Everything feels so upside down. Today’s doctor’s visit with my mother didn’t go well. I’ve just about gone crazy, and I’m pretty sure that trend is going to continue until I do.
People will tell you not to worry and that things happen as they are meant to but when nearly your whole life is at risk, plus the literal life of someone else if you don’t risk your own situation (in my case, my little farm), it’s really hard to keep your sanity.
It’s really hard to keep your faith in a Creator that doesn’t seem to be paying attention and in a system that has proven over and over again it doesn’t give a single fuck.
It is becoming very clear to me just how emotionally draining caring for someone can be when you’re doing it on your own – and by that I mean not a finger of help from anyone else being lifted, including so called medical professionals.
Caregiver depression is a very real thing, made much more difficult by being invisible not only to those who know you but also by the one you are caring for. I truly don’t know how long I can continue on like this mentally…
Whatever it is you’re going through right now I want you to know you aren’t alone. And it might feel like you are. It might feel like a million things are piling up on you and you don’t know if it’ll get heavier or how much more you can bear.
And you might not know who to turn to or even where to start.
Because suddenly all of this just hit you at once.
It’s like you’re floating on the surface but below no one can see you are flustered and kicking for your life just to stay afloat.
You look fine.
You smile when you have to.
When someone asks, “how you are?” you say, “good.”
But part of you wishes you weren’t so good at faking it. Part of you wishes someone would call your bluff and say, “I know you’re lying, what’s wrong?”
We’ve been told the best thing to do is lie. So we lie to ourselves saying everything is fine. We lie to everyone else saying we can handle it. Whatever that it is.
Then it just becomes too much.
I’m here to tell you it’s okay if things aren’t going well right now. It’s okay if you’re hurting. It’s okay if you want to fall apart and scream at the top of your lungs because things outside your control are happening that you don’t understand. You’re trying to find clarity in moments of confusion. You are trying to put a band-aid on the pain you’re repressing hoping it heals, but you know you’re just covering it up. Then something else comes out of left field only to hurt you more.
You go to bed at night and you’re just laying there not sleeping, and you don’t want to play the pity card of “why me?” or “why did this happen?” How much worse can things get, only to watch it play out even more?
You’re trying to piece yourself back together but you’re cutting your fingers in the process, and honestly, you don’t even remember what it feels like to be whole or completely happy.
You hate that being happy is so hard to achieve right now.
But more than that you hate that no one sees it.
You’re holding back tears and putting on a brave face because it isn’t socially acceptable to start crying in the middle of a workday. Not when people need you. Not when people look up to you. Not when people are watching your every move like your life is a show for their entertainment.
Just when something starts to shift and there’s even a little bit of light, someone has to come and ruin your day. It’s a snide comment. It’s criticism. It’s one little thing or conversation that almost puts you over the edge.
Like everyone in the universe is out to get you. And it isn’t like you to be this negative or pessimistic. But everyone has those days that turn to weeks and sometimes months where nothing seems to work in their favor.
Despite being given every reason to be mean to others and treat them the way they have treated you, you don’t. You replace their unkindness with silence. You replace disrespect with being the bigger person. You replace someone going after you with keeping your head down and mouth shut.
And they judge you for the things you do and they judge you for the things you don’t.
It’s like they have a target on your back, watching your every move waiting for you to mess up. So every step you take is a little more cautious. How quick everyone is to judge you for the little things you do wrong and they forget what you did right.
I know what it’s like to feel that way.
I know what it’s like to not understand any of it.
And you just keep trying. Trying to make them happy as well as yourself only to learn whichever way you change, someone isn’t going to like it.
You want to trust people but every time you have, every time you’ve let your guard down, they’ve gotten close enough to hurt you. So you learn to expect the worst of people, while still trying your best and giving your best to those who don’t deserve it.
Caring deeply about others is both your greatest strength and weakness.
It’s that strength that everyone seems to rely on, even though you don’t know where it’s even coming from.
It’s the energy to never let people down and constantly say “yes” even though you’re tired.
