"Is there anything in it that will make her smile?"
That is what I said to my husband after he had boxed the bulk of what remained of my mother's stuff. And then I, my mind racing through the dirty, dusty, jumbled heap of things that I know is in those boxes, burst into tears.
My mother apparently has found an apartment. That is great. Apparently she starts a job soon. Also great. I really hope it is true, and if it is, that it sticks. But regardless, she wrote to us and asked us to send her her stuff. This was in the last few days of cramming for my preliminary exam and I was fairly useless around the house to begin with (which isn't to mention the emotional pit I land in whenever I deal with her belongings anyway), so my husband said he would take care of it. And he has. From corresponding with her to reboxing her stuff and going to ship it, he has taken care of it quietly.
But there was a component of it for which I was needed. I realized that when her stuff first came to us one and a half years ago, or so, I looked through to see what personal, private, or important family things were in those boxes. The main things I salvaged from those jumbled boxes were pictures. Pictures from my childhood, my sister's childhood, and pictures from my mother's childhood and earlier. My sister helped me with this process and put most of the pictures in albums.
The albums have resided on a shelf in my office ever since. I realized that one of the things she might want from her stuff is her pictures. But are they her pictures? It is hard to say at this point. I really don't want to deal with a call next year from Boston saying "Hey, you don't know me, but I feel strange throwing out family photos and I'm cleaning out all this stuff today." Which is basically the call I got one and a half years ago and which is why I have them now in my possession.
There are happy pictures in those albums. Pictures from other phases of life where her illness wasn't running so rampant. Pictures of happy kids and pets and grandparents and camping and silliness and Christmas...
In not sending these pictures I feel almost as if I am denying her the joy of those memories, but I am not sure I want to allow those memories to possibly be lost again to me either.
I realize as I write this that the "pictures" are analogous to really a lot more than just photographs, and that just goes to show that my feelings can still be pretty raw about all of this.
I came to my husband as he was boxing up the rest of the stuff and said, you know I'm not sure which of these pictures to give. I haven't checked with other family to see how they feel and I am not sure myself how I feel. I am just coming out of three days of prelim headache and haven't truthfully given it much thought until this morning.
He told me not to worry about the pictures. We can always send them later, he said. For now he has seven huge boxes to send as it is. He is right and he calmed me down. But then I asked, is there anything in there that will make her smile?
And I'm pretty sure there is not. And the thing that kills me is that I still want to make her smile. And I don't know what to do about that.
Thursday, January 10, 2013
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Facing the holidays with a homeless mother
Two days before the devastating elementary school shooting in Connecticut last week I received two emails from my mother wherein she essentially told me and two other relatives that we are not doing enough for her and she can only recover with more from us and then proceeded to outline the numerous ways we should help. The "numerous" ways all involve giving money.
I get it. People in her position don't have a lot of money, if any. I do get it. I'm sure it would help today to have money, and if I could make a big enough contribution, it may even help for a week or a month or two.
I have not replied.
And I vacillate between saying to myself "my non-reply IS my reply" to "I don't know what to say yet". And when my heart and mind wander back onto this subject I feel a sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach. This sickening feeling is largely connected to the calendar.
She informed us that the halfway house, which from what I could determine was a relatively good place for her, was kicking her out on Thursday (tomorrow) and she will again be homeless. So as I get closer to Thursday, it is on my mind. I can pretty much guarantee that come Christmas day it will be on my mind as well, just as it was on her birthday, and on Thanksgiving. I feel like these days are held hostage, which I resent, and I am having a hard time working my way around it.
No matter how long I live with a mother who in no way resembles a "normal" mother, the normative scripts around how I should be responding to my mother remain there for me. I continue to dismiss them, counter them, argue with them, but this is a process that takes energy and a lot of it.
After the shooting last week I was left thinking about the time several years ago when I saw her driving while under the influence and didn't call the police. I regret that so much. It was early in this process of distancing and boundary work and we were leaving family therapy. We knew in therapy that she was under the influence of something and then when I saw her swerve I thought, my god, she could kill someone. But this struggle internally with calling the police on my own mother with whom I was actively trying to mend fences was too much for me to bear and by the time I thought this all through, I didn't know where she was and she could have been home and off the road. While it felt like too much to bear to call the police, I realized later that what really would have been too much to bear is if she ran into innocent people on her way home and I had not called the police.
