Heartbreak in All Its Forms

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I wrote this in November 2014 and recently revisited it because the world can be a crazy, heartbreaking place, and sometimes we need a reminder that we can do it, whatever it may be.

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Dealing with heartbreak can be a huge obstacle.

When I speak about heartbreak, I’m pretty sure I’m not talking about what probably immediately comes to mind. Life hands us all kinds of surprises--some are wonderful and unexpected and others are devastating, challenging, maddening (and, yes, unexpected). Some are big deals, some are little deals that feel like big deals at the time, and others… Well, they just are, because that’s part of life.

Sometimes we’re heartbroken because we want to change things for the better, but it doesn’t seem to work out. Plans don’t fall into place; minds aren’t open to change; perhaps you’re not in a place to enact change. So what do you do? Every person is different…

Sometimes we’re heartbroken because of a loss. This can be the loss of a loved one, the loss of someone we didn’t necessarily know but was someone we looked up to and felt hope because of their existence. This can be the loss of an imagined outcome, the “if only” situations, the idea of something. All of these describe grief…

Sometimes we’re heartbroken because we’re frustrated. Maybe it’s a lack of control, maybe fear, maybe that we just can’t change circumstances.

Sometimes we’re heartbroken because we’ve closed ourselves off to something that we want (but apparently not enough to change from within to open up).

Sometimes we’re heartbroken by time. It either goes too quickly during a time we want to cherish, or moves too slowly during a time we’d rather forget. Sometimes we don’t know how quickly or slowly we want time to go because of the unknown: how will this illness progress; how will my child develop; how will I handle this big responsibility; what if I screw up; what does the future hold and how am I supposed to prepare for that?

I certainly don’t have the answers, but I’ve found sometimes the following things help:

• Find strength in others (and yourself), talk to a good friend.
• Look for hope.
• Believe in yourself.
• Take a break and a breath.
• Have a good cry.
• Go for a walk - engage those endorphins.
• Take time to feel whatever it is you need to feel - give yourself permission.
• Give yourself permission to move on, too.
• Step away from a situation if need be.
• Assess the situation - can you change it? No? Yes? Accept what you can do or change, and accept what you can't.
• Make it manageable - rather than be overwhelmed, break it down into more manageable pieces.
• Know that no two people react/feel/grieve the same, and that's ok. 
• Seek help beyond friends if you need to.

Remember you’re more capable than you think you are. You can handle heartbreak and challenges, and you don’t have to do it alone.

If your feelings are more than you can bear, please seek out professional help immediately. Resources can be found here: http://www.mentalhealth.gov/get-help/immediate-help/

Naming My Anxiety

I'm going to get rather personal for a minute and, in all honesty, I'm quite nervous about it.

Have you ever struggled with a feeling or experience you couldn't really define or name?  Have you ever gone through something, thinking you were crazy or over-emotional or maybe just pms-ing?  I have gone through some less-than-ideal situations over the last five years.  I tried my best to keep it together and roll with the punches (so-to-speak), but sometimes your best doesn't quite cut it and that is more than okay. Figuring just that one thing out took way too long.

Nothing that has happened to me was overly traumatic or devastating.  A lay-off, being out of work for a few years, finally finding a job and suffering through while the situation became more and more unhealthy, watching my Grandmother through her last days with us.  These are things that people deal with every day all over the world, these things and worse.  There's another lesson that has taken me too long to figure out (and still takes constant reminding), my problems were big for me.  They were huge and they were stressful and they caused pain and doubt and fear for years, and that, too, is more than okay. 

Toward the end of my stressful job, I began to be abnormally emotional.  I cried at the drop of a hat.  I had been looking for a new job for 8 months with no hope of finding one.  Work was painful.  I came home crying during lunch breaks just to let off enough steam to make it through the rest of the day.  I was constantly worried I would lose my job, or have to leave to save my sanity, and that would leave me jobless yet again.  I couldn't become an even bigger burden to my family, who supported me through everything.  I was exhausted mentally, physically, and spiritually. I would take bathroom breaks and just sit on the floor, in the dark, and cry uncontrollably until I could breathe again.  Finally, my mom told me to quit my job and move home to help her take care of my Grandmother.  I felt a literal weight lifted from my shoulders. For a moment, I breathed easier.  And I still cried.  A small pebble hit my windshield one day and I burst into tears, thinking of the money it would cost if I had to replace the whole thing.

