Thoughts

So many things have been on my mind lately.

Losing a parent, especially one you're close to, is so hard. I miss my sweet mom with every breath I take. There is not a thing in my life that grief doesn't touch. And then there are all the changes we are dealing with because she is gone. Plus all the normal life stuff, like my job and my work at church. Then there's all the health issues I'm trying to get under control.  Add in some mental illness and it's sometimes overwhelming to be a person. It can make your heart heavy, make it hard to get through the day.

A week ago (or so), I had many things I wanted to get done. My list was long and time consuming and I knew I wouldn't get to it all. I hoped I would be able to tackle a good chunk of it, but by the end of the day, I'd barely done anything.  I was a little disappointed in my lack of accomplishment, but then I remembered something I saw a while back. 

A quote from a college professor somewhere: "anything worth doing is worth doing poorly."

That's a head scratching one, isn't it? Quite the opposite of how I was raised. But the point of it is, it's better to do something than nothing. For people with mental illness like depression or anxiety, this can be life changing. When taking a shower is too much, at least wash your face. When cleaning the whole kitchen is too much, at least take out the trash. And so on.

What a different way to look at yourself!

On this particular day, all I had wanted to do since I woke up was just stay in bed. I wanted to sleep and read and eat cookie dough and call it a day.  In stead, I got up and got some things done. I was ridiculously tired and very low on energy and it took all day, but I did it.  I managed to adult and accomplish something. 

What I did not do was nothing. 

I decided to focus on that and be proud of myself for doing something when all I wanted was to do nothing.

Life can sometimes beat you over the head and knock you flat on your back.  But life can also be beautiful; full of friends, fall colors and spring flowers, good times and happy memories.

Focusing on the positive doesn't magically cure depression or fast-forward you through the stages of grief. But it does help lift some of the burden, it makes getting through the day a little easier.  Because what we choose to focus on is what we will find.

Listen

I've been thinking about listening. Not just to the people around us, but to that indefinable voice inside that seems to prepare us for things we can't know to expect. Those times when you realize, "something just told me..." or "I had a feeling...".

If you've read my recent posts, you know my mom passed away last month. The month before that, I decided at the last minute to go see her for Mother's Day. During that visit, I uncharacteristically and spontaneously decided to take a selfie of the two of us. I also remember noticing how frail she seemed and wondering how much longer she would be with us.

It turned out to be just a few more weeks.

I was so incredibly grateful I listened and paid attention to that feeling that told me it was important.

Those feelings and thoughts are there for a reason. I sometimes find it hard to tell if it's really a prompting or just my wishful thinking. But there are times that I'm left with no doubt where it's coming from, even if that understanding doesn't come until afterwards. And I often regretted the times I brushed those thoughts aside, thinking I was being silly or foolish.

I'm a religious person and I believe that "voice" is spiritual inspiration or revelation. Some people probably think of it as instinct or intuition. Maybe some people think of it as a guardian angel or as the universe sending you a message.

Whatever it is you believe - listen.

Understanding

My mom passed a way a few weeks ago. My life has turned upside down and I hate even thinking of this world without my sweet mother in it. So much emotion, so much pain, so much missing her. It's all still so very raw. But the world doesn't stop because I'm grieving.

The the day after Mom's services, I had to have a medical procedure that required me to be sedated (essentially asleep). They also gave me a sedative in pre-op that's in the same family as Ativan. On top of that, I was prescribed narcotic pain killers for after the procedure.

When I was home and basically resting, letting the meds wear off, I realized I wasn't feeling much. Not like being in shock or shutting down, where you can feel all the emotion is under the surface but aren't really touching it. It was more like the bulk of the emotion just wasn't there. It was an unexpected reprieve. I remember glancing over at those pill bottles and thinking, "I get why people get addicted to this." And soon after I thought, "no wonder drug addiction changes a person so much."

We've all been through things that cause us to feel so much that it can be overwhelming. And some people can get overwhelmed more easily or more often than others. So when it's all too much and there's this drug you can take that makes you not feel all the hard things? Wow. That is incredibly tempting.

Imagine reaching for the numbness anytime you feel something big.

Imagine doing that for months or years.

Constantly escaping those hard feelings by taking or doing something that makes you not feel. 

You wouldn't feel the pain, the happiness, the compassion, the sorrow - none of it. Not deeply enough to matter, at least. And when you're numb all the time, you might forget who you are when you do feel and you would make different choices, treat people differently.

Of course that changes a person. They could go from otherwise being "normal" and kind, to being the selfish addict whose only real focus is the next high, the next way to find the numbness.

Sadly, the addict chasing the high is often all people see. They don't see the depth of emotion and pain, the trauma, the seemingly brokenness in a person that caused them to turn to drugs or alcohol (or whatever) to begin with. Something a lot of people don't understand if they don't deal with addiction in some way - addiction is almost never about the thing you're addicted to. It's an unhealthy coping mechanism, an escape, a substitute to fill a void you don't know how else to fill. 

While this experience of mine is pretty minimal, it has given me a whole new level of understanding. I can believe that there are people who feel like they NEED that numbness in order to function. Maybe their pain or trauma is just too big and they never really recovered or learned how to deal with it.  That breaks my heart.

I didn't like that numbness - emotion makes up such a huge part of my personality and character. I prefer to feel what I feel and to be aware and in control. But the numbness I felt the other day was definitely a reprieve - one I wasn't looking or asking for, but the relief of it, in the middle of all this raw grief, was undeniable.  I can see why someone would seek it out.

I hope I can hold on to that memory and see people with addiction with more compassion and understanding than maybe I have in the past. Because broken minds and broken hearts need healing, too.