Fear.

One of the biggest hurdles to writing is my intense and immeasurable fear of being vulnerable.  This has always been something I've struggled with.  Although it's been a repeating theme for me, it's only lately that I've noticed these fears have begun manifesting themselves in my life and my relationships.

I've built so many walls around myself as a measure of protection, that when I share a deeply personal piece of myself with someone---when I take off my armor and show off all of my soft spots--I immediately feel cornered.  I feel trapped.  I become hyper-aware of just how thin my skin is, how susceptible I am to any sort of attack.

And so I get scared.  I get protective.  I get defensive.  I get angry.

As a result, I find myself in a place of self preservation when I should be reveling in an intimate moment.  Instead of enjoying my husband's love and touch, I'm dissociating from the present, trying to think about anything but the fact that I'm unguarded.  Instead of basking in the glow of his adoration and existing in the moment, I'm lost.

In my mind, vulnerability and strength are mutually exclusive.

This causes a lot of friction in my life right now because I'm at such a fucked up, tender point of being.  I'm still reeling from the loss of my friend, from finding my grandmother's body, from seeing my MIL pass.....  I may be able to cope with these feelings and images some days, but I still have nightmares.  I still get sad. I'm more scared of the dark than I ever have been, because now I know exactly how terrifying it can be and what might be lingering there.  And I hate it, almost as much as I hate feeling weak because of it.

I made the conscious decision to sort through this madness--these feelings, these experiences.  To think about them, to meditate on them, to sort them out.  When I began this emotional cleaning process, I took it for granted that I would only be dealing with the issues that I wanted to work through, but soon realized that there is an ocean of repressed thoughts and feelings inside of me, spanning several years.  I realized that dealing with one pretty much meant dealing with all, and it's been a horrifying experience.

I'd much rather cherry-pick the wounds I heal and the wounds I ignore.  I'd much rather not think about why I did the things that I did, about how past relationships and abuse and abusers have shaped me and my life....but that's not an option.  Not if I want to come out on the other side of this a whole person, anyway.

Because that's what it's about, I think.  It's about becoming a whole person for possibly the first time in my life.  It's about realizing that not only do I have the tools, I am the tools.

All this time I really thought I was protecting myself from the world, from other people, from outside influence causing me pain, but I've really been trying to protect myself from my own experience.  The things that scare me the most are all things that have happened to me and if I can use that experience to grow and learn--if I can examine it and reflect on it--then maybe one day there won't be anything to be afraid of.

Regret.

Facebook is kind of like a philosophical dumping ground where quotes by famous thinkers and feelers go to be misinterpreted until they fade into irrelevance.  Not a lot of topics make this more clear than the one of regret.  It seems like someone is always talking about how life is too short to have regrets.... And while that's all great in theory, I think that we can learn a lot from our regrets.  I know I have.

When you lose someone you love, regret is kind of an instant reaction.  Your mind starts spiraling as you wonder about the last things you said, the last things you did, the last thoughts you had....  In the case of my grandmother, this is a particularly difficult subject.

My grandmother was the strongest human being I've ever met.  She may have been "past her prime" when I knew her, but I don't think anybody had bothered to mention that to her--probably because they were scared.  She grew up on a homestead, so growing up she was a bit of a tom-boy.  Her favorite toy was her BB gun, followed by a shotgun when she was old enough to upgrade.  She raised chickens and pigs and cows and goats, she planted and picked vegetables in the garden.  When she grew up, she became a nurse.  I think out of all of the things she saw and went through, that may have hardened her the most  She used to tell me stories about working in the neo-natal unit of a hospital early in her career.  She didn't get to work with the beautiful little cherubs who had all their fingers and toes; my grandma took care of premature babies, ones with birth defects and abnormalities. (I think it left a mark on her, because one of the only things I knew about her for a long time was that she wasn't entirely fond of children....)  My grandmother went on to get married to the man who would become my grandfather.  I don't know much about my grandfather, really, since he died when my father and uncle were children.  I know that he was received a Presidential Pardon from Nixon that allowed him to work at the Post Office, and I know that he was very fond of the booze.  I also know that, on occasion, he would get drunk and mean and abusive with my grandmother.  Being that she was a strong, independent, woman that didn't sit well with her...  She didn't believe in divorce, and she had a great deal of love for my grandfather, so instead of leaving him or going to counseling, she started hiding baseball bats in corners.  My grandfather would get drunk and go to hit her and my grandma would have a baseball bat in her arms, ready to come at him swinging.....

