Tuesday, May 27, 2014

Day 88: Swept Under

May 27, 2014

Today felt like week one. Crying so hard my teeth were chattering. Wave after wave after wave. Knees scraped. Knuckles bruised. Palms bloodied. Water in the lungs. Thinking I may not make it up for air.

What triggered it?
What happened? Why?

That's a good question. And I guess it's important to know, at least from my experience, that sometimes we'll slide back into the very deepest grief, without warning and without a trigger.

This is why grief is a bitch.

I was reminded yesterday by the most gentle of souls that I haven't had a break since this all began. I was reminded that I had just had my orientation for a new job the day Gareth fell, and missing the first week of work to be with him and his family in Gyeongju, I showed up and jumped in to new classes in week 2. A new job. A new town. I signed up for Korean classes twice a week- a 7 hour commitment, including travel there and back. I signed up to volunteer once a week with university students with special needs.

I thought it best to keep showing up and plow ahead. Perhaps there's only so much showing up and plowing ahead one can do in the midst of great loss and sadness.

Today I feel leveled. Flattened. Back at ground zero and wondering if I have what it takes to continue doing this. I cannot comprehend this level of pain day after day for much longer, and there is no throwing in the towel for me. There is no giving up. There is no ending things. There is not even a stiff drink at the end of the night as a possibility. I am committed to waking up every morning and living, no matter how bitterly painful it is.

Before I entertain the idea that this will be what life feels like for "at least the first year," I'm taking the advice of a friend and lightening my load- a load that I thought was considerably light anyway. A load I thought I had no right to lighten in the first place. "Bridget," a co-worker reminded me today when I was feeling inadequate for asking someone to cover a clinic for me, "plenty of people take off for an entire SEMESTER for this kind of thing. Don't be so hard on yourself."

I can be so hard on myself.  This is not news to me.

Today I practiced (again) asking for help and then accepting it. Two of my clinics were covered while I stayed in the office and just wept and wept. And in some ways, this lesson of asking for what I need and accepting it when it's given is a really valuable one. It's possible that I may have been the type of person that was so self-sufficient that it takes being flattened like this to be open to a lesson on asking for help. That I have to be so desperate for the help only a situation like this would allow me to take it- readily and without pause. I must remember this in the future. Asking for help is important. Accepting it is equally important.

I'm also open to listening to the observations of others, because I can't always see it. My vision is certainly clouded with grief right now, and I may not see that I'm exhausted, or too busy, or needing more time to just relax, meditate, sleep....I may need a day of sleep. Nothing else. I may need several of those.

I'm quitting my Korean class. What's $120? And it will be there for me when I'm ready. I'm stepping down from volunteering. It, too, will be there for me when I'm ready. I'm making space to steep myself in the things that will bring me comfort and alleviate stress. I'm trying to practice self-care, even as I want so desperately to be disconnected from this self that is feeling so much pain.

Every possible state is uncomfortable- if I think of the past, I'm filled with longing. The present is almost unbearable. And the future is something my pain tells me I don't want. Do you know that feeling of discomfort and restlessness when you have a fever and your skin hurts? Your bones ache? Your stomach twists and your mouth tastes of the sour indication of vomit? That's grief. That's it all of the time. It gets louder and it gets softer. But there it is.

So I will do my best at the moment to go back to the early days of this. Drink water. Sleep. Call people and ask for what I need. Accept help when it's offered. Pray. Write. Allow the waves to come. And trust that this, even this, too shall pass.

I have 14 more days of teaching. And 31 days until I leave to go back to St. Louis, where a support system bigger than I can imagine waits for me.

I can do this.

I can do this.

I.

can.

do.

this.


1 comment:

  1. Synchronicity again! I, too, had someone tell me to be gentle with myself again. In the midst of my grief I've been looking at all the "shoulds", which are not even "wants," and all they do is tax me and I feel like a failure. The person, my therapist, suggested I be not so hard on myself and told me I was a good person. I guess I needed that validation and permission from an expert in the field to really take this in an listen. I'm glad you are cutting out the stressful XTRA's and taking on what gives you joy and what you minimally have to do. I was worried about you taking what seemed like a sudden surge into recovery from grief---I know you still grieved, but I couldn't imagine you taking on the Korean class and I had no idea you were doing the XTRA volunteer. work.

    For me...I had read any article on tackling homework in a column for parents. I no longer deal with this directly or indirectly, but the advice to tackle the easy stuff first resonanted with me. Do the things I can accomplish easily and get some sense of accomplishment. Also means less stress.

    ;Congratulations on your new found self-care.

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