It was like she had a weapon and when it got impounded and sold at auction, I was very relieved.
And what I have been thinking about since the shooting is this: I have struggled with protecting my mother from herself, protecting my family from her, protecting myself from her, and protecting the rest of the world from her. These things do not always line up neatly and I think more conversation about these issues could help it to be more transparent.
I am so heartened by the folks I know who live with mental illness and work with it. To be open, to be frank and honest and brave about dealing with a mental illness, while having a mental illness no less, is nothing short of inspiring.
However, I am so sad for my mother, that her illness is too much for her to handle, or that the line between her and her illness is sufficiently blurred at this point that there is no handling to be done. I am profoundly sad that it has cost her relationships with people who do love her very much. But to my mother, loving her means feeding into her illness, and to me loving her means not engaging with her illness. This is one of those emails. I think it is from her illness. But she will undoubtedly be hurt in the process no matter how or if I respond.
I have been so happy that I have some readership here from folks who have similar experiences and for whom I can remind you that you are not alone in dealing with your friend or family member who might be struggling too. I will leave you with something I remembered the other day: in therapy a couple of years ago, my therapist talked about how she would give me a diagnosis of anxiety or depression or some such thing so that insurance would cover my sessions. She told me there wasn't an insurable option for "help processing while a family member slowly unravels". This to me crystalized how I, too, felt about my mother's illness. I didn't validate it as something real to me either. It was always in reference to how it was affecting my mother, not me. It was hers. Even though it clearly directly affected me, I didn't feel like I had a right to talk about it openly. It was her illness, not mine after all. It was shortly after that discussion that I started this blog. I think it is unhealthy to keep these things inside and I think we all need each other's support.
I wish I had called the police back then on my mother, for the community-at-large's sake, for my sake, and for her sake. Hiding from it or pretending it was not happening would not keep it from happening, and drawing attention to it and seeking intervention actually might have helped her at a point in the road early on when she could have potentially righted this ship.
I get it. People in her position don't have a lot of money, if any. I do get it. I'm sure it would help today to have money, and if I could make a big enough contribution, it may even help for a week or a month or two.
I have not replied.
And I vacillate between saying to myself "my non-reply IS my reply" to "I don't know what to say yet". And when my heart and mind wander back onto this subject I feel a sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach. This sickening feeling is largely connected to the calendar.
She informed us that the halfway house, which from what I could determine was a relatively good place for her, was kicking her out on Thursday (tomorrow) and she will again be homeless. So as I get closer to Thursday, it is on my mind. I can pretty much guarantee that come Christmas day it will be on my mind as well, just as it was on her birthday, and on Thanksgiving. I feel like these days are held hostage, which I resent, and I am having a hard time working my way around it.
No matter how long I live with a mother who in no way resembles a "normal" mother, the normative scripts around how I should be responding to my mother remain there for me. I continue to dismiss them, counter them, argue with them, but this is a process that takes energy and a lot of it.
After the shooting last week I was left thinking about the time several years ago when I saw her driving while under the influence and didn't call the police. I regret that so much. It was early in this process of distancing and boundary work and we were leaving family therapy. We knew in therapy that she was under the influence of something and then when I saw her swerve I thought, my god, she could kill someone. But this struggle internally with calling the police on my own mother with whom I was actively trying to mend fences was too much for me to bear and by the time I thought this all through, I didn't know where she was and she could have been home and off the road. While it felt like too much to bear to call the police, I realized later that what really would have been too much to bear is if she ran into innocent people on her way home and I had not called the police.
It was like she had a weapon and when it got impounded and sold at auction, I was very relieved.
And what I have been thinking about since the shooting is this: I have struggled with protecting my mother from herself, protecting my family from her, protecting myself from her, and protecting the rest of the world from her. These things do not always line up neatly and I think more conversation about these issues could help it to be more transparent.
I am so heartened by the folks I know who live with mental illness and work with it. To be open, to be frank and honest and brave about dealing with a mental illness, while having a mental illness no less, is nothing short of inspiring.
