From the Heart of the Earth

Like much of the world, I have become captivated by the images of the Chilean miners being extracted from the mine where they have lived for two months. Like many, I have wondered about what is has been like for them to live in these close quarters with 32 companions and no sunlight. The community that has developed fascinates me. Many of them have taken on particular roles for the group—a spiritual leader, a joker, and entertainer, etc. They have developed common practices and habits based on the needs of the community.

What I’m curious about today, though, is what they are experiencing right now—individually and as a community.

During a trauma or disaster, although we have our individual experiences and perceptions, it is often the shared experience with our community that motivates us and gives us a sense of meaning and purpose. Even when there is an impending snowstorm, we all get caught up in the media coverage (When will it hit? How many inches will we get? Should we drive to work?) In our workplaces and schools and grocery stores, we connect with that shared experience by talking about the weather and asking things like, “Have you seen any snowflakes yet?”

The shared interested of the group dominates many of our individual actions and concerns. I cannot quite imagine how much more of a community has grown out of this shared experience for the miners.

But last night, everything changed. A rescuer joined them, and then a miner left. And then it became a different thing. In preparation for their extraction, the community had changed its habits—eating differently, packing up what they needed and wanted to take with them, putting clothes on. What the group had been doing changed in order to prepare the individuals for their ascent.

My guess is that the sense of community is still there, but the individual needs and perceptions are taking precedence again. What is it like for a miner who will be, say, #23 to be removed, to watch his companions leave, one by one? Is there sadness at the loss of what the group has shared? Is there loneliness? And what will it be like for #33, who waits with the rescuers to be the last of the miners to leave what has been their home?

Everything is on hold as they cease being a community, with actions based on what is best for everyone.

They have become, once again, just men—men who wait their turn for a 15-minute journey from the heart of the earth into the arms of their families and the eyes of the world

Healing Has Commenced

Over the past few days, I've found that I've been in a better mood than I've been in for a long, long time.  It isn't that I suddenly feel positive and upbeat all the time.  (Given  my disposition, I doubt that's possible!)  But I find myself amused rather than annoyed by normal things (like student issues in the classroom, dropping something on the floor, seeing dog fur on the floor).  I am observing a sense of contentment in my heart at times.  I am enjoying the beautiful fall weather.

These are signs to me that I will return to normal with time.  And that in itself is so encouraging.  Even with the finances, I'm feeling a new outlook.  The amount of money will be no different, but having that money distributed every other week, in a larger amount, feels so different from literally going week-to-week, with obligatory reminders every Sunday to go online and submit the unemployment request.  I'm not sure why, but it does--and it's such a treat to feel anything new that isn't difficult, and that in itself is encouraging.

For now, I'm watching Who Framed Roger Rabbit and Hook on this Saturday morning, while I'm enjoying my coffee and waiting for cinnamon rolls to come out of the oven.  Today, life is good.

Resume Breathing

My husband is at work right now.  His first day on the job.  I am not alone in my house, but oddly, the house feels like my home again.

I'm kind of numb. After 518 days of unemployment (truly, I didn't count until it was over), it's hard to know how to feel. My body and mind have experienced all the signs of chronic stress and burnout. While I want very much to believe things will begin to better now, it's hard to trust that maybe everything will start to feel okay.

But today, right at this moment, life has a sense of hope. The house is quiet, his laptop is closed, the TV is quiet, and the cat is purring on my husband's chair. I think I've taken my first real breath in nearly a year and a half. Healing will be a process, but now it can begin.

518 Days

It is always when a difficult situation begins to be over that I wish I had chronicled the entire saga.  How better to communicate the gradual distress of dealing with something hard on a regular basis?  Saying now, “a cloud settled over our family for a long time” doesn’t quite capture the way the cloud creeped in and took up residence, or the way we could barely recognize that there was a cloud, or the moments when we would see a glimmer of light, or the anguish when those glimmers would be extinguished and we would be still left in darkness.

