How to Surf a Tsunami

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Restoration after a sudden trauma is not easy, but it is possible. In fact, you can even learn how to surf your tsunami, moving through it with skill and grace.

 

Many of us will face a personal tsunami at some point in our lives. We will be felled by a great wave bringing with it sudden change and loss. Perhaps your tsunami is in the form of the death of a loved one, maybe it is the loss of a job or a way of life or possibly you have lost the health you took for granted. My own tsunami was in the form of an unexpected divorce after being abandoned via a text message.

Regardless of the nature of your abrupt trauma, tsunamis have some common characteristics. By their nature, tsunamis are difficult to predict and even harder to prepare for. You have to face the realization that you cannot control your surroundings. The world that you knew is gone, swept away in a single move. You feel disoriented as you try to navigate this new realm.

Soon after the trauma, it feels like it will be impossible to rebuild. The odds seem insurmountable. The shock and grief permeate everything and make every move a struggle. Restoration after a sudden trauma is not easy, but it is possible. In fact, you can even learn how to surf your tsunami, moving through it with skill and grace.

The following are my healing tips for anyone who has been flattened by a tsunami.

 

Breathe

The blow of sudden trauma is physical. The body tenses as if anticipating another blow. The breath is the first to suffer; it becomes shallow and rapid behind a breast wrapped tight in a straightjacket of sorrow. Release it. It won’t be easy and it won’t be automatic, at least in the beginning. Set a reminder on your phone or computer to take several deep breaths at least once an hour. As long as the body is anticipating another blow, the mind will be as well. Sometimes it’s easier to train the body and allow the mind to follow.

Recognize the Moment

Understand that the way you feel right now is the way you feel right now. It is not how you will feel next year. It is not how you will feel tomorrow. In fact, it’s not even how you will feel in five minutes. Everything changes, including suffering. Just the realization that the current feeling is temporary makes it a little easier not to panic and feel as though you are drowning.

 

Goals

You are in the midst of change you did not ask for and did not want; however, that does not mean that you should simply throw yourself to the mercy of the sea. Take some time to think about what you want in your life. Formulate some goals — long-term or short-term, easy or next-to-impossible. It doesn’t matter; you can always change them. For now, it’s important simply to write them down and post them as a motivator during those difficult moments.

 

Mentors

After a tsunami, it is so easy to feel alone. It is tempting to curl up and hide in an attempt to protect yourself from further harm. You are not alone. There are others who can relate. Others who have been where you are and have rebuilt. Others who can extend a hand and help you find your way. These mentors may be in your life already or they may take the form of a counselor or pastor or even a group online. Accept their help — a difficult task is always made easier with assistance.

 

Patience

It’s hard to accept that everything can be destroyed in a blink yet it can take a lifetime to rebuild. Healing cannot be forced. It is not a task suited to lowering one’s head and barreling through. Healing is not linear. A bad day may follow a good one. Be gently persistent with yourself. Keep in mind where you want to be, but accept where you are.

 

Balm Squad

Assemble your balm squad — people and things that soothe you and bring you comfort. Fill your space with items that bring a sense of peace or joy. Take the time to visit places that make you feel good. Most importantly, seek out others that support you and encourage you. They are your best balm of all.

 

Restoration vs. Recreation

It’s easy to slip into the dangerous waters of “what if,” replaying the past and trying to find an alternate action that would have averted the tsunami. It’s easy but it’s also a dangerous game. What you had is gone. Healing has to begin with that understanding. Rather than try to recreate what was, focus on restoring a life. Just because it is different does not mean that it cannot be as good. Or even better!

 

Nourishment

Take care of yourself. Nourish your body with healthy foods and exercise. Make sure you’re sleeping. Nourish your mind with loving thoughts. Don’t be ashamed to ask a doctor for help if you need it. Medications can help to reset eating, sleeping and thought patterns when we cannot yet do it for ourselves. Your basic needs must be met before you will be able to work on healing.

 

Mindful Escape

When you are facing sudden trauma, it is easy to try to run away and escape your painful reality. You may seek oblivion in alcohol, video games, gambling, dating or media. You will need a break sometimes; it is okay to submerge yourself in distractions occasionally. However, be sure that you escape mindfully. Be present and aware so that you do not allow the distraction to become a habit because when you are in a weakened state, those habits have a way of consuming you.

 

Spin Doctor

Your trauma has a story, a tale that you most likely have spun again and again with you as the victim of the tsunami. Look at yourself as your own publicist, a spin doctor of your story. How can you rewrite your tragedy so that it is not all suffering? What can you be thankful for? What have you gained as a result of your loss? It will feel strange and even traitorous to find gratitude within your loss, but it can help you move beyond the pain.

