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Feelings & Hurt

So, something has been bouncing around in my head for a while now. It claimed prime occupancy when I realized that my posts on Vibrancy and Love were the most well received here in a while. This, sort of, pissed me off. Ha! Indulge me if you will.

I’ve been hearing two things with increasing frequency:

1) My life is great, I have nothing to be X about, I shouldn’t feel X, what is going on?

and,

2) I’m feeling really shitty, totally off and confused, but I’m just going to focus on the positive.

Now, 1) is often said to me by my incredible patients and “X” usually ends up being either anxious or depressed or a neat little mix of both (brutal, I know guys). 2) is usually said to me by friends, family, or the whole of the internet. If you are my lone crooked little follower that has read my words thus far on this blog, you probably can guess what my response to both 1) and 2) is. For the rest of you, let me clarify:

Bullshit.

Before you yell, let me explain.

I absolutely think the vast majority of us need to be unconditionally grateful, often way more grateful, for the lives we have and lead. The fact that I can sit here and muse on a blog and you can sit there and read it is ridiculously privileged and we should never ever forget that. However, if you feel something, whether that be joy, bliss, sadness or like shit, don’t you dare ever put a “shouldn’t” in front of it. Unless you are actually a psychopath, don’t you dare. The whole point of life in its entirety is feeling something. If you feel something there is a reason why. These things that make our throats swell, our chests contract, our abdomen’s ache, our heads spin, and our limbs tingle have purpose. So, for Pete’s sake, feel them. You can try to do so in private, that is certainly a start. But, I think ultimately, the big ones need a bit of an audience. The conversation that you are likely to have if you say: “I feel like X, I don’t know why, but there it is, can you help?” versus “I feel like X, I shouldn’t, so let’s not talk about that, K?” is likely to be far richer and beautiful for you, and also the person you share with. (Obviously as the lunatic who shares her thoughts on the internet, I am heavily biased in this nuanced opinion).

I will reiterate, as I don’t think I can say it enough here on these pages, not one single feeling is wrong. They all have a purpose and they all are a lesson. Use them. Dammit.

If you are a grown man, with a great family, a steady job, and money in the bank and you find yourself all of a sudden crying every day, there is something going on. You actually probably already know what it is. So, go ahead, name it. If you can’t, yet, find someone to sit with you while you start trying. You can be grateful and privileged and also in pain. Not one of those things are mutually exclusive. If someone in your family, who you love, is in crisis, and you who, supposedly, is not in crisis, for some reason finds going to work increasingly like trying to run in quicksand with an elephant on your back while being chased by a starving tiger, I think maybe you have the right to feel a few feelings. Right?

Now, so far I think we can agree that coming to an agreement on 1) was easy, you’re going to be angrier with me about my feelings about 2). Hang in there.

Yes, admittedly, I will concede that I have never been nominated Miss Sunshine in any of the circles I’ve travelled in, but if you cracked open my chest I think you might actually see super cute bunnies, rainbows, floating pink hearts, and, in general, a big lovefest. And, again, I’ll say it again for the people in the back, most of us should be grateful af. But the reflexive ‘I’m just going to focus on the positive’, is getting really fucking old to me. And, don’t even get me started about the how going through X has made me stronger so yay speak. Good lord. For the love of all that is holy, some things that happen to us are wrong and bad. Full. Stop. Being awfully touched by someone uninvited and scary, your baby dying before its first breath, being harmfully betrayed by a loved one, getting a diagnosis with a whole life to live; that hurts. Hurt is hurt. Name it so.

Last week, my kids were doing their usual infuriating wrestling match before bed. Somehow my eldest ended up on the floor of her closet defending that turf while my youngest, all limbs flailing I presume, was on the other side of the closet door. At some point young one pushed said door and met some resistance as older one’s toes were between the two solid pieces of wood that would normally, unencumbered, span said door’s hinge. Not being one to back down from a challenge, young one pushed harder. I’m guessing this hurt like a mother trucker as the wail that ensued from older one was, well, loud. As I arrived on the scene to see older one’s toes red, smashed, and almost visibly throbbing like they were in a cartoon and the youngest one standing in despair of what she had mistakenly done, guess what I didn’t say? I didn’t say, “welp ladies, looks like time to focus on the positive of this situation, eh?” No!! I said, oh my sweet lord that looks like it really hurts, let me get you some ice. And, and, I asked younger one to apologize. Sincerely. Which she did, with tears in her eyes as well. Of course, everyone recovered and went on to fight again the next night, toes and all.

