Last night, I was sorting out through old boxes and found a large stack of "Get Well" cards from my former students. These were written two years ago when I first went on disability leave. They also gave me a backpack with all their signatures on it and some Christmas gifts as well. At the time, these cards made me so happy. I was missing my job dearly and was feeling so unbelievably lonely. I had 100% believed I would come back to work shortly and all would resume normally. Just like other things students had written for me in the past, I cherished these cards. But last night, they felt cold and cruel, and I ended up throwing them away. They sounded like the words, "HA! Remember when you actually thought you would return to work? That was stupid of you." Even after writing a billion articles about moving on from the loss of my teaching career, including a recent one, I still experienced pain so fresh, it felt like that traumatic year was happening all over again. Seriously, why can't I just get over this and move on? I think part of the problem is that I never had any sort of closure. One day, I was teaching just like any other day, completely unaware it was my last. And the next day, it was all over and pain would dictate my life from that point on. I think for this reason, even though this was all two years ago, it feels like an image stuck in time-- like in some universe, my students are still waiting for me to return and meanwhile, I'm panicking, trying to pick of the pieces of my shattered life so that I can get back to them. I genuinely believed this wound was mostly healed, but last night the knife turned, re-opening the scar and springing fresh blood.
As I explained to my husband, it wasn't just that I lost my identity, pride, independence, or feelings of usefulness. There was something more about that job I can't quite put my finger on. I suppose I had just felt an intense feeling that I had finally had found my true calling at that school. I felt a sense of belonging and purpose I hadn't ever felt that strongly. Why did God bother giving me that only to take it away, moments later? If I was destined to live a life of pain and unemployment, why did He give me taste of what I could have had? It dawned on me that parents who lose their children likely feel the exact same sentiment, only far more severely (Why would you give me this child only to take her away so prematurely?) Yes, I am totally aware that many experience much more dire and heartbreaking circumstances than I do...But seriously, does the line "Some people have it worse," ever actually make anyone feel better? People who are suffering with chronic pain know many people have it worse and we're not in competition with each other to find out who is the biggest victim. For me, the fact that some people are suffering worse than me just makes me sadder. (It's kind of like when people tell you to "Calm down," when you're angry, which, of course, just makes you angrier.) I weep because of my own pain, and then I want to weep more for the pain of others.
Along with the, "It could be worse" routine, tired cliches seldom ever lessen one's emotional pain. Contrived positivity is a sham, and we deserve real ways of reconciling our aching souls. While I'm far from an expert, I have found more effective ways simply to just deal on a day-to-day basis. Here is a non-comprehensive list of strategies to tend to the emotional cuts and bruises you may have accumulated in the aftermath of chronic pain.
1. Let yourself be sad.
I know how discouraging it feels to cry again and again about the same damn problem. Seriously, I wonder if people reading my blog are thinking, My goodness! Quit that moping and move ON already! And for real-- I have tried and am still trying so hard to do so. I always feel so positive and proud after completing another article, like I'm chipping away at my emotional mess...But then nights like last night happen and I feel I've made zero progress. I'm still a crying baby.
Being frustrated at yourself because you haven't mastered some perfect inner-peace is unfair and counterproductive. Life is just plain hard. If you're dealing with the chronic pain burden every day, it makes sense that the emotions that come along with it will occasionally (or frequently) bubble to the surface. You are just human, and no one-- least of all God-- expects you to be some perfectly zen monk all the time. Not to mention that degrading thoughts like, "Get over it already!" only make you feel much worse. These nasty thoughts, when accumulated over time, sneakily organize themselves to form self-destructive narratives.
Not every moment of sadness and despair has to be of some great significance. It doesn't have to mean you're hopelessly stuck or have backtracked-- it just means you're sad for some time. Although it exacerbates the headache, sometimes a good cry really is my best medicine. I don't mean some sulky, petulant cry-- like from a child who was told "No." I mean one of those cathartic releases of all this negativity you've bottled in for so long. It's not a temper tantrum; it's a surrender to God.
