Amazingly--amazing to me at least--my plan for self-care seems to actually be working. The last few days I've started to feel much better. More specifically, I feel lighter. Less suffering, less heartache, a whole lot more lightness of spirit. :)
I went with a friend Wednesday night to a meditation and dharma talk at a local, free meditation center. I have virtually no experience with meditation, but am excited to perhaps start exploring. The talk was about desire. I took several interesting points from it:
1) Desire is a natural part of the human condition, so there is no point in feeling guilty simply for having them. On a very basic level, desire is what keeps life going--we desire food, sleep, love, family.
2) Desire takes you out of the moment. Instead of being present, your mind has taken you to an imaginary future place.
3) Sometimes, desire can cause a lot of pain. Desire says, "I am here, but I want to be there," and if there is unattainable, this can be very painful. No point, again, beating yourself up for *having* the desire; instead notice and have compassion for the pain the desire is causing you.
4) When you have strong desires, sit with them and notice them and see what they can tell you.
While this whole talk was going on, I was noticing how I was feeling a lot of pain myself, caused in large part by unfulfilled desires. So after the talk I took some time and, instead of feeling guilty as usual, decided to have compassion for my pain and to try to learn what my desires could tell me.
What I figured out was that behind my immediate desires was a deeper yearning for emotional closeness. But here's the thing: I already have emotional closeness. I have so many wonderful relationships in my life, people I can count on to hear me, support me, love me, who I can be deeply open with. So why is it that I yearn so painfully for something I already have?
I realized that I feel lonely. I hadn't been able to put words to this before that moment because whenever my heart started to cry out, it would be cut short with a reminder, Kate, you have so many good, loving people in your life; you are less alone than you've ever been before. My mind said, it doesn't make sense that you would feel lonely, and I never gave my heart to voice its objection to this logic.
But now I realize that I do, in fact, feel lonely. This raises a very interesting question: why do I feel lonely even though I am not alone? I think that this is the answer: I feel lonely independently of whether or not I have lots of friends and love in my life. My loneliness, at least right now, is not a reflection of the actual circumstances of my life, but rather it is a reflection of something internal, something within me.
No amount of love from others can fill this gap. I'm getting so much love right now from the outside, and I feel only marginally, if at all, better. Something in my brain refuses to translate the intellectual knowledge of others' love for me into a deeper, intuitive knowledge that I am loved.
Some part of me, and not a small part, believes that I am unloveable. I have a fear that at any moment, those who love me will finally realize the truth about me, about how "bad" I am (lazy, selfish, incompetent, insufficient, etc. etc.), and they will stop loving me. Because on some level I do not believe that anyone who truly knew me could love me.
In other words, I struggle to accept love from others because I do not know how to love myself. So yes, I am lonely, because there is a deep, gaping, impossible need for love, and no matter how much keeps getting poured in, too much falls right back out. I do need to say: I am so deeply grateful for all the love I am given. I would not have made it this far without all the support I have received from others, and that support continues to play a critical role in my recovery.
Ultimately, though, the solution must be for me to learn to love myself. To somehow come to believe, solidly, confidently, dependably, that I am actually okay.
I do not know how to do this. I know only that I need to do this. This may not be the only thing I need to do, but without it, all my other gains will be ultimately fragile. Because what life can be built upon the treacherous foundation, the wretched pain, of the constant knowledge of one's own inadequacy, unworthiness? I deserve more than this from life.
A good friend suggested that I begin by keeping this thought in my head: "What would my life look like at this very moment if I loved myself?" I like this approach, because to be honest, I do not even know what it looks like to love oneself, to accept oneself, and perhaps it would be helpful to begin creating a vision of what it is I want to achieve.
The other words this friend left me with were this: Follow your truth.
So what does this moment look like in a universe where Kate loves herself? I think that what I am doing here, writing, figuring things out, trying to give myself permission to be kind to myself, I think that is an act of love. And I am feeling...satisfied in a way. The truth that I am following is that I want to think and write and share and learn, and I feel good that I just did this for myself. It's a good first step. :)
Friday, June 19, 2009
Monday, June 15, 2009
And self-care
Too much ache, too much grief-space; I've figured out that I need to take a little space for myself; the pain I was feeling about the loss of my friend's son was beginning to get in the way of my living.
