People have a hard time letting go of their suffering. Out of a fear of the unknown, they prefer suffering that is familiar.—Thich Nhat Hanh
It's 5:00 a.m., too early and too late. I reach over the teeter-totter stack of books and bedside detritus and take my new drug store reader glasses in hand. I slide the librarian-esque black rimmed frames up the bridge of my nose, feeling glee rise in me. My joyful second-grade self smiles. "I have REAl glasses!" she squeals. I want to nudge my sleeping husband to wake up and look at me. Do I look cool? Do I look cute? Do I look smart?
Perhaps I haven't been sleeping well this week because of the excitement of trying out these new magnifying spectacles. I've kept them unopened in the shopping bag, debating whether I should use them or continue wrestling with blurry fonts during night owl reads. I'm distrustful of ease. Discomfort is a familiar reality, therefore making discomfort and comfort hard to distinguish from one another.
The most challenging question for me to answer at the doctor's is: "How are you feeling?" The second most difficult question is selecting a number from the pain scale. What is a number supposed to feel like in my body? The first time I had Covid, I didn't recognize my symptoms because they were familiar. I thought, "I'm stressed, I'm getting my period…I'm normal in the bad that I feel." The second time I had Covid was the same, and the third time. I'm never sure when is the right time to say, "I don't feel well, or I need help." Mostly, it seems like never.
When I've asked for help in the past, I've found myself either helping the person I've asked for help or finding a valid reason why I was incorrect in my assumption that I needed it. It's confusing. For example, when my son was a baby, I hired a babysitter to help me to get work done. I found myself rescuing the babysitter from my crying son. Hearing a squeal would set me into panic, and I'd swoosh into the room, grab my baby from the babysitter, and apologize to her for my son's crying while crying above his squeals, "Can I get you anything? Maybe make you a sandwich?" I felt bad for her, for asking for her help, and for botching my chance to get help. A triple-shit dip.
When my sister died, I knew I felt some kind of awful, but I wasn't sure which type. I looked up grief support but doubted I qualified. I read about the three stages of grief and wasn't clear on the details. For example, was knowing about the three stages the help I needed and then I was supposed to feel better? Or because I knew I was in a stage, I could seek help for that stage? Instead, I went to Al-Anon but after a few meetings where I listened to folks wax on about how grateful they were for Al-Anon's support, I simultaneously recognized that I couldn't be absolutely sure my sister was an alcoholic since her mental illness seemed to be what killed her. Therefore, I might not qualify to be at Al-Anon. I left Al-Anon and went to a suicide survivors meeting. I knew I didn't belong there as it seemed to receive support I needed to be angry and ready to fight suicide, What does fighting suicide even mean? I didn't feel that way. I just felt that it was hard to breathe most days, and I felt alone.
This week is a series of anniversaries. It's a tumult of ends and beginnings that have collided consistently in my life at this time of year. Anniversaries this week include my sister's death, my wedding, moving, all the major community projects I've started, the end of summer. Note: I take the end of summer personally, having grown up on a summer vacation island.
This week, this year, remains on brand. I'm exhausted, barreling out of sickness; our pet suddenly died, my mother is surprisingly listing my childhood home for sale, and Place Corps is starting its newest fellowship. What number describes the feeling of tenderness, tiredness, and weightedness? That number, doctor, that's how I feel.
This week, I'm going to pick up my first prescription eyeglasses. When trying on the frames, I debated a few options. The eye doctor said, "When choosing, choose the ones that feel lightest." I did. They are oversized glass with thin gold frames. I sent a selfie to my sister (living sister to clarify), and she described them as being "maybe perv but cool”. They are for reading. I need clarification about how and when to use them. Help me. I know that when I put them on, I can see easily, which makes me feel lighter. Light is a feeling I want more of, even if it's disorienting in its unfamiliarity. Thank you, doctor, for helping me see that.
BISMILLAH
It's a habit of yours to walk slowly.
You hold a grudge for years.
With such heaviness, how can you be modest?
With such attachments, do you expect to arrive anywhere?
Be wide as the air to learn a secret.
Right now you're equal portions clay
and water, thick mud.
Abraham learned how the sun and moon and the stars all set.
He said, No longer will I try to assign partners for God.
You are so weak. Give up to grace.
The ocean takes care of each wave
till it gets to shore.
You need more help than you know.
You're trying to live your life in open scaffolding.
Say Bismillah, In the name of God,
as the priest does with a knife when he offers an animal.
Bismillah your old self
to find your real name.
― Rumi
Could relate to so much in this post. Beautiful writing, Dawn 💗
I have given myself the explanation of my winter solstice birth as the reason why summer (at least in my adult life) puts me in a defensive mood. Here she comes again, the life of the party, telling me to just RELAX already. “Aren’t you having a good time?!” she shouts at me over the loud music, screaming kids, sweat blurring our vision, my thighs rubbed raw where they meet. I don’t really want to tell her the truth. I don’t want to be a killjoy and I don’t really want to talk about it either. If I say, “No, not really,” will she’ ask, “Why not?!” I couldn’t possibly explain in a way she understands. She would laugh at my version of fun. Or maybe just shrug and walk away. So I just wait. I keep a drink in my hand so I blend in. I walk into the waves once or twice to see if I feel any different this year. This year’s summer made it easy to wish her gone- began with a flood and ended with COVID, in between a lot of work and very little play. Welcoming fall with open arms. Need the light a little lower to think straight. Need a (Jewish) new year to begin again.