Good grief

A pep talk of sorts for those of us who are fresh out of pep

I have one of those bodies that doesn’t trust my conscious brain to run the show. It likes to let my mind think it’s in charge, maybe the way we sometimes let toddlers think they are in charge. But every time my mind is doing the equivalent of trying to stick a fork into a wall outlet on the day I skipped my afternoon nap, my body (by way of my amygdala) puts me right onto the time out chair. Hard.

What this has looked like recently is a 4-week series of physical calamities that have taken me out of my life: migraine, back spasm, more migraine, and then—because I guess I was not getting the memo—migraine + respiratory illness. Migraine for nine out of ten days while coughing up phlegmy garbage. (The migraine let up on day 5, only to return with extra force on day 6. I guess it decided I hadn’t quite learned my lesson.)

I haven’t been keeping up with my regular reading, but I’ve been scrolling headlines/titles enough to know that I’m not the only one with an enflamed nervous system. (Of course I’m not.)

I’m only just beginning to return to what feels like myself (this is the first time in weeks I’ve felt any desire to exchange words here), and I thought I’d share some things I’ve learned/relearned in the past few weeks that might be helpful for others to hear:

1. You do not have to justify being where you are. You just are where you are. Yep, I’m a privileged, white, cis-het woman. Yep, I have so many things so much better than so many other folks right now. But I’ve got reasons to be where I’ve been these past weeks, many of them invisible because I’ve been stuffing, hiding (even from myself), and carrying them for a long time. My recent state has revealed that strategy’s ineffectiveness, so…here I am. Where we are is not a matter of our character or strength or lack thereof. It just is. Instead of judging ourselves for where we are, maybe we can just observe where we are. Note it. Respond to ourselves with empathy and kindness, the way we do with children when they are worn out and having a meltdown.

2. It’s OK to cry and sleep when you are grieving. A week or two before all of this started, I began watching Grey’s Anatomy, from season 1. I haven’t watched it for years, but there it was on Hulu, and I decided to see how it holds up. One week in the midst of my prolonged breakdown I might have cried during every single episode I watched. Once or twice, the cries were of the big, ugly, sobbing variety. My therapist encouraged this. She said that sometimes we need a little help in releasing our emotions, and if old, junky TV that makes you nostalgic for things that have passed does the trick, that’s just fine. Some days I watched an episode, cried, and then took a big long nap. Grieving is exhausting, and we need to rest when we need to rest. My therapist said this is all good, as long as it’s not something I do all day long. (It wasn’t and isn’t.)

3. You do not have to do all the things right now. In fact, maybe you don’t have to do any of the things right now. In the past few weeks, I have not made 5 calls a day. I have not donated any money. I have not canceled my Prime membership or closed my Facebook account. I haven’t marched, spoken out, or written anything for others. Lots of other people are doing lots of things, and I am glad and grateful for them. I’m guessing there may come a time when I can do those things and they cannot. We get to take turns. My timing sucks, but I cannot will myself to a better place. (Believe me, I’ve certainly tried.)

   Speaking of not doing all the things, this applies to your house and family, too. Turns out, you can survive for awhile on a diet of mostly grilled cheese sandwiches and vegetable soup. No one is coming over to visit you in this state, so who cares if your bathroom is a little grubby? (Actually, who cares even if they are?) Let your husband make his own lunches for a week (or two or three), even though he is working and you are not. You’ll get back to it all later.

4. You will feel better when you are better. And then you will want and be able to do things. At first, I was so frustrated at all the things I couldn’t do, the things that make my life what I think of as my life. But at some point, I began asking myself, “What do I want to do?” and tried to listen for a real answer. This is not my usual go-to question. I’m more likely to ask, “What should I do?” or “What do I need to do?” It was hard, at first, to distinguish between “What do I want to do?” and “What do I want to want to do?” I wanted to want to go grocery shopping, for example—normally I like to plan good meals and shop mindfully for their ingredients—but the truth was that I was in no shape to shop or cook and so I didn’t really want to do that. The real answer was often that I wanted to work on a puzzle or lie down and listen to my audiobook or lie on my bed and close my eyes. These are all reasonable things to want when your body has decided that it has had enough of how your mind is handling your life. So I gave my body what it wanted, trusting that if I did that, eventually my body would once again let my conscious mind hold the reins of our existence.

Today I’ve been migraine-free for almost a week. My congestion is clearing, though still present. I’ve been moving slowly, but I’m moving. I might clean the bathroom today. I might put a coat of paint on the kitchen cabinet doors that have been waiting for me in the garage. I might cook something for dinner. Or I might read the book on grieving that my therapist recommended, and finish that puzzle, and just pick up things around the house that have wandered away from their usual places and call it good. I am taking today as it comes, more grateful to be in circumstances that allow me to make such a choice than resentful to be in those that make me need to make it. Maybe that’s truly the best we can hope for in challenging times?

We are all running a marathon, not a sprint. Pace yourself, and don’t forget to hydrate. (And hug a puppy if you can. That always helps!)

(All Peanuts gifs can be found here: https://tenor.com/search/charlie-brown-good-grief-gifs)

I’ve missed connecting with you here. If you’d like to, please check in and let us know how you’re doing. How are you holding up? What are you carrying these days (and can you somehow put it down)? What’s giving you strength or comfort? You know I love to visit with you in the comments.

And if you liked this, please give the heart (❤️) a quick click. Your hearts warm mine.