Real life

Everyone who loves me wants so badly for me to be okay. Their hearts ache for my loss as a mom, and they long for me to have happiness.

I'm often pretty quiet when I'm not doing well, partly because I don't want to make people sad.
Also, partly because when my resources are low, I'm especially unable to handle a flood of helpful (unsolicited) advice on how to do better. I usually just lie low for a while, until things improve.

So how am I doing?

I'll tell you.

I'm not doing the best that I could be doing.
I'm doing kind of the best-ish that I have at this moment.

I've been better.
I've been worse.

Sometimes, I have days when I do all of the things to help and support my own well-being.

Other times look like tonight- listening to Andrea Boccelli while washing dishes at 1 AM because that's when I finally managed to drag my most-reluctant self into the kitchen to do them.

Sometimes it's different.
Sometimes I listen to Piano Guys. Or Lauren Daigle.
Sometimes I wash the dishes at midnight or eleven-thirty.

Here's the thing...

Underneath all of the extra complications, I am still me and I still struggle with the same things I always have. It's just exaggerated now because of grief and loss and all that goes with that.

I'm not feeling especially sad right now. I'm just tired and overwhelmed with all that needs to be done. It wears me down and makes it hard for me to do the things.

I don't share my struggles as an appeal for reassurance or sympathy (though I am so grateful for all the love and kindness you dear people have shown me on here) but to tell the honest story of what this journey is like for me. My hope is that maybe someone else who struggles will read my story and know that they are not alone. Or that opening the doors on my life will help others grow in understanding and compassion. Those are the reasons I write- to build understanding and to offer encouragement and hope.

So...this is a glimpse of my real life when I'm not soaring in victorious glory.

This is what it looks like, tonight, this week, for me.
And if that's what it takes for me to carry on, that's okay.

One of the most important things to do when you are going through a hard time is to extend immense and gentle grace to yourself.
Be kind to yourself about where you are and how you're doing.

You are loved, right where you are.
You are enough.

Grief Sleeping

Sleep while grieving?

You don't.

The end.

.
.
.
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Okay, eventually you do. But not for a while, and then not well.

After some times goes by, you flip to the other side of the coin and develop a deep need for more sleep than you ever needed before.

At least, that's how it went for me.

Scattered, shattered snatches of sleep those first few nights.
Then, the weary press of exhaustion reaching for but rarely finding that elusive prize.

Rest. Deep, soul-replenishing, life-refreshing sleep.

Later, I (and our girls, too) found that the need for sleep is much  greater than it used to be.
Our bodies and minds want more, substantially more than before.

Except...it's still not that soft sink into blissful, sweet-dreamed oblivion.

Not yet.

I stay up too late, most of the time, running from what my mind does when I stop moving.

I am so tired.

When I remember or am able, I do all of the things, in the right order and a timely fashion. I choose some favorite jammies; soft and comfortable- the kind you can't wait to crawl into. I turn off all of the screens when that reminder sounds on my phone. I take the several supplements we have to relax and to calm and to encourage sleep. I make a large mug of relaxing tea- usually Traditional Medicinals Lavender ~ Chamomile, with a spoon of good honey and a splash of coconut milk. I get comfy while I drink it, reflect on the day and record good words in my Blessing journal. I read my Bible, and then ease my way gently to bed at a surprisingly early hour.

Even then, most often, the moment my body stills, my system is jarred to wakefulness by upsetting thoughts. Not always about Michael, it can be anything that will kick my adrenalin and rev my system. There's no chance to "take all thoughts captive" when the first thought punches my adrenal system in the chest and throws it into high gear. I pick up my electronic "book," kept bedside for just this reason, and try to soothe my mind back down with a faithful old friend, or words from God's Word. After a while, when my thoughts have stopped ricocheting around my mind like panicked fawns, I try again. Sometimes it works and I sleep. Even then, all this takes time, cutting my nights shorter and shorter and leaving me tired before I even wake up the next day.

I have this fantasy that if I was really doing it "right," really dwelling in God's presence in a deep and purposeful way, I would be flooded and sustained with such deep, pervasive peace that I could slip softly to sleep without a single ripple to the surface of my thoughts. It's probably true. I'm just not there right now.

I cringe as I write this, certain that someone (probably several someones) will eagerly leap to flood me with helpful suggestions to solve my little problem. So sure there's a simple answer.

If you are feeling that urge, please don't. I know you leap with the best of loving intentions to fix what's wrong, but trust me...what I write is not a plea for advice. It is one battered refugee, plodding the no-man's-land of grief, posting a notice to share with others what it looks like here.

Not only for my own sake, but for the sake of everyone who is grieving, or dealing with issues of mental health or chronic illness or disability or motherhood or just life...please don't be so quick to shovel out advice, dust your hands and hurry on with your day. Whether it's because you honestly believe you know the one magical answer that will solve everything, or because we as humans are so deeply uncomfortable with unsolved problems and unfinished stories, pouring out advice usually does more to harm than to help. Fending off well-meant, unsolicited advice saps what little energy we have. Most likely, if there were a simple solution to our struggle, we would have already done that thing and moved on to better days.

Instead, please be willing to sit right here with us, in the great discomfort of the unsolved and unanswered. Just be with us, and really hear what we say. And let our honest words be met with only love.

Grief Dressing

No, this is not about salad toppings for sad people. ;)

From those first days last summer I have thought about clothes in relation to grief.