It’s the light you shine in other’s lives and the compassion to look at someone and you can tell when they’re having a tough day because you know what faking it looks like. You ask them how they are doing, even though no one has asked you lately.
It’s keeping it together when someone else is falling apart even when you want to, you still manage to be the arms holding them.
It’s admirable to be like that.
And even though people don’t give you the credit you deserve or even utter the words “thank you,” you keep being exactly how you are and you don’t change.
As hard as it is to be someone like you, you realize how rare it is too.
So when the world gives you every reason to change – every reason to treat others the way they treat you, every reason to hurt others because maybe someone broke your heart – you don’t. I want to thank you for being that type of person.
It’s people like you we need most in the world. So whatever pain or confusion or difficult life situations you’re going through, I want you to know you’ve made it through everything leading up to this and there’s strength within you, you don’t even realize.
Don’t be afraid to fall apart if you have to.
Don’t be afraid to cry if you need that.
Don’t be afraid of any of this.
Because it will get better. Sometimes though, things get worse before they get better. But on the other end of that is something really great waiting for you.
Keep fighting for everything you know you deserve because you will get it.
Yesterday was the worst day. I don’t know why, but life always seems to implode (or explode) with everything at once. Yesterday I battled with my own body and began to battle again with my mind and my thoughts. I laid down in the afternoon to nap and I missed a phone call from my mom.
About two hours later I was awakened by a phone call from the hospital. We rushed up there and were told that she had been wandering again (not so much wandering as making more poor decisions, having it in her head that it was a good idea to walk 3 miles to a store, which she has attempted to do several times since the beginning of this year). She has so far not fallen on these little escapades but this time she made it about two or so miles before she did fall.
I believe that she passed out because she refuses to eat properly and she’s also very weak and feeble to begin with, so I am not surprised. I have begged her not to do this, making that very argument and explaining how dangerous it really is. In fact, the last time, a neighbor picked her up around the same place she fell yesterday and she was walking IN THE MIDDLE OF A TWO LANE ROAD with curves and fast traffic.
I also believe that she hit the pavement so hard that she had to have knocked herself out because she hit the pavement hard enough to bust her chin all the way across and knock all of her teeth out of line as well as broke two teeth. She has a major swollen bruise on her temple and severely bruised ribs as well as scrapes and contusions on her hands, arms and legs. Today she looks like she lost a fight with Mike Tyson.
I’m not sure how long she laid there before she called me because, again, I don’t feel like anybody could take a blow like that without being knocked out for at least a short period of time, but eventually she tried to call me and I was asleep. #guilt Three people passed by to offer help – she refused help so the first two just drove on without even calling an ambulance, while the third person refused to move her and called an ambulance but then left before the ambulance arrived.
There was at least a 40 minute time frame between the time that she fell and the time that an ambulance arrived which means that she laid on the side of the road (possibly in the road for a period of time) for that long miraculously not getting hit, robbed or otherwise hurt.
This is the final straw for me and I can no longer accept the fight that I have been fighting for so long to prevent her from living alone. I will no longer allow – regardless of the fight to come with her – her to live alone. I will be raising hell with the doctor and I will sue on my own if I have to for guardianship. I have had DHR on my mother‘s case for over a year and two months and still have had no appointment with a lawyer – nothing.
The state is a waste of time and the American medical system is a waste of time. The doctor at the ER understood my concern and tried to find a way to hold my mother for at least 72 hours whether it be a psych eval or a need to be monitored physically but because she answered three or four questions correctly like “what is your name,” “what year is it,” and, “who is the president?” and because her vitals were good and her test results were negative for any breaks or internal damage, she could not be held against her will.
Now, go back and read this story again and tell me why, just because she says “I’m OK,” she could not be held. What kind of decision making and what kind of serious ridiculous danger does a person need to put themselves in – she is clearly a danger to herself and needs to be evaluated – yet there is no ability to hold her? She needs to be given the proper care and I do not have the power to make that happen because I have no legal power when it comes to my mother.
