Losing Our Dog...a Hospice Story

"All I'm saying is that there are an awful lot of things in the world we don't understand, honey, and hidden connections between things that don't seem related at all."
                                                                              Libby from Donna Tartt's novel The Secret Friend

When my kids were just babies, toddlers, early childhood - I worked as a home hospice social worker.  Every morning before leaving the house to take them to day care, I would say, "I need you to be quiet now, because Mom needs to call Death."  And every morning they would know that 'Death' told me about which of my patients died over night and what new patients I was assigned to help next.  I didn't keep the phone on intercom, they didn't hear the details.  I simply called a voicemail system where nurses who'd worked overnight (and sometimes social workers and chaplains) would relay this important information.  Telling my children I called Death, I think, was my way of whistling past the graveyard.  I always felt a deep, strange pull - something primordial and magnetic - about this twinning in my life of beginnings and endings.  Of life (young life!) and death. 

I wonder what seeped into my kids from hearing so much about death from a young age, how this influenced them.

***********

Our dog, Pearl, died  four days before we left for an 8 day family vacation.  Our energetic, loving girl, who'd started showing a tumor in her eye (the tumor started in her skull) last July and was given a year to live, lived almost exactly one year from her prognosis.

The day after she died, my daughter said to me, "Mom, all the stuff you've always said about hospice is true."

You see, she died on a Wednesday, but strange things were happening on Tuesday.  On Tuesday, I left my daughter home for a couple hours while I ran into work.  My son was at camp and due home on Thursday.  The weather that week had been terrible - stormy for several days.

When I got home from work, my daughter was curled up on the floor, using the dog as a pillow.   She hadn't done that in a long, long time - though as a young child, she let Pearl lick her on the mouth ad nauseam (literally ad nauseam) and liked nothing more than to lie beside her on the floor, because Pearl was a big dog and there is something very fun and comforting about snuggling with a dog who is bigger than you are.

I commented, "I haven't seen you do this in a long time." 

Later that day, she said, "Mom...how old is Pearl in dog years?"

"Just about 70, " I said.

"That is not old, but it is not young.  She still acts very young.  Much younger than 70,"  she said.

That night, as we were getting ready to go to sleep, we noticed a variation in the routine.  Usually I 'tuck in' my daughter even though she is big, too big for it.  We both know this special time is kind of coming to an end and we don't adhere to the routine with the strictness we used to - I sometimes read a little to her (A Tree Grows In Brooklyn...we decided this is our last book aloud together) and we say prayers and the dog lies beside her bed and follows me to my room when I leave.

But that Tuesday night, Pearl stayed in my daughter's room.  I fell asleep and woke at 2 am and she was still there.  I woke at 5 am and the dog had migrated to her usual spot in my room.  "Hmmm," I thought.  "That's strange."

About 6:30 am, I decided to go for a short two mile run, and Pearl and I did our own routine - she jumped around and pounced here and there when she saw me get the leash.  I pounced back until I "caught" her.  She ran two miles and I noted that she really was slowing down a bit.  I could tell she was tired.

I left for work.  My daughter was going to hang out with my mom that day at my mom's house and they were going to head back to my house at 3 to take care of Pearl and hang out till I got home.  I'd gotten notice that my son's camp was going to end early and he would be home that night, rather than the following afternoon, due to weather.

At about 3:15, while I was in session, my phone started blowing up, but I didn't know it.

At 4, I called home to my daughter crying.  "Pearl's eye is bleeding and she is shaking and nervous and I think you better come home."

After talking with my mom, I rescheduled my next couple of clients for later in the week, and tried to get in touch with my son at camp. Thankfully, I was able to, "Pearl's eye is bleeding," I told him.  I could hear that he was crying, but he is one of those kids who tries to be super stoic.  "Do you want me to wait to take her to the vet until you get home?  I will do it."

We were told that if her nose or eye started bleeding we would need to have her put to sleep then and both the kids knew this.

"Absolutely not, "he said.

 "Are you sure?" I asked.

"Don't do that.  She shouldn't be in pain for any more time," he answered.

"Do you want me to send you a picture of her or take some of her fur for you?"

"Send me a picture."

When I got home, Pearl was shaking and jittery, but so glad to see me.  She wagged her tail and looked at me like, "You will fix this.  I know you will fix this."  That was the part that made me most sad.  Because that is the trust animals and people have in you when you really love them and they really love you.   It is a big responsibility, but one you must carry.

I think she knew this was the end.  I just felt that.

When we took her to the vet, it all happened pretty quickly.  The vet put a blanket down on the floor and Pearl sat on my lap, because even though she was huge and long and awkward, she would have liked to be a lapdog.  A lapdog was her spirit animal.  She licked the vet's face and she licked my daughter's face and she died.  And we cried a lot together.

And when my son got home a few hours later he wanted to know everything, but he didn't let us see him cry.  I said I regretted that we couldn't wait until he got home and he said, "I would have been mad at you if you waited."

So the next day is when my daughter said, "What you've always said about hospice is true."  And what she meant was that I believe sometimes we have a deep knowing, a deep sensing.  There are connections we make that are beyond fact and rationality.  I saw that play out many, many times in hospice.

Pearl didn't die while we were gone away, with a housesitter or family friend.  She had a really good last couple days. I think she said goodbye in her own ways.

