Do Introverts Grieve Enough?

A friend on social media posted (or I should say re-posted) an article from last year on the three types of grief people don’t discuss.  I happened to be taking a 5 min mind break at work, and read it.  I wish I had left it to later in the evening.  If I were smarter, I would have realized that from the title alone.

Sitting there, in my cube, reading 3 Kinds of Grief Nobody Talks About, I had a powerful emotional moment.   One of the kinds where you feel like your bones might break from the weight of it.  

“Grief is not always about death, but it is always about attachment and separation.”

Attachment.

Separation.

I’m currently going through the process of selling my home, building a new one, and moving into a temporary place.  My whole life for the next few months will be transitional.  I’ve been looking through closets and cupboards purging things that I won’t be taking with me into this new chapter of my life (or even into the interlude before the next chapter).

Occasionally, a level of unexpected emotionality will just hit me. “Pretty soon, I’ll be out of here…. This will be the last time I do <x> here…” 

And then the big whammy, “When I get to the new house, I won’t have any memories of my dad there”.  Cue the waterworks.  I have to remember to take deep breaths and think about puppies.

I remember having similar feelings when my car died and I had to get a new one.  I cried.  I didn’t cry because of the car, I cried because of the memories it represented.  It was the physical manifestation of those memories.  Losing the Batmobile (yes, I called it that in my head), I lost the ability to see and to touch those memories.  Like the memory of pranking my dad by turning on the seat heater in July without him knowing.  I can still see him shifting uncomfortably in the seat.  I finally couldn't hold my laughter in any longer and let him off the hook.  He laughed and was glad nothing was wrong with his "@$$."

I was attached to the car not because I'm materialistic, because of my memories.

I knew what my dad felt sitting in my car or in my house because I was there with him.  I know because I experience the same environment firsthand.  I know this sounds weird.  I could tell that my boyfriend at the time thought I was being weird.  He was smart enough not to verbalize it, but I could tell nonetheless when I said farewell to the Batmobile.

Moving on to new places and things, there’s no connection.  There’s no attachment.  I’m separating myself from what I knew and the life I have lived to create a new type of life.  I’m cutting one cord, and grabbing on to a new one that not everyone I’ve cared about has experienced. I also have no idea if new attachments will be forged.

I already grieved the loss of my dad, as he passed away a few years ago.  But, I never thought about the anxiety I go through during big changes, like I’m going through right now, as a form of grief. That in making these memory attachments to “things” and “places”, I go through yet another grief cycle when those things are gone too. I hate feeling this way.

If you’ve read any of my other bogs, you have probably figured out I’m quite an introvert.  There are days I just want to wear a sign that says “Can’t people today, #SorryNotSorry.”

What are the main traits of introverts?  We live in our heads, we typically aren’t outgoing people, we tend to have a smaller group of friends, and we like being home.  We like controlling our environment.  We limit our attachments to people.

If we have limited attachments, we have less opportunity for separations.

If we control our environment, we have a larger control over the probability of separation.

If you are an introvert.  You suffer less separation.  But when it happens (at least to me) holy !@$!%!.

“Grief is not always about death, but it is always about attachment and separation.”

Attachment.

Separation.

What if the real reason I’m an introvert, isn’t some random genetic trait?  What if it comes down to one simple thing - the ability, or capacity, to grieve? 

Could I be less socially awkward and introverted, if I simply learned to be more comfortable with the loss of, or change in, relationships?  What if I just need to learn how to be more efficient at the cycle of grief?  Or fear grief less?

Maybe I do need to grieve more, but I sure as hell don't want to....

‘Dis’ Appointment

For those who know the real world me, you know I’ve been dealing with a bad knee issue since late last year.  I had so many plans for 2017 with signing up for two half-marathons, discussing doing a tough mudder with some people from work, USTA tennis and other assorted activities.  Then, my knee went whackadoodle right after Thanksgiving.  Yes, whackadoodle.  There’s no other way to describe it.

I haven’t been able to play tennis, jog or ride a bike (sans recumbent) since then. At points, it’s been practically unbearable and completely debilitating.

I was diagnosed with “arthritis” back in January and told I’d just have to manage the pain (but I did get a nifty shot that helped).  Greeeeeeat.  I was told physical therapy would help, so off I went to meet my out of pocket yearly expenses by February. *cough*

PT got me pretty far, but I'm still not able to run.  I’ve tried spin class and ellipticals, but even after PT, I’ve suffered a knee buckle or two while trying to get my cardio on.  If you are wondering, it is quite hard to look cool while recovering on an elliptical after an event like that.

