In one of my previous blogs, I describe my outrage at the neurologist who gave me the news of my Multiple Sclerosis diagnosis. "It is OK to cry. This is devastating news. You will likely be debilitated because of this", were his words I heard faintly in the background. I say "faintly" because it was a bit like I was in a Charlie Brown cartoon listening to the teacher. You know the one who has that hard to understand echo of a voice. "Wha wha wha wha". That one. It was happening as if it were in slow motion and rather surreal. He was pointing to lesions on my brain up on the large light bright box on the wall. I would not cry. I could not cry. Instead I grabbed my MRI films - this was before everything was digital or even before those slim floppy discs, and with those huge films tucked beneath my arm, I bolted out of there. I was furious. How dare this monster try to rob me of my optimistic way of dealing with difficult situations. A long elevator ride down to the parking lot with my husband in tow, and all that I could do was repeat the sayings that I had always spouted out during difficult times. "Everything happens for a reason. It is meant to be. This will make me a better person. Good will come of this". I had to believe this to be true. I could not go anywhere else with this news. I thought that living by these sayings, allowed me to be strong in the face of adversity. I was proud of the ways that I could always find the positive in any situation.
I still believe that my positive outlook on life is one of my strengths but I read an article today, that shed a different light on things for me. Tim Lawrence shook things up for me this morning in his article titled, Everything Doesn't Happen For a Reason. In his article, he writes that grief is painful and speaks about how when life gets turned upside down, the only thing we must do is grieve. He goes on to share that there are some things in life that can't be fixed but that can only be carried. What a thought. "Carried".
This made me wonder - how might things have been different for me all of those years ago, if instead of rushing out of that neurologist's office cursing him for his negative outlook, I had allowed the news to really sink in. What if I had allowed myself to accept his invitation to cry at receiving this news? What if while descending in that silent never ending elevator ride, I had been able to tell my husband how frightened I was? What if I could have allowed him to tell me how frightened he was? What if I could have allowed myself to grieve this news instead of pushing through it trying to prove to the people in my world that I could handle this with a great attitude and that I would make the most of the situation? How might things have been different if I could have allowed myself to grieve?
I look back at that time in my life and I see now that I was too afraid to feel the full range of emotions that would come with grieving the loss of my health at such a young age. I could not go there.
I am grateful that this article found me this morning before going in for a routine brain MRI. I once had to medicate myself just to get through those hours lying motionless in a narrow tube, with my head in a padded vice like container, listening to those never ending loud banging and grinding noises. I now meditate my way through the process and have to admit that I feel a sense of accomplishment over the mastery of this beast of a test. Having MS and claustrophobia don't always go easily together but my mindfulness practice has prevailed in this area and I can now get through the longest of MRIs without sedatives. Back to my original thought. During the scans today, I was thinking about the article and this notion that not everything happens for a reason. I was thinking about the importance of the process of grieving loss. I could not help but remember the times that I thought I was comforting someone, in the wake of their struggles, by offering such encouraging words as, "Things happen for a reason. You will learn from this. Good can come of this", and I found myself wishing so deeply that I could rewind time so that I could be with each of those people differently. If I could be with every person I have ever been with, who was hurting deeply, again - I would now choose to say to them, "I know that you are hurting and I am here with you".
I realize now that my inability to be with my own grief, also prevented me from really being present with others during their grief. In trying to fix it or make it less than it is, I have only been denying myself and those who I care about the chance to really grieve.
I still choose to look at life as a glass half full rather than half empty. I still choose to look for the positive in situations. I believe that good can come from challenges but I don't necessarily believe that the good would not have come regardless. I now also choose to be more authentic, allowing myself to feel the full range of my emotions - not just the impressive ones that make me appear to the outside world as if I have it all together. Author Anna Quindlen wrote, "The thing that is really hard and really amazing, is giving up on being perfect and beginning the work of becoming yourself". This resonates with me.
To read Tim Lawrence's article: http://www.timjlawrence.com/…/everything-doesnt-happen-for-…
