All tagged Mental health
It is a widely known fact that I crave control in just about every aspect of my life. Though, life has LOVED reminding me how little control I actually possess. My workaround has been to focus on what I know I can control. To flip every switch and lever available to me in hopes that even if it all goes to shit, I can at least look back and say I did everything I could.
Not having a memory-filled home base never really bothered me before. I’ve enjoyed living all over, experiencing and getting to know different parts of the country. It’s exciting, new, and different, all of which I have a history of gravitating toward. But lately I’ve been craving something simpler, something known: a touchstone.
Lately I’ve been feeling unmotivated. Questioning if a depressive episode is creeping in. I’ve settled on the term malaise - mostly because I like the way it sounds. Turns out it is also an accurate usage of the word: a feeling of being unwell, fatigued, or generally not yourself.
I take a lot of pride in my strength even if it is not strength that I ever wanted to earn. I did earn it and it is mine. Which is why I think that this last week has been so hard. Because for the first time in a long time I have felt vulnerable, I have felt weak, I have not felt like myself – physically or emotionally.
In January, after a routine mammogram and ultra-sound (because dense breast club), the radiologist recommended I get a lump in each breast biopsied. Three weeks later, one turned out to be a large benign cyst. The other was cancer.
Every five years or so my life has undergone a major life refocusing and it would appear that I am in the midst of one again. And it awkward and uncomfortable and I’m not quite sure what I am supposed to do next.
I am trying to stay informed but not be overwhelmed. To acknowledge the chaos but not succumb to it. To bear witness to the devastation but not let it depress me. And let me tell you, it is hard fucking work. Who knew it would take a global upheaval for me to finally start practicing mindfulness?
“What if we bought a house in the country and homeschooled the kids?” I thought out loud in my husband’s direction. Miguel, ever-patient listened as I played out my daydream before I came to the obvious conclusion that I would be miserable after two weeks. Still, life suddenly felt too fast – I was capable of keeping up, but for the first time in a long time I didn’t want to.
Earlier this week, I gave a virtual keynote on our family’s journey and various themes from my book, Normal Broken. During the Q&A, an attendee mentioned she had been reading my blog, but until this talk hadn’t known what the name of my blog, Inchstones, referred to. So, this week, I’m taking it back to March 22nd, 2019, and resharing a blog about what the concept of inchstones means to me.
As caregivers we spend so much time resisting the idea that our loved one is a burden. We love them, we want to care for them, they deserved to be cared for, and if we don’t do it who else will? In a world that measures human value in physical or financial productivity, the last thing we want to do is show the toll their health takes on us as well.
I know we are never healed, and that we will always grieve our lost loves. I’ve written those words here, in my book Normal Broken, and say them in nearly every speech I give. I could accept grieving Adelaide forever because I will love her forever. Grief = Love. What I didn’t understand is that the trauma of her life would be with me forever as well.
Strength, or our perception of it, is a theme I have come back to time and again in my writing. For a long time, I didn’t think I deserved to be considered strong because it wasn’t something I chose. Though I eventually accepted that there is always a choice, even when the alternatives seem unfathomable. So why, if I am now able to own my strength, am I still struggling to define it?