The difference between the toe debacle and 2)? Well a whole stratosphere, but also very little. Hurt is hurt. Those feelings you think you shouldn’t be feeling, guess what? Also from hurt. And you know what makes hurt hurt more? And linger and resurface and hide behind corners? The hurt from some one or something that you never got an “I’m sorry” for and likely never will.

That hurts.

None of this new news and I am no where near qualified to tell you how navigate the pain and either find the sorry or learn to be okay without it, but what I am sure of is that you are damn well allowed to feel what you feel and to feel all of it as long as you need to.

So, let’s check in. Hate me or am I making some sense? Or, am I making sense, and thenceforth, you hate me?

Either way, I’ll summarize: you are meant to feel whatever it is you are feeling. If that feeling is termed shit, well then, there is work to do to move onto better. Also, on your way from shit to better if you admit/find that there was hurt, especially that lacked a sorry, well, that is really hard. You are allowed to struggle with that. If you are the unicorn who hasn’t been hurt or the enlightened wizard who has worked through it, the rest of us beg you, when we allude to our hurt, just be brave and sit with it, don’t redirect us. If you are neither unicorn nor wizard and are, in fact, just like the rest of us, know that we want to do the same for you. As a collective, I kind of think it is time that we go there.

Now, I think I am slowly starting to get it through my stubborn psyche that going “there” is hard. It’s scary. Absolutely. (And, brace yourself, if you haven’t yelled at me yet, you may be about to with this next statement..) Why do you think many seem super thrilled to sign ourselves up for the coaching trend versus spending some cash on counseling? Coaching to me sounds: positive, go get ’em, you’ve got this! Counseling to me sounds: grey, messy, holy shit am I really going to speak that? How would you like to spend your Sundays? Would you prefer a super amped pump up session about your strengths or a rocky trip down memory lane? Wooo boy! Sign me up for the former only please! Right? I’ve done neither, likely need to do significant amounts of both like yesterday, but I think it would be absolutely foolhardy, not to mention a large waste of money, to believe you could excel in wherever it is you are meant to go without getting a good understanding of where you’ve been. Not to mention, a few “I’m sorries.”

Of course we hesitate to spend our Sundays going there because of all the usuals: fear, uncertainty, shame. We wonder where exactly is “there”. And, geeze, is it bad? How bad? If I get all the way there will I be able to find my way back? I mean I feel like 6/10 on the shittiness scale now, what if I go there and it becomes 9/10, for life?

I am also willing to bet that going “there” is extra petrifying if you perceive yourself to be alone. I get that. If there is scary, if there is unknown, if there has no guarantee of a return ticket home, we’re going to desperately want a hand to squeeze, what if you think you have no hand to hold on the way? Scary.

I guess all I can say to all of that is, nonetheless, I think we have to go. Also, I’m willing to bet that you in fact do have a hand. And, if really and truly not, I happen to have two on offer.

So, I suppose, in the end what I think my particular heart aches for is, once again, more of yours. I also think that our hearts are full of all sorts of things. Some things good, most things really great, but a few things that are a little less positive. I want to see it all. I want to feel it all. I want to know if you feel like shit. Let’s laugh about it. Let’s troubleshoot it. Let’s google “super pumped up counselor” together. At some point it is going to have to happen. So let’s do it now, start the walk to the other side, then we can ride all the rainbow coloured unicorns of positivity we want while being coached to super stardom. Promise.

xo J

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LOVE

So I have a few weeks away from clinic and call, and it’s mid month, these two things are working out well for my mind to expand and wander. Lucky me.

I have always loved learning about the heart. First, it was purely practical. It was its physiology. Physiology is the study of the functions and actions of living things and all the phenomena involved in these. Rad right? I spent hours drawing arrows to and from the heart trying to memorize its patterns and flows. To this day I love those old medical drawings of hearts. There is something so grand and noble about them.

