Lisa, you read my heart every week. Acceptance is my frustration and my peace. These last few weeks the depression and mood swings have been problematic to say the least. You and I hit that dark place at the same time. Seeing the light is difficult when I’m squeezing my eyes shut tight in fear. I stopped smoking, started physical therapy, reached 15# on my weight loss goal, and have been absolutely miserable with myself and everyone around me. Self-compassion, even more than a year into this new me, seems self-indulgent and guilt producing. So I’m also taking a mindfulness class, practicing self reiki, getting acupuncture and doing not enough meditation on self-compassion and care. I’m looking at adding a tai chi class. I wonder how much would be enough to actually get beyond the fear that I will never be “enough” again. I am desperately tired of snapping at people of good will. I know “this too shall pass,” but I’d sure like a magic button to magically skip over the rough patches. There are way too many feelings to be feeling and to deal with. Thanks for being there.
I long for that magic button much of the time, too! I think it's natural and maybe even inevitable that the challenges of long Covid stir up all the old wounds we carry. When I hear you say that self-compassion feels self-indulgent and guilt producing to you, it makes me wonder when you were first given the message that your needs and feelings weren't worthy of empathy, care, and attention. Some of us got those messages really, really, really young, and it's awfully hard to recognize and move beyond that narrative. At different points in my long Covid journey, I've found myself looking back at past iterations of myself . . . me as a mom of young kids, trying to hold together a marriage that was tearing me apart . . . me freezing rather than fighting during a sexual assault . . . me as an eating-disordered teen . . . me as a very young child, trying to make sense of things that made no sense. I find that sometimes it's much easier to feel compassion for these past selves than for the here-and-now self. For me, though, that feels like a healing place to start - offering compassion for baby me, toddler me, kid me, and working my way forward. I know that won't be everyone and maybe it's not a good fit for you, but it might be something to play with . . . . offering up compassion for the much younger versions of yourself who were given the message that their needs didn't count. If you have trauma in your background (who doesn't?), it might be a good idea to walk that path with a therapist. There are a LOT of feelings to deal with when grappling with disability and illness, and asking for help makes good sense. I'm sending all the warm, fuzzy vibes I can muster your way, Marie! 💕
Yes, Lisa - this is one of the topics I’ve been exploring. One of the big bad wolves on the trek through the dark woods to grandma’s house. When I first wrote that phrase I wrote “one of MY big bad wolves ...” and on rereading got that little nudge that urged me to contemplate why those weren’t exactly the words I needed to choose. Maybe, just maybe, I’ve been identifying with those wolves, the traumas, the perpetrators in too loving a fashion. And in loving the wolves and making excuses for them I continue to distance myself from my own wounds. Not so much that I deserve the wounds, but rather that my wolves’ suffering must be so great that they deserve my compassion and understanding. And I have been given so much I should accept my suffering gratefully. Last week in talking with my therapist I was explaining how this illness that has stripped me of so much has also given me so many gifts. Since my last crash - the same weekend as your vacation crash - I have been feeling intensely ...sad? Afraid? Lonely? Depressed! Suicidal? I wondered why I was falling apart at this particular moment. Why now when I should be ... accepting? Grateful? Peaceful? It’s been several lifetimes since my childhood despair, the sexual assaults, the self-loathing. I finally got out of a marriage that I held together with bubble gum and delusions for 40 years (only to start my long Covid journey two months before the final court date). I’ve been in addiction recovery for more than a few minutes and thought I’d made all my amends, only to realize that I don’t know how to make amends to myself. In dealing with my ego, the message that I am not worthy of empathy, care and love is ever present. And, of course since I am at fault for getting LC, I deserve to be told I’m self-indulgent, crazy, attention-seeking. My therapist, who is brilliant, suggested again that I view my experience through the lens of self-compassion and, if possible, reframe my self-talk to seeing this current iteration as one of waking up rather than falling apart; Gently exploring my suffering without judgment; Allowing myself to feel all the feelings and sit with them in curiosity and self compassion. Not seeking solutions, rather allowing understanding and forgiveness for myself. When I was a substitute teacher I had a method for classroom control that worked well with the littler ones. I’d put names on the board (a preferred method for discipline in the district), but I’d have two columns: warm fuzzies and cold slimies. To get on the warm fuzzy list a student just had to be in class and present. The cold slimy list required an actual aware action to “earn” a place there. It was very easy to get on the warm fuzzy list, and pretty easy to move from the cold slimy list to the warm fuzzy list, since it took a purposefully inappropriate action to get on the CS list. It was very, very rare for a teacher to be met with a list of “bad” children on their return. Rather they would be greeted with a list of students who showed appropriate behaviors, kindness and helpfulness. Teachers were pleased. Students were proud. The expectations were clear. And I always enjoyed my day catching kids acting appropriately. I’m not quite sure why that fits here, but I know it does. I’m going to examine that some more later. All these words have tired my brain. I really appreciate you, Lisa. Soon I’ll be buying you coffee.