That story always makes me smile.  I mean, it's a horrible, unhealthy situation and abuse isn't a laughing matter, but it just shows the woman's tenacity.  She was fearless.  She was strong.  She was willing and able to defend herself and her family, regardless of what or who she was up against....  When I think about my grandma, that is what I like to think about.

I suppose it's because the realities of our relationship were kind of harsh and severe.  I don't want to make it sound like there wasn't love there, but the way my grandmother showed her love was difficult for a child to understand.  She could be cold and cruel, sharp and cutting.  I remember being very scared of her when I was a kid because she was incredibly hard on me.  She always seemed to favor my brother, and it showed.   I think a little girl may have just been out of her wheelhouse because she grew up in a rougher, tougher time and then raised a family of boys...  I suppose the reasons don't matter.  I never cared enough to look for them when I was younger, and now that I'm capable of understanding, I can only take guesses.....

What I'm trying to say is that the foundation for our relationship wasn't necessarily sturdy or solid.  There was more love in the relationship than I could ever understand, but there was always this distance between us.

That faded away quite a bit when I grew up and got married.  During that time, she also moved in with my Aunt and Uncle because she couldn't live on her own anymore (she was capable of mobility, but suffered from dizzy spells that would cause her to lose her balance, fall and bruise the entire length of her body.)  When they would go on dates or on day trips, they would call me and ask me to come sit with her for a few hours in case she needed anything.  I didn't dig the idea, but I did it.   I figured, "Hey, she probably had better things to do than baby sit me when I was a kid."  So I sucked it up.

Sometimes it was enjoyable, sometimes it wasn't.

Her health and mobility started to decline fairly rapidly after that.  I didn't see it at the time.  I mean, I noticed certain limitations but I didn't realize what they implied and how much alarm they should cause.  Suddenly it wasn't just sitting with her anymore....suddenly it was meal prep and planning, runs to the store, preparing her medications, taking her to doctors appointments, helping her shower, helping her change her adult diapers...  I did it.  Knowing my grandma, I figured that it was worse for her to have to ask for help than it was for me to have to help her.  I sat with her, I helped her, I hung out with her, but I didn't appreciate any of it....

I was always checking the clock--checking to see how much time was left on my sentence.  I was always rolling my eyes when she asked for a third cup of coffee or another piece of cake.

When my aunt and uncle called to have me check on my grandma the night I found her body, I didn't want to go.  I'd already changed into my pajamas, I'd taken my shoes and bra off.  I remember, very clearly, thinking to myself, "I don't want to deal with this," when I hung up the phone.  Then I sat on the couch and watched TV for a few minutes---not feeling any sense of urgency.  And that was the last thought I had about my grandmother in the present tense.....

I know those weren't the last minutes of her life; they were the last minutes of my perception of her life.  I know that, but it doesn't make anything easier.  It doesn't change anything.

I live with that regret every day--knowing that I was more concerned with having a lazy night in than with making sure my grandmother was taken care of and tucked in for the evening. It hurts me to know I was that selfish--that concerned about myself, that preoccupied with my own shit....  But it has taught me how valuable time is.

I may not have enjoyed every second spent taking care of my grandma or helping her, but I got to hear so many stories.  I got to learn so much about her and her life and her marriage and the way she saw the world.  I got to know her in a way that I doubt many get to know their grandparents.... And I cherish it.

