Category: Transforming Pain

The Thought That Counts

My instinctual response when I’m sad/grieving is “That’s okay… I’m fine… Thank you though.”

It’s what I’ll say when people ask if there’s anything they can do… if there’s anything I need… if I want company or conversation or food or distractions or hugs…

I’m not entirely sure why, but maybe it’s because I want to feel and deal with the weight of it all on my own… maybe it’s because I’m introverted and simply don’t have it in me to expend any more energy being with others at that time… maybe it’s because I don’t want to inconvenience others and/or bring them into the wave of emotion I’m helplessly immersed in… maybe it’s all of the above mixed together… or maybe it’s none and I’m just trying to put on a facade of strength…

And while I genuinely mean it (and believe it) when I say, “It’s okay…” “I’ll be fine…” “Thank you so much for thinking of me, though…” I also must say that I’d be way more sad/broken without the offers, thoughts, and/or sentiments at all.

In this case… it really is the thought that counts.

Thank you—to all those who have been thinking of me during this tough time.

The Heaviest It’ll Be

I’m still heavy in my feels about Stella.

I don’t want to write about something else. I don’t want to move on. I don’t want to accept this new reality.

Whenever I do something distractionary, I feel fogged and heavy.

Whenever I rise from my chair or open the living room gate, I feel a nagging absence.

And whenever I think I’ve cried all I could cry—something arbitrary will make me cry some more.

This is the nature of grief.

No sense to be made. No lessons to be applied. No explanation that’ll do.

Just the weight of it all.

…And the understanding that this weight, now and in every bit of its crushing form, is the heaviest it’ll be.

RIP Stella

I could tell you about her gorgeous fur, kind eyes, and how her butt shaked when she greeted you.

I could tell you about the rituals she loved most—from morning poops, to house sprints when the mailman (finally) arrived, to evening walks… the ones we took religiously and only ever missed one handful of times.

I could tell you about how much she hated other dogs, but how much she loved other people—and how much I could relate to that, but only flipped in reverse.

I could tell you about the time she busted through the front window and aggressively chased a little dog named Rupert and in the same breath tell you about how god damn good she was—an absolute angel who spent most of her days alone, while I worked, and patiently kept herself preoccupied, radiating with love, keeping the house warm for my return.

I could tell you about how it was just her and I… how it was we who made our house into a home… and how proud I was to have her as a dog and companion… how proud I was to introduce her and show her off to everyone I knew.

…But I know that, to those of you who never met her, she’ll only ever be just another dog.

Which is okay. I wouldn’t wish grief on any of you.

…But do me a favor and remember: the difference between Stella and you, and Stella and me, is the time we spent together—something that can’t be explained or substituted—something that’ll be just as true for you and yours, and them and me.

Why I Force Myself To Write Daily

I’m struggling to come up with a topic to write about today.

And part of me wonders… wouldn’t it be better to write and publish only if I have something potent and juicy enough to share?

…Like, why force myself to write something every… single… day?

And then the other part of me remembers… there isn’t a day I write that I don’t struggle.

It’s rare that I ever sit down to write and know exactly what I want to say or exactly what story I want to share.

And even on those days… I don’t think I would recognize the insights or stories as they unfolded in my day if I didn’t have an obligation to myself to write… if I didn’t have my daily time block and space… if I didn’t force myself to look inward and be patient as my mind settles…

And what never ceases to amaze me is where that little bit of forced inner work leads me… like how I arrived here… with this one minute daily piece typed out… a staple in the legacy of my writing… a gift that just might be well received… something made from nothing…

And something that definitely never would’ve been… if I left it up to “when I feel like it” or “when I have something potent and juicy enough to share.”

When Life Is Fair

“If life is fair, and it will be, it will serve you immeasurable beauties, joys and pleasures—you will feel at times that you do not have the capacity to take them in. You will. Our hearts they are boundless. If life is fair, and it will be, it will bring you huge, merciless sorrows. Devastations of your boundless heart. I wish for you the grace to persevere and accept them across time, for that is the only way these kinds of things can be taken in.”
Dan Weiss

While it is undeniably true that life is unfair in the circumstances into which we are born (i.e. socioeconomic status, parents, access to resources, etc), and in how some people are born into and taken from this world without a fighting chance, it’s also true that for most of us, life is fair in how we’re all going to feel the entire spectrum of human emotions.

…We’re each going to feel joy and pleasure just as we’re each going to feel sorrow and devastation. We’re each going to feel the mesmerizing beauty of love just as we’re each going to feel the heart-wrenching pain of loss. We’re each going to feel grateful and sentimental; nervous and insecure; jealous and enraged; lonely and shameful; amazed and confused; euphoric and peaceful…

…Not at the same times and not in equal proportions, but in full nonetheless. So when you’re thriving, soak it all the way in. And when you’re struggling, remember, you’re never alone. And just because you’re feeling something different than us, doesn’t mean we won’t or don’t feel that, too. Be patient and be kind…

…Because on this front—life is fair.

Fixing Feelings

I started uploading quotes from Crying In H Mart by Michelle Zauner this week to MoveMe Quotes. And one of the quotes I uploaded today was:

“Sometimes my grief feels as though I’ve been left alone in a room with no doors. Every time I remember that my mother is dead, it feels like I’m colliding with a wall that won’t give. There’s no escape, just a hard surface that I keep ramming into over and over, a reminder of the immutable reality that I will never see her again.”

…I’m sure you’ve had moments in your life when people were sharing feelings of grief and you didn’t know how to reply.

What occurred to me as I was reading this today was, if she was explaining this feeling to me directly… this deep, complex, very personal feeling… there’s nothing to explain back.

There’s nothing to fix. There’s nothing to cure. There’s nothing to correct.

There’s no need for any kind of worldly insight or prognosis.

What should be offered in response is simply space.

A space that’s warm. A space that’s supportive. A space that’s patient.

…A space where that person and his/her feelings can fully be.

Because oftentimes, in our relentless pursuit of happiness, we mistakingly believe that grief or pain or sadness is something that should be avoided, cured, or suppressed. And with the world’s insight available to us in just a few thumb taps, it can be tempting to want to curate some type of wise, logical, rational response. When really, it’s this very process of giving ourselves and our feelings space to breathe that we give ourselves what we’re really after in life… depth.

Don’t Let Your Strength Weaken The Ones Around You

Sometimes (oftentimes) the best thing you can do to help the people around you grow… is less.

…Yes, lead by example.

…Yes, do for others what you would want done for you.

…Yes, offer support, take initiative, and maintain a strong work ethic.

But, also…

…Share the hard(er) work, large(r) opportunities, and high(er) pressure situations.

…Give people space to explore, experiment, and figure things out on their own.

…Allow people to struggle and mess up and fail.

Growth happens outside our zones of comfort. And if we keep the people around us too comfortable (by doing much of the uncomfortable work)—contrary to what we might see as a service to them—what we’re actually doing to them is a disservice.

Because while being comfortable is what we think we want in any given moment (and what we might think we want from the people around us/working with us)… what we actually want is to do something we can be proud of… something that challenged us and made us better… something that helped us realize our potential.

And sometimes (oftentimes) that only happens when the stronger people around us… do less.

P.s. Borrowing Strength Builds Weakness – A Lesson From My 104 Year Old Grandmother