I had this really intense and incredibly beautiful conversation with a friend last night. In this case, I think the story is relevant so I’m going to share. My friend is going through the process of being onboarded at a new job. As part of the process, she was required to upload a photo of herself. She tried, several times, to upload a photo, to no avail. She reformatted and played around with the size and even reached out to friends who she identified as more tech friendly.
Nothing.
She shared with me that in that moment, in the moment of reckoning where everything she was trying and had tried was not working, rather than reaching back out to the onboarding specialist at her new job, she melted down. She explained that something about not being able to do what she perceived as a simple task was obviously a PSTD trigger from her childhood. Although I already know this, she went on to explain that she grew up in a home where one was expected to know things. And when things weren’t known, one was expected to figure them out. And when one had certain learning problems or disabilities that challenged that ‘figuring out’ process, one was expected to keep it quiet. In other words, they were expected to steep in self-disapproval.
And so, that’s exactly the place she was taken to in the moment of the onboarding fail. She told me that she felt incredibly stupid and frustrated and foolish, but more than that, she felt utterly ashamed. She was completely immobilized- stuck in a dark spiral of her own creation.
I tried to listen without interjecting my thoughts or feelings. I recognized in that moment that she didn’t need me to tell her that she isn’t stupid and is worthy, but rather, just hear this story, without judgment and with patience and compassion. And so, that’s just what I did.
I waited for her to finish the story and I’m glad I did. At the end of the story, she advised that she reached out to a group of fellow practitioners (she is a social worker) and shared the story, including the part where she melted down. What she received in response to this share out was support. Pure, basic, uncomplicated, unconditional support.
I was glad I waited for the end of the story, but I still had things that I wanted to say.
I knew that she was out of the danger zone, or the part of the story where there were intense feelings abound and so, I was careful with my words, but not overly so.
I relayed a little story that I have been sharing all over the damn place, because I found it so profound. I was recently scrolling through social media and stumbled upon a little interview. I’m going to be honest and tell you that I have zero recollection of who the interview was between, the media channel it was on, or anything else even remotely useful. What I do remember is that there was a professional florist on, or at least someone who deals with flowers. He was asked how you make flowers live longer and his response was: they aren’t meant to live longer.
That was a total gut punch for me if I’m being honest. Really, like a sweep me off my feet solar plexus whammie.
Of course, the first response was outrage. What do you mean they aren’t meant to live longer? Aren’t you, the professional, supposed to give us tips for that very reason?
But then I listened for another moment where he said that there are ways to help preserve their beauty for a short time, but ultimately, we are meant to enjoy them for how ever long they decide to stick around. That’s all there is to it.
This sentiment really made me think. It made me think about so much, but mostly, I got stuck on the idea that we have been taught to ties everything up neatly with a bow. Endless improvement with a goal in mind. Just get here, do this, be better, be bigger, be more powerful, and never show fear or vulnerability or weakness. Figure it out, sort it out, puzzle it out. Do the damn thing, even if it breaks you.
Rarely do we tell ourselves that it’s okay if things are messy. It’s okay if the boxes aren’t unpacked and we leave that ring of coffee in our mug and the flowers only last for a few days, despite our best efforts. This is the same way that we tell ourselves that our emotional lives can’t be messy. This is why we endlessly apologize for outbursts, or emotional expressions, or the inability to move past something in a meaningful way.
Another friend told me that she recently spoke to her ex and he sounded happy and she felt enraged. I’ll be totally honest that I wanted to tell her that I wish she could just be okay, but then, I thought about the flowers. And our humanity. And our emotional fragility. And I told her that she should just understand that she will likely always feel that way. That he really messed with her and hurt her, and she wasn’t less than because she couldn’t forgive him. She was normal. Human. Really, really human.
Same goes for my friend and the job onboarding. Rather than telling her she isn’t stupid (we both know she isn’t), I told her that she will likely have moments where her PTSD is triggered. Many moments. And what I hoped for her was not to reconcile where she never had those moments again. But rather, the sense to feel her feelings and allow herself the grief, and then, move on, leaving those feelings and the shame spiral behind. I told her that I’ve learned that closure isn’t really a thing. No door has ever been closed in a way where we never peer through it again. Some doors close a little more tightly, but nearly every single one of them is left a crack open. Because we are human, and we visit and revisit things over and over again.
It’s how it all works.
The flowers will die, eventually. It could be quick or it could take a while. The idea is not to fixate on their inevitable demise, but appreciate their beauty while they are here, and know, deep down inside, that things are always in flux and nothing is permanent and we may feel something that isn’t great, but at the end of the day, our learning curve shortens, and that’s the real stuff.
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