I've never had access to so much empathy before (an effect, perhaps, of me learning how to open myself up more and more emotionally), so I guess this new empathy ability is something I'm going to have to learn how to live with in a way that doesn't drain me. After all, feeling others' pain (not that you could ever really feel it, but feeling whatever approximation your brain creates) does not ultimately take away what they're going through, and if done too much can reduce your ability to be supportive. A friend of mine was speculating today that empathy is most useful in forgiveness, i.e. in understanding someone you are angry at; sympathy is most useful in supporting friends/loved ones, as it does not sap your ability to function and support.
So project self-care, here I come. Taking a bit of space to try to get out of this grief head-space I've been living in; trying to return my focus to noticing and meeting my needs, and thus rejuvenating my ability to function. My heart is still ever-so-full, but a little lighter; the content weighted just a bit more toward joy. I hope before too long to be truly emerging from the depression space I've been sinking deeper and deeper into the last few weeks. (And please, let me note, that my recent depression has by no means only been an affect of being close to this family's loss; I've also been dealing with a lot of stress around finding a job, dealing with losses other people I am close to are suffering from, and dealing with some physical symptoms of feeling realllly tired again, which may have to do with my meds--thankfully I have a doctor's appointment coming up!)
I am going to get out of this hole; here I am to fight another day. :)
I've never had access to so much empathy before (an effect, perhaps, of me learning how to open myself up more and more emotionally), so I guess this new empathy ability is something I'm going to have to learn how to live with in a way that doesn't drain me. After all, feeling others' pain (not that you could ever really feel it, but feeling whatever approximation your brain creates) does not ultimately take away what they're going through, and if done too much can reduce your ability to be supportive. A friend of mine was speculating today that empathy is most useful in forgiveness, i.e. in understanding someone you are angry at; sympathy is most useful in supporting friends/loved ones, as it does not sap your ability to function and support.
So project self-care, here I come. Taking a bit of space to try to get out of this grief head-space I've been living in; trying to return my focus to noticing and meeting my needs, and thus rejuvenating my ability to function. My heart is still ever-so-full, but a little lighter; the content weighted just a bit more toward joy. I hope before too long to be truly emerging from the depression space I've been sinking deeper and deeper into the last few weeks. (And please, let me note, that my recent depression has by no means only been an affect of being close to this family's loss; I've also been dealing with a lot of stress around finding a job, dealing with losses other people I am close to are suffering from, and dealing with some physical symptoms of feeling realllly tired again, which may have to do with my meds--thankfully I have a doctor's appointment coming up!)
I am going to get out of this hole; here I am to fight another day. :)
Mourning
I've recently (in the last month) become good friends with a person who lost a young son to cancer in the past year. This has set me kind of reeling emotionally, but I'm slowly finding my way back. What a thing to witness, such soaring love, such wrenching grief.
I am inspired by the way this family raised their son; I hope someday to raise my children with a similar kind of love and validation; I am grateful to be a witness to such deep and tender love.
And I am torn apart over the loss of this beautiful boy I never even met, the way his parents have been savaged by this loss. I am in awe of the strength and courage with which they continue to face each day.
So much...what a thing it is to be witness to such grief and beauty and love and loss....
I am grateful; every ounce of sadness I have experienced I would take over my old days of emptiness--just to feel! is so important. But I'm having a hard time figuring out a balance, figuring out how to both feel the sadness (not block out my emotions), and also how to not let myself become overwhelmed.... I do not want to use words like grief to describe my feelings because the loss was in no way mine, but in whatever way it is possible to say so, I have been in mourning. So now the challenge is to honor both the depth with which I feel for this child and his family, and my own need for balance and self-care. We shall see....
I am inspired by the way this family raised their son; I hope someday to raise my children with a similar kind of love and validation; I am grateful to be a witness to such deep and tender love.
