I'm a Closed Book

So, it's just occurring to me that in the last few years I've gotten myself into a little bit of a pickle.

This came to light the other day when I was attending one of my (many) therapy sessions (I gave myself the gift of mental health this year for Christmas.  And for my birthday.  And Easter.  And Flag Day.  Mental health is pricey).

"Who do you talk to about your day?" my therapist asked me several weeks ago.

I thought about that for a while.

"If it's going to take you that long to answer...that's not a good thing," she said.

It's been a gradual thing, this slow move into isolation.  I believe that it began a few months after Brad died when I was positive that no one wanted to hear me say the same damn thing - "I'm sad because he's gone.  My life has completely fallen apart." - yet again.  So I began practicing the fine art of the nod and the smile, saving my dark thoughts for someone I paid to listen to me.

But that quiet has stuck with me - not that I'm a quiet person.  I'm betting if you ask most of my friends they'll tell you I'm a talker.  But not about the stuff that matters.

A while back, I wrote a blog about the importance of someone asking about your day every day; someone who really cares to hear all of the ins and outs.  Many people related to it and I do think that it is actually so much more important than we realize, this daily download of everything that happens.  It's immediate and probably releases the pressure valve we all have, thereby avoiding the big explosion (ummmm...anxiety anyone?).  It was a good blog and you know what?  It meant so much to me that I didn't do a damn thing about it.

"Why don't you talk to your friends?" my therapist asked during that session.

And that answer was simple.

"Because I don't want to be a burden to anyone."

"But don't you see that if you opened yourself up...you might actually be doing someone else a favor?  You might be giving them permission to talk about themselves when they were also afraid of asking for help."

That stuck with me.  I absolutely hate asking for help of any kind if I can avoid it (my neighbor's husband might tell you a different story after being at my house for an hour one night trying to figure out an electrical problem.  Yeah...forgot to pay my bill).  But if it's more of a give and take and I can be of help to someone else in some way...I'm all for it.

In the last few weeks, I've been really trying.  I've made a point of making plans with friends and really opening up.  And every single time they have done the same...and looked relieved in the process.  My discussions these days, over seven years into widowhood, are not usually centered around loss (although it does come up), but more where I am as a woman.  And although all of our circumstances are never the same, many of us are feeling lost, confused, worried, and usually guilty about something.

The common theme throughout all of these conversations is that we're all lonely.  Whether my friend is married or not, nothing replaces the need for a good girlfriend you can really talk to.  And when I've confessed how I feel like I've lost a true connection with people, I have heard the same thing from every friend I've talked to.

"Me too."

It's amazing how powerful that phrase is.  For so long, I have kept the deepest part of me to myself, positive that I was crazy, incompetent (that electric bill didn't help), and generally high maintenance because of all of the things I feel on a daily basis.  I was positive that no one wanted to hear it.  But when I confess these things to a friend, I almost always hear that they feel the same way.  That for whatever reason, things aren't as they pictured they would be at this stage in their lives.  That they're questioning decisions they've made.  That they're scared.  And they feel lost.

Again, no matter what circumstance brought us all to where we are...it really doesn't matter.  If we can connect and understand - that's what makes the difference.  Even though I've never been divorced, I can sympathize with you.  I've never struggled with illness, but I can cry with you.  In fact, sometimes it's almost better when our situations are so different - I won't jump in with my own take on it because I've been there.  What I can do is listen. 

Just like you're listening to me.

So, be warned.  If you see my phone number pop up on your caller ID, know that I'm ready to talk and dig deep.  You might not need it and that's okay.  But if you do, clear a day on your calendar for a nice, long lunch (and possibly a cab ride home if lunch turns into happy hour).

We've got a lot of territory to cover.

What to Expect When You're Expecting

Bet that title gave my mom a little jolt.

Don't worry, Mom.  I'm not about to spring a surprise on you.  You know, like I did before.

As far as expectations go...I've spent most of my life expecting something.  And I've come to realize that that's not always a good thing.

I expected 2007 to be pretty good...only to have the most God-awful year possible when Brad died that summer.  2008 rolled in and I expected things to improve, but when I look back on it...I really don't think they did.  At the beginning of every year, I had a clear picture - and some pretty big expectations - of how the next 365 days were going to go.

I expected 2014 to be a life-changing year and it was, but certainly not in the way I was anticipating.  I am a completely different person and not because of all of the things I was expecting to accomplish...but because of all of the obstacles I had to overcome.  Which I guess in a way is its own accomplishment.

I'm still here, after all.

My therapist has been encouraging me to start keeping a journal, something that I used to always do, but I've been a little lax on in the last few years.  Brad used to to tell me the only time I really journaled was when I was mad at him and since my anger with him abated around 2009 (two years after he died), I haven't really written much since then.

But I'm working on it.  I've really tried to make it a habit these last couple of weeks every night before I go to bed.  But here's the problem.

I haven't really had anything to write.

I'm not saying that because I don't have a life or I don't have news about the kids that I could document.  But I think that most of what I used to write about in years past were mostly things I was anticipating (and worrying about).  And, to be honest, right now I'm really not expecting anything.

That may sound depressing, but it's really not.  I feel like this is the first year that I'm truly not expecting anything and I'm just waiting for things to come my way.  That doesn't mean I won't work on goals that I have set...it just means I really have no expectations as to the outcome.  And that's actually pretty liberating.

I feel like the year before me is a blank canvas.  And I like it.

So, my answer to what to expect when you're expecting is...expect things to not turn out how you expected them to at all.  When you're worried about something in the future, it could turn out to completely defy your expectations.  When you're anticipating that your life will change, it just might...but maybe not the way you think it will (but maybe in ways that it's supposed to).

The bottom line is that expecting things from the future is kind of a waste of time.  And having fewer expectations has actually given me less to worry about and more time to just be.  I feel like sometimes expectations can mask what's right in front of you in the moment.

And I'm tired of missing the unexpected.

"I Can't Feel My Life"

A couple of weeks ago, I was trying to get a little Christmas shopping done and I remember leaving a store and driving down the street.  I looked around and saw the decorations in the store windows and life buzzing all around me and I felt so detached.  Like it wasn’t real or like it really had nothing to do with me.

I was going through the motions, like so many of us do, doing what needed to be done without really letting life sink in.  Or maybe I was just in a mental place that wouldn't allow it to penetrate my surface.

It’s a disconcerting feeling, walking through moments in life that should be felt but you don’t know if you’re capable of it.  Watching others laugh and laughing along with them…but not really feeling the joy in your soul.  Even living moments when you know you should be sad but some part of you can’t absorb what’s going on…and watching life’s moments pass by as if they’re part of a movie reel and not part of the life you’re living.

There is a moment during the movie Postcards from the Edge when Meryl Streep says, “I can’t feel my life.  I look around me and I know so much of it is good.”  And I would think that most people have times in their lives when they know exactly what she’s talking about.  Life gets busy or overwhelming or too serious and we’re almost forced into a role of abstract observation.

Time to evaluate and realize.

Of course, these phases of detachment are often followed by times when I feel almost too much and the ups and downs must be dealt with in a different way.  Joy is felt deeply.  Sorrow is cried about.  Life gets scary and then it’s wonderful in ways I can’t put into words.  

I was thinking about this earlier today…about which scenario is better:  is it easier to stand back from your life as an observer or feel each moment?

The only thing I came up with was that it’s an in-between place that I think we call “contentment” that is the happy medium.  Those fleeting moments we experience whether we’re on an upswing or down – the up, knowing how good life is about to be even if it’s temporary.  And the down, appreciating where we were when we were up.

Those are the moments that make life worth the ride.