I’m glad I didn’t completely fall off and end up as the star of the latest viral gym video.  PSA #1: Please don’t gym shame people when weird stuff like this happens.  It's hard enough walking in the door for some people.

I decided to go back to see the Dr, as I’ve hit a plateau.  Can’t just be arthritis if it’s this bad, right?  Basically, I get the same story again.  Just a really bad case of arthritis, nothing can be done, just have to live with it.

I came close to losing my ever loving mind (and he probably thought I did).  This appointment went into a downward spiral.  I had an out of body experience as I listened to my voice get louder and louder.  Not really screaming at him, just my vocal knob kept getting turned up.  Turned up like when you’re at a party and bump into the stereo and don’t realize it and your butt keeps turning up the volume. (And, don’t act like this has never happened to you if you are over the age of 30).

I proceeded to explain to him everything I could no longer do without pain or knee buckling that I could do before the event late in November of last year.  I ended my rant with an eloquent, “I feel like I’m screwed!”

And, he responded as most medical professionals with impeccable bedside manner would, “Yup, you’re pretty much screwed until you are old enough for a knee replacement.”

The “appointment” (which was almost renamed “How I Met My Arresting Officer”) ended in utter defeat.  My appointment was nothing but a ‘dis’appointment.  Also, I may have cried, or there could have been multiple cats in the office causing an allergic response.  I'm going with the latter story, and I'm sticking to it.

Depression set in and I did what any red blooded woman would do at this point.  I headed to the grocery store for Ben & Jerry’s.

I pulled into the Kroger parking lot and sat for a few minutes trying to recover a little bit of cool.  Or, at least, the perception of cool.

I finally walked in and grabbed a cart.  I needed to pick up a few more items to buy along with the B&J’s as buying it alone is code for “I just got dumped”.  I wanted no questions.  I wanted no side-eyes.  I wanted no sympathy.  I wanted a damn functioning knee where I can play tennis again. And, I wanted damn ice cream without judgement.

After picking up a few items, I made my way to the freezer aisle.  I stood there, looking at the pint I had been longing for — Ben & Jerry’s PB&Cookies Non-Dairy Frozen Dessert.  It hit me.  How the hell did I get to this point?

I was a woman on the edge, upset at a bum knee, who was seeking solace in a Non-Dairy Frozen Dessert.  I haven’t been able to eat real ice cream in years.  Well, to be honest, I’ve tried, but I usually end up regretting ever being born.

The absurdity of it all.  I’m upset because I can’t run or play tennis with friends.  I was upset when I realized I couldn’t have ice cream anymore too, but I got over it.

My dad would tell me that the Fair was in August when I'd complain, as a child, about the injustice of it all.  This knee thing sucks, but lots of things suck for lots of different people. I’m no different or any less likely to have disappointments in life.  Things could be much worse.

This appointment was hard to take, but it wasn’t a fatal diagnosis or anywhere close.  Life changes.  There are things I did when I was 15 I can’t do at my current age.  I have to accept that.

Life is like a giant ball.  You can push one side in, but the volume inside doesn’t change.  The other parts of the ball just compensate by pushing out on the other side.  My life isn’t becoming more compact or lossy, it’s just changing.  Like switching to non-dairy “ice cream”.

I’ll be looking at other things to do with my time.  Maybe I'll start walking.  Maybe I’ll try swimming (PSA #2:  I will try to give the Y warning before I arrive so people have the option to evacuate rather than see me in a swimsuit).  Maybe there's something else out there I've not come across just yet.

Now, if you will excuse me, I have some non ice-cream ice-cream to eat.

*edited for typo*

You do not deserve forgiveness

I surprise myself sometimes and not always in a good way.

As most of you, I’ve had situations popup where I was either disappointed, saddened, or downright enraged at people and their actions.  Most times, I get over it pretty quickly.  I thought I've become better at it as I’ve gotten older.

Over the course of my life, I learned to accept people for who they are and what they are willing to give.  I can’t change them.  I can’t make them live their life “right” anymore than I can make the sun rise in the west.  I can’t be angry with someone when I know they have problems with the truth.  I can’t be angry when I know they have low self-esteem and act out.  I can, however, adjust my interactions and place boundaries on our relationship.  

I thought I was so smart.  Jesus had a plan for me I didn’t see coming.