******************

Our trip was a big one.  To Ireland.  I hadn't been overseas in 20 years and my kids never had been.  One piece of the trip I enjoyed unexpectedly, was our travel guide, Scott.  He was college professor-ly, but in a more young, fun way.  He told us about the history of Ireland, the people, and the folklore.  He told us about Brownies, Leprechauns, and Fairies and showed us a tree that was fabled to be inhabited by fairies.  Fairies are powerful forces in Irish lore and disturbing them is bad luck.  They are blamed for changelings and various other misfortunes.  They are not to be trifled with.  When we saw this tree - an unassuming, but big shrub on the side of the highway, Scott told us that the Irish people were so opposed to cutting down the tree because of it's fairy connection, that they spent an extra $7 million to reroute the highway.  Folklore, Scott pointed out, tells us something about the human need to understand, the convey cultural ethics, and identity.   I admire the juxtaposition of the old and the new in the Irish culture.  Most sane people would say that fairies aren't real, but as a collective they spent quite a bit of money to honor the idea of them.

What can it all mean?  Scott also pointed out that there is a distinction between good sense and common sense.  But for the life of me, I can't remember.

********************

Several nights into our trip,  I dreamed of Pearl.  She was young and happy.  Her eye, whole and healed.  I petted her in the dream and I could smell her fur.  It was a dream, but I swear to you, I could smell her.

Go Ahead, Go Grow Up

I started writing this blogpost the other night when I was pissed off.  I'd had a bad day - my car had issues, all of which were due to someone else's error but caused me a big headache, a family member is facing serious health problems, I'd had a day where things were not going my way and I was slammed with other people's needs and struggles.  Then, I came home to make dinner, listening to a podcast of Fresh Air Interview: First Reformed .  Teri Gross interviewed Ethan Hawke, that actor who sort of is supposed to represent something of my Generation X.  Reality Bites, etc.  And he irritated me further, waxing 'poetically' about the questions this screenplay raised for him:   What does it mean to be an adult?  Am I supposed to be an adult?  And I thought, "Fuck you, Ethan Hawke.  I am an adult.  I know what one is.  And yes, you are supposed to be one."

So I started writing a very snarky blog and I felt I deserved to write that snarky blog, because I'd had a bad week and also, lots of people like to read pissed off and snarky blogs.

But then, I sat on it for a couple days just out of sheer busy-ness.  I was too distracted with life tasks to finish and when I went back to look, things felt a little different.

Sometimes, when you are upset, waiting to react to something takes a lot of courage.  (In this case, it was not so much courage, but my 'ego' as I writer - I want my blogs or poetry or essays to say precisely what I want them to say).  But let's look at the big picture of waiting to react in general.

Lots of people tell me I am brave and strong.  And the truth is, I have been through a number a pretty heightened experiences in my life, sadly, some of them very upsetting.  But if I am strong or brave, I have to think it comes, in a large part, from my willingness to try different things and grow new emotional skills.  And waiting...just giving your self time before you react to something is often one of the most important emotional skills we can develop.

So here are some emotional skills or ways of thinking that you might want to try - to practice - if you are suffering and in some part think you might need to be more of a grown up.

1)  Distress Tolerance.  This is what I'm talking about when I'm talking about waiting.  This means that you will have to sit and wait with highly uncomfortable emotions like heartbreak, loneliness, fear and rage.  It means not acting, screaming, drinking, fucking, or writing snarky blogs out of your reptilian brain's need for relief and release.  What do you do when you are tolerating your distress?  Have a mental breakdown?  No.  I promise you won't go crazy waiting.  But whatever you do when you are simply re-acting, might cause a lot of craziness in your life.  Not many people can just sit and meditate when they are distressed.  It's good to have a plan for more realistic options - you can call a friend who truly lifts you up.  You breathe deeply.  You imagine what it will be like when things are better in your life.  You watch something funny on Netflix.  You pray.  And you wait it out, knowing and accepting that you are going to feel kind of rotten for an impermanent period of time.  That doesn't mean that you never do anything to stand up for yourself or blow off steam, but most people know when those actions are coming from the wise part of themselves and not the flailing mess part of themselves.

2)  Practice being ok even if other people are upset with you.  For the most part the people I surround myself with are highly responsible 'fixer' type people.  Even my clients.  If you are a highly responsible fixer, you 'fix it' whether it is trying to help the bagger at the grocery store with the bags, or make sure your spouse never has a moment of irritation.  This is a nice quality, but can get totally out of balance and martyrs you.  Practice more balanced thinking - is it realistic to think that nothing you do will ever be an inconvenience for anyone?  No.  Adult relationships are about give and take in balance.

3)  Accept that suffering is a part of life.  Every day is not going to be a good one.  I listened to another interview on NPR this Spring - maybe a TED talk, where the interviewee said something like, 'I have to remember that happiness is a mood.  Happiness is just a mood like having a bad mood.  It's not a state of mind that you attain and stay in that place."  I've heard 'contentment' offered as a more realistic goal for our grown up emotional state.

4)  Practice Radical Acceptance.  What does it mean to 'accept reality?'  It means being able to tell yourself hard truths without crumbling.  Things like:  I am dissatisfied in my marriage.  Or, my spending is out of control and I don't know how to stop.  Or, I am jealous of my brother.  Or, I've been a crappy parent.   Or, I've surrounded myself with false friends.  Or, I have hurt people I care about.  Even good things may call for radical acceptance, i.e., I don't have to worry about money anymore.  Or, I am actually safe and cared for.  We have unconscious thoughts that drive us because we have shame, guilt and fear around them.  If we radically accept our lives and our truth, we reduce shame and create space to deal with our reality.  And while reality may bite, not dealing with reality bites worse. 

5)  In all things, balance.  In my snarky version of this blogpost, I'd written a number of things like "Your kids come first." And, "Quit blaming other people for your problems."  And, "You don't have to be perfect."   But when I look at these tidbits, I also think, "but sometimes...not."  Mostly, your kids should come first, but sometimes maybe not.  Mostly you need to quit blaming others for your problems, but sometimes you need to acknowledge that wrong was done to you.  And while you never have to be perfect, there are times of your life when your performance is meaningful.  Those are just some examples.  The grown up thought is this, "I have to use my best judgement."  Which means taking time to really think about all the circumstances surrounding a given situation.