Color~
In the old days, people "wore mourning" when someone died. There were specific rules, a general understanding about what was worn, and by whom, and for how long. For a spouse, a woman would usually go into full-black clothing, sometimes also with a heavy black veil. Anyone who saw her knew at a glance what she was going through. For someone less closely connected a man might wear a black arm band or hat band; a woman might wear gray or lavender clothing-the shade being lighter or darker, depending on the closeness of relationship.

I think that there was a real benefit to that system. Anyone could tell at a glance that here was someone in need of extra kindness and understanding. It was also a way to show respect to the person who was gone; to honor their memory.

Now, there's no real way to do that; no simple visible way to let the world know you're suffering.

I actually did look online to see if there are just, like...."I'm grieving" buttons or something.

There are.

But looking at them, it seemed too flippant for the depth of my loss; too cutesy.

For the first several weeks, I did my own private version of mourning clothes. I wore a lot of black and dark gray, dark burgundy. I didn't go out and buy new clothes, but just chose things I already owned in those colors that fit how I felt.

Later, I started to wear the broader range of colors in my usual wardrobe, but in those first weeks the dark colors just felt right. I wanted strong outward evidence of the heavy load my heart carried. It was one of the things I did to honor the private state of my heart, and it felt right to me. It helped.

Comfort~ 
I was already fairly invested in the comfort of my clothes, but that shifted to a whole new level in the wake of Michael's death. I was in such unbearable emotional pain that my body could not stand any level of extra pain or discomfort.

In that place, I needed physical comfort in a deep way. The shock and grief were so intense that I felt like my molecules were barely hanging together; as if my physical and mental self might disintegrate into jagged shards and go spinning away into the storm.

I could not handle uncomfortable clothes.

I wore only soft things that did not bind or constrict anywhere. With every nerve in my body in high panic from the shock, my skin needed only the softest things touching it.

This went on for a long time.

There came a day when I suddenly lost all patience with any of my underwear that were too small or that rode up or bagged, or just caused me annoyance in any way. There was so much incredibly big, unbelievably hard stuff in my life that I could not stand having basic garments that added to my burden in even the smallest way.

I threw out half of my underwear. Yes, it was sort of a dramatic, "I am DONE with you!!!" moment... which also made me smile at myself for making such a scene over underwear. And I ordered new ones, making sure to get the size and style that work best for me, in colors that I like.

I also treated myself to a couple new pairs of socks; the special ones with the thick, cushy soles. They're like walking on little pillows, and they're really soft inside. It was like giving my feet a hug.

One of the most important things I have done through this whole time was to be very loving toward myself. As I shared the other day, I made sure to eat things that felt soothing to my soul. I also saw the value in making sure every part of me, from my bum to my toes, was only touched by  comfort, surrounded by softness.

Every aspect of my being sustained such a severe and lasting shock that I have needed to give thought to every kind of mental, emotional or sensory input. My systems were on extreme overload and none of them could handle anything jarring or abrasive.

Soft, gentle, comforting and comfortable. These were the things that I needed.

~~~~~

Easy, comfy clothes and underwear that do not annoy.
These made a difference in my ability to cope with this intensely hard journey.

Who has time for underwear that add insult to injury?

Grief Reading... not what I expected

There are so many great books out there about the grieving process.

I own some of them, either gifts from loving friends or things I've bought for myself.

I have started reading a couple of them.
.
.
.
But that is as far as I've gotten.

I just can't do it.

It's not that I can't handle reading about grief. I cannot read anything remotely challenging. I don't mean hard or heavy topics; I can't read even positive things that I will have to process.


The combination of intense loss and immense life change with profound physical, mental and emotional exhaustion has left my brain a soft little pudding.

When I told our youngest daughter recently that I was reading Little Women, she said, "That tells me exactly how you're doing." This is something that my family knows.

Just last Spring, I had this conversation with my dear Lee. I gave him the secret key to knowing the state of my inner world. I was sharing with him some ways that I was struggling under the emotional strain of those days, and I said, "What have I been reading?"  He thought for just a moment. "The Chronicles of Narnia....D.E. Stevenson." "Exactly." "Ooohhh!!!" He totally got it in that short conversation.

If I am under stress, I can only read gentle, comfortable old-friend books. The quickest way to know how I'm doing is to look at what I'm reading. (Currently: Jo's Boys- a sequel to Little Women)

It can be frustrating.  I want to be reading deeply helpful books that will encourage me and guide me along this hard, strange new road...but my brain simply cannot process the words.

One of these days, hopefully, my inner world will settle down enough that I can prowl the pages of all those great books and drink in their wise words.

For now, I just have to be patient and read the things that are gentle on my mind and comforting to my soul. Comfort food for the mind. :)


Things I read in times like these:
Louisa May Alcott [Little Women, Little Men, Jo's Boys, An Old Fashioned Girl, Eight Cousins]
The Chronicles of Narnia
L.M. Montgomery [the Anne of Green Gables Series, Emily of New Moon trilogy, the Blue Castle]
the Mitford books, by Jan Karon
The Secret Garden
Pollyanna and its sequel
books by D.E. Stevenson, one of my favorite authors
the Miss Read books
Understood Betsy
the Riddlemaster trilogy- Patricia McKillip
The Blue Sword - Robin McKinley
the Little House on the Prairie series

I'd be interested to know how this impacts others. What are the books you return to when life hits hard and the way is heavy? What lifts your heart and takes you to a happier place?