She refuses to offer me any leniency or cooperate with me and I am done with being put in the position of a doctor telling me “you need to take care of your mom” and me knowing I need to do certain things to take care of my mom, but yet being pushed away and out of the picture by my mom and the doctors – it’s a total cluster fuck and I am about to lose my mind.
If I thought I was losing my mind a year ago, well I had no idea how bad it could really get – and I know it’s only going to get worse.
Hello depression, extreme and uncontrollable anxiety and overwhelm. Welcome back.
Good morning, friends. I have spent the last couple of days really sitting with and holding my feelings and thoughts – some very deep ones stemmed from my last post and the response I’ve had to it from you at Instagram and via e-mail here. I’m so grateful for your expressions and to be on this journey of recovery, and life, with you.
I am a lot of things. But one thing I am not is a quitter. In fact, that is often one of my flaws – I don’t know WHEN to quit sometimes. I’ve been in situations where I’ve just refused to give up or to give in or to let go, even when the situation or person has clearly given up on me. That’s a flaw and a strong point, all at once. I’m not a quitter, even when I should be, and sometimes that causes extraordinary pain in my life. But more often than that, it keeps me alive.
What it really is, at its core, is hope. Even in the throes of depression, deep within me there is this hope. I have not yet defined it for myself, and perhaps it doesn’t need a definition. All I know right now is that it’s what drives me on, and I want to share some quick thoughts with you this morning on that. This has been the core element of my thoughts and feelings since my last post.
I try so hard to encourage people not to give up because it helps me to remain accountable in doing the same thing. Sometimes, that becomes a slippery slope – but in the end, hope – false or not – is never any worse than wanting to die.
I hear often, and used to believe, that false hope was as unhealthy as doubt. When it comes to depression, I don’t believe that at all.
My morning thought for today is this: if you are struggling with depression and you have even an ounce of hope left in you, hold onto it with everything you have.
Hold onto it even if no one else understands it, even if your hands begin to bleed and the hope itself becomes stained with the blood of your pain.
Whether it’s a dream, a person, a desire for your life or for someone else’s, whatever it is is, HOLD ONTO THAT HOPE. It’s so much harder without it, and to see the stains on it when you eventually walk (or crawl) through your depression and back into your joy will remind you, no matter what your hope is, how valuable that hope always was and will be.
I believe that, and I believe in you.
I’ve continued to search my soul for an answer to my doubt and my unhappiness with sharing on social media, and this morning I posted another expression – this time of the place I find myself in as that original doubt and question evolves more into an answer. After I posted that train of thought, I received several messages from like minds and souls sharing their personal experiences and thoughts about it.
One of the conversations (with a lady that has become a soul sister and close friend to me recently) led to someone asking me, “what do YOU want?” In the last year and a half, not a single soul has asked me that – and I was almost shocked to read it. I mean, I know a lot that this person is struggling with (including grief and chronic illness, similar to myself) and to be so aware of that and have them genuinely ask me, “what do YOU want?” both blew me away and grounded me a bit all at once. It’s been a long time since I felt that connected with anyone – at least with someone who had experiences of their own to truly grasp where I was. My truthful answer was, “I don’t know.”
Regarding life in general, that could be true for a very long time. But as far as here? At this blog AND on the actual Instablogs on Instagram I don’t know specifically what I want to do but I DO know that I want to continue to create and share – art/photography obviously, and my own thoughts, mostly – or, at the very least the much better expressed ideas of others about things that are affecting (or plaguing, as the case may be) my life.
Whether pretty and pleasing or dark and uncomfortable to take in, no matter the contradictions (because depression is good at those), I want to share it all – because that’s who I am, always have been, and always will be. I am best when I am open. I am best when I allow vulnerability and truth – no matter how it looks to anyone else. That’s how I cope, even though sometimes the pressure (self and otherwise) gets to be too much. I appreciate your support in that. I do, from the very bottom of my heart.
