SPACE

My friend Sarah and I were having a text conversation recently about tub soaking and I confessed to her that I felt that soaking in a bathtub was torture. I find no pleasure in the act, no peace, no nothing. I know women who love it so much they have their meals in the bathtub or read whole books while their fingers and toes get all pruny. I cannot, but as we chatted about it, I said “maybe I should give it another try.” I bought some bath salts, filled up the tub and set a timer for twenty minutes. I did not hate it. I didn’t love it, but it was not the torturous experience that I remembered it to be. I might even do it again some time. This time last year, you couldn’t have paid me to soak in the tub, but pandemics change you. What I can say about this year is that it has given me some time for mental space. It might have been forced on me and I might not have always been open and accepting of that time. In fact there were moments of actual tantrums over this forced time, but I mastered the art of doing the things I don’t want to do ages ago. This year is easy compared to some others in my timeline. Maybe that’s why soaking in a salt bath wasn’t so bad. I’ve learned there are worse forms of torture.

The culture of “everything’s fine” that is inbred in most of us women is a dead culture. I have spent the year shedding myself of this culture, accepting the moments when everything is most definitely not fine and embracing the moments when everything is fine. At the end of our time together last Monday, I decided to not schedule another appointment with Dr. Mary. I realize this sounds like a bad idea. This is not the best time of year for me with or without a pandemic. My anxiety is pretty high right now with all the things work/life related, but I had already dropped our weekly session down to once a month. So I don’t think it was a big surprise. Also, I am handling myself well enough. I gave Dr. Mary a print from what was supposed to be my first showing and she immediately set it up on her bookshelves. Her reaction to the photo filled me with joy and pride. We ended on a happy note and I have her number. She said that I could always call and schedule an appointment. Our sessions over time became less about fixing me and more about general conversation. I ran out of things to say that was not just blatant whining and complaining.

But I also came to a realization that I don’t need to be fixed.

I have feelings. Sometimes, understandably, those feelings are feelings of deep sadness. I used to be really uncomfortable with allowing myself to feel anything but joy and happiness. There had to be something wrong with me for having those darker feelings. There was something wrong with me for shedding tears in public or even in private. Expressing any feeling other than happiness meant that I was broken and then I would begin an Olympic training regime of some sort in order to fix this brokenness inside of me. Those broken parts do not define me as a whole, but they do make up a part of who I am. We can not truly live through this life without ending up with some broken parts of ourselves. I told Dr. Mary that I am allowing myself to feel the things I am feeling in the moment I am feeling them.

Without guilt.

2020: The year I learned to have feelings and find an ounce of pleasure in soaking in the bathtub.

THANKFUL FRIDAY

Walking a tightrope

There was an editorial I read the other day about how it’s okay to be okay right now. The author talked about her fears and worries at the beginning of the pandemic. When none of the things she was stressing over happened, she was relieved and grateful. But then she felt guilty for having those feelings. Physiologists call this a meta-emotion.

Feeling guilty about experiencing joy, happiness or wellness during times of crisis is a negative-positive meta-emotion. These secondary feelings are powerful because they are linked to depression and can be an indicator of our level of emotional awareness, the study shows.

There were a number of things in this article that struck different chords with me. Like the author, I had many fears and worries at the beginning of the pandemic. Most of those fears and worries centered around job security and the health of my family. I stressed over what would become of me if I no longer had my usual routine. I was sure I was going to fall into complete ruin. While I still worry about the health of my family and those around us (this virus is still a real thing, there are about 108,000 reported cases in MO, numbers are going up here, not down), I am no longer worried about job security. I adapted and did not fall into complete ruin. There have been real traumas. Some scary and bad shit went down, but we survived it.

Maybe I feel guilty for surviving.

I have never felt deserving of joy, happiness or wellness since Chris died. It is a “I can’t have nice things” mentality. I know this is not true, but it does not stop me from feeling like I am not deserving because I didn’t do enough to hold onto the so much joy and happiness I had with Chris. So finding any kind of ease in this current life seems something I am not worthy of. Look, I know how stupid all of this sounds, but we are our own worst enemies. I also grew up in a home environment where feelings of joy and happiness were only very subtly expressed, if expressed at all. The norm in that house was disappointment and unhappiness. My relationship with Chris was centered around the opposite of my upbringing. We took on the act of finding joy as a daily project. Even in times of crisis.