(Disclaimer:  This is not a comprehensive list...just the ones coming to me today this week.)

I had a client who once pondered quitting drinking.  She said, "Sometimes I wonder who I would be if I wasn't Drunk Jennifer.  Would people like me as much?  Would I be not as fun?

When we think about growing up, acting like grown ups, I think many of us have a similar thought - "Will I not be fun?"  "Will life be a long boring litany of 'doing the right thing?'"

Yes!  No!  I don't know!!!!  Maybe?

Maybe there is some part of many of us that secretly, in our deepest hearts, would like someone else to come and take care of things for us.  This is a time for radical acceptance.  Ain't no one going to take care of you but you.  And when you look back on your life from your death bed, the fun times aren't going to look like the ones where you were self-destructive or unkind or let yourself get treated badly.

I have another friend who has been sober for over 10 years.  She is one of the wisest people I know and when she talks about the possibility that young people in her life - people she loves deeply - might one day walk the path of addiction too she says, "I am here to tell them that there is fun and hope and love and real connection on the other side." This is what she has to offer.

One of my favorite books is The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman.  Our hero, Nobody Owens, is a normal, but orphaned human boy being raised by the ghosts and one vampire, in an old graveyard in London.  At the end of the book, he must go out on his own, no longer under the protection of the graveyard.  He must join the living and live his grown up life.  to go out on your own is scary sometimes and sometimes it is so raw and poignant it brings tears to my eyes.  But that is the adventure and the promise of fully living your own life.

So go ahead. 
Grow up. 

If You Love Someone with Depression

As someone who has worked in the field of death and dying for 15 years, I am still mystified by suicide.  Of course, suicide has been much - too much - on all our minds recently.  The CDC recently reported that deaths by suicide are up by 30% since 1990.  And personally, I felt a poignant sense of loss when Anthony Bourdain died by suicide last week.

It's hard to write about suicide in any kind of coherent way, because suicide makes those of us who are left so overwhelmed that we are incoherent.   Those of us living, who lost someone to suicide or who have witnessed dear friends cope with suicide in their family or even who know that someone we admired in the public eye who completed suicide, are left with confusion, sadness, guilt, helplessness, anger.  We are left trying to pick up pieces and make sense of them in our own feeble ways.

I don't want to assume that all people commit suicide because they are depressed.  I know that there can be varying factors - drug use, compulsive disorders, PTSD, some kind of terminal diagnosis.  That being said, I am writing this today primarily for people who love someone with depression, because that comes with its own set of anxieties and vigilance.  It's own long term pain.

It's hard to imagine, for those of us who haven't experienced crippling, chronic depression, what it's like to feel that way every day.  (Though most people have had brief thoughts of suicide or escape from life in some way).  And if someone you care about experiences this sort of depression, they probably aren't sharing the depth of it with you.  I'm surprised about what people carry and hide from those they love.  But if they are sharing it with you, the feeling you get is drowning.  You offer idea after idea, or days of supportive love, love without advice, love with advice, hospital stays, doctor recommendations, mindfulness meditation books and articles from Google.  Sometimes, there's a little movement, but then things seem to move back to the former heavy stasis.  Today, I am writing for us - the witnesses and loved ones.  The ones trying to make sense of this unknowable.

Several years ago, a client of mine with a more come-and-go kind of depression recommended a book to me - Hyperbole and a Half, a graphic novel written and illustrated by Allie Brosh.   She is not only hilarious and insanely talented, but a person who deals with mental health issues too.  She depicts depression in a way that gives me insight as a helper.  After only half-reading this amazing book, I recommended it to a client of mine with deep, treatment resistant depression.  We read it at the same time and we both had an a-ha moment that I will share below, using a frame from her book:

When you are in depression, all the stuff that everyone wants to tell you or ways that want to encourage you, including therapists, feel like bullshit.  When my client and I read this book, I think it provided her some relief to laugh at me.  And also some relief that I finally began to 'get it.'

There are some other good books about depression by people who have endured it, including suicidal thoughts.  The ones I really like are The Noonday Demon by Andrew Solomon, A Hidden Wholeness by Parker Palmer (Not exactly about depression, but he uses examples from depressed periods in his life to talk about trust and vulnerability and relationships), and Man's Search for Meaning by Victor Frankl.

I wish I could give you an answer that will always work for helping your friend, your mom, your brother, your neighbor with his or her depression.  But you already know that it's not possible. 

When things are impossible, I turn to poetry, music and art.  For me, these help  get to that place beyond rational knowing, but a place I know to be truer than rationality.  So... I'll share this last bit with you...a  song that has a bittersweet place in my life history  - Ripple by the Grateful Dead, 

I remember riding in the backseat of my former in-law's car one gorgeous, cool, summer evening through the Green Mountains of Vermont.  It was 2000 and my now ex husband and I were engaged.  Life was before us.  This song played on the car CD player and I began to cry quietly in the backseat.  "There is a road, no simple highway, between the dark and the dawn of night.  And if you go, no one may follow.  That path is for your steps alone."  Funny, but as I remember it, I don't think I shared with my fiance that I was crying.  It felt too personal.

Something so exquisite flutters on the edge of our awareness, if we let it.  It has something to do with being both intricately connected with others and all of creation and at the same time our life path is only our own.  Those we have ever loved in our life are on their own path too. 

Whether it is depression, addiction, bi-polar disorder, some combination of mental illnesses - even physical illness -- we on the sidelines hurt because we are limited.  We are limited because this is what it means to be human.  Our love has no limits, but our actions and control of another person  have limits. 

"Limited" is not to be judged bad or good.  It just is.   I'll let the lyrics finish the blog today, because I don't think I could say it any better.  Take care of yourself, all you caregivers.  Take care of yourself, all you who are hurting.  National Suicide Prevention Hotline

Ripple by the Grateful Dead

If my words did glow with the gold of sunshine
And my tunes were played on the harp unstrung
Would you hear my voice come through the music
Would you hold it near as it were your own?