However, I am so sad for my mother, that her illness is too much for her to handle, or that the line between her and her illness is sufficiently blurred at this point that there is no handling to be done. I am profoundly sad that it has cost her relationships with people who do love her very much. But to my mother, loving her means feeding into her illness, and to me loving her means not engaging with her illness. This is one of those emails. I think it is from her illness. But she will undoubtedly be hurt in the process no matter how or if I respond.
I have been so happy that I have some readership here from folks who have similar experiences and for whom I can remind you that you are not alone in dealing with your friend or family member who might be struggling too. I will leave you with something I remembered the other day: in therapy a couple of years ago, my therapist talked about how she would give me a diagnosis of anxiety or depression or some such thing so that insurance would cover my sessions. She told me there wasn't an insurable option for "help processing while a family member slowly unravels". This to me crystalized how I, too, felt about my mother's illness. I didn't validate it as something real to me either. It was always in reference to how it was affecting my mother, not me. It was hers. Even though it clearly directly affected me, I didn't feel like I had a right to talk about it openly. It was her illness, not mine after all. It was shortly after that discussion that I started this blog. I think it is unhealthy to keep these things inside and I think we all need each other's support.
I wish I had called the police back then on my mother, for the community-at-large's sake, for my sake, and for her sake. Hiding from it or pretending it was not happening would not keep it from happening, and drawing attention to it and seeking intervention actually might have helped her at a point in the road early on when she could have potentially righted this ship.
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Ideals
I really should be reading for my preliminary exams, which are only six weeks away and for which I have a huge virtual stack of readings to get through, but I need to take a few minutes to write about the state of things with my mother.
My last post was positive and it felt great to write. But then I heard from my mother. The real, flesh and blood mother who is related to the mother who did great things from time to time, but who now feels like more of a threat to my health than anything else.
I was talking to a friend a couple of weeks ago and I was recounting my correspondence with my mother and how my mother is doing and I stopped and said "There is that violin on my shoulder again...playing away!" I don't want to be a martyr here, but sometimes even in stating facts I feel the violin starting up...woe is me...
This is not my usual modus operandi, at least, I don't think it is, yet I continually struggle with how to reconcile this part of my life in any other way. When I wasn't communicating with her I was beginning to be able to really honor her and focus on those positive memories. I was finding a way that felt good and true and positive and right.
And then she emailed.
And the content of the correspondence was not cataclysmic, just more of the same reality distortion and blaming and roping me in that I am pretty much used to, but it broke the spell of my happy place and now I can't find it anywhere.
Gee, thanks for writing.
She wants help, she wants to talk on the phone, she wants connection, she wants...wants...wants...
Some of this I get. Some of this I understand and I understand her set of needs are no where near "normal" or expected for a 57 year old mother. But what does normal mean anyway? By what standards am I judging her? Does it mean married? Homeowner? Near retirement? Hosting Thanksgiving dinner? I myself actively try to undo these and other normative beliefs I find bouncing around in my head or in our family conversation at home, and yet I seem to compare her to these idealized images of "mother", and of course, she does not fare well in the comparison. And that only gives the little violinist on my shoulder more to go on anyway.
So I try to free her and myself from these comparisons. And I am left with this woman who is my mother, who is attempting to connect with me and is being overrun by her mental illness. Sometimes I feel like I am emailing with her, sometimes I feel like I am emailing with her disease directly and most of the time it is somewhere in the middle and in every instant I am unsure whether her response will be sweet or full of vitriol.
I am sad for her and there is a large part of me that would love to offer her emotional, familial support while she works her way back from homelessness, but there is the other part of me that says she is an endless pit who will take everything I have. She never stops wanting...once you give a little, there is always more to take and besides, I have kids to think about.
The hardest part, I believe, is that her illness causes her to not be able to see her illness. So, not only can we not talk about it to any successful end, but when I don't see things the way she sees them she can't understand me. And as time goes on and I am further and further away from seeing things through the lens of her distorted reality, she says she doesn't know me and I have to say that I think she is right.
And other than a blood bond and shared history, I'm not sure what there is left for us. She says having a connection with me will help her during this difficult time. Perhaps, but is this just about what is good for her? No. I don't think so.