That said, I don’t know what direction my posts (or my life, for that matter) are going to go in at this point. I don’t know where my heart is, especially in creating. It’s there, but I don’t know where. That’s why I started playing with some found footage from the farm tonight (which I can’t share here because my subscription doesn’t include video storage directly to the site and I don’t want to use YouTube).
Anyway, I played around with editing and went with the flow…for a brief moment I found myself truly immersed and connected with my own being, and as I experienced that I asked myself why I had chosen that footage and felt so calm and creative about it. The answer? It felt safe. Safe is good right now. I play it VERY safe with EVERYTHING right now. And while it’s a necessity right now, I hate that. I HATE IT. Playing it safe destroys creativity and it erases the experience of adventures because adventures simply don’t exist. In this place, my wild woman is hidden away – and she’s the part of me I love the most. That’s another blog for another day…
I’m literally fumbling around and along in my life right now. Depression has taken hold, even as hard and as long as I have fought it off. But we all know, those of us who are touched by it, that it’s GOING to finally get to us. Maybe it varies each time it comes, depending on circumstance and current physiology and level of consciousness to it. Maybe it sneaks up behind you and gently, silently drapes its black cloak over your shoulders while you aren’t looking, taking you completely by surprise. Maybe it jumps on your back like a dog in heat as soon as it smells the scent of sadness or doubt.
Or maybe, like me in this last year, you see it coming. You watch it closely and calculate all your moves as you observe and take notes of it’s strategy this go around. You try to bravely stare it down with all your might, daring yourself to stand firm and face it, truly believing that this time is going to be the time that you rise above it before it grabs hold. Yes. This time you’re going to make it – or dodge it, at least. But then, you don’t. You don’t make it or dodge it in time…because depression? Depression always wins that face off.
So, now you just hold on with all your might as it slings you around and beats you into the floor, making a mess of every physical and emotional piece of you. Or maybe it’s very intimate and gentle with you, and it taunts you with promises of how much better things will be if you just give in to it and let it rape you, heart and soul. Or maybe it’s a silent and unpredictable demon for you, and you walk in fear of what it will do next. Me? All three, and a few more I can’t quite sort out with words yet. The point, though, is that you struggle.
That’s where I am…
Depression. Yes. That’s where I am…and you’re going to see it. I’m going to write it, and speak it, and create from it – whether that looks pretty and light or scary and dark.
I’m not going to operate under the theory that not speaking it makes it not true. Depression doesn’t work that way. It doesn’t buy the affirmations; in reality it just hears lies and uses them against me. It may be different for you, and that’s ok. But that’s what happens for me. So I’m not going to pretend I’m ok, because it’s OK not to be OK. And I want YOU to remember that if you’re in a similar place.
You’re not alone. I promise you. And pretending you’re OK when you’re not in order to leave an image of love and hope untarnished DOES NOT HELP HEAL DEPRESSION. In fact, that’s the only consistent “rule” I’ve encountered across the board of myself and others I meet who are counseling others, living with, or struggling with depression. People who do not understand actuality of or have never experienced depression in it’s deepest, rawest, soul-eating form will never be able to grasp this. But for those of you who have messaged me and said, “why do you always apologize when you don’t post positive stuff or don’t know what to post?” You do get it, and YOU ARE RIGHT. We must be true to ourselves. I thank you for that reminder.
Depression is simply not pretty and it’s far too romanticized in our society today. It’s scary, and it’s messy, and it’s downright uncomfortable (and ugly some days). Some days, you could smear all the love and hope in the world over yourself and wrap yourself in all the most beautiful and positive quotes, and you’ll still be scared, messy, dark and ugly inside and to the core of yourself. And that’s OK – because that’s depression, and it’s a process; for some, a life long one.
In discussing this with other depressed people, I heard a lot of them say, “but why DO you try to stay on the more positive side of things?” Well, in a general sense and even in lacking religious faith, I want (choose) to try to look on the bright side – even if it’s with sarcasm and dark humor. For me, I know that if I lose hope altogether, I will die. My depression WILL KILL ME. Of course I have my (regular, lately) moments of existential anxiety and darkness and cynicism and anger. But mostly, in my heart? I hope. I love. I want to see and to do good.