2. Learn the art of distraction.
It's a good idea to confront your pain, head-on, to cry sometimes, and to be honest, vulnerable, and messy. However, it's also a good idea to sometimes just give yourself a break. I've always had a detective-type attitude-- both while trying to discover the roots of my migraines and while trying to untie these emotional knots. The latter is why I write. However, as I've already established, sometimes all the grief and bitterness unexpectedly come rushing back to my heart despite how many times I've genuinely found peace through prayer, contemplation, and writing. Emotions are often unruly, even when confronted with sound logic.
It takes a lot of mental and emotional energy to work out these knots. While it's worthy work, it's not always necessary or helpful. I'm learning that it's not a good idea to untie these knots every time an unpleasant emotion about my pain arises. If I attempted to do so, I'd likely spend my entire life at a laptop, working it all through again and again.
Distraction can be a good thing here. Those words might seem counterintuitive-- as we live in such a regretfully distracted world, but sometimes it's simply necessary in order to survive. I don't think God wants me locked up all day every day fighting my way through all these intellectual labyrinths. I may be unemployed, but I still have to cook, clean, and take care of myself. And for these most basic necessities, sometimes a good distraction is all I need-- an interesting podcast, a cuddle with my cat, a conversation with a friend, etc. These are light, simple things that can help left tremendous burdens. When you feel hopelessly weighed down with confusion and sadness, sometimes we just need to think about something else for a little while.
3. Spend more time in gratitude's warmth.
In the midst of my sadness last night, my husband told me something I always hate to hear when I feel this way-- he told me to be grateful for all the amazing things I do have in my life. This initially irritates me for the same reason that "Some people have it worse" irritates me. I truly do know some people genuinely have it worse, and I truly am a grateful person. Being told to exercise gratitude makes me feel like I'm being accused of being a whiny, ungrateful child who needs to grow up...or it just makes me feel guilty because if I was truly grateful, then I shouldn't be so sad. I told my husband, "I am grateful. Can't I be grateful for what I do have and sad about other circumstances at the same time? The two things aren't mutually exclusive."
However, it'd be much more productive to get over my pride for a minute and view this not as a personal attack, but a gentle reminder. I do have some amazing things in my life. It's not that I'm ungrateful for these things, but it will serve me well to more intentionally spend some time celebrating those things. One example is that my husband got a great new job that he loves. It is well-paying and comes with free quality health insurance for both of us. As an unemployed person who visits various doctors' offices like it's going out of style, this is obviously a tremendous relief. I don't know what either of us did to deserve such a grace, but when I spend some time seriously contemplating its inherent goodness, it does wonders for my spiritual and emotional well-being.
Being grateful doesn't mean you shut up about the hard stuff and focus only on the good. It doesn't mean "swallow your pain because it could be worse!" And it doesn't mean shoving positivity down you throat to wash out the negativity. Slowly, I'm learning, that gratitude is really about balance. So long as you spend some serious time and energy lamenting the woes of the universe, it's only fair to spend some time rejoicing in the good stuff too. Really, it's about having a more full awareness of your circumstances. Yes, bad thing exist, but good things exist too-- and that alone is worth celebrating.
4. Remember, you're on a specific mission.
One time, in the midst of one of those "really bad" migraine attacks, I remembered my favorite stories like The Odyssey and The Lord of the Rings. I imagined myself being knocked around in Poseidon's ocean. I imagined myself battling orcs on my way to Mount Doom (although based upon my pain level at the time, I felt I had already arrived). This brought me a nerdy sort of comfort. There's a reason the "Hero's Journey" is such a popular trope among people of all times, ages, cultures, and places. All of these stories help us make sense of this confusing, often painful, and sometimes seemingly pointless journey of life. Admittedly, being stuck in bed with a terrible migraine is not nearly as glamorous as the adventures to other worlds that appear on the big screen, but the principle remains the same. Trials are tough, but it's all a part of something much bigger than yourself. And the burdens are really just stepping stones to your truest destiny.