I’ve come across a few situations where forgiveness takes longer.  'Longer' as in watching ice freeze in July.  I thought I was so good at this forgiveness thing.  What gives?  In these cases, I found a common thread.

One thing I really have a problem with is lying. I can be friends with anyone.  If you are a Liar McLieFace, at least be honest about the fact you have trouble with the truth.  I will respect you more, I will adjust my own interactions accordingly, and we can move on with life knowing who we are and how we operate.  We won’t be besties, but we won’t be enemies.  No one gets hurt.

If you lie to me about being an honest person, and are so good at it, in fact, that I don’t see it coming until too late…. Just No.  

That odd smell?  That's my new parfum Eau De Bridges Bin Burnt.

When this happens, I get the type of angry where my heart doesn’t want to forgive, especially when I have let you in to my life and made you apart of it.  My brain can make my mouth form the words, but my heart is still giving you the emotional middle finger.  

I'm angry, but why does it take so long to just let it go?

Mowing the lawn, of all things, is when the epiphany hit me.  I finally started to understand the reason.  I can’t let go and forgive you because deep down, I don’t believe you deserve to be forgiven.

Wow, that realization hit me with a ton of bricks.  Little miss goes to Church every week doesn’t think someone is worthy of forgiveness.  Yikes.  Someone grab the holy water and an IV, I'm suffering from spiritual dehydration.

Given it's Easter season (and Divine Mercy), I should take to heart that Jesus died and was resurrected for all people, including the Liar McLieFaces of the world.  Especially, Liar McLieFaces...  I should, but it isn't so easy.  After some introspection, I realized how much this reluctance came back to my own ego.  

I don't like being played for a fool.  I don't like being an idiot.  I got played, therefore you win.  You can't just beat me and walk away unscathed.  I deserve apologies.  I deserve suitable restitution for damages (emotional or otherwise).

Forgiveness is the last move I have in a game I know I've lost. It's the acceptance of the imminent checkmate in this entire emotional chess game.  I don't want to knock down that King and admit I'm a loser.

My forgiveness is the last trophy awarded for your poor behavior.

Screw That.

Whoa, what?  Where did that come from? Talk about unresolved issues.

I've heard "Forgiveness isn't for the other person, it's for yourself," but never fully internalized it.  Intellectually, yes.  Emotionally, not so much, but I'm starting to get it.

The thing about the Liar McLifeFaces (or Cheater McCheatFaces or whatever X McXFaces) in my life is that they lie/cheat so much, they get really good at moving on. They are capable of letting go because their tendencies force them to become good at it. One lie doesn't work out?  Move on to the next.  People not buying it?  Move on to the next set of people. Stop, drop and roll on to the next mark.

I don't operate this way, it isn't as easy. I don't always know how to just let go of things and move on. I hold on to the truth that I thought I knew.  I become bewildered when the puzzle pieces no longer seem to fit.  I feel stupid because I never saw it coming (or I did and I ignored it, thinking I am paranoid). I feel diminished because no one would treat someone who's "worth it" that way.

I become chained to the hurt and have no idea how to free myself.

Is forgiveness the key to freedom?  Is it the map that leads you out of the darkness of self-doubt and loathing?  Is it the high speed train from Loserville to Kickasston?  Is it the start to the next chess match, one I will hopefully win?  Maybe.

Maybe it isn't about you at all.  Maybe I'm more angry at myself.  Maybe I need to overcome my own ego.

Maybe I'm the one who I need to forgive.

The Big Little Lies

***Spoiler Alert*** This week is referring to the book “Big Little Lies” by Liane Moriarty and hits a little on the HBO series based on the book.

Please do not read if you haven’t read, and plan on reading, this book or watch the show.  If you have read, or do not have plans to, then feel free to continue.

I was reviewing my monthly budget a few weeks ago and realized that I had not ever, once, finished an audiobook I had purchased through my Audible account.  I looked into canceling my account and I found out that I’d lose the monthly credits I had built up if I did.  Bummer.

So, as to not “lose” money, I went on a quest to find audio books that I actually thought I might listen to.  I’m more of an “eye” person when it comes to books and my ears typically preferred music, so wasn’t having much luck.  Then, I saw Big Little Lies.

I had seen the ads for the HBO show.  I remember Shailene Woodley running down a beach, Reese Witherspoon with the guy from Parks and Rec (not Chris Pratt, Rob Lowe, or Ron Swanson - it’s the other guy), and Nicole Kidman.  Nicole Kidman!