So yes, I’m guilty of believing and sharing a lot of fru-fru stuff. I like the fact that I have found a sort of balance between gentleness and toughness in my self and self-expression, and that I can be honest enough with myself to embrace both sides of who I am. But if that doesn’t work for you? That’s OK! Forget all the self help, new age, love and light mumbo jumbo if it doesn’t work for you! It doesn’t work for me every second of every day or even every day or week or month at this point in my life (although I know I’ll still be sharing from that place within me on the days when that side is winning).
We are complex emotional creatures, even at our best. Adding depression into the mix of who we are complicates things greatly for most of us who are affected. It’s not a RULE that you need self-help or spirituality to cope, or else you’re a bad person. In fact, there is no set-in-stone list of rules that we can all follow that will work 100% of the time for all of us in the same way to help us to cope with and/or overcome depression. NONE. Not coping that way, or without religious beliefs, or even without a smile on your face, doesn’t mean that you aren’t still filled with love, hope, purpose and spirit. Just because you forget it doesn’t mean it’s not there – kind of like those dirty dishes from two days ago or the laundry you meant to fold last week. It’ll keep.
It doesn’t make you a negative or unworthy person, and it doesn’t mean you aren’t making or going to make progress, to deal with depression in a way that others most often criticize and judge. It just means that you struggle with depression, and that’s a beast that only those who have battled it can understand. We must embrace ourselves and whatever we are feeling at least long enough to try to grasp WHY we might be feeling that way and whether it is helping us. At least, for me, that is the only way I can get through most days.
The other part of that for me is absolutely the ability and the means to express myself, regardless of what that expression is on any given day or in any given moment. I encourage you to express yourself, too, if you can in some way do that, and I promise you that I will try my best to practice what I preach, post from my heart, always, and walk this often contradictory cliff’s edge with you.
I love you.
Tuesday, March 21, 2017, 2:52PM. Only 22 hours away from Dorie’s deathiversary. How weird…. Today is one of those days when it feels like she is still here, just hiding away somewhere where she can’t be seen but still be felt. Maybe she is here today – I don’t know what I believe about any of that anymore…
I’m having a few hours of time to myself. No child, no mother, no company, no people. I LOVE IT, surprisingly enough. I didn’t really want to be alone today and I REALLY didn’t want my son to go to his grandma’s for a sleepover but now that I’m here, sitting on the deck with my laptop and my words, listening to the birds and watching roses start to bloom and tulips already beginning to fall away, I’m…peaceful. I’m happy in the solitude.
I know this – I want to go riding. But I’m so, so tired… So anxious. So afraid… And my stomach is uneasy. Hmmm… What to do?
Tomorrow a friend is coming to spend the day with me, so maybe we will do that then. I have barely eaten today – I’ve had a banana, some coffee, and a lot of water. Maybe I should just focus on eating some food and resting this evening and tonight… Celiac is a bitch.
It’s several hours later – nearly 8PM now. I sat for a while on the deck earlier, and I talked to Dorie’s ghost. Of course I don’t believe there was really a “ghost” there, but I talked to her anyway. About halfway through my conversation with her, her husband texted me a photo of her crocuses blooming. It was eerie, in a way, but it made me very happy. He called and we talked for about a half hour, and that was nice.
When I went back to the deck I finished reading this little book called “Anyway: The Paradoxical Commandments,” by Kent M. Keith. It’s tagline is, “finding personal meaning in a crazy world.” It’s a book Dorie gave to me nearly 12 years ago, and for whatever reason there it was, laying on the shelf. I happened to notice it today – I’m sure I walked past it a hundred times since it was last touched, and probably laid it there myself the last time I read it.
