Compassion

I have been told multiple times that I should write a book about "Being Maddie's Mom." I have written about some of my experiences as her mother in my journal; and until now, only in my journal. There have been many private and painful moments where I have felt I couldn't share them--either because they hurt too much or because of fear of judgment that my own feelings were wrong to feel. This is silly because logically I know that our feelings aren't right or wrong--they just are. And if we are truly healthy we allow ourselves to go "through" these emotions. However, there is a part of me that has been so unforgiving of my own humanity. There are moments that I haven't begun to write about because I simply cannot go there yet and some I am still trying to make sense of their purpose in my life. But that book isn't going to be written by leaving those journal entries hidden away. So today I am commencing a new beginning: a journey to unearth these writings and to write even more.

Today, I am simply picking a starting point--where I can begin to weave the individual threads (experiences) into a tapestry that represents the complexity, the richness and the colorful hues of the last eleven years. There may not seem a rhyme or reason to the threads introduced, but I am convinced that, if allowed to unfold, a picture will be unveiled and a story will be told.

The following is a journal entry dated January 4, 2008. It just happened to be the first journal entry I picked today to review. I decided to peruse no further. I did so because I was surprised by my own lack of recall about how long I had been trying to deal with the most recent episode of depression in my life. 2009 was undoubtedly the most horrible year of my life. And I was never so happy to see a year come to an end. But when I looked at the date of this journal entry, I was shocked to see written evidence that I had been in denial about how long things had been so bad; apparently 2008 was the beginning of the crescendo into the chaos of 2009. It was also evidence that we are not alone and that small miracles grace us daily.

Journal entry dated January 4, 2008:
Our lives are reflected to us in the most unexpected times and places. Today I was standing in an aisle of a health store looking with desperate hopefulness for a supplement that would help me in my plight to find some hormonic harmony in my life. A woman asked me if I needed any help. Boy was that the wrong thing to ask. I started in spilling my guts; part of my brain was going, “Here she goes again with her blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.” and the other half saying, “Let her do this; this is her process. She is trying.” My brain banter was interrupted by the sound of my own voice saying, “I’ve been doing some research on PMDD (premenstrual dysmorphic disorder); do you have any Vitex?” “Of course. This way.” I followed her. I don’t remember specifically what I said, except that it was about being a mom to a special needs child and being overwhelmed and trying to take better care of myself. As I talked, she nodded and I watched tears form in her eyes and I found myself saying, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.” As I said it, I wiped my own tears. She shook her head and said, “I understand how you feel. I have a special needs daughter, too. I am a single mom, too. And I had to make the decision to put her in a home. I couldn’t handle her anymore."

I fought to maintain my composure, but my tears were flowing more readily now. My heart ached with compassion for this woman I didn’t even know. How is it that I had come to meet this stranger who had dealt with the very issue I'd been avoiding considering about my own daughter this very week? “I can’t imagine how much courage that must have taken for you to make such a choice.” I said softly to her. She half-smiled, with a painful hint of something I wasn’t sure of…maybe shame or guilt, or simply just hurt.

We had made our way to the cash register, where she told me my total. As I handed her my credit card, she handed me a box of Kleenex. I took two. I really wanted three, but I was practicing restraint. As she handed me the receipt I was to sign for her, she helped herself to a Kleenex, too. We stood there talking and crying as if we were old friends; not as if she was at work or there were other strangers around, able to hear some of the most difficult and intimate details of our lives. As I took my receipt and sack of optimism, she said, “Wait.” She took one of store’s business card and wrote her name and phone number on it. As she did, she broke down crying. Shaking her head, she said, “I’m just going to cry some more.” I reached in my wallet for my own business card and wrote my personal cell phone number on it and said, “I think we need to get together for some tea or tequila.” We both laughed knowingly. I reached across the counter, awkwardly, but eagerly and hugged Cathy, my new friend. I sighed heavily, but with hope that when I left, she would feel the same little bit of peace she had just given me. As I got in my car and drove away, I was thankful for such a sorrowful, but sweet exchange.

It made me aware of the irony that even though I say I believe as humans we fundamentally require connection, and I know I truly do, I conduct my life in a fashion that prohibits this connection on so many levels; and the connections I do allow are very controlled. The sad reason for this is that I fear if people knew how I really feel, they wouldn’t want me in their lives. Instead, they would think I am crazy. I feel crazy. And the craziness is indescribable and terrible and truly awesome. Even people who love me couldn't love me anymore if they knew--so I keep them at a self-prescribed distance.

I desire so emphatically to live an authentic life. But lately this desire has been superseded by my level of distraction, depression and anxiety. Sometimes I feel like I want to crawl out of my body. I don’t know what to do with the racing thoughts or the bodily sensations. I feel tingly and numb, nauseous, and like I am having the onset of a hypoglycemic event, but I know I am not because I’ve just eaten. I feel like I have been robbed of all the pleasure receptors in my brain and body. I am hoping and praying that the nutritional supplements I’ve purchased will make a change.


My meeting Cathy today reminded me that even strangers can show us that we are not alone. Our exchange was a welcome and surprising gift. The wanting I felt to comfort her in her pain reminded me how compassion connects us to each other and to the deepest parts of our emotional selves in the most unexpected of ways.