It's a hand-me-down, the thoughts are broken
Perhaps they're better left unsung
I don't know, don't really care
Let there be songs to fill the air

Ripple in still water
When there is no pebble tossed
Nor wind to blow

Reach out your hand if your cup be empty
If your cup is full may it be again
Let it be known there is a fountain
That was not made by the hands of men

There is a road, no simple highway
Between the dawn and the dark of night
And if you go no one may follow
That path is for your steps alone

Ripple in still water
When there is no pebble tossed
Nor wind to blow

You who choose to lead must follow
But if you fall you fall alone
If you should stand then who's to guide you?
If I knew the way I would take you home

Songwriters: Jerome J. Garcia / Robert C. Hunter  

Something You Never Thought I'd Say: Give Up Hope (On a Bad Relationship)

As a therapist, in some ways my business is hope.  I see the potential in situations and people, potential for change, potential for solutions.  I realize it is not only a large part of the work I do, but it is possibly part of my wiring, so in that way, it might one of the drivers that brought me to this work in the first place.  I am a hopeful person and I am a champion of hope.   It's fun too, when someone comes into my office and doesn't feel particularly hopeful, but something clicks when we are talking and they can see the potential for what their life might look like and maybe the feeling that getting where they want to be, personally, while it might be somewhat painful,  we can sometimes have a lighter touch and even a little fun too while we get there.

So perhaps for someone like me in particular, a tough life lesson has been that sometimes we must give up hope.  Not on ourselves, but in certain relationships in our lives.  I had an old boyfriend for whom this kind of thing was easy - "Fool me once, shame on you" he often said (not to me, but about folks in general).  "Fool me twice, shame on me."  It wasn't hard for him to know his rule and limit with other people.  It wasn't fuzzy for him.

So many others of us find it excruciatingly painful to 'give up on' or walk away from a relationship - even if it's proven hurtful or even abusive over years and years of time.  I see this with adult children and parents who have been cruel and ignorant.  I see this with marriages and partnerships that are abusive.  I see this with 'friendships' that are backstabbing or undermining and I see this with sibling relationships that can be sneaky and mean.  Or some permutation of all of those things.

A question I've asked myself is, "why?"  Why can some people know their own limits and walk away and why is it so difficult for others?  What are the personality traits or beliefs that keep us stuck with people (who might say differently, if asked) but who would probably push us under the water if the boat capsized, simply to stay afloat themselves?

To paint it in very broad strokes, I think people who stay 'hopeful' in hopeless relationships struggle with two main issues:  

1) Not enough self-esteem, OR
2) TOO much confidence

And despite this difference, they have one big thing in common

An Overdeveloped Sense of Responsibility

People who don't have enough self-esteem take on responsibility in this way:  "It's probably my fault that this relationship is bad.  If only I were more perfect, more understanding, didn't lose my temper, were more supportive, etc, etc, this relationship would be feel the way it's supposed to.  Maybe I deserve this kind of relationship.  Maybe this is how all relationships are.  Maybe this is the best I can do."  This person also may believe that their mother or spouse or brother could have an adverse effect on others and uses their sense of responsibility to 'protect' other people.  For example, "If Mom berates me, at least she's not berating my younger brother."  Or, if Wife is going to be so unpredictable, at least I'm here for the kids and can manage it from the inside."  People who don't have enough self esteem are hopeful in their own way, but hopeful mostly that they themselves will make some change and be 'better' or 'more worthy' in ways that will automatically make the other person kind, attentive, listening, and cooperative.

In psychology, there is an idea called 'repetition compulsion.'  It basically says that our primary caregivers may have messed up in some ways that wounded us.  Our psyche carries a compulsion to repeat the pattern of 'hurt' in order to fix it, heal it, make it better, but what we so often do is just repeat the hurtful parts without the healing.  This is something I  think about with 'hopeful' clients in hurtful relationships - particularly when I see that in their core they do not feel worthy.

People with too much confidence have the underlying belief, "I can change this situation, because I am just that caring, tenacious, strong or clever."  For example, if I am seeing the Overly Confident spouse, I hear this person saying every other time I see them, "I think it's better this week." There is always some solution or 'new' way they've tried communicating, asking, or interacting with their spouse and they are hopeful they have finally been heard and understood and their spouse is finally on board with kindness and partnership.  Often after this hopeful week, they come back in discouraged the next time - the new solution they tried worked for a little while, but the same old mistreatment crept back in again.

OR, the Overly Confident Person tells me, "I have a new approach.  I am just going to focus on my self care and my well being and less on theirs.  Things feel better this week."

Now, these are both resilient characteristics and healthy things to try.  Working on varied ways to communicate.  Figuring out your partner's Love Language and trying that.  Trying softer approaches or more direct approaches.  All of that is great!  The first 50 times.  But Overly Confident people in bad relationships can think of thousands of permutations and try all of them.  Also, great to focus on self care.  But if your partner is truly selfish or your friend is generally mean or your dad is most often blaming and cruel, self-care while in the relationship will be a mechanism for coping, but perhaps not a step toward thriving.

If you find yourself falling into one of these categories (low self-esteem/overly developed self-confidence) and find yourself in long term unhealthy and hurtful relationships, you may also find you have core beliefs that make you overly responsible.  In fact, as I was writing this, I remembered advice I was given at a young age that profoundly impacted me in a mostly negative way - "Never burn any bridges, because once you do, it's too hard to build them again."  On the outside, that would seem like sage advice, but for me, the way that hooked into my personality, I felt that holding people accountable was burning a bridge.  That creating boundaries was burning a bridge.  That confronting someone I loved who was hurtful could burn a bridge.   I internalized that as "The health of relationships is my responsibility and I should protect relationships from conflict."