A few days ago, a mentor of mine told me that God gives each person a unique and specific mission. Now before you roll your eyes at the "Everyone's special" sentiment, let this sink in for a moment. The same God that sculpted mountains and created the oceans also decided to make you. And you're hardly an afterthought-- unlike the rest of the incredible universe surrounding you, God created you in His image, complete with an eternal soul and infinite worth. Our bodies possess specific atoms that make up specific cells that perform specific functions designed to keep us alive. Try to wrap your brain around all of that and not believe God has a specific mission for you in mind.
Suffering is real, but it's not the whole picture. It's okay to be sad, but it's not okay let that sadness distract you from this truth. Admittedly, discerning God's specific mission for you in this lifetime can be difficult (and that's a whole other topic within itself). Still, there is infinite comfort in just remembering that you are a part of this world for specialized task that only you alone can fulfill. Most days, I don't even feel like the protagonist in my own story. Maybe I'm one of Odysseus's unnamed men that got killed along the way, or a Hobbit that wished Frodo well but cowardly remained home in the comforts of The Shire. The pain and my grief make me feel unimportant. But unlike these stories, God doesn't create people as random side characters to propel the plot forward. We play the most crucial role in our own life journeys, and together our stories interweave and somehow merge to illuminate our maker.
I don't have most of the answers. I frequently toil away, trying to grasp at some sort of truth, but at the end of the day, I'm probably just as clueless as the next person. However, ironically enough, even in our cluelessness we can obtain a bit of the truth. Our utter inability to comprehend our physical and emotional pain should actually give us hope. Instead of fearing the world of the unknown, lets spend some time marveling at its mysterious wonder. That's also why I write-- no matter how big my pain feels, it's pebble compared to the universe and microscopic spec compared to God. That isn't to downplay my pain (or the pain of anyone), but to rejoice in the fact that there is so much out there-- and most of it, we know little-to-nothing about. This should feel exhilarating, most of all to those of us in intense suffering. Suffering, no matter how agonizing, is never the answer. Pain is not the end. Neither my migraines nor my sadness will have the final say. While I think strategies for coping with sadness can be highly valuable, it's probably even more valuable to accept that we will never have all the answers in this lifetime. Instead of allowing the pain to drag us into utter despair, let's allow it to raise our anticipation-- for the suffering we feel in this lifetime can't compare to the beauty we'll feel next.
As I explained to my husband, it wasn't just that I lost my identity, pride, independence, or feelings of usefulness. There was something more about that job I can't quite put my finger on. I suppose I had just felt an intense feeling that I had finally had found my true calling at that school. I felt a sense of belonging and purpose I hadn't ever felt that strongly. Why did God bother giving me that only to take it away, moments later? If I was destined to live a life of pain and unemployment, why did He give me taste of what I could have had? It dawned on me that parents who lose their children likely feel the exact same sentiment, only far more severely (Why would you give me this child only to take her away so prematurely?) Yes, I am totally aware that many experience much more dire and heartbreaking circumstances than I do...But seriously, does the line "Some people have it worse," ever actually make anyone feel better? People who are suffering with chronic pain know many people have it worse and we're not in competition with each other to find out who is the biggest victim. For me, the fact that some people are suffering worse than me just makes me sadder. (It's kind of like when people tell you to "Calm down," when you're angry, which, of course, just makes you angrier.) I weep because of my own pain, and then I want to weep more for the pain of others.
Along with the, "It could be worse" routine, tired cliches seldom ever lessen one's emotional pain. Contrived positivity is a sham, and we deserve real ways of reconciling our aching souls. While I'm far from an expert, I have found more effective ways simply to just deal on a day-to-day basis. Here is a non-comprehensive list of strategies to tend to the emotional cuts and bruises you may have accumulated in the aftermath of chronic pain.