That was probably a few weeks after she died – it seems like that was the last time I read through the entire book… Stacks of books all over my house, but I left that one laying flat on a shelf, where I could see it, all this time. Anyway, I picked it up to read it again. It just seemed like the thing to do with my time this afternoon. I’m so glad I did…
I must’ve read this book a hundred times in the years that I have had it. I’ve quoted from it many times, and it’s truly become the core of who I am, not only because of the book’s message but also because it’s how my father raised me all my life, long before the book was ever written. In fact, it reminds me very much of my father, and different parts of the book bring back vivid memories of experiences and situations I found myself in with my father when he taught me many of the lessons I have learned from him throughout my life, both as a child and as an adult.
For many reasons I adore this book, but earlier today when I picked it up again, I mostly adored it because she gave it to me. That is, until I started rereading it. Now, I love this book for that reason and for one other very important one: because I DO find myself in this book, twelve years after receiving it from her.
I see myself now, today, as she always did: capable. That’s why she bought the book for me in the first place. She gave me the book during a very hard time in my life in 2005. I was going through my initial split from the church and I was having a very difficult time with my adoptive mother. I was also going through the beginning of a pretty difficult breakup with a friend (that would end up taking more than a year) and I felt so incomplete, afraid, and vulnerable. I used the word vulnerable in conversations with Dorie I don’t know HOW many times during that period of my life. And that’s why she bought the book when she saw it.
One of the commandments is, “Honesty and frankness make you vulnerable. Be honest and frank anyway.” I remember her telling me that she had read through parts of it in the bookstore and that that particular line had reminded her so much of me. She said something to the effect of, “you might feel lost, confused and broken, but you’re much stronger than you believe you are and if your heart is guiding you then you’re in the right place. Maybe this book will remind you of who I know you are, and of who you already know you are…maybe now, maybe many times in the future.”
My word, how it has…especially today.
These last few years I have found myself in need of these reminders many times. Especially in the last year, since she died, I have felt more lost and heart broken than I ever have. Pain on top of pain on top of pain and loss after loss after loss does something to numb you from so much of life. You just reach a point where you really just feel “there.” It’s not depression, necessarily, or even grief.
It’s exhaustion (as I’ve written about earlier today and yesterday). It’s just being so tired at every level. It’s being…well, drained. When that happens I tend to forget how to ground myself and how to regenerate…especially now, with chronic illness in the picture, it’s extremely difficult to find rest.
As I read through the commandments today, I found myself thinking, “yes! That’s who I am. That’s who I’ve been for as long as I can remember, now…” My two favorite commandments are the first two.
“People are illogical, unreasonable, and self-centered. Love them anyway.”
“If you do good, people will accuse you of selfish ulterior motives. Do good anyway.”
Well, now. Isn’t that the story of my life as I’ve struggled and stumbled through the last few years. Not that I’ve been a saint myself – goodness knows I’ve had my moments of being rash, illogical, unreasonable, and self-centered. And, I’ve made no excuses for those moments. When I have been conscious of it, I’ve tried to offer my sincerest apologies and learn from those moments. But I’ve also dealt with these two things more times than I can count (and by the same couple of people) over and over again throughout the last several years. And the truth is, I STILL love them anyway, and I still do good anyway.
I am still the same person I always was. How can I not be? It’s who I am, and I’m proud of that. I am GRATEFUL for that. There’s always room for improvement but I’m a damn good person and woman, and I believe that about myself.
Do you ever tell yourself similar things? You should, because I’m 99.9% sure they’re true. Be kinder to yourself. Even on your worst days, pat yourself on the back and say, “I love you!” to yourself. Then give yourself a treat of some sort, even if it’s just five minutes of sitting in silence on a busy day when you really “shouldn’t” waste those five minutes. Trust me – waste those five minutes, because if that’s what you spend them doing then it’s no waste at all.
The only way forward is not to just affirm things, per all the self-help gurus, but to TAKE ACTION. Actively love yourself. Walk your talk…don’t just speak it. Otherwise? It’s useless.
