Feeling the feelings
We went out to a patio last night to have supper and celebrate bereaved mother's day. Celebration may be too big a word. But we went to have a meal and some drinks and because we desperately needed to get out of the house and because, being the functional adults that we are, we ran out of toilet paper. So we decided to make a date out of it.
I was already in a bad mood before the conversation happened.
I didn't like my drink and the table beside us was loud and the sun was shining right in my eyes. Things that I would have normally been able to tolerate but all of them piled together, on this day, was enough to make me crazy.
And then, from the loud table behind me, I heard "We never get to come to patios anymore. You know, because of the baby."
My ears tuned in to their conversation. As much as I hate it baby is one of the words that has the power to turn my head and depending on how you use it will depend how I feel about you from that moment on.
"She's so clingy," The woman, who I assumed was this baby's mother, continued, "If I walk out the door its like all hell is breaking loose. They need you so much when they're young, and you can't even have a life anymore."
I was already judging her in my mind. This woman who was three drinks in (in the time we'd been there) and didn't get to go to patios very often because she had a child, at home, who needed her.
I leaned over to my husband and joked "Perk #1 of having a dead kid: we don't have to miss out on patio season."
We decided we were going to make an entire line of greeting cards that had perks of having a dead kid on them. Because why the fuck not?
These are the kinds of things you joke about. I do it to keep from screaming at strangers.
My kid is better than your kid because at least he doesn't mind if we go to the patio and have a few drinks.
...
One of the most important things about grief that almost anyone will tell you is how important it is to feel your feelings.
I've spent months meditating and sitting and holding space for myself and feeling my feelings. So when everything happened I was prepared for crying that wouldn't stop and that I wouldn't want to get out of bed for the first few weeks. I was going to be a good grieving person.
And then reality sunk in, which never goes quite the way you imagine it to.
While I was prepared for the crying that wouldn't stop and wanting to sleep for 12 hours a day I was not at all prepared for the level of anxiety, rage and judgment that would come up.
I've turned into a control freak. After not being in control of anything, being helpless, I feel the need to know every little detail of every little thing and where we're going and when we're leaving and when we'll be back and who will be there and what time and what day and what we need to bring... And when something happens, because life does that sometimes, and one thing doesn't fit into the plan that I had in my head as to how things were going to go, I am prone to panic attacks.
When things with going back to work didn't go as I had expected them to, I had the urge to call people and scream and cry and beg someone to tell me what was happening. It ended up being a miscommunication that is getting sorted out and I'll go back to work this week, just not the day I had planned, and it was all ok. But in the moment I found out it felt like the end of the world. I leapt to conclusions and decided no one cared about me and it was the end of the world.
I wanted to scream for someone to help me, but it was never really about the thing I was having the panic attack over. It brought me back to that moment in the hospital screaming at my doctor for her to help me, fix this, make it better, knowing that even she didn't have the power to give me my baby back.
I never anticipated how quick I would judge people. No one is given the benefit of the doubt. Everyone is out to get me. I can't even write the things I have thought about people because if I did there would be no doubt you would think I'm horrible to. And I know that. grief has turned me into an asshole, and I wasn't prepared for that.
But mostly I wasn't prepared for the idea that I would become that crazy lady that is portrayed in movies. You know, the one that walks around begging everyone who will listen to help her get back what she lost even though they can't help her. And all the other characters in the movie feel sorry for her, because here she is unable to come to terms with what she lost, still looking for this thing that is gone and isn't coming back.
I feel like that. Like the underlying message to everything is "My baby died."
And even though I know nothing will bring him back, or change what happened, I keep asking. I keep looking for him everywhere I go.
I was prepared for sadness. I was prepared for depression. I wasn't prepared for anxiety and anger.
And now the hard part, in a situation where survival depends on feeling your feelings, is to feel these feelings I don't know what to do with, and don't like. How do I hold my anger and my anxiety and my judgments and not try to get rid of them when they make me a less than desirable person to be around? How do I sit with myself in the midst of these feelings that make me want to turn away from them?
