More

I wasn't going to blog this week. What has been on my mind most is far too fresh for me to fully process. Plus, I did not feel free nor confident enough to share. Yet before I shut down and gave up, I realized that this was precisely the time that I needed to press through and find my message in the midst of the haze.

When we move beyond the shock of a life-changing, emotional situation, it is wise to reflect. Reflection is where we discover clarity and achieve growth. Reflection gives us the space to articulate our feelings and shows us how to work through and with those feelings. Reflection provides us with the confidence to know that we will survive future hardships and the guidance needed to move beyond survival. Yet what are we supposed to do make it to that point? How do we find our way out of heartache while in the center of it? How do we push further when we already feel completely stretched? How do we find the strength to go on when it takes everything in us just to function? The short answer is to do exactly what we don't feel like doing.

When life delivers a significant blow our initial reaction is tied to our comfort zone. Some of us run. We run to work, run to take care of others, run to activities, run to retail therapy, or even run to create a totally different life. We run because it seems safer than remaining. We are comforted by the distractions and convince ourselves that being removed from the situation will remove us from the heartache. However, heartache cannot be outran. It attaches itself to us, taking a free ride wherever we go. When we exhaust ourselves from running, there it is, ready to be dealt with while we're out of energy and sometimes, out of the range of our support system.

Instead of running to things, people, and new surroundings, some of us retreat. Some of us take all of the hurt, anger, and fear and internalize it. We tell ourselves that talking about it is pointless because it will not change the situation. Or we believe that we can't trust anyone with it. The truth is that we don't trust ourselves to be that open. We are terrified that if we open up we will lose control so we sentence ourselves to silence. We think our heartache is losing its strength and power under our self-imposed gag order while it is actually increasing as it feeds off of our strength and depletes us of our power.

I have been guilty of both running and retreating. In each case, I tried to ignore my emotions, foolishly hopeful that since they weren't invited they would take the hint and leave. Whether I ran or retreated, they never left. They simply waited. This time around, I'm doing neither. I'm doing what is not tied to my comfort zone. I'm not running. I'm not retreating. I'm doing exactly what I don't feel like doing. I'm pressing through. I'm finding my message in the midst of the haze. I am dealing.

Instead of running, I'm acknowledging what I feel and not categorizing those feelings as right or wrong nor good or bad. They simply are. Instead of retreating, I'm actively reaching out to those who support me. I want more so I am doing more. When I reach the reflection phase of this particular situation, I will have more strength, more courage, and more confidence in my ability to do more than simply survive.

Lens of Empathy

Countless times people have expressed their surprise upon hearing my story. Meant as a compliment, they say variations of, "I never would have known," or "I had no idea." I understand the sentiment behind those statements, but it does pose a question. How does the perception of the struggles of others influence how they are treated?

Television, big screen productions, and novels have filled our minds with images of how someone who has faced hardship should look and feel. We expect someone with a traumatic past to wear difficulty on her face, leave a string of violence in her path, battle addiction publicly, and/or cling to unhealthy relationships. When we meet someone who abuses herself with repeated bad choices, we comfort ourselves and explain the negativity away by concluding that she must have had a horrible history. We measure the level of past struggle by current self-inflicted hurt. Because of this flawed measurement system, when we encounter someone centered and positive we assume that her struggle has been light or that the sunshine is somehow dishonest. A more accurate conclusion is that not all who are living well have always had the best life has to offer.

How has your perception of struggle influenced how you treat others? On what factors have you based those perceptions? Are you more sympathetic to visible, known hardship? Everyone you encounter has been hurt. The father trying to set a positive example to his children, the cheerful woman working at your favorite clothing store, and the friend who is always making you laugh have all experienced heartache and are coping with it daily. You may not have witnessed the hurt, but that doesn't make it less real. Trade in the clouded and inconsistent lens of assumption for the more genuine lens of empathy. Reach out to those you love. Check in with your friends, even if you don't think they need it. They may surprise you.

Bad Day

Some see my encouraging posts and quotes and assume that I do such because I don't know struggle or because I'm not being honest. Both are far from the truth. It's nearly amusing to write this, but I've been accused of being too positive. I've been asked, "Don't you ever have a bad day?"

This has been a tough week. Like most, I was saddened by the loss of Robin Williams, an entertainment icon who brought joy and awe to so many for decades. I continue to watch the city of Ferguson, Missouri get rocked and divided by the shooting of an unarmed teenager by law enforcement. In the last seven days, I've grieved, remembered, and been anxious and outraged.

In addition to the tragedies that I share as a citizen of this country, this tough week became even more difficult personally as I received news that my dear friend passed away. Do I ever have a bad day? I am having one right now.

My friend, someone I shared many conversations, meals, celebrations, tragedy, and simply time with is no longer here. Initially, I found comfort in the memories and in knowing that during our last communication I told Suzy that I missed her. Eventually, though, my feelings changed and I was overcome by the finality of her absence. I can no longer call or text her. I can't take that trip we'd discussed. I will never get to hear her boisterous laugh again and all of that makes my heart hurt.

The positivity that I display and often write about is genuine, but it developed through hardship. It is because of times like these that I can trust that I will get through this newest challenge. Too positive? Not at all. I acknowledge the depth of my hurt. I recognize that the death of my friend brings up feelings related to the loss of my father. I know that when I feel broken and vulnerable it can trigger trauma and if I'm not careful, can result in much more than grief. I do have bad days, but I work through them because I can't afford not to. The risk is too great.

Difficulty and heartache are common experiences. Yours may differ from mine, but they are no less real or influential. You get to choose how to handle—or not handle—your hardships. I have considered several ways to cope over the last few days, not all of them good or healthy. Today I choose to write through my bad day. I hope you will choose wisely as you face yours.

Relentless

Every one of us has a story and while some have had their strength tested more than others, we all have felt heartache. What varies greatly is our reaction to heartache. Some hide, some pretend, some come out swinging, and others multiply their pain by using people and things to numb themselves.

 

I have been a runner. Over the years, I tried various avoidance tactics. I buried myself in church activities, hid behind my smile, used writing as an emotional moat, and ran to adventure instead of the mirror. These tactics distracted me for a while, but eventually it all failed brilliantly and folded in on me. Exhausted by all of the running with little progress, it was time for me to get real with myself.

I was certain of several things. I knew that regardless of the adjectives used to describe my experiences they happened and nothing would ever change that. I knew it would take all the strength I had to live with some of my memories. I knew that I could not afford to be easy or lax in pursuing peace because depression was relentless in its pursuit of me. I knew that I had to make a decision—I could choose not to fight and have a sad story that people could empathize with or I could have a great story that people would be encouraged by. No matter how low, alone, or desperate I felt, I knew that great was more powerful than sad and encouragement beat empathy every single time.

Knowing all of that, I refused to simply give in. The reality was I had to be more relentless in my fight than my fight was being with me. Yes, what I experienced was unfair, ridiculous, preventable, and a string of countless words that get a rise out of me. Yet, none of that mattered. How I would proceed was what mattered. What I would do moving forward was more important. Who would be a part of my support system mattered more than who hadn’t been. I needed to focus solely on making progress.

The source of your heart's largest hurt may have been unfair, ridiculous, or preventable. It may have come at the hand's of someone else's choice or your own. It may have happened last year or thirty years ago. No matter the circumstances, you cannot get stuck in the details. After acknowledging your pain you have to decide what role that pain will play in your life. You have to work through the hard, terrifying, and isolating parts. You have to be more relentless in your fight than your fight is being with you. Your happiness and peace of mind is worth the work because you are worth the work. Be relentless in your pursuit of a healthier you.