 

Release

Find your outlets for release and restoration. Maybe you feel restored by playing with a baby or dog. Or, perhaps you are called to take a long walk in the fading sun. Maybe it’s a favorite yoga class or a certain sitcom that liberates you from the pain. You can never have too many avenues that provide freedom from the suffering; collect these outlets and apply them generously.

 

Don’t Wait

Healing from a tsunami is a difficult path. Don’t wait to live until you are healed; it is okay to find happiness along the way.

The trick to surfing a tsunami is not in trying to control the wave but in learning to how to flow through it.

 

After Divorce: What Are You Grieving?

Posted on by stilllearning2b

Divorce is a type of death. The end of the life you had and the life you expected. And as with any death, grief follows closely behind. After divorce, which of these are you grieving?

 

Grieving the Person You Thought They Were

For some of us, divorce is preceded by a revelation that our partner was not the person we thought they were. In a moment, we realize that we have been in love with a mirage, a projection of our hopes and that behind this image was a person who perhaps was acting in very unloving ways.

It’s a particularly painful loss. Although the person is still breathing, the one you thought you were married to no longer exists. And maybe they never did.

Part of what makes this grief so complicated is that it’s often punctuated with moments of hope. Hope that maybe they will return to the person they were or become the person you believed them to be.

 

Grieving the Future You Imagined and Planned For

You believed you were going to grow old together. Go on that much-anticipated vacation, experience those milestones and enjoy a shared future. And now all of those planned-for, talked-about and dreamed-of events will not happen. At least not together.

And letting go of expectations is hard. Damned hard. Especially when you’ve made decisions and even sacrifices for that imagined future. It leaves a sense of unfairness and incompleteness, a story only partly told.

 

Grieving the Family and Life You Wanted For Your Children

Maybe you grew up with divorced parents and you promised yourself that you would provide a different experience for your own children. Or maybe you had close parents and wanted to provide the same for your offspring. Either way, few people would choose to give their kids the experience of growing up with divorced parents.

And so you grieve for them. Mourning the life you wanted them to have while worrying that this is going to cause them harm.

If this resonates with you, take a moment to learn about what kids can learn from divorce. There are silver linings here, I promise.

 

Grieving Who You Were Before the Relationship

Maybe you lost yourself during the relationship and you’re grieving who you were before. Or perhaps betrayal or abuse has fundamentally changed you and you’re forced to say goodbye to the person you were before that pain branded you.

Of course, we change and grow throughout life as we’re impacted by both people and experiences. Yet divorce, with its very distinct before and after, can highlight these changes in a profound and often painful way.

 

Grieving The Companionship and Shared History

You’ve been through so much together. Have so many shared experiences and inside jokes. And now it’s over. The house is empty. There’s no one to call when your shared show has a surprise moment. And you feel so alone.

Even if the marriage had soured and you no longer enjoyed time together, you may find that you still miss them simply being there.

 

Grieving the Lifestyle That Accompanied Your Marriage

Maybe you miss the evenings with the shared friends. Or going to the kids’ softball games as a family. Or the financial freedom that duel incomes and a joint household provided.

When the marriage ended, so did many of the day-to-day traditions, habits and events. And especially before you’ve established your new life, you’re going to feel that void left by their loss.

 

Grief after divorce is normal. Like with any grief, it does no good to try to rush through it or avoid it. The only way through is through. Acknowledge the losses. Mourn them. Honor them. Give them space. And then give yourself permission to let them go.

 

Marking the Occasion

Posted on by stilllearning2b

It’s been quite the month for marking significant events.

Marking the End

My stepfather’s mother passed away last spring and her memorial was earlier this month. It was a sad death, as loss always is, but not a tragic one. She lived a long and meaningful life and this gathering was a wonderful time to both celebrate her memory and to create connections among those who knew her.

It was a beautiful service, anchored by a slideshow that told the story of her long life and of her legacy. Carefully curated songs spoke both of her passion for the arts and of her love of beauty. It was again confirmed that I am physically incapable of hearing Amazing Grace without tearing up.

Young children were present at the memorial, a poignant reminder that life goes on. That endings are always followed by beginnings. And, as stories and pictures were passed down to the younger generations,  that the past leaves an imprint going forward.

 

Marking the Transition

Over a decade ago, my husband met a young kid in the dojo. He was first a karate student who then took up jiu jitsu as soon as he was deemed old enough. This boy grew up in the dojo, eventually becoming a young man who earned the respect of his elders both on and off the mat.

He leaves today for adulthood, trading in his childhood home for an immersive language program overseas. We gathered last weekend – his biological family and his martial arts one – to celebrate his accomplishments and to say goodbye for now.

His parents were proud of their son, who is an amazing kid. They were excited about reclaiming their space, as it’s not easy to live with a young adult who is busting at the seams. And they were sad, feeling the loss of the presence of their only child as he begins his independent life. It was a reminder that all changes have both blessings and struggles and that transition, even when it’s expected and positive, can be hard.

