Mental Health for Days
I don't really know what it's like to feel an unassailable joy. For me, I get bogged down in the weeds of human interaction. Little annoyances on my wedding day. Imperfections on any accomplishment. The way things don't always match up. Even upon the birth of my children, I was struck by the knowledge that they would grow far beyond me and into our common mortality. I am not light-hearted. My heart is dense and strange and functions as my motor through this immensely imperfect world.
Maybe this makes you feel sad for me. Maybe you think there is something wrong with me. And I'd like to stop you there. Because I'm not writing for you to offer me prescriptions on living a better/more joyful/more meaningful life.
I'm not too good for exercise or therapy or self-care or whatever, but I know emotions come and go. Elation will always give way to frustration, give way to anger, give way to resignation, give way to sadness, give way to curiosity, and back again. Moods ebb and flow, swell and dissipate. There is only so much you can control.
When I was in labor, it was this knowledge that the pain was beyond my control that helped me through it. I released myself through every wave of pain. I don't remember the breathing exercises or the visualizations, but I remember consciously letting go, surrendering to the process. The pain was still excruciating and unforgettable, but I knew it was temporary and necessary. I trusted my body and my ability to survive.
Perhaps this is foolhardy. Grief abounds all around. I don't know. What would a life spent sanitizing grief and mortality look like? I don't see the point in living in such an amputated manner. I've been carrying the weight of my emotions my whole life, as long as I can remember. I'm guessing I've developed some muscles to bear the burden.
Reach out, make those connections, those lifelines, to bring back those who can't see the way themselves. Just don't be a savior. Be a decent human being. Let us all be decent so that we can always know in our light and heavy hearts we won't be abandoned in our most vulnerable and ultimately transient moments.
Maybe this makes you feel sad for me. Maybe you think there is something wrong with me. And I'd like to stop you there. Because I'm not writing for you to offer me prescriptions on living a better/more joyful/more meaningful life.
I'm not too good for exercise or therapy or self-care or whatever, but I know emotions come and go. Elation will always give way to frustration, give way to anger, give way to resignation, give way to sadness, give way to curiosity, and back again. Moods ebb and flow, swell and dissipate. There is only so much you can control.
When I was in labor, it was this knowledge that the pain was beyond my control that helped me through it. I released myself through every wave of pain. I don't remember the breathing exercises or the visualizations, but I remember consciously letting go, surrendering to the process. The pain was still excruciating and unforgettable, but I knew it was temporary and necessary. I trusted my body and my ability to survive.
Perhaps this is foolhardy. Grief abounds all around. I don't know. What would a life spent sanitizing grief and mortality look like? I don't see the point in living in such an amputated manner. I've been carrying the weight of my emotions my whole life, as long as I can remember. I'm guessing I've developed some muscles to bear the burden.
Reach out, make those connections, those lifelines, to bring back those who can't see the way themselves. Just don't be a savior. Be a decent human being. Let us all be decent so that we can always know in our light and heavy hearts we won't be abandoned in our most vulnerable and ultimately transient moments.
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