And I am torn apart over the loss of this beautiful boy I never even met, the way his parents have been savaged by this loss. I am in awe of the strength and courage with which they continue to face each day.
So much...what a thing it is to be witness to such grief and beauty and love and loss....
I am grateful; every ounce of sadness I have experienced I would take over my old days of emptiness--just to feel! is so important. But I'm having a hard time figuring out a balance, figuring out how to both feel the sadness (not block out my emotions), and also how to not let myself become overwhelmed.... I do not want to use words like grief to describe my feelings because the loss was in no way mine, but in whatever way it is possible to say so, I have been in mourning. So now the challenge is to honor both the depth with which I feel for this child and his family, and my own need for balance and self-care. We shall see....
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
The Long and Winding Road
I've made so much progress but there are those days when I'm struck by how far I still have to go.
I've been reading about "Re-evaluation Counseling" (also known as "Co-counseling") in the last few days (see www.rc.org). While I can't follow its theorists to the full conclusion of their beliefs (at the very least, I am prodded to skepticism by my belief that people are always more complicated than you can put down on a piece of paper), I find their root point very compelling; hurts that we have not healed from stiffen and entrap our thinking and thought patterns.
Say that you suffer some form of hurt; perhaps someone says something mean to you. According to rc theory, either you are able to discharge the hurt by finding a caring eye/ear who will patiently let you cry/talk/tremble/laugh out your hurt *entirely*, or you do not get to fully (or perhaps even partially) discharge the hurt. In our society--fraught with sentiments of "don't cry, it will be ok," uncomfortable with strong displays of emotion--the latter is much more likely. And the latter is what traps our thinking. This theory says that if you are not able to feel/discharge the hurt, it doesn't go away; even if it becomes hidden, it remains as a scab clogging up the pathways of your thoughts. The more un-discharged hurts you have, the more limited your thinking becomes; the effects are cumulative.
This theory makes sense to me. I can feel myself shy away from certain thoughts because of the pain they portend--pain born of the memory of hurts that I didn't allow myself to feel, that I didn't know what to do with. This is actually a very good description of depression as I experienced it; sometimes acute, but more often this incredible stagnation of diffuse hurt, fear, sadness--at the worst periods of my depression, everywhere I looked held the expectation of pain rising from the incomplete way I had processed past experiences of pain. And nowadays, even with all the progress I've made, I have moments (or hours sometimes or days even) where I begin to fall back into depression patterns and feelings--and it is very often an experience of feeling trapped between ominous thoughts--thoughts that old hurts, old dreads, are predictors of my future.
It is interesting the way fear has crept into me yesterday and today. Perhaps reading rc theory has caused me to articulate to myself some things I'd forgotten about; perhaps it's just a case of the Wednesdays (quite often the low point of my week, for whatever reason); perhaps there's some area (or areas) of my current experience that I am not allowing myself to feel fully. I was feeling so strong, and suddenly, I feel so afraid.
Deep breath, baby. Keep going. You are strong and brave; just take a deep breath, take another step.
I've been reading about "Re-evaluation Counseling" (also known as "Co-counseling") in the last few days (see www.rc.org). While I can't follow its theorists to the full conclusion of their beliefs (at the very least, I am prodded to skepticism by my belief that people are always more complicated than you can put down on a piece of paper), I find their root point very compelling; hurts that we have not healed from stiffen and entrap our thinking and thought patterns.
Say that you suffer some form of hurt; perhaps someone says something mean to you. According to rc theory, either you are able to discharge the hurt by finding a caring eye/ear who will patiently let you cry/talk/tremble/laugh out your hurt *entirely*, or you do not get to fully (or perhaps even partially) discharge the hurt. In our society--fraught with sentiments of "don't cry, it will be ok," uncomfortable with strong displays of emotion--the latter is much more likely. And the latter is what traps our thinking. This theory says that if you are not able to feel/discharge the hurt, it doesn't go away; even if it becomes hidden, it remains as a scab clogging up the pathways of your thoughts. The more un-discharged hurts you have, the more limited your thinking becomes; the effects are cumulative.
