisconsin to sort out her things. About getting my life back in order. How would she tell me to grieve her? I did feel an instinctive push to get back to music, writing and I’d find the answer on how to move on.

Six months after her passing, I quit my entertainment job and returned to writing a memoir I started in 2011. A memoir I thought was about me, but it became just as much about her, which in turn, is me. Unknowingly, writing the memoir became an outlet for me to process her death. As I continued writing through guttural tears, moments of laughter, and some anguishing and joyful memories, I knew I could handle the trip back to Wisconsin.

Finally, 15 months after her passing, in September of 2017, I returned home, and my brother and I opened her storage locker. The monthly payments kept her items safe from thieves but not from the ravaging season of Midwest summer humidity and frozen winter. Mold had grown up the legs of furniture and into boxes, papers, journals, and photos we didn’t think we cared about until we did. There was an odor to that storage locker that was part mold, mothballs, and dashes of her (which meant the smell of cigarettes and Fendi). It smelled like home. Which meant the woman I ached for over the past 15 months was now all around me. To sort through her belongings, notes, and writings, I knew I was getting the chance to know her again. And a chance to know the new me.

My journal entry from the day after opening Mom’s storage locker:

September 5, 2017, Wisconsin

I’m not sure how to connect my thoughts. I’ve come home. This is where she lived; I once lived. We all lived, and some still live. I’m here to clean out her belongings. To create space. To recoup costs. To close her physical life. To open mine. I look at her storage unit, and it just looks like stuff, shit. Before she died, all this stuff, this shit was vital to her. And I get it! We humans consume, create and collect stuff. Either physically or emotionally. I’m overwhelmed by her shit because I care about it. Much of her shit was about me, my brother, and our family. I care. Now, how do I separate her shit from mine? From protecting it to throwing or selling?

Today was travel from CA to WI. But it’s the first time I’ve come back home, and she’s not here. Tonight I rest. Tomorrow, I know there’s a lot of work. But also a lot of love. All documented in boxes. Boxes in storage unit #39, to be exact, of her.

© 2022 Laurie Markvart

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Awareness!!!

12:19am January 1, 2020.

Champagne flowing, celebration happening. New Years 2020!!!

My eyes were closed to the past and my heart open to the future but I knew deep in my gut that something was wrong. And I’m not talking impending pandemic.

The perfect night could not quiet my anxiety over the pending biopsy test results that came the next day. Breast cancer.

I’ve been fighting this since January 2020 but why so long? I had a successful surgery in Feb 2020. And then the pandemic hit. I chose not to do the recommended treatment (chemo) because of Covid. Thousands did the same thing. They put off testing, procedures, surgeries. And look where we still are: Covid. 🙄

BUT honestly – I was in denial. I felt surgery was enough coupled with a naturopathic approach to healing. And it worked for a while but the cancer dragon showed she wasn’t ready to give up. So I won’t either.

October is breast cancer awareness month. This topic has become what some insiders in the community call “pink fatigue” or more serious: “pinkwashing.” Which means: the act of supporting the breast cancer cause or promoting a pink ribbon product while producing manufacturing or selling products linked to the disease.

Okay, not all companies and organizations exploit breast cancer and not everyone is pink fatigued. But behind every ribbon IS a woman. 1 in 8 women will get diagnosed!

So, wearing a pink ribbon or pink clothes in support of a loved one is honorable but what is more important: if you have put off your screening because of Covid or denial-GO.

Pink can only go so far. Breast cancer has a color and a ribbon and a lot of other cancers don’t. Early intervention is the best way to beat cancer.

Lastly, how apropos that my birthday would fall in October. 😂 October 19 and even though I will be one week post round three chemo on the 19th, I will celebrate because I am alive because I took action.

So, go get your screenings. Breast, butt, blood, lungs, whatever.

Yes, it can provoke anxiety and be scary but DM me if you want! I’ll talk you through! I’d consider it the best birthday gift I ever got!

#breastcancer #breastcancerawareness #cancer #cancersucks #fuckcancer #getscanned #pinkwashing #pinkfatigue

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