After the fact, it is impossible to go back and capture the immediacy of the experience and re-chronicle the journey.  Life must be written as it is lived, or the writing does not truly reflect life.

My husband lost his job on April 27, 2009.  It was our 18^th anniversary.  This job loss was the 3^rd such loss in 25 months.  All three losses were due to an economic downturn in his industry.  The previous two times, he had a job within just a couple weeks.  When this journey began, we had no idea that it truly would be a journey rather than another blip.  Other than short-term and part-time census work in late spring, he has stayed unemployed since then.  I have been immersed in a morass of  emotions, woes, crises, and unrealness; perhaps I will figure out how to write about them at some point.  I couldn’t even write about them privately at the time because the expression of the words made the situation more real than my soul could bear.

So here I am, trying to figure out how to get out of the cloud.  Yesterday, my husband was offered a job.  The pay will be pretty much the same as he’s been getting for unemployment, so our short-term financial future has no improvement.  Hopefully, we will soon be able to look at options like refinancing the mortgage that can make a financial difference in other ways.  So, yes, this is a good thing—but it isn’t awesome.  I’m not feeling the euphoria I’d thought I would feel.  I’m the recipient of good wishes and congratulatory hugs, yet I feel kind of numb.

Yesterday, it was 17 months—to the day—since my husband had lost his job.  It was 518 days.  (No, I hadn’t been counting; it was only after it was over that I could bear to do so.)  I don’t think it’s possible for someone to snap out of a 518-day experience immediately.  I’m deeply grateful for my friends who are rejoicing for me.  At some point, I will be able to rejoice with them.  But for now, I’m still in the cloud—just a little closer to the lighter edge than I was on Day 517.

healing is a process

Hmm.  Reading my last blog post is kind of depressing, although it's nice, too, since I'm no longer feeling like I'm in such a funk.

I've continued to learn a lot about chronic stress and some of the symptoms I've been experiencing.  Yesterday, I realized that one thing that's different about me now (as opposed to, say, two years ago), is my startle reflex.  yes, the same startle reflex that babies get that we laughed at in our children.  (Oops, does that make us bad parents?)

I've startled easily for years, but my family has pointed out recently that I'm much more sensitive than I used to be.  When I hear the phone ring, my heart starts to beat fast and I feel panicky.  If something unexpected happens, I feel anxious, like something bad is about to happen.  I'm still looking for the right doctor to help me through all this, but my friend who was diagnosed with PTSD after a difficult medical diagnosis and surgery has pointed out that I have many of the symptoms of people with PTSD.

Here's what I'm finding really interesting, though, in all my reading about chronic stress and PTSD: the lists of thinks to do to help coping.

Here's a list I found at http://www.helpmewithanxiety.com/. 

Practicing some form of progressive muscle relaxation (PMR) on a daily basis

Aerobic exercise for 20-30 minutes daily

Learning how to budget time and plan ahead

Cut down on caffeine intake (preferably altogether)

Talking with someone – anyone- on a regular basis about one’s worries and concerns.

Meditation/Yoga

Listening to calming music

Directly addressing the thoughts ‘cognitions’ that are driving your anxiety engine

Directly confronting the behaviors one wants to avoid

Practicing and mastering how to respond to feared situations

This list amazes me.  Most of these items (yes, even the one about exercise-blech) are things I've yearned for during the past year.  I've had some innate sense that I need to cut back on caffeine, that I missed the progressive relaxation exercises I learned in my college Neuromuscular Relaxation class years ago.  I have missed music for years.

Even the last three items, which the website indicates should be done in conjunction with a psychiatrist, are things I've become more conscious of.  In my mind, I've begun rehearsing how I could handle various scenarios that pop into my mind.  I've thought a great deal about the behaviors I want to avoid, and I've made myself actually do some of the ones that have caused me trouble in the past.