This theory makes sense to me. I can feel myself shy away from certain thoughts because of the pain they portend--pain born of the memory of hurts that I didn't allow myself to feel, that I didn't know what to do with. This is actually a very good description of depression as I experienced it; sometimes acute, but more often this incredible stagnation of diffuse hurt, fear, sadness--at the worst periods of my depression, everywhere I looked held the expectation of pain rising from the incomplete way I had processed past experiences of pain. And nowadays, even with all the progress I've made, I have moments (or hours sometimes or days even) where I begin to fall back into depression patterns and feelings--and it is very often an experience of feeling trapped between ominous thoughts--thoughts that old hurts, old dreads, are predictors of my future.
It is interesting the way fear has crept into me yesterday and today. Perhaps reading rc theory has caused me to articulate to myself some things I'd forgotten about; perhaps it's just a case of the Wednesdays (quite often the low point of my week, for whatever reason); perhaps there's some area (or areas) of my current experience that I am not allowing myself to feel fully. I was feeling so strong, and suddenly, I feel so afraid.
Deep breath, baby. Keep going. You are strong and brave; just take a deep breath, take another step.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Growing Up
As I stumbled into the kitchen this morning in search of breakfast, I was hit by this thought: I'm really growing up; I'm pretty damn grown up. Not that there isn't more growing to do (there is *always* more growing to do, which to me is truly a joy to know--I don't plan to ever stop!), but for the first time in my life, I feel like an adult. I feel strong and confident and ready to face the challenges ahead of me with wisdom and integrity. Holy cow!
Strength has always been part of my make-up; I've survived tough times (parents' divorce, loneliness as a youth, years of depression); I've done hard things (nerve-wracking tests and performances, challenging university coursework, teaching eighth grade, questioning my religious beliefs); I've always lived with integrity, always been mature for my age. But what I feel now is different.
I was raised by a hard-nosed realist who insisted on responsibility and integrity and hard work and never taking the easy way out. I deeply absorbed these values and am very much indebted to them, but they also came at a cost. I came to see the world as a place where a truly joyful life would never be more than a fantasy, always to be intruded upon by the reality of hard work to be done and hard decisions to be made. I came to fear "hard truths" because I believed they would either puncture my current, fragile positive emotions, or they would add yet another layer of burden to my deep sense of emptiness and void. I did face "hard truths" and choose hard paths, but only out of a sense of duty. And it was oh-so-draining. Depression is so hard, ay!
In recent years, because I simply couldn't take it anymore, I've backed away from the "hard truths" model of life. For years the idea of responsibility has terrified me and I've shied away from it; the specter of dread duty sucking the life out of me has hovered increasingly too close for comfort. I've tried to learn to take it easy on myself and to enjoy things without feeling guilty, and I've made a lot of progress on both counts. I've tried to give myself permission to do what I want, to not worry about the truth all the time, to not worry about integrity all the time, to just live.
I am learning to just live, which is to say, I am learning to live, and it is beautiful and wonderful. And as I have given myself permission to do this, and as I have begun to find the real joy in life, I find myself coming full-circle. I now have the energy, courage, even desire to delve into the hard truths, the challenges of life. I can now brave pain, because now it is not pain on top of excruciatingly low self-esteem, or pain on top of a grey and hopeless world-view; now it is pain that is just part of the flow of life, that does not have the power to undermine my joy in the world or in my new-found confidence. Hard truths no longer threaten my positive emotions because I now know that joy is not a fantasy, but that it is the real stuff of life.
I am so strong! I am ready to challenge myself, to ask hard questions, to do hard things, and to not only survive the pain but thrive in spite of it, to rejoice in the knowledge of my own strength, to rejoice in my continued growth. I am ready to go out there, take risks, experience magic, feel pain, and LIVE through it all! Integrity and responsibility are not dread duties; they are challenges that I elect for myself, because I know that I am fantastic, and I plan to see how far I can go in this incredible journey.