My normative beliefs about the ideal daughter tell me that she certainly would be there for her, but fair is fair and we've stated she is no ideal mother and, well, I am no ideal daughter. I am trying to be okay with that and figure out what I want to do here with this real request from a real flesh and blood person.
My last post was positive and it felt great to write. But then I heard from my mother. The real, flesh and blood mother who is related to the mother who did great things from time to time, but who now feels like more of a threat to my health than anything else.
I was talking to a friend a couple of weeks ago and I was recounting my correspondence with my mother and how my mother is doing and I stopped and said "There is that violin on my shoulder again...playing away!" I don't want to be a martyr here, but sometimes even in stating facts I feel the violin starting up...woe is me...
This is not my usual modus operandi, at least, I don't think it is, yet I continually struggle with how to reconcile this part of my life in any other way. When I wasn't communicating with her I was beginning to be able to really honor her and focus on those positive memories. I was finding a way that felt good and true and positive and right.
And then she emailed.
And the content of the correspondence was not cataclysmic, just more of the same reality distortion and blaming and roping me in that I am pretty much used to, but it broke the spell of my happy place and now I can't find it anywhere.
Gee, thanks for writing.
She wants help, she wants to talk on the phone, she wants connection, she wants...wants...wants...
Some of this I get. Some of this I understand and I understand her set of needs are no where near "normal" or expected for a 57 year old mother. But what does normal mean anyway? By what standards am I judging her? Does it mean married? Homeowner? Near retirement? Hosting Thanksgiving dinner? I myself actively try to undo these and other normative beliefs I find bouncing around in my head or in our family conversation at home, and yet I seem to compare her to these idealized images of "mother", and of course, she does not fare well in the comparison. And that only gives the little violinist on my shoulder more to go on anyway.
So I try to free her and myself from these comparisons. And I am left with this woman who is my mother, who is attempting to connect with me and is being overrun by her mental illness. Sometimes I feel like I am emailing with her, sometimes I feel like I am emailing with her disease directly and most of the time it is somewhere in the middle and in every instant I am unsure whether her response will be sweet or full of vitriol.
I am sad for her and there is a large part of me that would love to offer her emotional, familial support while she works her way back from homelessness, but there is the other part of me that says she is an endless pit who will take everything I have. She never stops wanting...once you give a little, there is always more to take and besides, I have kids to think about.
The hardest part, I believe, is that her illness causes her to not be able to see her illness. So, not only can we not talk about it to any successful end, but when I don't see things the way she sees them she can't understand me. And as time goes on and I am further and further away from seeing things through the lens of her distorted reality, she says she doesn't know me and I have to say that I think she is right.
And other than a blood bond and shared history, I'm not sure what there is left for us. She says having a connection with me will help her during this difficult time. Perhaps, but is this just about what is good for her? No. I don't think so.
My normative beliefs about the ideal daughter tell me that she certainly would be there for her, but fair is fair and we've stated she is no ideal mother and, well, I am no ideal daughter. I am trying to be okay with that and figure out what I want to do here with this real request from a real flesh and blood person.
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Thanks Mom
So it has been a while since I've written. Not a ton has changed, but time has gone by and that has made somethings feel different regarding my mother.
Since I last wrote I decided to write my mother a letter via snail mail. I am never sure if I will hear from her again and I become convinced that every call about my mother is the call informing me that she has died. Given this, I decided to, while I had her address, tell her everything I would want to tell her should this be my last communication.
What did I tell her? I told her I loved her and that I am not sure she can see the ways her illness is hurting her and that I hope for wellness for her, but cannot guarantee anything on my end...I get too hurt.
I heard back from her via snail mail, with a letter addressed to my husband's office as I was not comfortable giving her my home address (realizing that then I would feel panicked, even 12 states away, that she might show up at my safe place, my home). She disregarded all of the more meaningful parts of my letter and responded about how life was now for her, and waxed poetically about me and my family and how lovely we are.
After the anger passed at having been substantially ignored, I decided to write to her and I even did so via email this time. Instead of continuing to try to change her, try to help her, try to show her the cracks in her reality, I just responded politely. I sent her the kind of email I might send a distant relative after a long hiatus..."my daughter is 3 now, she is spirited and funny..." and so on. I even attached pictures of the kids and one of all of us. I sent it off.