That is the question I'm asking myself right now.
I was already in a bad mood before the conversation happened.
I didn't like my drink and the table beside us was loud and the sun was shining right in my eyes. Things that I would have normally been able to tolerate but all of them piled together, on this day, was enough to make me crazy.
And then, from the loud table behind me, I heard "We never get to come to patios anymore. You know, because of the baby."
My ears tuned in to their conversation. As much as I hate it baby is one of the words that has the power to turn my head and depending on how you use it will depend how I feel about you from that moment on.
"She's so clingy," The woman, who I assumed was this baby's mother, continued, "If I walk out the door its like all hell is breaking loose. They need you so much when they're young, and you can't even have a life anymore."
I was already judging her in my mind. This woman who was three drinks in (in the time we'd been there) and didn't get to go to patios very often because she had a child, at home, who needed her.
I leaned over to my husband and joked "Perk #1 of having a dead kid: we don't have to miss out on patio season."
We decided we were going to make an entire line of greeting cards that had perks of having a dead kid on them. Because why the fuck not?
These are the kinds of things you joke about. I do it to keep from screaming at strangers.
My kid is better than your kid because at least he doesn't mind if we go to the patio and have a few drinks.
...
One of the most important things about grief that almost anyone will tell you is how important it is to feel your feelings.
I've spent months meditating and sitting and holding space for myself and feeling my feelings. So when everything happened I was prepared for crying that wouldn't stop and that I wouldn't want to get out of bed for the first few weeks. I was going to be a good grieving person.
And then reality sunk in, which never goes quite the way you imagine it to.
While I was prepared for the crying that wouldn't stop and wanting to sleep for 12 hours a day I was not at all prepared for the level of anxiety, rage and judgment that would come up.
I've turned into a control freak. After not being in control of anything, being helpless, I feel the need to know every little detail of every little thing and where we're going and when we're leaving and when we'll be back and who will be there and what time and what day and what we need to bring... And when something happens, because life does that sometimes, and one thing doesn't fit into the plan that I had in my head as to how things were going to go, I am prone to panic attacks.
When things with going back to work didn't go as I had expected them to, I had the urge to call people and scream and cry and beg someone to tell me what was happening. It ended up being a miscommunication that is getting sorted out and I'll go back to work this week, just not the day I had planned, and it was all ok. But in the moment I found out it felt like the end of the world. I leapt to conclusions and decided no one cared about me and it was the end of the world.
I wanted to scream for someone to help me, but it was never really about the thing I was having the panic attack over. It brought me back to that moment in the hospital screaming at my doctor for her to help me, fix this, make it better, knowing that even she didn't have the power to give me my baby back.
I never anticipated how quick I would judge people. No one is given the benefit of the doubt. Everyone is out to get me. I can't even write the things I have thought about people because if I did there would be no doubt you would think I'm horrible to. And I know that. grief has turned me into an asshole, and I wasn't prepared for that.
But mostly I wasn't prepared for the idea that I would become that crazy lady that is portrayed in movies. You know, the one that walks around begging everyone who will listen to help her get back what she lost even though they can't help her. And all the other characters in the movie feel sorry for her, because here she is unable to come to terms with what she lost, still looking for this thing that is gone and isn't coming back.
I feel like that. Like the underlying message to everything is "My baby died."
And even though I know nothing will bring him back, or change what happened, I keep asking. I keep looking for him everywhere I go.
I was prepared for sadness. I was prepared for depression. I wasn't prepared for anxiety and anger.
And now the hard part, in a situation where survival depends on feeling your feelings, is to feel these feelings I don't know what to do with, and don't like. How do I hold my anger and my anxiety and my judgments and not try to get rid of them when they make me a less than desirable person to be around? How do I sit with myself in the midst of these feelings that make me want to turn away from them?
That is the question I'm asking myself right now.
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