Last night, I dreamt that I was reunited with someone I had not seen in ages. In the dream, I held their face in my hands, and even now that I am awake, I can remember the feel of their skin under my fingers.
Ah, the things we wish we could hold, literally and metaphorically, forever.
For the past week, I've been trying to get back into the habit of paying better attention to what I am doing for others. I've been Very Migraine-y, and as a result, have been mired in Myself -- physically and mentally, and I was hoping that by looking outside of myself, I would feel better.
I made an extra effort to make sure that my Mom's birthday had gifts she would like and multiple texts and bits of communications here and there -- I know that all festivities both large and small are very different for her now, without Daddy, and it is more important than ever that we make her feel special, without him here to do so.
I ordered some small gifts for coworkers who are moving on from the office soon. I don't actually work directly with either of them, but we interact on occasion and have been employed at the same place for quite some time now. They should know that they have been an important part of the collective team, and that they will be missed.
I sent additional birthday wishes to people whom I don't see in person any more (it is apparently a popular week for birthdays), but of whom I am fond and to whom I don't reach out nearly often enough. This was part of my new/ongoing effort to make sure people know that they are important: even when they might feel as if they are out-of-sight, they are not out-of-mind. And I sent a messenger message to an artist Facebook friend, to thank her once more for the piece of art I have of hers in my office at work, for the same reason.
It helped a bit. I felt a little less isolated and mired in my own literal/metaphorical pain of the moment. The truth is, I know a lot of lovely people. The part I struggle with the most is, reaching out. And, unfortunately, so do the people I know. I should be very empathetic.
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One of the hardest parts of chronic pain such as migraine, is how isolating it is. My ability to be social, to reach out, to be cheerful, is so constrained. I have so few spoons. And it's also exhausting -- embarrassing even -- to tell the people near to me that I'm unwell, yet again. Nobody likes to be seen as weak in any way. So I don't mention it much any more.
And when I do, I have apparently reached the point where those closest to me don't even react a lot of the time. They are so used to me plowing through as best I can despite everything, that it no longer even occurs to them to do anything other than perhaps say, that's too bad. Sometimes it requires prompting to get that sentence. And if I don't prompt, sometimes they don't even say that any more -- I told someone close to me yesterday that I was on day three of Migraine, and there was not even a "that sounds painful". At least the conversation continued, though. I'm not fully abandoned.
When there is so little acknowledgment of what I am experiencing, I quickly become embarrassed that I've even mentioned it. I so easily devolve into a little ball of ouch and self-consciousness, horrified that there is that part of me that wants someone to say, well, that sounds terrible, to acknowledge my pain. It takes all my strength not to go down the path of, what would it be like if someone tried to help -- to ask if they should bring any meds, or a snack or some water, should I go lie down, what would work to make things better, they will take care of X or Y or Z so I do not have to do it, don't worry about a thing.
I have to remind myself: it is up to me to take care of me. Or to ask for what I want. (And ask with the full knowledge that asking may still not yield what I want.)
I have to bootstrap myself to do the former, if I cannot bring myself to do the latter.
One day at a time.
Herself speaks.
The other day, I was (gently) called out in a way that made me think quite a bit.
It was pointed out to me, that my holding on to and remembering the specific hurtful words of another person from a particular moment (let us call them 'Those Hurtful Words'), was in effect choosing to continue to inflict harm upon myself.
Let's contemplate that for a little bit.
On the one hand: yes. By continuing to recall Those Hurtful Words, I suppose I am revisiting the moment of pain of those words. Re-suffering.
On the other hand: well, the initial moment of Those Hurtful Words, I did not fully grasp their impact. Rather like stubbing your toe -- there is that initial BONK OW, and numbness, and only later, when you try to walk on that toe, does it hurt, and only when you look at it, do you realize that it is bruised, and when you try to put tighter shoes on, do you realize it is swollen. The act of going through life using that toe just naturally calls to mind the initial incident. That's not a deliberate choosing to re-injure yourself. That's recognizing the level of injury that has been experienced.
Also: there's a sense of injustice in Those Hurtful Words, particularly when an Utterer of such words does not even recall them fully. Does the person who flips you off while driving in traffic, remember fully the incident? Unlikely. They go about their business, having forgotten their annoyance entirely, and you are left feeling aggrieved. How is it that you are left unjustly wronged, and they have no memory of their role? How can they move through life so freely, after having wronged someone else?
In the end, though, what good does recalling Those Hurtful Words serve? Especially when we come to understand that Those Hurtful Words were nothing more than uttered frustration or self-protection or some other self-centered moment?
I submit: recalling Those Hurtful Words is, ultimately, a shield.
If I can hurt my own feelings by recalling Those Hurtful Words, I can protect myself from someone else doing so with those same Hurtful Words. I anticipate. I build up tolerance.
Really, I am just trying to save myself from being stabbed by Those Hurtful Words again.
So if I recall them, or cannot let them go yet, it is because I am not ready to face the world again knowing that that kind of weapon is out there. I need to train myself first.
Perhaps someday, I will be ready. Until then, though, I'm wearing shoes to protect my toes. I'm driving extra carefully and taking alternate routes to avoid the traffic. And I am recalling Those Hurtful Words. Until I am ready to let them go and step out into the world again.
Herself speaks.
It's remarkable how it seems as though it takes the entire workweek, to prepare to take one work day off.
Last week, Monday through Thursday were extremely busy, so that Friday could be spent out of the office. Beloved Husband and I took that day off, and took a leisurely drive from our usual corner of this desert southwest, to Santa Fe, New Mexico. (We went to Santa Fe at around this time last year as well -- we are looking to make it an annual pilgrimage, in honor of our anniversary which is in a few weeks.)
It's such an interesting place: so many contrasts. Rich and poor, desert and oasis, art and mundane. We looked in all the expensive tourist-y shops; had several very fine meals at very fine restaurants; perused Art in various galleries; saw a ballet performance at the lovely little theatre. It was quite nice.
There are some parts of Santa Fe that give me pause. There is a lot of art in the galleries that depicts idealized Native Americans: beautiful maidens wrapped in furs or skins, waiting expectantly; stoic warriors in full regalia or war paint, staring defiantly; plump children contentedly gazing at small carved toys, and such. I would be very surprised if any of these works were created by actual First Peoples artists. It feels a little bit like Indian pornography -- exploitative, false, glossing over the ultimately terrible history of Native Peoples in the area (and throughout the United States). And there are the indigenous street vendors selling their wares on the weekends, on numbered spaces on the sidewalk by the center square -- there is the same vaguely uncomfortable feeling of exploitation and discomfort there, too. Is it just me? I don't think so.
There is also the conservative politics of some people of the region, that we strenuously avoid (particularly with the apparent assassination attempt on July 14, while we were in Santa Fe). The present state of the nation, of women's rights, of the Supreme Court decisions and other current events, fills me with such despair that I can no longer read the news. It's hard not to think about what's happening. But that's a discussion for another day.
We took the scenic way back to our corner of the desert, which was a very nice drive. Long freight trains, wind turbines, cows, a few pronghorns, and stretches of dry landscape as far as the eye could see. It was a refreshing nothingness. I could spend forever in that interim.
Alas, we are now Back to Business As Usual.
It was a good trip, though. We'll do it again next year.
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