Aside: I’m not a big fan of Shailene Woodley.  She probably is a wonderful person, but ever since an article on her where she described re-usable feminine hygiene products, I’ve been creeped out and don’t go out of my way to watch her movies.

The TV show has Nicole Kidman and Reese Witherspoon.  It has to be classy, right?  So, I purchased the BLL Audiobook, along with a couple others from different authors. *BOOM* Credits used, time to cancel the account.

I downloaded the audio, and started on my journey to a Sydney suburb with lots of rich white people.  I wasn’t expecting to enjoy it, but I found myself not able to stop listening.  I’d listen while in the shower, in the car, at work (which led to some very bad spelling and poor spreadsheet execution, but I digress).  I even started watching the show before I had finished the book.  

Another side note:  the book is better than the show, unless you want to see Kidman’s boobs, the book doesn’t have those. I believe they may have gotten their own credit at the end of the show.

So what is so compelling about the lives of three suburban Australian mothers?  The story itself was well crafted.  You don’t know who the victim is until the end.  You see the juxtaposition between what actually happened and the recounting of events through the eyes of those around them (throughout the book and show, the story is interrupted by interviews with witnesses).

*Spoilers incoming*

What really got to me was something on a much deeper psychological level.  Each of the three main protagonists were abused in some sort of way and each were in different phases of recovery.  Madeline was the furthest along, Jane’s in the middle, and Celeste really hasn’t started yet.  Their stories, when told together, mainly get to the crux of recovery from abuse.  It also delves into the internal conflict that happens when women are abused.  Some of it, to be honest, was a little scary to me.

Madeline’s husband left her right after their child was born.  He just told her “I can’t do this” and walked out.  She was left to fend for herself and her child.  She put her head down, got a job, raised her daughter.  She eventually met Ed, married and had two more kids.  Her marriage with Ed seems pretty stable (in the book, the show handles her marriage a bit differently).  She still harbors resentment for her ex, who now lives in the neighborhood, is remarried, and is back in his daughter’s life.  Madeline is struggling with the “injustice” of it all.  He’s married, has a beautiful wife, is a doting dad for his new daughter, and his older daughter eventually moves in with him, leaving Madeline behind.

How can someone who was such a complete dick, end up getting the perfect life?  How does that even happen?  Aren’t people supposed to reap what they sow?  How long do we harbor anger? How can someone who wrongs you so completely not have any lasting effects?  Her story focuses on her anger, and the struggle to let it go.

Jane’s pregnancy was the result of a one night stand that morphed into sexual and emotional assault.  The father of her child turned out to be a callous, horrific, mean person.  I won’t go into details of the assault, but he broke her down as emotionally as he did physically.  Jane left law school to have her child, and spent the first few years of his life making ends meet as a bookkeeper, silently worried about whether her son would be genetically predisposed to violence and cruelty.  A running storyline is that her son was accused of choking a girl in class and subsequently bullying her.  She defended him as any mother would, but was also afraid he might have done it.

How do we pick up the emotional pieces once the physical ones are healed?  How long do we let that power linger over us? How long do we harbor fear? How many of us hold on to fears as if they are real tangible things?  Like a poisonous snake we are holding by the head and we’ll get bit if we let go?  Her story is about fear, and the struggle to let it go.

Celeste.  Poor Celeste.  This is the real gut wrench of the book as you slowly come to realize that her perfect marriage is a sham.  He beats her and sometimes she fights back.  She loves him, she feels he loves her.  She thinks about leaving, but realizes she could never love anyone else.  She keeps this to herself, never telling anyone about the abuse.  He never hits her in places where it is obvious, so no one suspects.  Plus, who'd expect such a beautiful couple to have such an ugly secret?  The abuse continues to escalate to a point where she is in bed for several days “sick”.  She then finds out, through one of her twin sons, that her other twin son is the one abusing the little girl at school and not Jane’s son.  She also finds out he has been bullying another girl as well.  All that time, she didn’t think her boys had seen what their father did to her.  She finally realizes that her boys are as affected as she is.

How do you come to grips with reality?  How long to you harbor the lie?  How long do you convince yourself that it’s ok, or will be ok?  How long do we stay in situations that aren’t healthy?  The scariest parts of this book, to me, are the rationalizations Celeste uses to stay.  You don’t get the internal dialogue in the show as you do in the book.  As you read (or listen to it), it makes perfect sense:

• “I escalated it”
• “I should have just walked away”
• “I shouldn’t have said it”
• “I shouldn’t have asked him to do <X>”
• "I have so many things that others don't, I have no right to complain". 