Some other deep beliefs that might influence people to take on more than their share of responsibility in relationships are:
1) This person is in my family and you never turn your back on family
2) If I don't keep helping or being there for this person, they might die
3) Men just don't understand these things
4) Women are too emotional, so I have to be the strong, logical one
5) The other person is really too weak or wounded or addicted or in pain in some way, so it's right that this feels imbalanced.
6) I made the commitment, I have to stick to it

If you find yourself having any of these core beliefs when you think about a relationship, you might benefit from looking up information about co-dependence.  Taking on the full responsibility for the health of a relationship is co-dependent.

So, to go back to the beginning, here is what I am proposing.  If you find yourself resonating with what I wrote above,  I think it's time to give up hope.  Yep.  I said it.  Give up that hope, put it down and walk away.

Ok, I know it's not that easy and what I really mean is this:

How would it feel to really internalize and accept the information that you have in front of you:  Nothing that you do or don't do is going to make this relationship any different.  This IS the relationship.

Now that you've accepted reality, what would it mean to let there be space in that relationship with your mom or your friend or your boyfriend?  Could you imagine not working so hard to make things better or peaceful or satisfying for you in the context of that other person?   Maybe you don't have to cut them off, maybe you just need to not call and check in on that person so much.  Maybe you need to say 'no' to some of that person's unreasonable demands.  Maybe you could spend that energy on relationships where there is a healthy balance of give and take.  And if you need to cut that person off and it feels really scary, maybe you remind yourself that life doesn't need to be dramatic with grand statements like, "I'm never speaking with you again!"  You can make these changes and shifts in any way that feels like you are being true to you.

I heard an interview on Krista Tippett's excellent podcast, OnBeing recently.  She interviewed the poet, Nikki Giovanni, who spoke about having a dad who wasn't so great.  She said (to paraphrase), "I learned from him that the quality of the love depends on the quality of the love-er."  This seems like an important thing to remember.

When I say, "Give up hope,"  of course, I am being tongue in cheek.  Keep hope in and for yourself, your wisdom and choices.  Stop listening to your brain and heart and instead, listen to the deep gut instinct, the intuition,  I believe each of us has.  There is more friendship, love, and connection for you out there - relationships where you don't carry all the responsibility and you don't need hope, because the love is present and alive and in action.

Race and Religion: This Isn't a Liberal Arts Class, but I am Trying to Learn Here

We don't tend to hear very much from people who are unsure anymore.  Who don't sound and look like they know exactly what they are doing. I suspect we mostly hear from people who are faking their certainty or are too certain for their own good.  Sometimes I get worried that I get into this lecturing mode in my writing too.  Which doesn't really reflect me, because I  connect most deeply with reading, listening to and watching stories about people who are unsure and are finding their way.  So today, I am going to write a little bit about a place I am finding my way.

I think this is going to be a blog about my spiritual path and how it relates to racism.  Let's get started and see where this goes.

I don't know how to talk about racism.  I don't feel like an expert or academic when it comes to race or ending racism.  I do have a gut feeling that the degradation of human beings by other human beings is a cancer on the whole of humanity.  I do know that I was in an emotionally abusive relationship and I see many parallels between the way that relationship functioned and the way white people and people of color function together here in the United States.  I do believe - again this is a gut instinct, an intuition - that healing race relations is integral to healing the world and the earth.  It is part of us, right here, right now, trying to leave the world a healthier, more whole and beautiful place than when we got here.  

Two weeks ago at the Unitarian Universalist church I attend, a guest speaker gave the sermon for Earth Day.  Reverend Daniel Gould, from Missouri Faith Voices, spoke about the joy that is being a member of this human family and our love and care for our Earth, our home, and as he said, "She is groaning."  She needs our love and attention and we must  join together for that mission.  As an African American minister, he was welcomed in particular.  Our mostly white church strives toward social justice and racial equity, but the congregation does not look very diverse.  I noticed a couple of other newer faces in the crowd that day, also people of color - friends of this minister who had come to listen to and support him.

If you read my blog regularly, you know that since my divorce, I've been re-examining my church home.  I've wondered if I would find something deeper for me in a church that might be more 'traditional' in theology.  I have a minister friend who buzzes in my ear that knowing God particularly through the Bible is an important, disciplined part of really knowing God.  (I have a drill sergeant part of my personality that believes that discipline is like really important.  But I also think that part of my personality can get out of balance.  How confusing!)

At any rate, as part of that process, I have been to a variety of churches, including a few mostly African American church services.  During the time I worked in hospice, I also attended several funerals at black churches in North St. Louis City and County.  To me, there is often a different poetry in the sermons I hear in churches with black ministers.  I like that poetry.  It makes me want to cry with joy and understanding.  Is that weird?  I can't describe it fully.  That is a poetry I heard two Sunday's ago from Rev. Gould.  To write this blog, I Googled 'African American religious oratory style' and found many articles explaining the tradition and style.  Here's one The Front Porch Blog

So this week I felt energized about things happening at my church and instead of dabbling in another church's service, I went back to my usual.  I sat in the back row and sat alone, having come in kind of late.  I noticed one black lady sitting on the left aisle several rows ahead of me.  She sat alone.  I was sitting alone too.  Many thoughts went through my mind - I thought about what it must feel like to her to be one of only two or three people of color in this room.  I considered my desire to just sit alone at church and soak in a message.  I wondered what brought her here.  I thought that if I go sit by her, maybe she'll think I'm weird or overeager.  I reflected on the spiritual practice of welcome.  I thought mostly that my greatest wish for my church home (aside from being endowed with millions of dollars) in the past four years has been that we can be in fellowship with people of color, so that our Sunday mornings reflect the healing through friendship and relationship that I feel is key to healing racism.