The regret I feel for my actions--the way I thought about things, the way I was out for myself--has helped me see what wonderful gifts I received from my grandmother.  It's also taught me not to make the same mistakes with others....to cherish every second I get to spend with my loved ones and to be thankful that, out of all the people in the world, they asked for my help and my time....

So I don't hope for a life free of regrets because they are valuable.  If you're willing to take an honest look at yourself and make some changes in your life, regret can be the one of the most valuable emotions you feel because it'll light a fire inside of you.

And I think we all need that sometimes.

If it doesn't fit, don't force it.

I have this awful tendency to stand in my own way.  I think it's something that everyone struggles with at some point in their life, and, generally speaking, I don't think it's a purposeful action.  I think we just want what is best for ourselves, and so we find ourselves racing toward the outcomes we desire...  At least that happens to be the case with me.

See, ever since being faced with the loss of my loved ones, I've been desperate to move on.  Instead of letting myself go through the stages of grief naturally, I tried to push myself through.  I spent hours and hours pouring over articles on how to cope, how to grieve, how to process, how to heal.  I performed the recommended exercises like writing letters and making lists, but somehow it all ended up making me feel more empty than when I began.  

Foolishly, I started to measure myself against my friends and family.  While it was apparent that they were still impacted, I saw that they were able to carry on with their day-to-day lives.  Their grief didn't seem to prevent them from doing dishes or cleaning the carpets or, you know, getting more than a couple hours of sleep at a time.  

I started to question myself.  Was something wrong with me?  Was I grieving wrong?  Was I thinking about it too much, or perhaps not enough?  Why did I feel so sad about everything?

Finally, I approached my father for advice.  Aside from being the wisest person I've ever met, he also has a background in counseling and a knack for giving people a dose of perspective.  He listened patiently while I cried about how I couldn't seem to kick the depression, how I was having trouble sleeping at night, and while I prattled on and on....he smiled.  It wasn't smug or snarky, it was patient.  When I was done crying and vomiting insecurity all over him, he told me to go easy on myself.  "You and your husband both went through something traumatic.  You're a young woman, and you've been fortunate enough not to lose many people up to this point.  Unfortunately, not only were you forced to deal with mortality and loss, those experiences were multiplied before you were able to examine the individual experience."  I hadn't thought about it like that.  Instead of giving myself time to morn each loss, I lumped them all together as if they all had the same effect on me.

The real truth of the matter was that each situation was unique--each loss was devastating in its own way. 

"Also," my father said, "you're hiding behind the loss instead of facing up to the real trauma.  You found your grandmother.  You were there for your mother-in-law's passing and you saw what it looked like up close.  You watched the struggle....  Instead of focusing on writing letters to the people you've lost, you need to come to terms with what happened before you even began to feel the loss."

There it was--the answer staring me in the face.  All of my desperate attempts to cope with the loss and feel the pain of losing a loved one was my attempt to hide from what I saw.  The truth was, it was easier to deal with depression than fear.  What I saw in the hospital room with my mother-in-law scared me.  What I saw when I found my grandmother scared me.....  I'd never been that close to death before and I didn't know how to process it.  I still don't.

What I do know is that now that I've stopped trying to expedite the healing process, I've been able to sleep again.  

Sometimes I still have nightmares--I see my mother in law's face, her eyes desperately trying to convey a message that I just can't understand or my grandmother's face, swollen and puckered, yet peaceful.  Mostly, however, I wrap myself in a deep, dreamless sleep.

I don't know if I'm doing it right--grieving and coping, that is--but little by little, I'm realizing that there's nothing to be self-conscious about.  As much literature as there is about moving on and healing and recovering, it's mostly a guessing game of what provides relief.  

I need to stop forcing myself to feel or process emotions and memories that I'm just not ready to deal with now.  I'm not doing myself any favors, and my husband can bear witness to just how unhelpful it really is....  

Besides, I'm kind of a big girl....  If there was a one-size-fits-all fix for this, it would probably be too small anyway.