Two weeks passed and then I received a two line email indicating that she liked the pictures and was busy with interviews so she did not have much time. She would be in touch later.
That was 2 months ago.
At first I checked my email more frequently wondering if now was the later she meant. I dreaded/hoped to hear from her. I hoped a miracle had happened, I dreaded what I thought was really happening and any continued involvement on my end. And after a while I got busy with the stuff of life and time passed. When I open my email I am not wondering if I will hear from her anymore.
So, why the title of this post? Why am I thankful? I have tried to write this post off and on for the 2 years I have been writing this blog. Here is the thing: even in the midst of this present day heartache, she did a few things right. She did somethings amazingly right. She was sometimes brave and bold and big-hearted. She was sometimes the mom I want to be.
It is this part that I have a hard time reconciling.
And if you have read my blog, I'm sure you know why.
Today I recalled such a thing she did beautifully right. When I was 8 or so, my mother took our book of fairy tales and switched all the gendered characters. Instead of Beauty and the Beast, it read Handsome and the Beast. The idea of that story being about a handsome, sweet prince helping a grotesque and difficult woman is substantially different from the classic. She gave me the gift of these new stories and the gift of seeing the crack in these norms that serve to shape us all.
So, today I sent her an email thanking her for this. I have no idea if it is a working address anymore or if it will illicit a response even if it is. But I've spent so much time dwelling in either escaping the negative or fortifying my boundaries from problems that it feels refreshing to spend a moment basking in a good memory.
Sometimes it is comforting to not over think a thing. So I will not go on, but I will just say that was a good thing she did. Thank you Mom, for that and for so many other things that I rarely have the opportunity to think about.
Since I last wrote I decided to write my mother a letter via snail mail. I am never sure if I will hear from her again and I become convinced that every call about my mother is the call informing me that she has died. Given this, I decided to, while I had her address, tell her everything I would want to tell her should this be my last communication.
What did I tell her? I told her I loved her and that I am not sure she can see the ways her illness is hurting her and that I hope for wellness for her, but cannot guarantee anything on my end...I get too hurt.
I heard back from her via snail mail, with a letter addressed to my husband's office as I was not comfortable giving her my home address (realizing that then I would feel panicked, even 12 states away, that she might show up at my safe place, my home). She disregarded all of the more meaningful parts of my letter and responded about how life was now for her, and waxed poetically about me and my family and how lovely we are.
After the anger passed at having been substantially ignored, I decided to write to her and I even did so via email this time. Instead of continuing to try to change her, try to help her, try to show her the cracks in her reality, I just responded politely. I sent her the kind of email I might send a distant relative after a long hiatus..."my daughter is 3 now, she is spirited and funny..." and so on. I even attached pictures of the kids and one of all of us. I sent it off.
Two weeks passed and then I received a two line email indicating that she liked the pictures and was busy with interviews so she did not have much time. She would be in touch later.
That was 2 months ago.
At first I checked my email more frequently wondering if now was the later she meant. I dreaded/hoped to hear from her. I hoped a miracle had happened, I dreaded what I thought was really happening and any continued involvement on my end. And after a while I got busy with the stuff of life and time passed. When I open my email I am not wondering if I will hear from her anymore.
So, why the title of this post? Why am I thankful? I have tried to write this post off and on for the 2 years I have been writing this blog. Here is the thing: even in the midst of this present day heartache, she did a few things right. She did somethings amazingly right. She was sometimes brave and bold and big-hearted. She was sometimes the mom I want to be.
It is this part that I have a hard time reconciling.
And if you have read my blog, I'm sure you know why.
Today I recalled such a thing she did beautifully right. When I was 8 or so, my mother took our book of fairy tales and switched all the gendered characters. Instead of Beauty and the Beast, it read Handsome and the Beast. The idea of that story being about a handsome, sweet prince helping a grotesque and difficult woman is substantially different from the classic. She gave me the gift of these new stories and the gift of seeing the crack in these norms that serve to shape us all.