Strength has always been part of my make-up; I've survived tough times (parents' divorce, loneliness as a youth, years of depression); I've done hard things (nerve-wracking tests and performances, challenging university coursework, teaching eighth grade, questioning my religious beliefs); I've always lived with integrity, always been mature for my age. But what I feel now is different.
I was raised by a hard-nosed realist who insisted on responsibility and integrity and hard work and never taking the easy way out. I deeply absorbed these values and am very much indebted to them, but they also came at a cost. I came to see the world as a place where a truly joyful life would never be more than a fantasy, always to be intruded upon by the reality of hard work to be done and hard decisions to be made. I came to fear "hard truths" because I believed they would either puncture my current, fragile positive emotions, or they would add yet another layer of burden to my deep sense of emptiness and void. I did face "hard truths" and choose hard paths, but only out of a sense of duty. And it was oh-so-draining. Depression is so hard, ay!
In recent years, because I simply couldn't take it anymore, I've backed away from the "hard truths" model of life. For years the idea of responsibility has terrified me and I've shied away from it; the specter of dread duty sucking the life out of me has hovered increasingly too close for comfort. I've tried to learn to take it easy on myself and to enjoy things without feeling guilty, and I've made a lot of progress on both counts. I've tried to give myself permission to do what I want, to not worry about the truth all the time, to not worry about integrity all the time, to just live.
I am learning to just live, which is to say, I am learning to live, and it is beautiful and wonderful. And as I have given myself permission to do this, and as I have begun to find the real joy in life, I find myself coming full-circle. I now have the energy, courage, even desire to delve into the hard truths, the challenges of life. I can now brave pain, because now it is not pain on top of excruciatingly low self-esteem, or pain on top of a grey and hopeless world-view; now it is pain that is just part of the flow of life, that does not have the power to undermine my joy in the world or in my new-found confidence. Hard truths no longer threaten my positive emotions because I now know that joy is not a fantasy, but that it is the real stuff of life.
I am so strong! I am ready to challenge myself, to ask hard questions, to do hard things, and to not only survive the pain but thrive in spite of it, to rejoice in the knowledge of my own strength, to rejoice in my continued growth. I am ready to go out there, take risks, experience magic, feel pain, and LIVE through it all! Integrity and responsibility are not dread duties; they are challenges that I elect for myself, because I know that I am fantastic, and I plan to see how far I can go in this incredible journey.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Waking up
I feel fuller, on a consistent basis, than I have felt in years. I am coming alive; waking up. This doesn't mean I'm happy all the time; I'm okay with that because I finally don't feel empty. I am FEELING things. I can't tell you how long it's been since I've really felt things.
I've been going through a bit of heartbreak, to tell the truth. I met a great guy. It was brief but we had a deep connection, and it was just enough to give me a taste of what I've been longing for all these years, and then it was gone. I never expected to be drawn to someone so fast (I'm not much of a romantic), but I went with it and allowed myself to feel. Partly, I have felt gratitude for the amazing time spent with this person; when I was with him I felt inspired and deeply appreciated. This experience, indeed, helped push me to believe that the richness of life that I long for belongs not only in fairy tales but is real, attainable. Also, I have been feeling a longing for him that has been slowly replaced by sadness. I am sad partly because I miss this particular person, but also because I have been alone for too long, and it is painful to have the need for companionship momentarily filled but then left empty again, more wanting than ever. The sadness, heartbreak I feel has shown remarkable longevity given the brevity of the actual encounter.
There was, of course, pain before; what distinguishes this pain is my new-found ability to feel it fully. To face it, to not shrink from it. That ability, in turn, comes from the more fundamental change, the most important change: I am learning to value myself, to love myself.
For most of my life I have suffered from low self-esteem, unending guilt, feelings of worthlessness and deep inadequacy. Now and again I'd believe good things about myself, but the moment I encountered even the slightest hint of my supposed inadequacy, my confidence faded and words of praise (from myself or others) became grey, meaningless, impotent. My brain reasoned: sure, the fact that I'm kind to people is good, maybe makes me a "good person", but what good is a little, easy, boring kindness in the face of my inability to .... (work hard enough, be responsible enough, make a big enough impact on the lives of others, be confident enough, try hard enough, etc, etc). Nothing was enough; no amount of accomplishments, kind words, or good deeds could change my essential, irredeemable inadequacy.
