Posted on Feb 25, 2016
My maternal grandmother passed away in the wee hours of this morning. And I’m not sure how I feel about it—if anything at all! It seems horrible to admit that I feel nothing. I have at times wondered what it would be like when she died. Especially during my years of bitterness and resentment towards my grandparents for the roles they played in the development of my mother’s mental illness (and subsequently mine). The illness that eventually took her from me.
I was never close to the mother of my birth mother. In fact I found her intimidating. We had a relationship of sorts until I moved across the country. We kept in touch via letters and the occasional visit. It was more a relationship of obligation or duty than of true connection—for both of us I think.
I have always felt like an outsider in that extended family. Strange to look back upon it now. It was a very complicated family dynamic. And I was a very vivid reminder of my deceased mother—someone I sensed they wanted to forget.
As I type this, I do feel sadness welling up within me—but not for the loss of my grandmother. It is for the family brokenness, for the loss of my mother, and my lost sense of self. My life is forever impacted by generations of abuse and disconnection. I came to terms with the ancestral patterns at an earlier juncture on my healing journey. This keeps my current sadness at tolerable levels. It does not overwhelm me as any death used to do. As well, I did a lot of painful grief work after my dog, Gracie, died in 2012. Some of that journey is recorded in this blog.
And I am quite aware that my perception of the extended family is very different from those who lived and breathed it on a regular basis—either those living close by or just feeling “this” was their family. That sense of inclusion. I never felt I belonged for some reason. Some may even be surprised if they read this. Most would likely tell me not to ‘go there.’ Don’t dig up the past, rock the boat. Leave well enough alone.
Family secrets. My story is laden with them. I have begun to tell bits of my story to various trusted people. It takes a lot of courage to open up and share what is buried, yet at the same time lies just beneath the surface. It is my personal and professional experience that storytelling is in fact very healing.
Confrontation is another matter entirely. And something I fear by even writing this blog. I wonder why I am doing even this amount of sharing. What’s in it for me? Will any of my readers benefit? Is there healing to be found for me or anyone else? Do I dare say aloud what “no one” wants to hear? What would my family think?
I likely won’t know the answer to any of those questions besides my own healing. And the more I ponder, the more questions arise. I have never known my “place” in the extended family (I realize that is the third reference). And now that Grandma is gone, what will happen? Will even tenuous connections be lost? I remain connected by blood. And they say blood is thicker than water. But is it enough to keep families connected? With Grandma gone, is my tether to the family frayed or severed? Strange questions, I know.
Obviously I remain part of the family tree. Grandma’s death doesn’t change that. She lived to 95, by the way. And it wasn’t the easiest of lives. Her story begins in Mennonite Russia (Ukraine) and is filled with trauma. Grandma has a good deal to be venerated for. She kindled my love of reading and was an exceptional cook, baker, and seamstress. I have much from her that I treasure, as well as what I deplore. Holding these in tandem is part of life and love—and telling the story.
The “middle” of the story is that I had a complicated relationship with my maternal grandmother. There is much that went on before and much more that will continue after. Thankfully the story doesn’t stop here. It may be the end of an era, but it is not the end of the story—my story.
The journey of healing and growth—part of my story—will continue. I am sure it will take some time for me to fully process what my grandmother’s death means to me. I sense there is something shifting deep within. It will be interesting to discover what surfaces.
May you find the courage to tell your story to someone you trust as you continue on your journey of healing and growth.
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Posted on Jan 15, 2016
Happy New Year! As we enter into a brand spanking new year, how are you feeling about it? Has it gotten off to a rough start or has it been a fabulous beginning?
This can be a bittersweet time of year: saying good-bye to visiting family and friends, to an old year, and to old ways of thinking as well as embracing change and opportunities that lie ahead. If I have a New Year’s resolution, it is to move forward with a “new” purpose: to enjoy life the best that I can with the limitations that I have. This resolution rose out of the first week of the year starting off with a dip into depression; but as I’ve worked through that, week two has been much improved.
Before I jump into how I have managed my first two weeks of 2016, I will update some of the concerns I have addressed in previous blog posts. My sense of self is steadily growing stronger as I retrain my brain and get my medications sorted out. The first prescription transition went very smoothly; and I am reaping the benefits of less anxiety and a more stable mood. I’m glad I took the risk and made the change.