 

Marking a Milestone

This month also marks my fifth wedding anniversary. This one feels especially significant to me. First, it’s now half the length of my first marriage. That somehow holds weight to me. It’s no longer “new.” It’s solid and real.

It’s also been our best year together. We’ve really worked hard at learning and growing and having the difficult conversations. I feel like we’ve navigated some rocky roads and grown closer and more understanding through the process.

In my first marriage, we never marked anniversaries. In this marriage, we do. This weekend, we will again spend a night – for the fourth time – in a swanky hotel downtown. A shared evening without distractions to celebrate us. It’s a reminder that relationships are important and need both attention and intention to thrive.

 

How We Act When We’re Afraid of Losing Someone

Posted on by stilllearning2b
fear of losing

I remember that day vividly.

My then-husband was in Brazil, supposedly on a work trip. I was at home and unable to reach him when he failed to return to Atlanta at the anticipated time. As the panic rose, I alternated between frantically looking for information on the internet (Was there a plane crash? A tourist attacked in San Paulo? A car crash leaving the Atlanta airport?) and uselessly pacing the upstairs hallway.

I called his employer and received a non-answer. It was only later that I learned that they thought he was still in Atlanta since he wasn’t dispatched on a job.

I saved the number for U.S. Embassy in Brazil, telling myself to hold off until the next day before I made that call.

I contemplated driving to the airport, where at least I would be little closer to any news.

At some point, the anxiety and powerlessness reached untenable levels and I set out for a run, the brick of my flip phone clutched in my hand. I uttered desperate pleas for information as I hit the pavement, the movement a poor substitute for meaningful action.

He came home the next day.

He left for good three months later.

That wasn’t the first time that I was afraid of losing him. In fact, from the moment I “had” him, I worried about the loss of him. 

There was the time when we first started dating that he showed interest in another girl and I pretended that it wasn’t happening until the situation resolved itself. Then, there was the 1969 Ford truck whose headlights had a propensity to cut out while he driving the back roads in the Texas Hill Country. I pleaded with him not to drive that vehicle, convincing myself that he was safe as long as he operated another car. There was a cross-country move while I still remained in Texas for the semester with the unknowns inherent in a long-distance relationship. I compensated that time by planning for our upcoming wedding; surely talk of our futures would keep the plan on track. That was followed by a car accident where his small car ended up underneath an eighteen wheeler. Up until that moment, that was the closest that I had knowingly come to losing him. I responded by breaking down in the living room of my apartment, our pug nervously burrowing into my neck which was wet with tears. Interestingly enough, the fears I should have heeded never even crossed my mind.

Over the course of our sixteen years together, I carried a fear of losing him. And in so many ways, that fear kept me from actually seeing him. I allowed fear to be my chauffeur.

That’s the thing when we’re afraid of losing someone – we take a rational fear (after all, death and divorce are a part of life) and we respond to it in irrational ways – 

 

Fear of losing someone can present as: Denial

Apparently this was my favored approach during my first marriage (although I would have denied it vehemently at the time). Even while my general sense of anxiety built, I refused to examine the little inconsistencies that hinted at something going on behind my back. I was worried about losing him to death (especially as his hypertension continued to worsen); I never imaged that he would leave.

We all have a propensity to shove the unthinkable out of our minds as though if we don’t allow it mental space, it cannot manifest into existence. “It is impossible,” we declare. “They would never…” we insist. “It just can’t happen,” we recite, until we believe it to be true.

I’ve learned since to look more closely whenever I have strong feelings of dismissal arise. It may be that there is something hiding behind those feelings.

 

Fear of losing someone can present as: Bargaining

We know of bargaining as one of the “stages” of grief. What we don’t often consider is that the bargaining begins well before the loss. This often takes the form of, “If you stay, I’ll change.”

Bargaining can feel like a rational approach with its exchange of services. Yet underneath the transaction is an overwhelming aversion to loss, which means the promises made may be too big to deliver and the promises looked for in exchange may not be kept.

 

Fear of losing someone can present as: Control

Sometimes, the attempt at control is overt – the partner that keeps tabs on their spouses whereabouts in an attempt to prevent them from straying. Others are more subtle, operating with a clinginess that limits movement. “I love yous” turned into bindings.

Rarely does this method work. Not only are many things outside of our control, but there is no surer way to push someone away than to tell them they’re not allowed to go.

 

Fear of losing someone can present as: Indulging

I see this one sometimes as a teacher. When I encounter children that are overindulged and encouraged to remain needy, I often learn about a history of miscarriages or infertility or even the death of an older child. The parents, understandably so, are so afraid of losing this child that they hold them in a childlike state even as they grow.