“When we try to push away negative feelings, they start bubbling up in odd places. So many of us don’t want to feel bad feelings,” she said. “We think of all these negative feelings that we think we shouldn’t have because we should be ‘focused on the positive.’ But until we acknowledge the negative things that are getting us down, we can’t break them down. And that’s what we need to do, break them down.”

Dr. Kirmayer added that it’s also important to normalize negative emotions.

I am guilty of focusing on the positive without acknowledging the negative. Then and now. “Things could be so much worse.” “I’m lucky and fortunate because…” I play off the negative thing because at the end of the day, I am still breathing. Those negative feelings never really go away because I don’t allow time for acknowledgement of those negative feelings. So, I am going to tell you that there have been moments in the past six months that have suuuucked. There have been moments where I have felt like I have been struggling to keep my head above water, moments where I wanted to scream and cry and throw a fit. This is not me complaining. This is me acknowledging the negative feelings. Those feelings are valid. But it does not mean that I am not deserving of some joy and happiness.

I am working on not judging myself and normalizing the truth that I am capable of many emotions and that all of those emotions are valid. In this moment, right now, I am content. My mornings are lovely. I exercise and then take the dog for a walk. When we get home, I leisurely get ready for work. I even have a cup of coffee before I head off to the office. It is quiet in the office, but I still have plenty to keep me busy. Yet I still manage take a moment in the middle of my day to get on my yoga mat. At the end of the day, I am pleasantly tired at the end of the day, worn down from the day’s activities and not the stress of the what if.

I’m okay.

Wear a mask. Social distance. Wash your hands.

FOLLOW UP

Sun catcher

11 Likes, 0 Comments - Cindy Maddera (@elephant_soap) on Instagram: "Sun catcher"

I wrote yesterday’s post without realizing that it was a meaningful date. My nephew, Donnie, the second child born to my brother and sister-in-law died from complications at birth. It was 1983, which would make me seven. J was three. You’d ask him what he was hoping for while Katrina was pregnant; a baby brother or a baby sister? He’d answer every time with “a baby monkey”. Katrina and I were talking about this yesterday. I told her that I remember getting in trouble for playing Jingle Bells on the piano. It was after the funeral and everyone had left the house. I started playing and Mom yelled at me to stop, said it was inappropriate. Katrina said she didn’t know that had happened. I explained that she hadn’t been there. Mom didn’t mean anything by it, she just didn’t know how to talk to a little kid about death.

Katrina responded with something I had never considered. She said “Yeah, I don’t think any of us did. You, J and Janell were the actual casualties of Donnie’s death.” It was a really weird time. I can’t speak for Janell or J, but I know that I was so confused. But here’s the thing. I wasn’t confused about the death part. Maybe that was one thing about being raised in a Baptist church. There was a lot of talk of people dying in the bible. I was confused by how I was supposed to feel. It was Christmas time. I knew I was supposed to be sad but I was also happy about Christmas, except now I wasn’t supposed to be. A generally happy child was being told to be appropriately sad. My feelings were being dictated to me. No wonder I was confused, but now I realize how often we are told how to feel. Be happy. Be calm. Don’t be sad. Don’t be angry. Okay, be sad right now, but don’t be sad three days from now. There is a limit to how long you should feel a certain way.

When we remember things, we remember them with a mix of feelings. Is it too far fetched to believe that we experience things with a mix of feelings? The line for what is or is not appropriate became completely erased when Chris got sick and died. We joked often about death and we laughed even when our throats were tight with emotion. This did not change after he died. We are irreverent and inappropriate in our jokes around Chris’s death. Because death is not just sad. At times, it can even be a relief. It is the knowing that person is not going to be around any more to hear those jokes and respond to those jokes that makes death sad. I know that whenever one of my tribe makes a hilarious commentary on the death of Chris, that Chris is somewhere laughing with us.

The authentic part of living this life is allowing ourselves to feel all the emotions with out limiting ourselves to who ever is dictating what is or is not appropriate. The Cabbage has asked me about my Dad. She’s asked me about the man in the picture on the bookcase. I told her that Dad and Chris are dead. I told her that yes, it is sad and I miss them, but I have buckets of joyful memories that make me happy. I want her to understand that it’s okay to be happy and sad at the same time. I want her to understand that no one is allowed to dictate how she feels about something; that it is her choice. You don’t need any one’s permission for your feelings.

This is a lesson I wish I learned a long time ago.