So, today I sent her an email thanking her for this. I have no idea if it is a working address anymore or if it will illicit a response even if it is. But I've spent so much time dwelling in either escaping the negative or fortifying my boundaries from problems that it feels refreshing to spend a moment basking in a good memory.
Sometimes it is comforting to not over think a thing. So I will not go on, but I will just say that was a good thing she did. Thank you Mom, for that and for so many other things that I rarely have the opportunity to think about.
Monday, July 16, 2012
Pathology
I woke with a panic last night again. I’m guessing this is related to the ongoing
presence of my mother in my life for this last week and a half. From talking to a counselor at an addiction
treatment facility (again, not her primary problem!) to considering what her
now being in a half way house in Boston means to me, it has been on my mind a lot lately. The counselor told me my mother wants to
reconcile and make amends with her daughters.
Whatever that means.
Last night, my mind was swirling. Thoughts formed and built on each other
without words and so I had difficulty putting them into sentences this morning.
I want to try to put some of them down right now, so as to purge, so as
to see if I can connect my dots again, so as to keep a record and to see if
there is some clarity and insight I may gain from these swirling thoughts.
Are these thoughts that hit you like a lightning flash moments of clarity or moments of emotional detritus buildup wreaking havoc? It either feels like something I should take careful notice of or dismiss outright. I'll try to sum up my thoughts here:
When I delve into sociological thought I feel like a
spectator of life, sitting on the bleachers, notebook in hand, criticizing what
I see. On the more positive side, I feel
like my aim is to hold up a mirror to a dysfunctional world and point out its
problems and then to, ultimately, help the world heal and get better.
This pretty much exactly mirrors my thoughts about my
mother: hold up a mirror to help her see her dysfunction and then help
her. How much of my path is derived from
this origin? I know a lot of it is, but how much?
And does it matter? Is it a way that I
am not truly being myself but rather still that child of a borderline mother
who is trying to make the world a safer place to be? So scared about how messed up things are that
I seek to set about fixing them for fear that sitting back and allowing them to
persist would allow it to swallow me up? As if I had any control of it to begin with.
Like my propensity to clean my house after an interaction with my
mother, I seek control, for when others have had it things haven’t always gone
so well.
And how much of this echoes my mother’s own journey? And how much does that send a shiver down my spine?
My mother went into psychology, instead of her true passion
of journalism she has said, to become an expert, a person in control, a person with the
power to help her avail her feelings of helplessness with herself having a
mentally ill mother.
And here I am. Try as
I might, I am a person who is affected by my world and my path defined largely
by where I have been thus far. Despite my childhood fascination with superheroes, I haven't come into my superpower quite yet and find, somewhat disappointingly, that I am just a regular person.
As through my work I always hope to find those
instances where people’s futures are not defined by their past, I hope to find
the same for myself. Yet, ironically, sometimes I feel I have not only removed
myself from this family legacy I have actually continued it on with unfettered
gusto. And while I seek peace with my origins and experience (the good and the bad) and the fact that they are indeed a part of me, I worry about the trajectory of this path.
Part of me wants to say, so what, yes I was fueled by demons to pursue this career...am fueled by demons...but this doesn't mean that dueling with them will destroy me. But the other part of me screams that any interaction with the demons, whether running from them or attacking them are part of the problem and a life removed from them as much as possible is what will bring me peace.
So I struggle. I struggle with this off and on as I contemplate my decisions in life and I struggle mightily in the middle of the night when the ball feels in my court in actual dealings with my ill mother.
Friday, June 1, 2012
Happiness
Last night a friend had a viewing party for the movie Happy. The creators of this movie interviewed individuals from places ranging from Namibia, India, the US, Denmark and Japan to get at what makes, or does not make, people happy. Not terribly surprisingly, stuff does not make you happy. Status does not make you happy. Money does not make you happy. Though it sure does give the illusion of offering that when you don't feel that you have it.
However, more surprisingly, hardships do not have to make you unhappy. Or, perhaps I should say, do not have to make you unhappy over the long run.
I have struggled, visibly at times, with the parts of my life that are depressing and serve to make me...well...unhappy. For a while my goal was to not get sucked into the downward spiral myself and become "unhappy." I felt pleased everyday that I avoided the downward spiral and maintained the status quo. What I have been contemplating lately is the upward spiral. Is such a thing possible?