The second prescription transition is underway which may be a contributor to my dip into depression when we changed calendars. So far there are no dramatic ill effects; but it is a bit early to tell as one medication decreases and the other increases. February will be a telling month in that department.
As for Christmas, it went exceedingly well – better than anticipated. There were a few family quibbles but nothing that escalated into full-blown family drama. For that I am truly grateful. I actually enjoyed spending time with family rather than being on high alert, ready to intervene at the slightest indicator of upset.
As I reviewed the holidays with my therapist, it became clear that a couple things contributed to this peaceful family dynamic. Foremost was my commitment to be different and not get sucked into family drama. I did not play the role of rescuer or fixer. I think that’s a first for me. Whatever squabbles did arise were sorted out ‘on their own’ rather than any expectation on me to fix it. Another first.
When I did choose to speak up, I felt heard and respected, rather than dismissed, judged, or criticized. What a difference. There was also little to no complaining. What happened to my family? How did we manage to consistently get along for such a length of time? I certainly won’t take all the credit as I noticed others making an effort as well. A huge relief for me.
Thus the year ended on a relatively positive note all things considered. So what of my dip into depression the following week? Was it Christmas withdrawal? The change in medication? Just another week with dysthymia? It might have been all of those things.
What turned it around for me was a conscious daily decision to choose life. I am retraining my brain, developing new neural pathways. Regardless of how pointless life looked, I chose living instead of dragging myself along. This meant being mindful of the good things such as a beautiful winter morning while walking the dog, choosing to go those extra 10 minutes in the cold, having a warm house to return to.
The challenge to “choose life” certainly isn’t an easy one. It means making little decisions throughout the day, not just a single choice or mantra in the morning. I must choose life in the small moments as well as the big ones. It means choosing what I enjoy to do along with what I have to do. I must choose fulfillment, not just wait for it to materialize.
As I noted in my journal, I must keep moving or I grow stagnant. And I must keep my head up to enjoy the ride – the sights, sounds, smells of wherever I might metaphorically and literally travel. When others emphasize we must choose happiness, I usually feel offended in some way. Mainly due to being intimately acquainted with the draining effects of depression. Sometimes we are legitimately overwhelmed with life; and happiness is the least of our worries or seems absolutely unattainable. I think it might be fairer to say we choose life – in all of its paradoxes, ups and downs, and bittersweet moments.
I choose life. And in more specific terms, I must choose the life that I have: the husband, the house, the dog, the job, the family. However, I choose them with my eyes wide open. I am aware of the fault lines that sit below the surface. I choose life the way it is; yet with the knowledge that opportunities for improvement abound.
And if I cannot choose life the way it is, what changes must be made? Keeping in mind I cannot change others, only myself.
What opportunities lie on your horizon? What’s in store for you in 2016?
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Posted on Dec 18, 2015
So…”the holidays” are upon us. Are they a good time or bad time for you? Do you revel in Christmas spirit? Or find it too hectic and harried?
I am a bit of both. I love the Christmas season in general: the music, the decorations, the food, the good cheer. But I also find the Season overwhelming: too much to do and not enough time. So much preparation goes into a couple of days!
And then there is the pressure to “make” Christmas for everyone. Is the decor appealing? Have I selected the ‘right’ music? Is the food up to snuff? Have I forgotten anyone’s favourite things?
In all the flurry of activity, I have to take time to enjoy what I love about the holidays such as Christmas cookies and Christmas music. I can get so caught up in the planning and preparation that I miss out on my own favourite things.
As well, with having a chronic illness, I have to respect my limitations. I think that’s why so much effort goes into planning for me. I make lists, check them twice. I schedule in Christmas baking and cleaning and decorating to ensure there’s time for everything without pushing myself too hard. No sense putting in all that effort only to “crash” emotionally, mentally, and physically on Christmas Day!
So I must pace myself. Make sure I get enough sleep, eat well, keep walking the dog, and be mindful–living in the present moment, not only a week from now in my head. I need to “take in” Christmas, not just “make it” for others. Which also means being gracious–giving myself room to fail at making Christmas perfect for everyone. There is such a thing as a good enough Christmas.
What do you do to manage the holiday hullabaloo? Are you able to absorb some Christmas magic for yourself, or are you too busy spreading the magic to others?
Be sure to take time this holiday season to ‘just be’ and appreciate the sights, sounds, and smells that only come this time of year.
Merry Christmas! Happy Holidays!
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