So I moved my seat.  I sat down by this lady I didn't know.  And we extended the hand of fellowship at that time of the service.  But, after the service I made myself overcome that little shyness that I have (believe it or not, I have shyness sometimes), and I asked her about herself.  I shared that I'd been on a spiritual check-in since my divorce a little while ago.  She shared that she was on that some journey - she'd been divorced a year ago and was checking out new churches and seeing what was the best fit for her.  She'd been one of the ladies I saw sitting in the congregation on Earth Day to support her friend, Rev. Gould.  We talked about places we'd visited and we talked about fellowship, and we talked about some of our own questions and thoughts about race and religion.  Don't get me wrong - it's wasn't super deep, but it was a connection.  And I really regret not getting her number, because I bet we would have fun visiting churches together.

Growing up in St. Louis, we never talked too much about race in my family other than to say racism was wrong and my mother in particular gave us many messages about empathy.  Imagining what it would be like to get on a bus in St. Louis City when it was still dark and being 'bussed' through an hour of traffic to get to a white school far from your neighborhood and home.

There are other parts of my background that maybe factor in to why and how this just feels, by intuition, like these two things are intertwined in my life.  Maybe it's that I went to college in the South.  Maybe it's poetry.  Maybe it's a knowing of personal injustice from my own life experiences.  Maybe it's being a social worker.  Maybe it's something beyond what I can know with my brain and see and feel.

I'm just going with it.

I've been reading books and seeing movies and listening to podcasts written by African American artists.  Recently I've read The Hate U Give and I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings and next on my list is Their Eyes Were Watching God.  I saw Get Out and Black Panther in the past month or two.   I am sharing this, not to say, "I am doing something so right," but I am a person who believes in the power of stories and I hope that by reading stories from a different perspective, I can more deeply understand another person or people's perspective.

At this moment, I don't have a big life lesson to share with you about all of this.  This is a snapshot of something I am doing.  I don't have answers to either how to end racism or where my church exploration or spiritual searching will end up.

I am sharing this in part to 'practice what I preach'  (maybe I should have been a minister?) - meaning in this case that it's ok to not know exactly what I'm doing and I would like to encourage you to explore places in your life that you are leaning, but you don't know exactly what you're doing either.

When I don't know exactly what I'm doing, I check in with myself in a couple of ways...I ask myself if my gut instinct or intuition is leading me in a certain direction or to take a 'next step.'  I also talk with people I respect and care about to check in.  I think I'm a pretty good communicator, so I try to communicate honestly where I'm at.  I try to be open to what happens next, where the next step leads me.

Maybe writing this is a step - maybe it inches me closer to something I don't even know what it is yet. 

Maybe it's time to shut up now.  There's so much talking in this world.  The next step I know is trying to listen.

There Are So Many Ways NOT to Be Lonely, But So Many People Feel Lonely — What’s Up with That?

One of the funny things about being a therapist and also writer is that my clients (not all, some) read about my life in my blog and some of them ask about me (which a tiny bit is against the rules of therapy, but not like you’re going to jail or anything). Mostly two things are of concern. They either want to know how my dog is (I wrote about the cancer in her skull a couple months back. She’s doing well. Still running!) Or, they want to know if I’m dating anyone. The clients who ask about dating tend to be women who are my age or older and I think they ask from a genuinely caring place. Like I do for them, they want good and happy things for me. I think they don’t want me to be lonely. If they themselves are lonely, they may also look to me for hope or comfort.

I asked a friend recently what I should write about next in my blog and one suggestion he gave was, “the lies of loneliness.” Aside from being somewhat poetic, I liked thinking about that idea — does loneliness tell us lies? Is loneliness itself a lie? What exactly is the feeling of loneliness? What are the types and textures? What are the cures?

I want to start by saying there is one type of loneliness that is different from all the others, and it may relate back to the last thing I’m going to write about, but I want to mention it first because its characteristics are so different. That is the loneliness of chemical depression. I have not ever had a depression like that, but I work with a few people who live a great deal of their lives in deep and nearly intractable depression. One of the hallmarks, to me, of that type is a pervasive sense of alone-ness. No matter who is there in the room, who calls or texts, what person sits next to you at dinner, you feel disconnected, flat, and so alone. The main problem here is chemical depression and that’s not what I want to write mostly about today, but I want to acknowledge that the persistence and heaviness of that loneliness exists and hurts.

Most people have other forms and sorts of loneliness and often, I’ve found, that what their loneliness drives them to do, or the cure they think they find leads to more loneliness and here is where it’s worth investigating.

Here are some things I have observed about loneliness, which might be what my friend called the lies of loneliness:

1. When people feel lonely, it’s not always romantic loneliness. Though it often is. Or they often think it is. Even when partnered or married — even when you look on the outside “in love” — people often experience loneliness.

2. Loneliness is very close to emptiness. It might be worth asking yourself if you feel lonely or you feel empty.

3. When you feel empty or lonely, it hurts a lot and your brain and heart are going to urge you to fill up that space with a bunch of junk. It’s up to you what you want the quality of that junk to be — some common choices I’ve seen are: more relationships. More sex, but not in relationships. Social Media. Food. Alcohol. Drugs. Binging on Netflix. Sleep. Workaholism. Working out-aholism. ‘Helping’ others.

While I think some of these things are good for a weekend, I hate to see people get stuck here for months or years. Some are more destructive than others, but none will alleviate the loneliness in a deep or lasting way. (And often lead to more feelings of loneliness and emptiness).