Given situationally depressing factors out of my control, like a homeless, ill mother, am I even allowed to be happy? Is it okay for me to be thriving, flourishing, joyful, laughter-ful, and positively annoyingly upbeat? (okay, I'm not sure I'm actually up for that, but bear with me). It just felt like one of those things that I am not entitled to. That is reserved for other people. Oh yeah, so and so is awfully happy. Must be nice to be them. If it wasn't for (fill in the blank), then maybe I would be so happy too.
What if I don't think of my life like this? What if I don't forever and constantly tether myself to the depressing bits of the world, and my personal world, that serve to make me see the world as a profoundly disappointing place?
For a while such thought felt like heresy. Such thoughts felt like denial of my truths. But in this new moment, these thoughts feel like anything but. It is not a denial of the uglier or harder parts of my life, but an affirmation of the positive parts and a peaceful acceptance of the harder parts.
Additionally, comparing myself to others is dangerous. When thinking "well of course so and so is happy, she is/has (fill in the blank)", I set up a scenario that opens me up to hostile and jealous feelings towards this friend. Even when I am seeing them in a favorable light, this thinking can create an illusion of competition. These "only if" kind of thoughts do a disservice not just to myself, but to my friendships. What if we were both happy? And both happy in perhaps very different circumstances? Wouldn't that be the best outcome, actually?
After all, spending my life wishing and waiting for something to happen or go away before I can "get happy" is a fallacy. The irony is happiness is right here and that chasing it can make it ever more elusive.
I hope for you all a glass half full, or even overflowing. Happy summer.
However, more surprisingly, hardships do not have to make you unhappy. Or, perhaps I should say, do not have to make you unhappy over the long run.
I have struggled, visibly at times, with the parts of my life that are depressing and serve to make me...well...unhappy. For a while my goal was to not get sucked into the downward spiral myself and become "unhappy." I felt pleased everyday that I avoided the downward spiral and maintained the status quo. What I have been contemplating lately is the upward spiral. Is such a thing possible?
Given situationally depressing factors out of my control, like a homeless, ill mother, am I even allowed to be happy? Is it okay for me to be thriving, flourishing, joyful, laughter-ful, and positively annoyingly upbeat? (okay, I'm not sure I'm actually up for that, but bear with me). It just felt like one of those things that I am not entitled to. That is reserved for other people. Oh yeah, so and so is awfully happy. Must be nice to be them. If it wasn't for (fill in the blank), then maybe I would be so happy too.
What if I don't think of my life like this? What if I don't forever and constantly tether myself to the depressing bits of the world, and my personal world, that serve to make me see the world as a profoundly disappointing place?
For a while such thought felt like heresy. Such thoughts felt like denial of my truths. But in this new moment, these thoughts feel like anything but. It is not a denial of the uglier or harder parts of my life, but an affirmation of the positive parts and a peaceful acceptance of the harder parts.
Additionally, comparing myself to others is dangerous. When thinking "well of course so and so is happy, she is/has (fill in the blank)", I set up a scenario that opens me up to hostile and jealous feelings towards this friend. Even when I am seeing them in a favorable light, this thinking can create an illusion of competition. These "only if" kind of thoughts do a disservice not just to myself, but to my friendships. What if we were both happy? And both happy in perhaps very different circumstances? Wouldn't that be the best outcome, actually?
After all, spending my life wishing and waiting for something to happen or go away before I can "get happy" is a fallacy. The irony is happiness is right here and that chasing it can make it ever more elusive.
I hope for you all a glass half full, or even overflowing. Happy summer.
Monday, April 23, 2012
Don't take away my optimism!
Last week my neurologist had me start a new medication, Keppra, to help control my seizures. He warned me that it had a side effect I should tell my best friends and husband about so that they could help me look out for it. That side effect was irritability. My neurologist said I should let them know ahead of time because I wouldn't be able to see it, to me, everyone would just be a jerk.
Well, lets just say that my days on Keppra are over now and my husband is a very patient and kind man.
It took us both a while to realize what was going on, even with the advanced warning from my neurologist, because I wasn't irrationally upset, just more upset than usual, more glass half empty all the way around.