How many times do we say these very same things to ourselves?  Her story focuses on the lie she’s been living, and the struggle to let it go.

I won’t ruin the murder mystery and plot twists only to say that while the story focuses on the lives of Celeste, Jane and Madeline, the other mothers have their own stories.  We get flashes of those stories in how they each react to the events surrounding the murder.  You understand more of their motivations and their own lies that they’ve been living - e.g. Tough Renata’s marriage has its own issues and mellow-tree-hugging Bonnie is fighting her own demons.

This was such a good book. Frightening, but good.  If you don't plan on reading it, please reconsider.  If nothing else, maybe you can learn the spot the big little lies your loved ones might be telling you (or you might be telling yourself).

If it’s broke, don’t fix it.

Nope, not a typo.  Some things were meant to not work, and we should stop busting on ourselves for not being able to fix them.  

I was debating what to write about this week (with last week being off due to a long weekend), and on the way back from my trip, an idea started to form - the idea of brokenness and it’s effects on us as people.  Then, this came across my twitter feed from Fr Sichko (@JimSichko) yesterday:

Giving up doesn't always mean you're weak. Sometimes it means you are strong and smart enough to let go and move on.

That’s so true.  I only wish I understood this 10+ years ago.

2016 was a sucky year for me.  One in which I had no idea where my life was headed.  I had suffered a major life adjustment at the end of ’15 and wasn’t sure how to deal with it.  I had this blank canvass in front of me with no idea where to even find paint.

At the beginning of 2015, I had my life planned.  I knew who I was, what I was doing, the whole shebang.  What I didn’t know is that I was living in an alternate reality with absolutely no concept of what was really going on.  (Ok, maybe that isn’t completely true, there were signs, I just didn’t want to see them.)

That alternate reality bubble burst by the end of the year.  All the ideas, thoughts, and plans I had dissipated like those little soapy spheres.  Reality set in.

The reality was, my life was broke. Well, not just broke, it was broked.  I had cocooned myself into a relationship that wasn’t working. I was fighting in a job that wasn’t working (and hadn’t been for a while).  I was spending the majority of my time being what I thought everyone else around me needed.  I was trying to fix everything, make everyone happy, and get the job done no matter what it took. No matter the personal toll.  

I’m a problem solver.  I fix things.  It’s what I do.  I’m the person who will continually ram into a brick wall until I get knocked out with a concussion. Again, it’s my personality. I'm a bulldog.  I’ve never learned when to walk away.  Giving up was always “loser” talk.

Once everything went south, I had a hard time adjusting at first. I remember New Year’s Day 2016 thinking, “Wow, this is the first year in a very long time that I don’t have anything planned.  I have no idea what’s going to happen.”  Well, not much did happen, other than gaining weight and spending a great deal of time trying to figure out what went wrong (again, trying to dissect and understand root cause.. aka first step to “fix things”).

It was about the end of 2016 that I finally figured it out.  I’d spent so much of my time these past few years (not just 2015), trying to fix things, trying to fix people, trying to make things work that honestly weren’t meant to work.  I wasn’t strong enough to let go.  Wasn’t wise enough to really see what the impact on my life and what it was costing me.

That little light bulb finally went off in my head at the end of last year.  I realized I’d given up something very important.  Lost something very important.  I’d lost me.  I realized I didn’t know who I was as a person anymore. I had been so focused on “taking care of business”, I wasn’t taking care of me.  My identity had morphed into a robot whose sole purpose was to keep everyone happy, and ended up making no one happy (least of all, me).  (I made some mention of this back in Identity Management)

The good news is, 2017 is turning into a much better year.  I’m taking on some new projects to rediscover the person that is me (this blog being one).  I’m learning to enjoy things again for the sole purpose of enjoyment.  Not because it makes someone else happy, but it makes me happy.  I'm also learning to not give a rats @$$ about other people's opinion of me.  Ok, I still give some level of rats @$$, but I'm much more careful about who is on the "opinions I care about list".  That list is certainly much, much shorter these days.

I’ve learned that if something isn’t working, it’s ok to let it go.  I’m not a failure if it doesn’t work.  I’m not failure if people are pissed at me.  I’m not a failure based on someone else’s life or opinion.  I'm enough. I'm ok as long as I "do me".

I’m only a failure if try to live a life that wasn’t meant for me.