It’s been a long time since I read Walden by Henry David Thoreau and it’s possible that I never read it sophomore year in high school, but just skimmed it (it blends in with Moby Dick in the ‘classics, but kind of boring’ category). But what I remember and what stays with me is that this man chose to live alone by a pond and be close to nature. He tried to be self-reliant. It was somewhere around 1854. He did not have TV, cell phones or computers. He had a pond, some plants, the weather. It probably sounds like a lonely, empty living hell to a lot of people, but I think he was on to something. When we feel lonely or empty, we often need less not more. Whatever it is in us that says we need more, more, more is probably the biggest lie of loneliness that I see.

Here’s a real life example. I tried Match.com last summer in large part because some of my friends encouraged me to ‘get out there’. In fact, one of my good friends said, “You are single. You should embrace this time in your life.” And I thought, “That’s probably true! Why not?!” (This is what my mom calls the Tigger from Winnie-the-Pooh part of me — “Tiggers love to bounce into tall trees!” And once I’m up in the metaphorical tall tree, I’m like “Tiggers do NOT like to bounce into tall trees.)

What I learned was that online dating is not for me. Here’s why: it’s a lot. It’s more, more, more. Men. Messages. Trying to suss through whether the men are nice or sleazeballs. More messages or winking (ugh). I shut it down after a few weeks and it’s hard for me to imagine that I would ever do it again. This sort of filling up my time and brainspace did not feel fun or even adventurous — it felt like too much…but that could just be part of my wiring. I did ask myself if I felt lonely. The answer to that was, “not really.” I realized that while, I have moments of longing, that is different than loneliness, for me. Longing, for me, is witnessing how beautiful and amazing it is to see two people falling in love. Or to hear a man read a poem to his wife of 40 years that he wrote all about what it’s like to love her for a long time and how their love changes with age. (This happened to me this week.) And there are moments where I hope and wish for those experiences in my life. To me that is longing, but not loneliness or emptiness.

Maybe I’m saying that if you think you might feel lonely, don’t be afraid to feel it and know that feeling in a deeper way. Loneliness may not be how you really feel and when you let yourself feel it, you may realize more accurately what you want or need.

3. There is a difference between general loneliness and being lonely for a particular person. Loneliness for a particular person is more like grief. To me,grief is a helpful way to feel and think about metabolizing that sort of loneliness. If the person you love died and that’s why you are lonely for him/her, it may never fully go away, but it will feel different — perhaps less heavy and perhaps less sharp and perhaps less pervasive as time goes on.

4. If you were recently dumped or you are getting the cues that a romantic relationship is on the downhill slide, you may feel excruciatingly lonely. However, I often think we go through something I call relationship ‘withdrawal.’ I think it takes a few months of not being in contact with someone, not hooking up with that person, etc., to not feel ‘lonely’ for them anymore. If you think it is in your best interest to move on, try to stop yourself from having contact with them. (This would be a good time to fill that space with the least damaging thing possible and I recommend The Walking Dead.)

5. Loneliness tells you that you will always be alone. When parents are anxious about their kids, I often say to them, “What if I could tell you that I have received a message from 2050. That message is: Your kids turn out great. They are well-adjusted, productive, and healthy — how would that change your parenting?” Loneliness makes us super-anxious, Many people have an underlying thought/lie, “This is it for me. I guess I’m dying alone.” If you feel lonely right now while you’re reading this, it is my sincere belief that you will not always feel lonely. Life circumstances change, luck changes, we try out a different grocery store or take piano lessons. If you are truly lonely for romantic love, and not empty from some inner emptiness, the best you can do is try to enjoy where you are and who you’re with and what you’re doing in ways that bring you a sense of well-being and health. One thing I know for sure is that when we are coming from a place of hunger, we often eat crappy foods. And what I mean is, if you are depleted, hungover, secretly hating yourself, the relationship you might find yourself in is not the one that will make you less lonely in the long run.

So this brings me to my final observation and it is this…A deep longing that seems utterly human and perhaps universal is the longing to be seen, deeply known, and loved for the very person we are in our core. To me there is something spiritual about this. I had a friend in college who was really smart (he’s a neurosurgeon now!) and also a conservative Christian (I am not…nor am I a neurosurgeon). We used to write notes and letters and talk about C.S. Lewis and Greek Civilization. He told me to read Mere Christianity, which included (I recall) a passage that each of us has inside, a God-shaped hole that we try to fill with many things that are not God. Yet, the only thing that will ever really satisfy us is God. Just an idea to ponder.

Maybe it’s blasphemy in our Hallmark channel world, maybe it seems on the ‘meh’ end of hopeful, but here is my truth: I’m not sure there is any one person out in the world that will see us, know us, love us fully in all of our parts, in the depth of our selves, over the course of all our lives (though I believe anything is possible.) I do believe that we search for this deep connection in conscious and unconscious ways. In the end, it is Whitney Houston (I Will Always Love You) and Stuart Smalley (I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, etc.) and is something internal rather than external. Often we are lonely for ourselves. The world gets us away from ourselves and sometimes gives us messages that we aren’t worthy or enough or intrinsically good and loveable. We are all of those things and we are good company.

I Took A Pledge to Help End Racism. Step One: I Am Asking You to Listen.

Most people who know me know, that in the past couple years, I've become kind of a church slut.  I've been attending a number of denominations, and I'm finding it difficult to commit.  Please don't judge!  (Maybe I have unreasonable expectations, but that may be another blog).  I love the social justice focus of the Unitarian Universalists and United Church of Christ, I love my personal history with United Methodists and much of the theology, I love the ritual and pomp of the Catholic church, and I read a number of Buddhist writers (not a church, I know).  I am inspired by Jewish stories and wisdom.  I wish I could combine them all into one thing and throw a little Hinduism too.  Yet, one thing I did commit to when sitting in the Unitarian Universalist pews the other week was signing a Pledge to Help End Racism. 

