I finished up yesterday by suggesting that a relationship could not be ruined by a stressful situation. Maybe that put some of you off. I can already see or hear the explanation that you might offer, or the example. You might tell me that statistically there are stressors that notoriously ruin relationships. For example, when one partner is in a stressful vocation, that can often lead to the demise of a relationship. What else can do it? A child that is disabled or physically impaired. Also, well, when you are facing a worldwide pandemic and all the shit that comes with it.
I get it. And I know you are going to hate me for this, but I’m going to say it. I am. Here goes nothing.
If you have a foundation and you get the proper help, when needed, you will make it through shit. You will. You will struggle and suffer and sometimes you will doubt everything, but you will still make it though. Most things that break have a small crack or an underlying weakness that may not even be wholly visible from the outside. Sometimes we don’t even know that something is compromised because we’ve built up such a wall. We’ve constructed visors and barriers to keep things from view and protect the thing that we treasure. Even when we are presented with compelling evidence to the contrary, we dig in.
We are quick to self-harm, we are quick to dig in, we are quick to defend garbage behavior, but we are slow and entirely resistant to the idea of asking questions. When we start to ask ourselves why, then we fear that we are going to open Pandora’s Box. We are going to unearth a pile of shit that we just cannot contend with and that’s more than we can handle. Do you know what I’m talking about?
I always think of this little cabinet I have with scarves in it. I know that there are some scarves buried in the bottom back that I’d like to wear, but I also recognize that getting to them would require a tumbling of all the other shit in front of or around them. I can’t bear the thought of shoving shit back in again and figuring out how to make it fit, so I just accept the fact that I will never wear them again. I have them, I know they are there, I might even love them, but I’ve given up on them.
That’s us. That’s our own psyche. Sometimes shit is just too much for us to handle. Sometimes we recognize that if we start to unpack shit, start to ask questions, we won’t be able to lock up our emotions any longer and that’s just way too scary. We can’t handle the thought that like overpacked luggage, we may only have gotten all that shit in once and it may not be something that’s feasible ever again. You know what I mean, right? I mean it’s been a while for me, but I still profoundly feel this scenario. I am sitting in a hotel room in front of a suitcase, looking at the two tiny souvenirs I bought and wondering why the fuck I can’t seem to pack my luggage up again in any sort of reasonable order. What is the problem?
Much like our emotions, when we unpack things from our suitcase, they take on a different shape. They morph and expand. The fabric breathes. It fills the space. It doesn’t know how to be a tiny little square or ball in the corner anymore. It wants to grow. It wants to be more. That’s the way it works with our emotions.
As soon as you give something wings, it flies the fuck away. It doesn’t stay small and contained. It takes on a life of its own. It wants to be what it wants to be. It will resist a repacking because it recognizes how bad but really, how good, it feels to be free.
Once you ask yourself the questions and begin to see what’s there, you won’t be able to unsee it. I mean, you might be able to pull a reversal for a little bit, but that new knowledge will assuredly creep back in again. Let’s go back to the pandemic body example again (sorry, I fucking hate that expression but it’s universal at this point, so I am only using it for that reason- but it’s repulsive and gross, k?). What if we ask ourselves why we stopped caring for ourselves?
Well, I was so stressed. I wasn’t sure I was going to keep my job. I was terrified of getting sick. I missed my friends and family. The world felt shitty and small and also too big, oh, and people were losing their minds, everywhere. Right. But how come you made a choice to abuse yourself? Why didn’t you use the same energy to find a path to self-care? Instead of remaining stagnant and self-hating, why didn’t you find a path to goodness? Why didn’t you go for walks instead of laying in bed?
Please understand that I am not diminishing the impact of true depression. At all. I take mental illness and struggles very seriously. Beyond what I can put down on paper. I do. So, in the throes of a deep depression, I can absolutely understand why appropriate and rational decisions cannot be made. I do.
But for those who can articulate what they are feeling? For those who have enough wherewithal to acknowledge how they are feeling and what they are doing, why make the decision to dig a hole? Why not get help? Why not reach out? Why not make a choice that feels good instead of perpetuating yucky shit? I know these are incredibly tough questions to ask and answer and I’m just throwing them out like asking what the weather is…I get that. I’m not though. They are incredible tough, but everything worth fighting for is, right?
Let’s wrap up today by getting to my task, my exercise. The reason it is so challenging to contemplate is because we are used to seeing the world through a lens of trepidation, of displaced responsibility, of a poor-me mentality. We are used to being victims, so the idea of coming from a place of strength and love is entirely foreign. What if we felt the love that was offered in the world around us? I’m not even talking about hoards of people. You might have just one other human who loves you. That’s enough. You might just have yourself, that’s enough. What if we acknowledged that power? What then?
Well, you’ll just have to wait until tomorrow.
L.
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