As I write the words, I still feel the deep ache that they brought to my life, the sorrow that I have not yet fully moved through. How sad it is to spend your years mired in the knowledge of your failure. What incredible, unnecessary grief have I endured at my own hand, though not by my own choice.
I believe that the fleeting nature of my self-confidence greatly reduced my ability to deal with pain. For example, in the past when I was rejected by a love interest, I immediately put the subject out of my head, because the pain in store for me was not just the loss of affection from one person but a confirmation of my harrowing fears that I might not be loveable. I survived for years by feeling as little pain as possible--avoiding painful situations, shutting thoughts out of my head--because I did not have the reserves of self-love to pull myself back up after being knocked down by the small and large hurts of life.
......
Writing those words reawakened my self-doubt, sadness, hopelessness, so quickly and deeply that I had to stop writing and cry and then sleep, taking respite in the night.
But here I am the next day ready to continue. :)
So, yes, I am letting myself feel pain. New pains of heartache, old pains of doubt; but even the old pains, the old pains that were not just sadness but also dull and death-like, cannot hold me for more than a few hours. My spirit has awakened. I am not yet fully confident in its steadfastness but I am not worried, for it is here now and I know it is strong. I have hope. I am here. I am alive!
I am learning to love myself. So now I can feel heartache over a lost lover, because at the same time that I am sad for his absence, I am also rejoicing in my own beauty and wisdom and depth and splendor. My heart beats, throbs, with joy.
I still have lost moments, sad moments, dull moments, but I am so grateful for direction and for abundance of love and for cool breezes. I am reading again, because my heart is now able to engage; I have the energy to appreciate books again. I will be applying to grad school in the fall, and I've already found some programs I'm excited about. Hope is now a real presence in my life; hope for a rich life filled with love, for myself, for others, from others, for my work, for my music, for the beckoning earth.... Who knows, maybe under difficult circumstances my depression will relapse; surely I will still feel many moments of painful self-doubt; but I am not so cowed by these things anymore, because I am now experiencing that they are not all that there is to life; I am experiencing that more is possible. I still have fear; but I am going to be brave and give voice to my growing hope. :)
Yes, indeed, when the pain begins to sneak back in, and the fear shows its face, I find it very helpful to remind myself that I have courage to call on, and I can use that courage to keep putting one foot in front of the other. And one foot in front of the other has taken my this far--it's not so unreasonable to expect that a good life could actually be in store for me. I have courage; I have strength; I know this about myself and am proud of this, and that pride and confidence is a beautiful place to start.
I've been going through a bit of heartbreak, to tell the truth. I met a great guy. It was brief but we had a deep connection, and it was just enough to give me a taste of what I've been longing for all these years, and then it was gone. I never expected to be drawn to someone so fast (I'm not much of a romantic), but I went with it and allowed myself to feel. Partly, I have felt gratitude for the amazing time spent with this person; when I was with him I felt inspired and deeply appreciated. This experience, indeed, helped push me to believe that the richness of life that I long for belongs not only in fairy tales but is real, attainable. Also, I have been feeling a longing for him that has been slowly replaced by sadness. I am sad partly because I miss this particular person, but also because I have been alone for too long, and it is painful to have the need for companionship momentarily filled but then left empty again, more wanting than ever. The sadness, heartbreak I feel has shown remarkable longevity given the brevity of the actual encounter.
There was, of course, pain before; what distinguishes this pain is my new-found ability to feel it fully. To face it, to not shrink from it. That ability, in turn, comes from the more fundamental change, the most important change: I am learning to value myself, to love myself.