In spending some quiet time in true solitude today, I’ve really been supporting myself, and “myself” likes it a lot. We’ve been through half a box of Kleenex between allergies and memories, but hey – at least we thought to have Kleenex on hand.
The point of my “big cry” is this: not everybody is going to love you, no matter how lovable you might be, and not everybody who loves you is always going to be there, even if it’s only because they’re dead and they just can’t be. Learn to love and support yourself – it’s so important. I can give a lot of credit to a couple of people in my life for being there for me, to listen and to offer a hand, during the last year, but mostly, since my dad died? I’ve chosen to face my struggle alone.
I knew when my dad died that I needed to do that – because I knew that I COULD do that. I needed to step up and take care of myself in that way during that time. And, as far as the grief with my dad, I DID do that. I did cope and get through it mostly by myself (and with the help of an amazing bunch of animals who are just about the only living creatures I cried in front of, by choice), and I’m grateful for the people who care for me who allowed me to do that without question, without pressure, and without judgment.
When Dorie died, I decided to write my journey through that grief. It was so completely different than the loss of my Dad for many reasons. It was far more painful and confusing, and I had so much new growth that needed to be fertilized before it died. I had so much to say then, so much pain and so much confusion and so much loss… Writing has always been my most useful and trusted coping mechanism.
So, mostly via instablogs on Instagram, and this year via this blog, I have publicly shared that journey and I have become all the better for doing so. Admittedly, there have been some pretty raw and ugly moments, but there have also been some truly beautiful ones. I have met some wonderful people, given and received so much support, and made some really good friends in the process. I am SO grateful for that, and I want to continue doing that… But there’s something I have to tell you.
That journey…it’s over. Timing unexpected, and perhaps a bit ironic or even serendipitous, I know… But this thing happened today as I sat alone, after I finished rereading the book I mentioned.
I sat on the bench in the therapy garden, finishing my conversation with Dorie, and I began to sing… I sang to her, like I sometimes did when she was sick and we’d sit on the front porch for some air. A lot of times she wouldn’t feel like talking, and we’d listen to music. I’d start singing along to a song, and she’d stop the music and say, “no, you keep singing. I like for you to sing.” Well. Sing, I would…
This afternoon I was singing to her this song called, “Sanctuary.” It’s a song that is from the show “Nashville,” and it reminds me a lot of our time together when she was diagnosed and throughout her cancer. I wish I had known it during those years with her, but instead I sang it to her “ghost.” You do what you have to do, I suppose.
I’ll link the video below, but for now what’s important for me to share are just two lines:
“I will share this weight you carry… Let me be your sanctuary.”
As I finished singing the song, with those last few lines, I could feel her in my spirit telling me, “I don’t have a weight anymore that you need to share, you can put it down. You don’t have to carry it any longer, Christy…” It’s as though she invited me to lay it down, and I accepted.
With that, just as swiftly as a cardinal flew from the feeder when the dog barked, that part of my journey through that grief was over. Does that mean that my grief is finished? No, of course not. It never will be. But today…that part of it felt like it came to a very gentle but real finale.
Here’s the really interesting part of this story:
For the last few months, especially the last two days, up until this afternoon, I have felt myself reaching a limit. You know the one – the one where you throw your hands up and throw everything away. I’ve wanted to toss away my phone, my cameras, my computer… I’ve wanted to delete my Instagram accounts and my blogs, burn my journals and shut myself off from the world. I felt like I was right there at the very edge, to the point of lashing out, openly sobbing and giving up – right there at this very tumultuous, very messy, very hasty end of all things sharing, all things real.
But, I didn’t do that… No, I offered myself patience, and I continued to follow my ever expanding heart instead of my hasty, very limited and fear-filled mind.
Instead, I’ve sat in my back yard this afternoon, finally meeting with silence and true solitude again after so long of not having a break from being mom and daughter and everything in between, having this conversation with Dorie’s “ghost.” It’s funny to me that it happened the way it did, really. I find it heartwarming (?) that she wouldn’t let me do those things when she was alive (give up, throw it all away), and she won’t let me do them now. Or, rather, I won’t let myself do them now.