Here's some background:  My city has been in a process of transformation, protest, conversation, rage, avoidance, and effort since Michael Brown's death in 2014.  St. Louis is talking about race and racism in more honest and open ways than I can remember in my life.  It has been a particularly passionate topic in my small community within the city/county and permeates everything from the school board to friendships to facebook.  I've tended to be in a more personal than public role, because that's where I feel comfortable.  Going to coffee with people, talking in kitchens with friends, attending community events, putting a Black Lives Matter sign in my yard.   And in the UU church I attend, racial equity issues are addressed from the pulpit almost every week - hence, the action item - sign a "Pledge to Help End Racism."  Like you, I wonder, how can I do that?  I am a working single mom with many worries, hassles, concerns, interests, and passions.  Do I have the energy or courage for such a thing?  Who the hell am I to think anything I might say is helpful in this literal landmine of emotion?

But I am going to take the opportunity to try to say some things and I hope that people who read this will grace me with the generosity of knowing that I am taking a risk.  This is a topic that angers many people and causes people on all sides to shut down.  I know I am not going to talk about this in all the right ways from a political correctness point of view.  And I am going to take a stance that some people dear to me will want to argue with me about.  I am asking that you pause before you make assumptions or respond.  I am a strong person, but I am gentle.   And in talking about this, I am talking from my heart, which is certainly as tender as yours. 

I believe racism exists and is one of the great wounds that prevents every system in our lives from being all that it can be.  Racism  hurts people in every facet of life - our schools, our hospitals, our neighborhoods, our businesses, our friendships, our churches, our families, our prisons, the arts.  This wounding leads to more wounding.  It goes on and on until many people of good will feel hopeless and afraid - what can me done?  This is too big or I am too angry and I am not willing anymore.

I am here to ask you to be willing.  I am here to ask you to be willing to listen.  

I'll digress for a second and hopefully bring it back around.

When the night isn't too busy with driving kids around to various sports and practices, I like to cook dinner and listen to podcasts.  The podcast I am most intrigued by right now is the podcast from San Quentin prison in California, which is a look at life 'on the inside'.  Ear Hustle  The most recent episode provoked many thoughts in me for many reasons - it was called Dirty Water - a conversation between Sara, who had been a victim of sex trafficking and killed her trafficker and LA, who was a trafficker himself, serving time in San Quentin.  It was a conversation about the wounding of sex trafficking and a practice of restorative 
justice. In case you aren't familiar, restorative justice is defined this way in Wikipedia:


Restorative justice is an approach to justice that personalizes the crime by having the victims and the offenders mediate a restitution agreement to the satisfaction of each, as well as involving the community. This contrasts to other approaches such as retribution, deterrence, rehabilitation, or incapacitation.

Victims take an active role in the process. Meanwhile, offenders take meaningful responsibility for their actions, seizing the opportunity to right their wrongs and redeem themselves, in their own eyes and in the eyes of the community.

In addition, this theory looks at crime as something that happens against an individual or community rather than the state.  The dialogue between offender and victim is supposed to foster victim satisfaction and offender accountability.  

In this episode of Ear Hustle, I was intrigued by the act of both talking and listening as an act of justice-bringing.  Sara and LA listen to one another.  Toward the end, Sara asks LA a question and deeply listens to his answer.  She is not berating, but she is honest - she does not hear some key aspects of him holding himself accountable for his crimes.  But they don't leave angry - they say, 'maybe we can talk and listen more on down the road.'  There is justice and generosity in that.  

These problems, like racism, or violence against women are so big, we forget where we have the power to make a difference.  In so many ways racism is a crime against an individual or community.  I believe that the beginning of healing most injustices in our society at this time, not the least of which is racism, is through individual or small community response.  The very beginning of this  - and it's so do-able  - is to cultivate our ability to listen.

We are not very good at it anymore.  I wonder if we ever were, but now seems particularly bad.  And listening means not just listening to the words that are said, but understanding the feeling and true meaning behind the words that are said.  

I know that for the sad, unjust or hateful things that have happened in my life, it is a gift to be believed.  For me to be able to tell what happened and how it hurt me and for someone to listen and not tell me that I should think about it or feel it in a different way.  This is, in a way, one thing a therapist does.  Even more healing, might be for the person or persons who hurt me to listen to me tell my story and hold themselves accountable.  That would feel like the beginning of justice.  I think it would restore me in many ways.

Defensiveness is an enemy of listening and probably an enemy of peace and justice.  When I went into people's homes as a hospice social worker, often they were understandably defensive.  I was in their space.  I represented something awful and I asked nosy questions.  I think I became skilled at disarming people, in a way.  I didn't want them to be defensive.  I wanted to work together with them to find ways to alleviate suffering.  To disarm them, I listened to them.  And I believed them.  Even if they told me to go away (which sometimes they did.)

Maybe that experience is what dictates my approach and I know it is effective.  Listening and believing other people from a non-defensive position is healing.  Healing for the speaker and healing for the listener.  And in healing, there is dignity, and in restoring dignity and agency there is justice.

I would like to live in a world where we aren't afraid of one another and angry with one another.  I believe that there is enough love, power, and money to go around.  You getting doesn't mean me giving up.  As a white person, I am trying to be accountable for the ways I may personally have perpetuated racism, or just by being part of the system of history and community that I am, I am in a fabric of racism.  That is hard for me to say, I'm noticing - even as I write it.  And I write it not out of being under the sway of some 'liberal media' bias or white guilt or anything like that. I am writing is because, as hard as it is to say, I believe it to be true.  

So this is a little thing that I am doing.  It is not the only thing, but one pebble in the water.  

When I started writing this blog this morning, you know, I didn't realize tomorrow is the anniversary of Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King's death?  But he is someone I admire for many reasons and I have absolute awe for the poetry of his words.  So I will leave you with these, because  in all of us there is a seed of light, and one way we can grow that is by listening to one another and granting one another the dignity that we also want to be granted:

Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.