I found myself near tears this weekend numerous times as I negatively surveyed my life. I kept thinking, I am an epileptic who can't drive for six months and whose health is not steady at the moment, I am a mother of two little ones (one a toddler who likes to say NO! a lot), I have a husband who is traveling quite a bit this spring and summer, I am a graduate student and have numerous graduate school complaints, and, of course, I have a mentally ill, homeless mother out there somewhere.
These things I was upset about made sense...difficult toddler moods, frustrating graduate school details, epilepsy related challenges, etc. But my usual ability to recover was gone.
Instead of saying yes, this sucks, but not everything sucks, or, at least, it won't suck forever, I just sat there unable to even motivate myself to get out of the realization of suckiness.
And here's the thing, yes I'm not driving and my health is a little wacky right now, but things don't suck so much right now actually. They have sucked a lot more before, so why this despairing?
It was then that we realized that I was not myself and needed to get off of Keppra. So, we are back to the drawing board trying to figure out why a med, Zarontin, that has worked (somewhat inexplicably) for 18 years for me is all of a sudden not as reliable and/or why my body is changing now, at 36, when it didn't through two pregnancies, weight changes, and all the hormone adjustments that went along with that.
But I am okay with that. I am more or less at peace with that. It is something I'm not thrilled about, but today, as Keppra is leaving my system, I see how differently my life, and many lives I'm sure, can be viewed depending upon one's perspective. This morning, even with a dizzy head and some chills (that I think is due to med change, but only time will tell), I see how fortunate I am as well. Some of the things I am thankful for: having two wonderful, healthy children, having a wonderfully supportive spouse who is happily employed, being able to pursue a graduate education, having a great network of friends to help with this non-driving period. What is funny about this list is how closely it resembles my list of struggles from above.
No matter what medication arrangement we finally land on, I do know that of all the side effects I am willing to deal with, a lack of optimism is not one of them. Looking on the bright side is the main coping skill that got me through my childhood and if I don't have that, I would be lost.
Well, lets just say that my days on Keppra are over now and my husband is a very patient and kind man.
It took us both a while to realize what was going on, even with the advanced warning from my neurologist, because I wasn't irrationally upset, just more upset than usual, more glass half empty all the way around.
I found myself near tears this weekend numerous times as I negatively surveyed my life. I kept thinking, I am an epileptic who can't drive for six months and whose health is not steady at the moment, I am a mother of two little ones (one a toddler who likes to say NO! a lot), I have a husband who is traveling quite a bit this spring and summer, I am a graduate student and have numerous graduate school complaints, and, of course, I have a mentally ill, homeless mother out there somewhere.
These things I was upset about made sense...difficult toddler moods, frustrating graduate school details, epilepsy related challenges, etc. But my usual ability to recover was gone.
Instead of saying yes, this sucks, but not everything sucks, or, at least, it won't suck forever, I just sat there unable to even motivate myself to get out of the realization of suckiness.
And here's the thing, yes I'm not driving and my health is a little wacky right now, but things don't suck so much right now actually. They have sucked a lot more before, so why this despairing?
It was then that we realized that I was not myself and needed to get off of Keppra. So, we are back to the drawing board trying to figure out why a med, Zarontin, that has worked (somewhat inexplicably) for 18 years for me is all of a sudden not as reliable and/or why my body is changing now, at 36, when it didn't through two pregnancies, weight changes, and all the hormone adjustments that went along with that.
But I am okay with that. I am more or less at peace with that. It is something I'm not thrilled about, but today, as Keppra is leaving my system, I see how differently my life, and many lives I'm sure, can be viewed depending upon one's perspective. This morning, even with a dizzy head and some chills (that I think is due to med change, but only time will tell), I see how fortunate I am as well. Some of the things I am thankful for: having two wonderful, healthy children, having a wonderfully supportive spouse who is happily employed, being able to pursue a graduate education, having a great network of friends to help with this non-driving period. What is funny about this list is how closely it resembles my list of struggles from above.
No matter what medication arrangement we finally land on, I do know that of all the side effects I am willing to deal with, a lack of optimism is not one of them. Looking on the bright side is the main coping skill that got me through my childhood and if I don't have that, I would be lost.
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