Feeling Down

Originally written 11/19/18.

I am sad. The sadness is heavy, like a blanket. It rests on my head, on my eyes, the bones of my face, my hands. The sadness is confusing. It has me turning around from one activity to the next, seeking, searching for some unknowable treasure that will cure me. My heart is heavy. Each beat feels dull, almost painfully inevitable. I sit/fall into a chair, my legs splayed, hands limp in my lap. My head lolls to the side, pulled ever downward by the weight of despair. The future feels grey and empty. There is nothing there to grasp at, nothing to pull me through.

I am sad. Sometimes the feelings rise up in my throat to choke me. The invisible hand that grips my neck tightens its grasp and I well up, defeated. I am dead-weight, hanging by the fact of my existence, unsure of any reality besides that. The tears track icy trails down my face. Angry, I swipe at my eyes, but they refuse to dry. In this place of despair, there is nothing besides me and the four walls of the room. I am trapped in a living hell. 

I am sad. Questions rise up from somewhere below my heart. Why? Why me? Why now? And, how long? There are no answers. Only silence. So the questions repeat themselves. Why? Why me? They sail upward into the black like smoke from a flame, wisped away by unseen currents as if they had never been.

Sometimes I pray. It’s hard to pray - hard to find the will to move towards the siddur, take it off the shelf. Sometimes I pray in my mind. Sometimes I whisper the words that my heart feeds me, prayers for help, for salvation, for anything hopeful. Hope is an elusive being, which, like light, fills the space its in. Where hope is, there’s little room for sadness. And so I pray for hope. The prayers don’t leave. Instead they fill my heart, ballooning outward until the knot of pain can’t reach the walls of my chest. I can breathe now. The air revives me. It tastes sweet, like mothers’ milk. I hold that on my tongue and allow my mind to settle, relaxing outward, beneath the weighty blanket that still enfolds us.

Yes, I am still sad. I still don’t know why, why me, but I’m thinking that it doesn’t matter. The sadness simply is. I observe it with still, patient eyes, eyes still wet, but no longer crying. I write about it. I notice how I can shift beneath the weight, learning the contours of the pressure. Here it weighs more, here it weighs less. I lift my chin. My spine straightens.

I am sad, and I am also okay. 

Did it fall?

It's an old riddle: if a tree falls in a forest, and no-one is there to hear, did it emit sound? Philosophy might say no. Physics might argue. I don't know.

This idea came to mind as I considered a personal need, one that has troubled me for as long as I've had a self-concept. What need?  The craving for external reflection on my existence. Or, to put it mildly, the need for compliments.

See, it's more than an ego asking to be stroked. It's a question of by what measuring stick I determine how I'm doing in life.

Consider that much of my day I spend in my home, devoted to housekeeping and childcare. Children do not provide helpful feedback, nor does the laundry. I rely on adult responses to measure my accomplishment. This places the burden of complimenting on my husband. Fair? Not really. But that's my reality.

Now, to go back to the riddle, I feel like the question forms a perfect parallel to my life: if I receive no feedback on my progress, have I even achieved? Without compliments to reflect on my achievements, do I even exist?

I'm fairly confident that I exist. And compliments are not always forthcoming. But the need remains. And that's where the work begins for me, because living with an unmet need is not a viable option. The question becomes, how can I fill my own need for external reflection? It's a difficult one to answer. In most arenas, I would use a positive affirmation to fill the void. I just don't think that self-reflection is an adequate replacement for external reflection, since by definition, they are not the same thing.

So how do we obtain compliments without going 'fishing'?

Here are my thoughts on the subject:

The first point is to be ready and willing to hear other feedback besides compliments, because you just don't know what will manifest. (This is a good idea in any case.)

The second: ask for what you need in simple English, without inflection. No sarcasm. No passive aggressive implications. Because while 'fishing for compliments' has a bad rap, that's not what you're doing. You're trying to garner external reflection. There's nothing wrong with asking, "How'd I do?".

The third: to overdo it with the 'fishing' thing, spread your net a bit. Don't expect to fill your need from one source. Apply steps one and two with friends and family. Socialize. It helps.

I believe that the tree falls in the forest with a roar of rent wood and a cloud's worth of snapped twigs, whether the sound reaches an ear or not. It has to make noise. It fell, didn't it? That fall generated energies that reverberate through the landscape. Likewise, my actions, my behaviors, all generate vibrations that impact my environment. This is the reality, irrespective of whether I receive external feedback or not.