Then, one day I was driving and listening to Steve Martin's audio book, Born Standing Up.  He describes having a panic attack and it was like a light bulb turned on inside my head.  Again, a weight was lifted.  He described a version of what I experienced and he gave it a name.  And maybe that's the most important thing that has come of this, understanding what a name can do.  I have since heard other people describe panic attacks and the things that bring them on.  Now I have a name and I have several accounts confirming that it's a real thing.  I'm not just sad or worried or stressed or overwhelmed or too sensitive.  All of those things seemed too small.  Depression seemed too big.  Occasional anxiety and panic attacks are super sucky, but manageable.  It's something I could suddenly wrap my mind around and try to understand.

Once I moved in with my parents, I tried to overcome some of these issues.  I realized that social situations were the problem, and now, as they are returning full force, I realize that unpredictability and lack of control are what cause the anxiety and, in turn, the panic attacks.  For a while, I just pushed through, taking very slow baby steps, as I tried to make new friends and make a new space that felt comfortable and safe.  I faced setbacks with the death of my Grandmother and I am facing them again now.  The difference now is that I know what is happening, I can recognize the onset of an attack and I can maybe try to stop it or work through it before it becomes a real problem.  But most importantly, I have friends and family around me who care what is happening and listen to me when I feel crazy for no reason and make me do things that are hard because they know I can do them.

I know I'm not alone in dealing with this.  And honestly, I've told very few people, because (as much as I know this is not true) it still feels weak and shameful.   I'm sharing this publicly now because I also know that the more support and knowledge we have, the easier it can be to work through.  I know what I feel is sometimes more than what others feel.  I know that sometimes my thoughts are just plain wrong and far too self-critical.  I know that what I feel and go through pales in comparison to what some other people deal with.  But maybe acknowledging all of this can help someone else give their struggles a name.  Or maybe it can just help me unload just a tiny bit more weight off my shoulders.  One way or another, maybe this can do some good.

Lesson Learned, Cara: Love, Hope and Loss

Here's our first contest entry, written by Cara Stone. Don't forget the deadline is August 7th - keep sending us your essays!

"The kind of hugs you give during times of grief are those when you can’t tell which person is the one holding the other up. They are the kind where you are holding so tightly that one could go limp with sorrow and neither would fall. They are the kind where you are trying to convey that, somehow, the world will go on and that you can rely on your friends to be there and understand that your heart is broken and they won’t try to fix it but, rather, just be there with you as you relearn how to navigate the world.”

I wrote those words three days after he died. Let me back up. Over the July 4th weekend a close friend of mine from college got married. Less than twelve hours later one of her closest friends, an usher at her wedding, died unexpectedly at the age of thirty. He left behind a wife, a three-month-old daughter, a father, and friends who loved him like a brother.

I got the call at 1:57 a.m. from the bride, Beth, saying something had happened to Jeremy; she didn’t know the extent of it all but she wanted to let someone else in the wedding party know where she was and what little she knew, and that she’d call back when she knew more. The next call came at 2:09 a.m. Beth managed to get out three words before she couldn’t speak anymore. Before her voice became overwhelmed with grief for the friend she considered a brother. “Jeremy didn’t make it...” she said. The “it” trailed away into sobs. She managed to find a few more words, getting them out through the cries and gasps for air; the message was something along the lines that she didn’t know what to do and she needed someone who could think straight to come to the hospital right away.

I have never been in this kind of situation, so close to the actual moment of death. My heart ached, and continues to ache, for Jeremy’s wife, for Beth and her partner on their wedding night...I couldn’t imagine what they were going through...what they continue to go through.

And yet, I had a different perspective. Though I was greatly saddened by the loss of Jeremy, more of the grief and sadness I felt was that for those who have lost their shared future with Jeremy. I’m not married, but I can’t imagine losing my (someday) husband and never again seeing his smile, the one I would expect to see on the pillow next to me every morning for the rest of my life...to lose the plans we might make to go visit friends next week...to lose the conversations about how to raise our children... to lose the times when the pile of dishes in the sink would be too much and I might wash and he might dry...to lose the idea of growing old together...to lose the shared laughter...to lose the times when we might just sit and be, together...

That night I told myself I never wanted to fall in love so I would never have to face the kind of pain Jeremy’s wife was feeling, the despair and grief. Even now I keep going back and forth...But I have faith that there is so much more to love than just the now. That, somehow, the memory of the love that was shared along with the love and support of friends and family would help me continue, to face each day as it comes. Nothing would be “better;” nothing would be “alright.” It would be a different life than I or anyone else could have envisioned...one that I might not want to face. But it would still have love. As long as there is at least a little bit of love I could still have hope. Though it scares me, I won’t (and can’t) give up on love.