Although my mind is struggling mightily right now, my body has seemed to just know the right things to do.  Or maybe it's my subconscious.  I realize, as I look at this list, that I have already started to do some of these things, without actively knowing that I needed to.
Still, yesterday was a difficult day.  I taught four classes--two of them longer classes that were meeting for the first time, both  meeting in the afternoon (not my good time of day).  In between my morning classes and those two classes, I spent three hours working on Fall Fest on campus.  By the time I got home, I felt completely drained.  I had no energy, and I was back to being very emotionally fragile.  I cried easily, I wrapped myself up in a blanket and lay on the couch, and finding the energy to even brush my teeth at bedtime was a chore.  (In fact, I really wanted to go to bed at 5:30.)

At the same time, though, there was a healing element to yesterday.  I was able to recognize that I was exhausted and that the exhaustion I was experiencing was temporary.  I was able to say, "I've had a long day, and now I'm tired.  My body just needs to replenish its stores.  Don't expect too much of yourself.  You're going to continue to have a few challenging days, even as you generally tend to feel better."

My awareness that this was a symptom of chronic stress did make it a bit easier for me to cope with it all.  Even a month ago, the same experience would have had me in tears, for several hours, wondering what was wrong with me and whether I would ever be okay.

Today I didn't have class until 1.  I woke up (too early, but that's a story for another time), and I was able to relax with the computer for a bit and then remembered to take lots of deep breaths.  By the time I got home, I was still tired, but I had the mental energy to focus on some things I'd been neglecting for a while, and I realized I was feeling a bit more like "me" today.

It's hard to give myself permission to feel bad and to know that I have a long way to go before I feel healed again.  We had too many things hit us at once a year and a half ago, and each of those things created long-lasting repercussions that are still difficult to live with.  I shouldn't be surprised that my body has reacted to the mental stress of trying to be positive, hold a family together, keep my job, deal with hormonal changes, and worry about every phone call and every piece of mail, wondering what new crisis we will have to deal with.

This is what my life is right now.  The trick is to remember to breathe and hope that one day, one night, I can dream again.

everything is funky dory

 I have been in a funk lately, and I just can't shake it.
Between a series of job losses for my husband, major and minor medical situations that have required decisions, parenting teenagers, some job stresses of my own, and our financial troubles--in addition to a multitude of other things that I don't know if I'll ever be able to write about--I've gotten just a bit stressed out.

I've always had times of stress, but the stress usually leaves after a while.  For instance, the end of every semester is stressful.  I grade and grade and do all that I have to do, and then I have time off and recuperate.  The stress is short-term, and there's time to recover.

The kind of stress I've been experiencing, though, isn't this kind.  It isn't short-term.  There is daily stress.  There's lots to worry about, from paying a bill to concern about an offspring's choices to wondering which creditor is calling (thank goodness that's over) to having too many professional tasks to handle in one day to seeing an unmown lawn in my back yard.
Worse, there has been no healing time.  I am one who needs time alone to reconnect with myself and resume breathing.  Since my husband lost his job 16 months ago, he has been here.  Other than infrequent interviews and his trips to the gym, he is always here.  Always in the same chair.  Always on the computer.  Always with the TV on.  Not doing anything around the house other than cooking (which to be fair I appreciate a great deal).  I get that he is experiencing his own brand of depression and trying to figure out what this all means for his life.

But I've been suffocating.  I have no place, no time, that is mine.

The stress has beaten me down.  It's the kind of stress that never goes away, not even for an hour, until the light that's inside you is burnt out.  I feel completely worn down.  I have nothing left inside me.

Now, I don't feel like that, empty, most of the time.  There are times when I feel almost content, when I'm able to function.  But there is some time on most days when I am feeling more fragile than I could have ever imagined.

Two weeks ago I went to the doctor, hoping I could get some tweaks to my HRT and my anti-depressant to help me feel like I can cope better.  Instead, the doctor told me I need to see a psychiatrist.  My medication needs to be balanced by someone who is an expert in those meds.  I get that, and I don't disagree with her.  Ironically, hearing that I needed to see a psychiatrist made me feel, well, depressed.  She said I was showing symptoms of chronic stress.  That's so obvious.  So why did it make me angry and hurt?