But thinking about this reminds me how important it is to extend the courtesy to others, notice their actions, and reflect on what I see. There's no harm in complimenting. There's only positive energy to share.

Monday Musings

Being home with a sick child is a recipe for doing wholly nothing. This has been well documented. Yet here I sit, adding my two cents to generations' worth of knowledge. I wish I could do something productive, explore new music, write something worthwhile... but I must temper my expectations. Today shall be a "Moderate Monday". If I do no more than care for the children, I will have done plenty - or so I tell myself.

But my heart resists. Do, do, do! screams the inner voice, the same persona that quivers, critically aware of the minutes scrolling by. She helpfully presents me with flash impressions of the items on my theoretical "to-do" list: clean up, find a cleaning lady, do the front closet, make supper, fold more laundry, pay bills, ad infinitum.

And my daughter whines because she lacks the tech skills to navigate my phone and locate the videos her siblings watch. I refuse to sit there showing her video after video until we both snap, screen-crazed and foggy, hungry and neglected. There has to be a way to engage her in real creative play. Or even to "cuddle her", as she sometimes requests.

It's the tedium that gets me, I think. Mundanity has ever been a problematic subject. (I touched on this yesterday when considering the value of intelligence versus hard work. See "You're So Smart." - not.)

What will it take to impress on me the value of, and blessing that is, a normal day? Don't answer that. I need to look at today as an opportunity to flex my gratitude muscles.

Today I am grateful for:
1. Family.
2. Shelter.
3. Security.
4. Spirituality.
5. Theyeshiva.net.

"You're So Smart!" - not.

It's been a while since I've written. And by that, I mean, since I've written anything beyond my journal. (I don't think the journal counts as real writing - it's more stream-of-consciousness than craft.) I'm not sure why, but my creative drive moves in cycles, from music to writing to nothing, or some other sequence of the same. I don't seem to control it, and I have zero discipline, so those artistic practices recommended by William Kenower (see Fearless Writing, here and here) don't actually work for me.

That's the problem.

In the real world, it seems, talent alone doesn't cut it. One needs discipline, consistency, and above all, effort, in order to produce results. I was raised to value genius. For the longest time, I entertained the secret hope that I would turn out to be a prodigy. My husband, on the other hand, grew up valuing effort and results. "You work/ed hard," is a common form of praise for his family.

I've come to recognize that effort and consistency are more likely to produce results than genius alone. Genius can sit in a corner preening, while effort actually moves the blocks. I don't say this to put myself down. Rather, my values are shifting, and this will impact how I parent my children. No longer, "You're so smart". Yes, s/he is smart. But is that worth praising? Did the child do anything deserving of praise? "You gave it your best" actually notices a behavior.

I'm reminded of a period in high school where my peers liked to tell me how smart I was. It was meant as a compliment, but it did not sit well with me. My secular education had been more complete than theirs, plus, I'd spent my whole childhood reading books. I'd picked up a couple things, that was all.

When I entered the real world, I was unprepared for real work. I'd coasted through school on 'talent', never learning the value of effort or consistency. And now as an adult, I'm paying the price.

I only hope that recognizing the value in targeting praise to behavior will enable me to better raise competent successful adults.

Shopping Woes

Tight finances have been an unfortunate reality for most of my life. A frum lifestyle, complete with multiple children, will do that to even the best prepared.

So what's with my shopping patterns?

I'll describe them for you. I finish browsing my email and all the news sites and social media. Then I turn to my 'promotions' box. There I find a favored site broadcasting a fantastic sale, and I must go see how low the products actually are. Lo, I find something I like, and you can't beat the price. So I buy that. But while browsing, I discover a different product that I really want. I begin shopping around until I find the best possible price on Amazon. I buy that too. Amazon shows me some related products, and I'm hooked.

That's one scenario: classic advertising tactics working like a charm. There are others, but I won't waste your time. There are the non-compulsive, "necessary" purchases. There are Amazon products that I never get around to returning. You get the idea.

Most of my compulsive shopping takes place online, where simple clicks lead to purchases, many of them unnecessary. It's no wonder that my husband moans over the credit card bills. I mean, did I really need another tube of lipgloss? "But it was only $3.99!" Yeah, and such things add up shockingly fast.