1. Let yourself be sad.
I know how discouraging it feels to cry again and again about the same damn problem. Seriously, I wonder if people reading my blog are thinking, My goodness! Quit that moping and move ON already! And for real-- I have tried and am still trying so hard to do so. I always feel so positive and proud after completing another article, like I'm chipping away at my emotional mess...But then nights like last night happen and I feel I've made zero progress. I'm still a crying baby.
Being frustrated at yourself because you haven't mastered some perfect inner-peace is unfair and counterproductive. Life is just plain hard. If you're dealing with the chronic pain burden every day, it makes sense that the emotions that come along with it will occasionally (or frequently) bubble to the surface. You are just human, and no one-- least of all God-- expects you to be some perfectly zen monk all the time. Not to mention that degrading thoughts like, "Get over it already!" only make you feel much worse. These nasty thoughts, when accumulated over time, sneakily organize themselves to form self-destructive narratives.
Not every moment of sadness and despair has to be of some great significance. It doesn't have to mean you're hopelessly stuck or have backtracked-- it just means you're sad for some time. Although it exacerbates the headache, sometimes a good cry really is my best medicine. I don't mean some sulky, petulant cry-- like from a child who was told "No." I mean one of those cathartic releases of all this negativity you've bottled in for so long. It's not a temper tantrum; it's a surrender to God.
2. Learn the art of distraction.
It's a good idea to confront your pain, head-on, to cry sometimes, and to be honest, vulnerable, and messy. However, it's also a good idea to sometimes just give yourself a break. I've always had a detective-type attitude-- both while trying to discover the roots of my migraines and while trying to untie these emotional knots. The latter is why I write. However, as I've already established, sometimes all the grief and bitterness unexpectedly come rushing back to my heart despite how many times I've genuinely found peace through prayer, contemplation, and writing. Emotions are often unruly, even when confronted with sound logic.
It takes a lot of mental and emotional energy to work out these knots. While it's worthy work, it's not always necessary or helpful. I'm learning that it's not a good idea to untie these knots every time an unpleasant emotion about my pain arises. If I attempted to do so, I'd likely spend my entire life at a laptop, working it all through again and again.
Distraction can be a good thing here. Those words might seem counterintuitive-- as we live in such a regretfully distracted world, but sometimes it's simply necessary in order to survive. I don't think God wants me locked up all day every day fighting my way through all these intellectual labyrinths. I may be unemployed, but I still have to cook, clean, and take care of myself. And for these most basic necessities, sometimes a good distraction is all I need-- an interesting podcast, a cuddle with my cat, a conversation with a friend, etc. These are light, simple things that can help left tremendous burdens. When you feel hopelessly weighed down with confusion and sadness, sometimes we just need to think about something else for a little while.
3. Spend more time in gratitude's warmth.
In the midst of my sadness last night, my husband told me something I always hate to hear when I feel this way-- he told me to be grateful for all the amazing things I do have in my life. This initially irritates me for the same reason that "Some people have it worse" irritates me. I truly do know some people genuinely have it worse, and I truly am a grateful person. Being told to exercise gratitude makes me feel like I'm being accused of being a whiny, ungrateful child who needs to grow up...or it just makes me feel guilty because if I was truly grateful, then I shouldn't be so sad. I told my husband, "I am grateful. Can't I be grateful for what I do have and sad about other circumstances at the same time? The two things aren't mutually exclusive."
However, it'd be much more productive to get over my pride for a minute and view this not as a personal attack, but a gentle reminder. I do have some amazing things in my life. It's not that I'm ungrateful for these things, but it will serve me well to more intentionally spend some time celebrating those things. One example is that my husband got a great new job that he loves. It is well-paying and comes with free quality health insurance for both of us. As an unemployed person who visits various doctors' offices like it's going out of style, this is obviously a tremendous relief. I don't know what either of us did to deserve such a grace, but when I spend some time seriously contemplating its inherent goodness, it does wonders for my spiritual and emotional well-being.