For most of my life I have suffered from low self-esteem, unending guilt, feelings of worthlessness and deep inadequacy. Now and again I'd believe good things about myself, but the moment I encountered even the slightest hint of my supposed inadequacy, my confidence faded and words of praise (from myself or others) became grey, meaningless, impotent. My brain reasoned: sure, the fact that I'm kind to people is good, maybe makes me a "good person", but what good is a little, easy, boring kindness in the face of my inability to .... (work hard enough, be responsible enough, make a big enough impact on the lives of others, be confident enough, try hard enough, etc, etc). Nothing was enough; no amount of accomplishments, kind words, or good deeds could change my essential, irredeemable inadequacy.
As I write the words, I still feel the deep ache that they brought to my life, the sorrow that I have not yet fully moved through. How sad it is to spend your years mired in the knowledge of your failure. What incredible, unnecessary grief have I endured at my own hand, though not by my own choice.
I believe that the fleeting nature of my self-confidence greatly reduced my ability to deal with pain. For example, in the past when I was rejected by a love interest, I immediately put the subject out of my head, because the pain in store for me was not just the loss of affection from one person but a confirmation of my harrowing fears that I might not be loveable. I survived for years by feeling as little pain as possible--avoiding painful situations, shutting thoughts out of my head--because I did not have the reserves of self-love to pull myself back up after being knocked down by the small and large hurts of life.
......
Writing those words reawakened my self-doubt, sadness, hopelessness, so quickly and deeply that I had to stop writing and cry and then sleep, taking respite in the night.
But here I am the next day ready to continue. :)
So, yes, I am letting myself feel pain. New pains of heartache, old pains of doubt; but even the old pains, the old pains that were not just sadness but also dull and death-like, cannot hold me for more than a few hours. My spirit has awakened. I am not yet fully confident in its steadfastness but I am not worried, for it is here now and I know it is strong. I have hope. I am here. I am alive!
I am learning to love myself. So now I can feel heartache over a lost lover, because at the same time that I am sad for his absence, I am also rejoicing in my own beauty and wisdom and depth and splendor. My heart beats, throbs, with joy.
I still have lost moments, sad moments, dull moments, but I am so grateful for direction and for abundance of love and for cool breezes. I am reading again, because my heart is now able to engage; I have the energy to appreciate books again. I will be applying to grad school in the fall, and I've already found some programs I'm excited about. Hope is now a real presence in my life; hope for a rich life filled with love, for myself, for others, from others, for my work, for my music, for the beckoning earth.... Who knows, maybe under difficult circumstances my depression will relapse; surely I will still feel many moments of painful self-doubt; but I am not so cowed by these things anymore, because I am now experiencing that they are not all that there is to life; I am experiencing that more is possible. I still have fear; but I am going to be brave and give voice to my growing hope. :)
Yes, indeed, when the pain begins to sneak back in, and the fear shows its face, I find it very helpful to remind myself that I have courage to call on, and I can use that courage to keep putting one foot in front of the other. And one foot in front of the other has taken my this far--it's not so unreasonable to expect that a good life could actually be in store for me. I have courage; I have strength; I know this about myself and am proud of this, and that pride and confidence is a beautiful place to start.
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Letter to a friend
Subject: Before they leave my head
....................................................................
I'd like to share a few thoughts! About what you were pondering, with regards to your career (whether you ought to stop working on so many projects and settle down as a full professor somewhere, or focus more deeply on just one project, etc).
Now, I don't know the answer to this question, because it's your life. But I've been figuring out some principles that I'm trying to put to use in my own life, that could perhaps help you think about this question.