I know I'm not the only one struggling with this. I also know that 'this' could be rightly termed an addiction. I could qualify for Shopaholics Anonymous. I'm not going to go. I have nothing against 12-step programs. In fact I've enjoyed and appreciated my experiences with Al-Anon. The reason I'm not going to go is because despite bulging credit cards and a stressed-out husband, I can't bring myself to take the matter seriously. I tell myself I'm not that bad. I don't go out and spend $800 in a single shopping spree. I'm not 'out-of-control'.

Am I?

Oh yes. I am.

That there is the issue. I'm supposed to be a mature adult. I'm responsible for the wellbeing of others. There are words we use to describe the qualities of a good homemaker. 'Responsible' is one of them. 'Effective' is another. How can I be effective when I lack discipline? And if I'm lacking in fiscal discipline, in what other areas am I falling short?

These are challenging questions. It could be that I don't take the shopping issue seriously because I don't want to confront these bigger questions. I don't want to look in the mirror. But at the same time, I pride myself on being one of those people who values health and continued growth. Something doesn't add up.

In how many ways do I delude myself? I say it's ok to buy one more tube of lipgloss. I say the small numbers don't count. I tell myself I'm in control of my shopping. I have enough discipline to be effective. And yes, I value growth.

But I recognize the issues. They torment me like shadows that refuse to fade. I know that for me it is a victory to close a tab, abandoning a shopping cart filled with bargains.

So I close out Coldwater Creek, and Cents of Style, and H&M... and I congratulate myself on a victory for today.

Shiva Call

Last night, I went with some classmates to pay a Shiva call. It was not something I wanted to do. In fact, I came very close to not going at all. We had just come back from an extended weekend away. I was tired. I had showered, and my mother had warned me that it's insensitive to come to a Shiva house freshly showered and glowing with health. I had the perfect excuse not to go.

But then I remembered how my father had flown to pay a Shivah call to my aunt and uncle when they had lost a child. My parents were tight on money back then, and a flight was a big deal. I took from this how important it is to make that visit, even if it's uncomfortable.

So I went.

There were five of us, but there were many more people in the house. That helped. It was less intense. I didn't say a word. I sat and watched and listened and mourned, until it was time to go. Then I said the traditional phrase, "Hamakom yenachem etchem betoch shaar avlay Tziyon viYerushalayim". It was my first time saying those words. They tasted powerful. And I realized that those were the best words to say, because the grief at a tragic Shiva is so overwhelming. There is literally nothing to say or do besides pray that G-d bring comfort to the mourners.

In retrospect, I am grateful that I went. It was the right thing to do, and it was educational. I feel strengthened from the experience, more connected to G-d and to my community. But I hope and pray that I will never have to do such a thing again.

A TED talk by Eli Nash

Watch this. Just... trust me on this one, take the fifteen minutes, and watch this video. Right now.

This guy is my new hero.

In the video, Eli Nash speaks about his struggle with porn addiction and the associated shame attached to that illness. He speaks in candid terms about other peoples' reactions to his openness. It seems like his goal is to break the stigma around discussion of pornography as a dangerous, and damaging addiction.

I can't even imagine the amount of courage it took for Nash to bare himself like this. Giving a TED talk about fighting porn addiction is the ultimate in vulnerability. I'm reminded of Brene Brown's book, Daring Greatly, in which she lays out her case for vulnerability as the stuff of life. According to Brown's research, vulnerability lays the groundwork for connection, which, as Johann Hari claims, is the opposite of, and antidote for addiction.

If Brown and Hari are correct, Nash really is conquering addiction, and we are watching him do it. In delivering that speech, Nash is not just breaking a stigma. He is actively forging new connections with people around the issue of porn addiction. He is moving towards health.

That is why Eli Nash is my new hero. I have boundless admiration for a person who conquers his shame in pursuit of health.

You go, Eli. You've got this!

Grieving

Every day I write
The words descending from the ether
Filling up the page
Spilling out into forever

Senses come alive
All the world is in my pen
I reach out and I find
The phrase that whispers like a friend

But now, today
The page before me's empty
'cuz far away
Somebody's story's ended

I reach for the words but nothing comes...

Maybe now is not the time for fancy turns of phrase
Maybe now is not the time to speak at all
For no words can ease the pain, the sorrow, the loss
No words, I have no words.