Being grateful doesn't mean you shut up about the hard stuff and focus only on the good. It doesn't mean "swallow your pain because it could be worse!" And it doesn't mean shoving positivity down you throat to wash out the negativity. Slowly, I'm learning, that gratitude is really about balance. So long as you spend some serious time and energy lamenting the woes of the universe, it's only fair to spend some time rejoicing in the good stuff too. Really, it's about having a more full awareness of your circumstances. Yes, bad thing exist, but good things exist too-- and that alone is worth celebrating.
4. Remember, you're on a specific mission.
One time, in the midst of one of those "really bad" migraine attacks, I remembered my favorite stories like The Odyssey and The Lord of the Rings. I imagined myself being knocked around in Poseidon's ocean. I imagined myself battling orcs on my way to Mount Doom (although based upon my pain level at the time, I felt I had already arrived). This brought me a nerdy sort of comfort. There's a reason the "Hero's Journey" is such a popular trope among people of all times, ages, cultures, and places. All of these stories help us make sense of this confusing, often painful, and sometimes seemingly pointless journey of life. Admittedly, being stuck in bed with a terrible migraine is not nearly as glamorous as the adventures to other worlds that appear on the big screen, but the principle remains the same. Trials are tough, but it's all a part of something much bigger than yourself. And the burdens are really just stepping stones to your truest destiny.
A few days ago, a mentor of mine told me that God gives each person a unique and specific mission. Now before you roll your eyes at the "Everyone's special" sentiment, let this sink in for a moment. The same God that sculpted mountains and created the oceans also decided to make you. And you're hardly an afterthought-- unlike the rest of the incredible universe surrounding you, God created you in His image, complete with an eternal soul and infinite worth. Our bodies possess specific atoms that make up specific cells that perform specific functions designed to keep us alive. Try to wrap your brain around all of that and not believe God has a specific mission for you in mind.
Suffering is real, but it's not the whole picture. It's okay to be sad, but it's not okay let that sadness distract you from this truth. Admittedly, discerning God's specific mission for you in this lifetime can be difficult (and that's a whole other topic within itself). Still, there is infinite comfort in just remembering that you are a part of this world for specialized task that only you alone can fulfill. Most days, I don't even feel like the protagonist in my own story. Maybe I'm one of Odysseus's unnamed men that got killed along the way, or a Hobbit that wished Frodo well but cowardly remained home in the comforts of The Shire. The pain and my grief make me feel unimportant. But unlike these stories, God doesn't create people as random side characters to propel the plot forward. We play the most crucial role in our own life journeys, and together our stories interweave and somehow merge to illuminate our maker.
I don't have most of the answers. I frequently toil away, trying to grasp at some sort of truth, but at the end of the day, I'm probably just as clueless as the next person. However, ironically enough, even in our cluelessness we can obtain a bit of the truth. Our utter inability to comprehend our physical and emotional pain should actually give us hope. Instead of fearing the world of the unknown, lets spend some time marveling at its mysterious wonder. That's also why I write-- no matter how big my pain feels, it's pebble compared to the universe and microscopic spec compared to God. That isn't to downplay my pain (or the pain of anyone), but to rejoice in the fact that there is so much out there-- and most of it, we know little-to-nothing about. This should feel exhilarating, most of all to those of us in intense suffering. Suffering, no matter how agonizing, is never the answer. Pain is not the end. Neither my migraines nor my sadness will have the final say. While I think strategies for coping with sadness can be highly valuable, it's probably even more valuable to accept that we will never have all the answers in this lifetime. Instead of allowing the pain to drag us into utter despair, let's allow it to raise our anticipation-- for the suffering we feel in this lifetime can't compare to the beauty we'll feel next.
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