Thank you for sharing yourself and your experiences so openly, Marie! I am also prone to pouring my energy into feeling compassion for the wolves in my life, sometimes to my own detriment. I understand that impulse well. And I love your story of substitute teaching! Another long-hauler, Radha Ruparell, wrote a book about what she’s learned through her experiences (“Brave Now”) and she talks there about taking the time to catch herself doing well at something and about making a point of finding at least one thing a day to appreciate about herself or what she’s accomplished. I interviewed her a few weeks back and have been reeeeeaaalllllly slow on the podcast production end of things but hope to be able to share that interview soon. I’m so glad that you have an awesome therapist on your support squad! My sister is pretty much my therapist and life coach, and I don’t think I could have made it through all of this without her.
I don't have any deep comments this rainy,cold May morning. I can say I have my worse thoughts in the morning. I don't know why, but it's been that way since I first got sick, over a year ago. By the afternoon, I tend to feel a bit better and less "dark". Of course, some days are better then others. I do spend many days wondering why I'm having awful muscle pains in one place or another, or why my abdomen hurts.. It's tough.
One thing I know for sure, a couple of months ago I couldn't imagine playing and helping out with my one year old granddaughter. Now I can and I look forward to it. It means everything to me.
Thanks for giving all your thoughts and feelings. It really helps.
This is interesting and makes me wonder whether you have POTS, since POTS symptoms tends to be worse in the morning. I sometimes find that my emotions (feeling irritable or just blah) are the first cues when I’m overdoing it or when my body is struggling. Given that so many of my issues are rooted in my autonomic nervous system, this makes sense. Maybe something similar is happening for you? I’m so glad you’re able to participate in your granddaughters life, though! That boost of purpose and connection can feel so healing. ❤️
Lisa, you read my heart every week. Acceptance is my frustration and my peace. These last few weeks the depression and mood swings have been problematic to say the least. You and I hit that dark place at the same time. Seeing the light is difficult when I’m squeezing my eyes shut tight in fear. I stopped smoking, started physical therapy, reached 15# on my weight loss goal, and have been absolutely miserable with myself and everyone around me. Self-compassion, even more than a year into this new me, seems self-indulgent and guilt producing. So I’m also taking a mindfulness class, practicing self reiki, getting acupuncture and doing not enough meditation on self-compassion and care. I’m looking at adding a tai chi class. I wonder how much would be enough to actually get beyond the fear that I will never be “enough” again. I am desperately tired of snapping at people of good will. I know “this too shall pass,” but I’d sure like a magic button to magically skip over the rough patches. There are way too many feelings to be feeling and to deal with. Thanks for being there.
I long for that magic button much of the time, too! I think it's natural and maybe even inevitable that the challenges of long Covid stir up all the old wounds we carry. When I hear you say that self-compassion feels self-indulgent and guilt producing to you, it makes me wonder when you were first given the message that your needs and feelings weren't worthy of empathy, care, and attention. Some of us got those messages really, really, really young, and it's awfully hard to recognize and move beyond that narrative. At different points in my long Covid journey, I've found myself looking back at past iterations of myself . . . me as a mom of young kids, trying to hold together a marriage that was tearing me apart . . . me freezing rather than fighting during a sexual assault . . . me as an eating-disordered teen . . . me as a very young child, trying to make sense of things that made no sense. I find that sometimes it's much easier to feel compassion for these past selves than for the here-and-now self. For me, though, that feels like a healing place to start - offering compassion for baby me, toddler me, kid me, and working my way forward. I know that won't be everyone and maybe it's not a good fit for you, but it might be something to play with . . . . offering up compassion for the much younger versions of yourself who were given the message that their needs didn't count. If you have trauma in your background (who doesn't?), it might be a good idea to walk that path with a therapist. There are a LOT of feelings to deal with when grappling with disability and illness, and asking for help makes good sense. I'm sending all the warm, fuzzy vibes I can muster your way, Marie! 💕