Prestige is not all it's cracked up to be. I first began to realize this when I would get awards, and would feel thrilled for a moment but then the happiness would fade all too quickly. At first I thought it meant I just needed bigger awards (with my twisted self-esteem, as soon as I got an award I "realized" that the award must be pretty worthless/easy to get after all), but bigger awards didn't bring bigger happiness. But I was still driven to do something "impressive" because I just could not imagine the disappointment of living an unimpressive (non-prestigious) life. I joined a prestigious teaching program after I graduated; part of what drew me to it was knowing that people respected it and would be impressed with me for doing it. And boy did this teach me the lesson good and hard: I was SO depressed that year, that I finally really realized that no amount of prestige and respect was worth feeling that awful. I'd finally been humbled (in the best way possible), by being brought to a point of desperation that helped me see what really mattered in life, which was my own happiness. Prestige didn't bring me happiness and it never will; external respect didn't bring me happiness and it never will; doing things because I thought I "should" do them didn't bring me happiness and it never will. My "should" drive had, in fact, crippled my ability to work; the unhappier I was, the less I was able to do. There are people like your friend, who do everything out of sheer force of will, like wringing the last drop of water from a towel; you don't want to live like that, and you know it. There are people like me, who lose the ability to even act as they lose happiness; you don't want to live like that either. Prestige is not worth it. Happiness IS worth it, true self-respect where you yourself fully feel the value of what you're doing IS worth it; impressing others, even those you love, is not.
I was pondering why you love your projects so much, and the best guess I came up with (please do forgive me if I'm wrong), is that you love the feeling of creation, of manifesting your extraordinary potential into real, tangible creations in the form of helping to build the opportunities and thus lives of others. Whether it is for that reason or for another, please be careful before giving up something you love so much, something so joyful and life-affirming. There could potentially be valid reasons to change the course of your life; perhaps you want to focus more on a particular project, perhaps you truly love academic study enough that being a professor would be equally fulfilling, perhaps you want a family. But don't don't give it up to make someone else happy, to make someone else approve of you, to get status or prestige; such constraint is a kind of soul-death. Live a life you love, it's the only thing worth it. Truly truly.
Kate
....................................................................
I'd like to share a few thoughts! About what you were pondering, with regards to your career (whether you ought to stop working on so many projects and settle down as a full professor somewhere, or focus more deeply on just one project, etc).
Now, I don't know the answer to this question, because it's your life. But I've been figuring out some principles that I'm trying to put to use in my own life, that could perhaps help you think about this question.
Prestige is not all it's cracked up to be. I first began to realize this when I would get awards, and would feel thrilled for a moment but then the happiness would fade all too quickly. At first I thought it meant I just needed bigger awards (with my twisted self-esteem, as soon as I got an award I "realized" that the award must be pretty worthless/easy to get after all), but bigger awards didn't bring bigger happiness. But I was still driven to do something "impressive" because I just could not imagine the disappointment of living an unimpressive (non-prestigious) life. I joined a prestigious teaching program after I graduated; part of what drew me to it was knowing that people respected it and would be impressed with me for doing it. And boy did this teach me the lesson good and hard: I was SO depressed that year, that I finally really realized that no amount of prestige and respect was worth feeling that awful. I'd finally been humbled (in the best way possible), by being brought to a point of desperation that helped me see what really mattered in life, which was my own happiness. Prestige didn't bring me happiness and it never will; external respect didn't bring me happiness and it never will; doing things because I thought I "should" do them didn't bring me happiness and it never will. My "should" drive had, in fact, crippled my ability to work; the unhappier I was, the less I was able to do. There are people like your friend, who do everything out of sheer force of will, like wringing the last drop of water from a towel; you don't want to live like that, and you know it. There are people like me, who lose the ability to even act as they lose happiness; you don't want to live like that either. Prestige is not worth it. Happiness IS worth it, true self-respect where you yourself fully feel the value of what you're doing IS worth it; impressing others, even those you love, is not.
I was pondering why you love your projects so much, and the best guess I came up with (please do forgive me if I'm wrong), is that you love the feeling of creation, of manifesting your extraordinary potential into real, tangible creations in the form of helping to build the opportunities and thus lives of others. Whether it is for that reason or for another, please be careful before giving up something you love so much, something so joyful and life-affirming. There could potentially be valid reasons to change the course of your life; perhaps you want to focus more on a particular project, perhaps you truly love academic study enough that being a professor would be equally fulfilling, perhaps you want a family. But don't don't give it up to make someone else happy, to make someone else approve of you, to get status or prestige; such constraint is a kind of soul-death. Live a life you love, it's the only thing worth it. Truly truly.
Kate
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