I came home and began to research chronic stress.  After a few days, I began to feel liberated, like I had permission to feel what I'd been feeling all along.

I found a website that, while not medical or scholarly, stunned me: The Four Stages of Burnout.  It's like this guy knew me.  In my professional life, I had gone through every single one of the stages.  I had said or thought every single thing he said there.  It was amazing.  I was thrilled to know that what I was going through made sense.  It was, in a sense, a tribute to my strength that I had gotten as far as I had.

Fast forward to this week.  I've been having some neurological troubles (mainly numbness in my lower limbs).  I had an MRI last week to rule out Big Scary Stuff like a tumor or pinched something-or-other.  This week, I got a call that I have arthritis.  ARTHRITIS??!!  I thought that was for old people.

Now I feel old and like I'm falling apart.  So in response to my diagnosis (I'll see the doctor next week), I got angry and decided to show the arthritis who was boss.  I proceeded to single-handedly rearrange my entire office at work--a full desk, two overflowing filing cabinets, and two seven-foot tall bookcases stacked with books and several years worth of scholarly journals.  Yeah, I showed arthritis who was in charge, all right.  And then yesterday, I had a full day of meetings an hour and a half away.  I sat for hours on end.  Aching.  Sore.

Yeah, I know who's in charge, all right, and it isn't me.

So I'm on a journey to trying to do something to please me every day, to write, to find a way to spend time with myself, to mend and build on relationships that I need to support me.  (More about that last one in another post, I think.)
I'm in a funk, but for the first time in a while I think I can understand why and I understand that it's normal and okay.  I'm not broken, but I have much healing to do.  My light has gone out, so I will try to relight it.  I wonder what, phoenix-like, will emerge when I'm through?

responding to the unheard call

We missed church this morning, but I've been thinking about a sermon from two weeks ago in which we were challenged to think about what we are called to do.  For my entire spiritual life, I've wondered about what I'm called to do and how I would know when it happens.  Even at 45, I find that I still wonder, "What is my purpose on this earth, in this life?"  On the way home from church, I realized that I do know what I was called to do--and that I've been doing it in ways for years.  Even before I recognized the call, I had responded to it.

I thought about the things I have given my time to during my adult life.  As a fairly young adult in grad school, I always made extra time for the young women in my classes when they alluded to abuse, rape, or assault.  I provided chocolate and tissues and walked them to counselors' offices.  Even before that, I sat with friends in high school and college and provided hugs, a shoulder to cry on, and an ear to listen.  As a mom of young kids, I organized a group for working moms who needed support in their lives.  I became a peer counselor for Sidelines to support women on bedrest with twin pregnancies.  And now I'm part of Hystersisters.  All of these things have given me a feeling of peace and rightness.

For more than 25 years, supporting women is the one thing I've made time for continuously.  Other things have grabbed my attention for a few months or years.  Then they passed out of my life.  It is only now, as I am able to stand back and look at the tapestry of more than two decades, that I can see the pattern that has emerged.
I was called to minister to women--but I don't remember hearing any call at all.  At what point did God say, "This is what thou shalt do?"  At what point did I say, "Yes, I accept?"  God called to my spirit, and it responded joyously, albeit somewhat obliviously.  Did any of our Bible figures respond to a call with as much cluelessness as I did.  Does it count as accepting the call when you don't know you've done so?  I think so, but it's an odd feeling to know that I didn't recognize what life I've been living until I was halfway through it.

In other news, there's still no news on the unemployment front.  Hubster still has no job and unemployment benefits run out soon.  Lots of stress there.  At the same time, though, it's a beautiful sunny day, and we have friends taking us out for a late brunch today at Thunder Bay Grille.  We are so fortunate that the huge rain that hit Milwaukee and caused such horrible flooding didn't hit us.  If our power had gone out for more than 10 second, we would have lost sump pumps and our messy cluttered basement would've been a disaster.  Our basement is dry, our basement walls are intact, and the sun is shining.