Yes, Lisa - this is one of the topics I’ve been exploring. One of the big bad wolves on the trek through the dark woods to grandma’s house. When I first wrote that phrase I wrote “one of MY big bad wolves ...” and on rereading got that little nudge that urged me to contemplate why those weren’t exactly the words I needed to choose. Maybe, just maybe, I’ve been identifying with those wolves, the traumas, the perpetrators in too loving a fashion. And in loving the wolves and making excuses for them I continue to distance myself from my own wounds. Not so much that I deserve the wounds, but rather that my wolves’ suffering must be so great that they deserve my compassion and understanding. And I have been given so much I should accept my suffering gratefully. Last week in talking with my therapist I was explaining how this illness that has stripped me of so much has also given me so many gifts. Since my last crash - the same weekend as your vacation crash - I have been feeling intensely ...sad? Afraid? Lonely? Depressed! Suicidal? I wondered why I was falling apart at this particular moment. Why now when I should be ... accepting? Grateful? Peaceful? It’s been several lifetimes since my childhood despair, the sexual assaults, the self-loathing. I finally got out of a marriage that I held together with bubble gum and delusions for 40 years (only to start my long Covid journey two months before the final court date). I’ve been in addiction recovery for more than a few minutes and thought I’d made all my amends, only to realize that I don’t know how to make amends to myself. In dealing with my ego, the message that I am not worthy of empathy, care and love is ever present. And, of course since I am at fault for getting LC, I deserve to be told I’m self-indulgent, crazy, attention-seeking. My therapist, who is brilliant, suggested again that I view my experience through the lens of self-compassion and, if possible, reframe my self-talk to seeing this current iteration as one of waking up rather than falling apart; Gently exploring my suffering without judgment; Allowing myself to feel all the feelings and sit with them in curiosity and self compassion. Not seeking solutions, rather allowing understanding and forgiveness for myself. When I was a substitute teacher I had a method for classroom control that worked well with the littler ones. I’d put names on the board (a preferred method for discipline in the district), but I’d have two columns: warm fuzzies and cold slimies. To get on the warm fuzzy list a student just had to be in class and present. The cold slimy list required an actual aware action to “earn” a place there. It was very easy to get on the warm fuzzy list, and pretty easy to move from the cold slimy list to the warm fuzzy list, since it took a purposefully inappropriate action to get on the CS list. It was very, very rare for a teacher to be met with a list of “bad” children on their return. Rather they would be greeted with a list of students who showed appropriate behaviors, kindness and helpfulness. Teachers were pleased. Students were proud. The expectations were clear. And I always enjoyed my day catching kids acting appropriately. I’m not quite sure why that fits here, but I know it does. I’m going to examine that some more later. All these words have tired my brain. I really appreciate you, Lisa. Soon I’ll be buying you coffee.
Thank you for sharing yourself and your experiences so openly, Marie! I am also prone to pouring my energy into feeling compassion for the wolves in my life, sometimes to my own detriment. I understand that impulse well. And I love your story of substitute teaching! Another long-hauler, Radha Ruparell, wrote a book about what she’s learned through her experiences (“Brave Now”) and she talks there about taking the time to catch herself doing well at something and about making a point of finding at least one thing a day to appreciate about herself or what she’s accomplished. I interviewed her a few weeks back and have been reeeeeaaalllllly slow on the podcast production end of things but hope to be able to share that interview soon. I’m so glad that you have an awesome therapist on your support squad! My sister is pretty much my therapist and life coach, and I don’t think I could have made it through all of this without her.
I don't have any deep comments this rainy,cold May morning. I can say I have my worse thoughts in the morning. I don't know why, but it's been that way since I first got sick, over a year ago. By the afternoon, I tend to feel a bit better and less "dark". Of course, some days are better then others. I do spend many days wondering why I'm having awful muscle pains in one place or another, or why my abdomen hurts.. It's tough.
One thing I know for sure, a couple of months ago I couldn't imagine playing and helping out with my one year old granddaughter. Now I can and I look forward to it. It means everything to me.
Thanks for giving all your thoughts and feelings. It really helps.
This is interesting and makes me wonder whether you have POTS, since POTS symptoms tends to be worse in the morning. I sometimes find that my emotions (feeling irritable or just blah) are the first cues when I’m overdoing it or when my body is struggling. Given that so many of my issues are rooted in my autonomic nervous system, this makes sense. Maybe something similar is happening for you? I’m so glad you’re able to participate in your granddaughters life, though! That boost of purpose and connection can feel so healing. ❤️