As I went further on in life and medicine, as many stories go, I had other interactions with the heart. Several times, it stopped beating. Oh how hard it is when it stops beating; whispering on my grandfather’s chest in that ICU when we knew the stop was near, holding my Dad in that ICU waiting room when it did, driving away from my grandmother’s hospital bed, knowing. Before any of this, in a state of constant effort to keep doors shut I suspect, walking that horse around that ring. My partner, my love. Those huge brown eyes that saw me. Knowing that when our walk was done, a needle would be placed and that would be that. Pets, friendships, loves, ideals, beliefs, these all have beating hearts. Some stop sometimes.

Of course, some start sometimes. Sometimes totally for the first time. Sometimes anew.

These days, I spending a lot of time listening to those first beats. Lucky me.

When you are my age, with my heart, having seen hearts stop and seen hearts start, you find yourself wanting to seek more, about the heart.

I’ve been doing this most wonderful meditation by Bree Melanson for the last few months. Of course, those that have had different educations or interests think of the heart a bit differently: as our true intelligence, as the seed of the soul, as a magnetic field, as a true north, as our truest selves. They talk of being wholehearted, exploring your heartspace, being heartfelt. Having thoroughly explored the terrain of the heart from the outside looking in in my twenties, I’m enjoying being guided through it a new way now, from the inside out.

Those of us who seek and wander, well honestly all of us, at some point in our lives will wonder about our purpose. We will question. I have been wrestling with this for a few years now. It’s been a little dance. Picture a cat and mouse near a wood pile. The cat sits quietly, waits, but eventually runs out of patience or senses an opportunity, so it pounces. Mouse darts behind wood. Elusive. Over and over. Cat gets tired, moves on to easier pursuits, like say, a career in medicine.

But this morning I had a clearer thought: what if my purpose is just love? Of course I place the just there as a placeholder for my hesitation with this idea and as a escape hatch for those back in the first world. That practical world. With all my education and training and privilege and ability, how could my purpose be simply love? Well, I don’t know, but I think it might be.

Purpose: the reason for which something exists.

Given my conditioned hesitation, still sitting and contemplating this morning, I sought to find evidence. Where have I felt love and did it feel like truth? This may seem a ridiculous question, but it wasn’t necessarily for me. I walked through all the corners of my memories and tried to move boxes and make a list. It was a little scary to realize the difficulty I had in doing this. Not because it, love, didn’t occur, but because, I think maybe, often I was too afraid to register it. Why? Another blog post maybe, hey?

But I pushed harder. That hand around my arm on those bus rides. Those wondrous birthdays. The letter given. When they hunted down the Thriller album for me. My hand and head on his warm neck. My kids, always. It was a good start.

Then of course I realized more of the point, when did I give it and how did that feel? Well, I gave it to all those goodbyes, some hellos, in that room, to her in the bathtub, to him in the car, to him on that day, every time I closed that front door for the night, and I give it to my patients and to my kids, always.

I feel it around me if I stop to.

So it is there. It is what I crave. And when it goes missing, I fade.

Is it a reasonable expectation to ask that love be there in your every day experience? Is that a reasonable ideal? Is it okay if it just bookends your days or if it just drops in unexpectedly from time to time? I suppose it depends on your soul doesn’t it? I don’t think it is okay for mine. It is the rod with which I divine. When I’ve been lost from love, I’ve simply been lost.

You can see why I had such a beautiful morning now can’t you?

Because here’s the exquisite gift (especially for yours truly) that I may be finally understanding: I have full control over LOVE. Because love is great to receive, yes, like really yes, but it is equally as great to give. So, in some ways, I can just relax. I have more understanding than I did yesterday and what has come to the light is, in fact, beautifully in reach. Of course, it is not that simple. It never is, is it. There is also a very big risk (especially for yours truly). The risk of letting the pain of all those stopped beats, and knowing there will be more, stand between me and my purpose.

Photo by Wyron A on Unsplash

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A hard rain’s a-gonna fall.

Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son?
And where have you been, my darling young one?
I’ve stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains
I’ve walked and I’ve crawled on six crooked highways
I’ve stepped in the middle of seven sad forests
I’ve been out in front of a dozen dead oceans
I’ve been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard
And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, and it’s a hard
It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall

Oh, what did you see, my blue-eyed son?
And what did you see, my darling young one?
I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it
I saw a highway of diamonds with nobody on it
I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippin’
I saw a room full of men with their hammers a-bleedin’
I saw a white ladder all covered with water
I saw ten thousand talkers whose tongues were all broken
I saw guns and sharp swords in the hands of young children
And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, and it’s a hard
It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall

And what did you hear, my blue-eyed son?
And what did you hear, my darling young one?
I heard the sound of a thunder, that roared out a warnin’
I heard the roar of a wave that could drown the whole world
I heard one hundred drummers whose hands were a-blazin’
I heard ten thousand whisperin’ and nobody listenin’
I heard one person starve, I heard many people laughin’
Heard the song of a poet who died in the gutter
Heard the sound of a clown who cried in the alley
And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard
It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall

Oh, what did you meet, my blue-eyed son?
Who did you meet, my darling young one?
I met a young child beside a dead pony
I met a white man who walked a black dog
I met a young woman whose body was burning
I met a young girl, she gave me a rainbow
I met one man who was wounded in love
I met another man who was wounded in hatred
And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard
It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall

And what’ll you do now, my blue-eyed son?
And what’ll you do now, my darling young one?
I’m a-goin’ back out ‘fore the rain starts a-fallin’
I’ll walk to the depths of the deepest dark forest
Where the people are many and their hands are all empty
Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters
Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison
And the executioner’s face is always well hidden
Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten
Where black is the color, where none is the number
And I’ll tell and speak it and think it and breathe it
And reflect from the mountain so all souls can see it
And I’ll stand on the ocean until I start sinkin’
But I’ll know my song well before I start singin’
And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, and it’s a hard
It’s a hard rain’s a-gonna fall

~ Dylan

Photo by Billy Berg on Unsplash

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Canaries

To my colleagues.

I’ve been asked to talk to you about why family physicians should “Rule the World”.

To start, I’d like to read something from Glennon Doyle’s Love Warrior:  She writes,

“The canary’s body was built to be sensitive to toxins, so the canary became their lifeguard.  When the toxin levels rose too high, the canary stopped singing, and this silence was the miners’ signal to flee the mine.  If the miners didn’t leave fast enough, the canary would die and, not much later, so would the miners.

….

I tell Mary Margaret that I don’t think we’re crazy, I think we’re canaries.

 “Could it be,” I ask, “that we aren’t making any of this up – we’re just sensing the very real danger in the air!” 

I tell Mary Margaret that I think the world is more than a little poisonous and that she and I were built to notice that.  I tell her that in lots of places, the canaries are appreciated.  They’re the shamans and the poets and the sages, but not here.  … [Here] They don’t want to know how broken the world is, so they just decide we’re broken.  When we stop singing, instead of searching the air, they put us away.  This is the place where they keep the canaries. “

Now, I still consider myself to be relatively new at this, which is pure delusion really, but I have been watching a lot of canaries stop singing recently or at least come very close.  The canaries I’m talking about?  Our patients.  They are so increasingly unwell.  Physically unwell, with no road signs to follow to get better.  Mentally and spiritually unwell, whatever that word means to you and them, with no hands reaching out.  Our patients are wandering through this world and health care system with their songs getting quieter and quieter.  What’s worse?  The “system” is so blindly far behind, it isn’t ready to understand this yet, it is NOT searching the air, and it is not and CAN not help them catch a fresh breath.

But you can and are, aren’t you?  Every minute in your office and likely most days when you are out of it – it’s your focus.  You get it entirely.  You are trying to get them the hell out of that mine and into fresh air.  Your work is never just medical, though your expertise in its breadth is astounding, it is always medical and a something else.  That is your exquisite gift.  In isolation, filling out a form, making a call, listening, looking in an ear when you know it’s fine, reviewing again that your thyroid is fine – but it might be that your boss is a real asshole, sometimes doesn’t seem like expertise, does it?  Wrong.  The beautiful ballet of acts you do every moment in your office, without even realizing it, is what keeps people singing.  I cherish my other colleagues absolutely, I don’t think any ill will towards those in other places in the system, and I am well aware that it takes a very large proverbial village, but I believe with all my heart that it is only us, here, that have the precise skillset needed to walk people out of mines.

