Packing up emotional baggage...

I was going to consult with a friend to ask whether I should reconsider writing a blog that's a little more emotional and a little more personal. The reason was that when I write really emphatically about silly things, I necessarily take a different tone than when I'm on a heavier topic, and I was afraid of making the friends who read my blog a little uncomfortable... after all, it's a lot nicer to read to silly, happy things. For that reason, I won't mind if you skip this one and check back another time when I've posted a crazy-headed rant or some such thing. But if you do choose to read on, know that I'm writing this for me right now because I'm yearning for an outlet. And what better outlet do I have than my very own blog. 

My disclaimer does sort of merit its own mini-rant because it really has a lot to do with my own personal preference for where and when I'm ok with being assaulted by someone else's emotional garbage. All day long we're affronted by hysterical mass media and persistently needy emotional leeches (we all have them in our lives, I'm sure) who prefer to appear completely unaware that we might just need some space to feel our own feelings and not attach to things on the outside. It was for that reason that I just wanted to make whoever chose to read this aware that you are invited to come along knowing that this is part of the way my analytical mind processes things more easily - by first considering what I'm feeling, then expressing it, then thinking about it again in a different way (sometimes with the help of another person's perspective), then really working through it. That said...

Everything in my world changed after August 29, 2005. I lost my home, 99% of my physical possessions, my community, and a lot of my innocence. There were days that would go by soon after that where I was completely numb; I couldn't feel anything. No anger, no pain, no happiness. Nothing. Then suddenly I would open my eyes to a new day and feel it ALL. All of the hurt, all of the pain, all of the emptiness, and then I would become acutely aware of my condition and of how very (even if justifiably) unhappy I was. But then I would totally shut all of that out. And I didn't cry. That was just how I dealt with things - to feel all of that and not really get in touch with it and allow it all to have its affect. Oh, I screamed into my pillow more than once trying to just release the frustration of it all, but I didn't really allow myself to begin the grieving process until a year or two after the storm had passed.

Many of us have experienced tremendous loss in some way or another, and for a long time I would actually spend time considering how one loss differed from another - losing a loved one is without question different from losing a pet; losing an entire community is different from losing a home to a fire or tornado. It took a long time for me to realize that comparisons like that are not only unfair, they're ridiculous. Even two people who experience the same kind of loss or tragedy 'feel' it differently and experience radically different emotions; they process it differently. But the truth is, when it comes right down to it, we're all dealing with things. Yes, some are more grave than others, but we all have baggage that we're carrying against our will; and although sometimes it's only just heavy enough to remind us once in a while that it's there, other times it feels just too heavy to bear.

My default response to extreme tragedy is to feel obligated to take an approach that I'll call "The Tenacious Bulldog" - the need to "get on with things," to ignore the feelings that really hurt in favor of getting right down to business and putting life back into motion. That definitely feels better for a moment (which can actually stretch out over a year or two), but the crash-and-burn, so-much-for-the-afterglow fallout is 100 times more painful. I know I'm not the only one who falls into this trap. We're spoon fed platitudes all throughout our lives, such as "It'll all be ok," "You'll be fine," "Everything will work out" as though the very words being spoken will make it so. What I really wish we could all tap into, though, is that it's not all going to be all right. It hurts. It will tear you apart. And the hardest thing to digest... it never goes away 100%. The best part, though, is that we don't have to buy the lies. We can be "not" ok. We're all broken, all on a journey, and a revelation that I got nearly 3 years ago...

We're more than the sum of our experiences.

We are complex creatures, made up of so much more than what we do, what has happened to us, what we believe, think, feel. We are unique in the least trite way. Everything we hear, see, taste, feel, touch - it's all perceived in such a way that only we could. We're free to know ourselves, to explore our consciousness for hidden truths about who we are and what we dream and aspire to be. This is something that too many of us too often neglect because we've bought the lie that everything that is true about us is right there on the surface and that we need to be ok. But we are a beautiful mess and, if we're willing, always evolving but never perfecting who we are, who we need to be.

All of that having been for me, I'll end with this for you (and, well, still for me too): Whatever your "Hurricane Katrina" might be, I invite you to feel every bit of the emotions that come with it. Don't bottle it up - let it out. Scream. Cry. Hug up your pillow tight. Just feel. There's something much more human about reaching into yourself and getting in touch with what is real than to push it down and try to appear ok. It's ok to be a little broken, to feel vulnerable. You are more than the sum of your experiences. Yes, I said that the hurt never goes away completely, but it does ease up with time. And the sooner you choose to experience all of the rage and the anguish and the frustration, the sooner you will come closer to knowing who you are. Don't pride yourself on being "the strong one"; be the authentic one. Fall apart a little. And love it.