I won’t give in to what’s easy and just run and hide. That’s not who I am in my heart, and my heart is what I always choose to follow, no matter how irrational or painful my mind might think it is. That’s because in my time in this body and on this planet, short as it may seem even to me, I learned (a long time ago, really) that my heart is always right.
So is yours. Remember that…
Dorie and I had some hard times. We fought sometimes. She’d make me madder than a wet hen sometimes, and sometimes she’d want to literally shake some sense into me. But you know what? We never gave up on each other, and we never let each other give up on ourselves, because true friends never do.
At the end of this day, I can reflect on that and I can say at least one thing with the fullest of confidence and pride: she was my best friend, and she was the closest thing to a mother I ever had. Losing her when I did was the most difficult experience of my life, and I miss her desperately, still. It is still difficult. But here I still am, despite that. Here I still am, sharing my feelings and working through, anyway.
I don’t know how the deathiversary will play out, exactly. I do have a sort of plan, per my fairy god therapist’s orders, as I mentioned earlier today. But, here I am tonight, at a new sort of threshold regarding grieving her death. I love her, but I love me, too. I love me enough to lay down a weight that she laid down when she died: cancer, and the pain and the guilt it brings, even in death to the loved ones left behind. That’s the thing I’ve chosen to do on this day, 364 days after her death, and I am determined to leave it there…
To close this post, I just want to ask you, whoever you are reading this, to keep sharing anyway if sharing is what your heart leads you to do. Keep being you anyway. Keep living anyway. Keep grieving, in your own way and as you need to grieve, no matter what it is you’ve lost. We’ll keep trying, and keep going, together.
All my love,
Motivation Monday: something I’ve been working on lately is reminding myself not to get upset with those people who like to constantly remind me that, “it just takes time.”
I believe that most things take a lot more than just time. Fitness. Saving money. Spring cleaning. Healing childhood pains. Grief. There are many things which time alone does nothing for, unless we do something about them.
I used to get so frustrated with people when they’d say stupid things like, “time heals all wounds,” etc. Those comments only added to my frustration and pain. Some wounds can never be healed. Even with those that can be, time does nothing on its own. I’ve always considered that phrase a sort of cop out – but that’s just my perspective.
If the light in the thumbnail photo above stops working, we need to either change the bulb, check that it’s plugged in, or pay our power bill. We need to troubleshoot and solve the problem to find the reason it doesn’t give any light.
We need to both take responsibility and give ourselves some credit for what WE DO during that expanse of time between broken spirited, broken hearted, in a depression, struggling with CPTSD and chronic illness – whatever YOUR hurt is – and the moment that we feel some relief or healing or comfort again. It’s not down to time alone that helps you to be better. It’s down to what you DO with that time.
Today I encourage you to do something useful with your time that helps you to either solve your problem or to heal.
For me, it’s openly sharing and connecting with you all. It’s taking photos, or at the very least editing RF ones. It’s keeping myself in my creative space. It’s actively surrounding myself with people who lift me up rather than put me down. It’s reading, researching, and keeping myself up to date/educated about my chronic illness, and putting massive amounts of effort into learning about/putting into practice the lifestyle I must live now with Celiac.
And? It’s allowing my rages, breakdowns and bad days with gratitude that I can feel at all, rather than be numb, and that I have the gift of expressing myself.
I forget my part in it sometimes and my light goes out again, so…well, in short, all this sums up to, “I have to keep changing bulbs & paying power bills.”
YOU can overcome ANYTHING. Give yourself a chance. Take your time. Be gentle. Go slow. Find your pace and go with it. Find your tools and use them. Realize what your needs and goals are. But never forget, you gotta show up to reach them. You have to meet yourself halfway. Please give yourself the gift of realizing that you’re valid, you’re worthy, and you can create a better tomorrow because of, even in spite of, today.
Much love, friends, and a happy Monday to all…