Don’t believe me?  Pick any single patient that you’ve seen recently and then imagine what it would be like for them if you didn’t exist.  What would health care look like for them?  What would it cost them?  What would it cost the system?  If you vanished, who would replace you?

Still don’t believe me?  Think of a patient that you’ve worked with to get them “better” – whatever that meant in that circumstance.  Once they were “better” what did they then do?  Did they start playing music again?  Did they sponsor a refugee?  Did they show up better for their partner?  Were they able to keep this baby and break the cycle?  Did they make choices based on kindness instead of anger?  When someone is made to feel “better” they do better in places we can’t even imagine.  We know that.  We see that.

We, here, were trained to notice ALL the dangers out there and to help people walk away.  We don’t walk them out of one tunnel only to let them turn the wrong way down another, we get them right OUT.  We do so not only with expertise, ethic, and kindness, but also a firm understanding of the system as a whole and when a lever in it needs just a little finesse or a large yank.  We do this better than anyone.  We do “better” better than anyone.  And we’ve been doing this for a very long time.  Unfortunately, in mines that are becoming deeper with ever more complicated networks and harder to find resources.  This has consequences.  The consequence that drives me to write to you is that I see another group of canaries going unnoticed:

US. 

“I tell Mary Margaret that I think the world is more than a little poisonous and that she and I were built to notice that.  I tell her that in lots of places, the canaries are appreciated.  They’re the shamans and the poets and the sages, but not here.  … [Here] They don’t want to know how broken the world is, so they just decide we’re broken.  When we stop singing, instead of searching the air, they put us away.”

Sadly, I think this may resonate with a lot of us. 

We’ve been voicing the alarm for so long.  But instead of being brought up out of darkness, we are being told that we are the broken ones.  You need to delegate more, you need to be available more, you need to become more efficient, you are spreading yourself too thin, you are asking for too much, you need to take on more technology, you are at risk of burnout, you need to care more, you should be grateful like them over there, why don’t you feel grateful?  We are being put away.  If the canaries stop singing, the miners don’t get out.  Our patients are sounding the alarm about a toxic world.  We are sounding the alarm about a toxic system.  And we are here tonight because now the alarms must be heard.  I, personally, don’t want to work in a system where your songs don’t exist.  Without you, then everyone behind is the next to go, and then there is no “better”, anywhere.

“Ruling the world” may be a bit tongue in cheek or reek of ego and pomp, perhaps.  And if I were talking to a group of lost world leaders or social media CEOs then even its insinuation would be inane – the flame of their ego needs no gasoline.  But I’m not talking to them, I’m talking to you.  You are kind and moral.  You search the air for people. You set them free.  You are the shamans and the poets and the sages.  Tonight, is about making your songs heard far and wide.   What you are feeling isn’t “crazy”, no you aren’t making this up.  The feeling of being put away is real.  But, everyone in this room hears you and sings with you.  We know, change needs to happen, there are some who don’t hear yet.  For them to hear, we need to believe in our songs like we’ve never believed before.  We need to believe that by sounding the alarm we are doing good.  We need to believe that if we are allowed to walk out of the mine and take a fresh breath, then we allow thousands behind us to do the same.  This is not about ego or money or power, this is about the truth and what is right.  Please believe that your song has importance and worth and virtue.  When you do, you will get out, everyone behind you will get out, and “better” will be spread far and wide.  This world needs a lot of “better” right now.  So yes, my friends, please do, go forth, sing, and lead this world.

Xo J

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Reading.

What I’ve loved recently:

Brave New World – Huxley

  • if you can grab the version with the Intro by Margaret Atwood I recommend it
  • I found this made me think a lot about parenting among many other things

Love Warrier – Doyle

  • not perfect, but there are some pieces in here that so hauntingly describe what it is to be a woman that it can take your breath away quite literally

Atomic Habits – Clear

  • I over did it a while ago with the whole “hack” and “productivity” genre that I’ve been avoiding this book for a while, surprised and happy to report it is really really good and think universally applicable

Currently in the middle of:

The Bell Jar – Plath

On my bedside table:

The Handmaid’s Tale and The Testaments – Atwood