A variation of this presents in adult relationships. The one who is afraid of loss tries to fulfill every need of the other in an attempt to make themselves invaluable. “If you need me, you can’t leave me,” the inner voice insists as they continue to turn themselves inside out to carry out even the unspoken requests.

I found myself starting to do this towards the end of my marriage. It was a subconscious, yet desperate attempt, to keep him with me.

 

Fear of losing someone can present as: Begging

“Please don’t do this this way,” my initial email to my absent husband begged. I still had the fantasy that if only I could talk to him, I could somehow change his mind (this was before I knew the extent of the betrayals).

I felt increasing powerless as my pleas were ignored. The reality is that I had no hope of changing his decision. As an independent creature, he had every right and ability to act as he saw fit.

Begging is the brain’s way of delaying the inevitable. It’s a stall tactic, and nothing more.

 

Fear of losing someone can present as: Panic

This is the most irrational of them all and also the most powerful. This is the death grip on the rope, the worst of the “what ifs” manifested all at once. Sometimes this can be triggered by an event and sometimes it can arise solely from internal worries. Once we’re in this state, it’s difficult to return to reality.

Tiger, the world’s best pit bull, taught me so many things. Not the least of which was how to say goodbye without fear. We loved that dog and were devastated to learn suddenly that he had a fatal bleed from a tumor on his heart. He was only eight.

As the day progressed after the initial veterinary appointment, the news grew worse. We accepted the truth – the end was imminent. My husband and I took him home for a few hours of loving attention before we laid him down on the floor at the vet’s and surrounded him with our bodies.

We weren’t ready to say goodbye. But it was his time to go. Any attempt to keep him with us would have not only been ineffective, it would have cruel and selfish. All we could do is thank him for the time we shared.

Loss is an inevitable part of life. Fearing it does not stop it. Resisting it only serves to make the release that much harder. We rarely get to decide when the end comes. We’re not often offered a choice in the nature or circumstances of the loss.

But what we can alter is how we live between losses.

We can lead with fear, anticipating the end well before it comes.

Or we can lead with love, finding gratitude for what we have.

Permission Granted

Posted on by stilllearning2b

When I was a freshman in college, I spent a brief period in a grief support group. I was reeling from the deaths of over a dozen friends in the previous few years. There was a young man who had recently lost his mom to cancer and a woman whose brother was killed the previous year in a head-on collision. Three other women rounded out the group. They had all miscarried.

All of our losses, although different in degree and detail, had much in common. But there was one factor missing for the ones who had suffered the loss of their unborn child; they didn’t feel like they had the right to grieve. Either explicitly or implied, they had all received the message from people around them that theirs was not a “real” death and that their level and duration of grief should match that fact. Their grief, rather than being supported, was minimized.

Unlike the rest of us, who were deemed “faultless” in our losses, these three women had faced accusations and associated guilt that they were somehow at fault. That they were responsible for their loss. They had the added burden of a sense of culpability and a target for blame.

I ached for these women.

Their loss was real. Their pain was real.

And the fact that their pain was downplayed and finger-pointed made their grief all the more real.

A divorce is a death.

Not of a person.

But of a marriage.

It is loss of the possibilities of the future.

It is collapse of a partnership and a family.

It is the cleaving of lives and often self.

And part of what makes divorce so difficult is that it is the demise of a marriage and yet there is a stigma attached to grieving its loss. There are no wakes, where loved ones gather and offer support. There are no obituaries published to disburse the news and quiet the rumors. You garner uneasy looks in you mention how you miss your spouse, especially if he or she is playing full-on offense in the divorce. There are no established rituals for mourning a marriage (and I don’t count the uptick in the often-gaudy “divorce party” a grieving ritual). And there are certainly no memorials planned.

It is a complicated grief. The person is still alive, yet the memories are now tarnished perhaps beyond recognition. They become sort a walking dead.

There is always a questioning and doubt as to what you could have done to alter the marital course. And it is a tricky path to walk between responsibility and needless guilt.

You may feel confusion because you initiated the divorce and yet you don’t understand why you are so sad to see the end you hoped for finally arrive.

You hear statements from others like, “My divorce is the best thing that has ever happened to me,” while you’re still reeling from the loss and grieving in silence.

The loss is real. The pain is real.

And the fact that the pain was downplayed and finger-pointed makes the grief all the more real.

So hold a funeral for your marriage, a sign of acknowledging the end and a first step of letting go. Take some tangible piece of the marriage (no, not your ex!) and release it through burial or a funerary pyre.

Write a eulogy for your marriage, telling the whole story from hopeful beginning to bitter end.

Plant a memorial tree symbolizing your roots in the marriage and your limitless growth above.

Re-purpose a memento from the marriage to serve as both a memory of what was and a reminder that you can transform your future.

It’s okay to mourn your marriage.

It’s okay to grieve your loss.

Permission granted.