Today, I spent part of my day decluttering the kitchen and reorganizing my toolboxes. It was a bit cathartic. I threw a load of things out. And it got me thinking about how cluttered I have been feeling in my mind of late.
Clutter is a funny thing. We “collect” knickknacks, and we display them so everyone—especially us—can see them. From little magnets, we bought on that visit to Fisherman’s Wharf in San Francisco to the owl candle holders that came from someone who thought they were cute.
The process of dealing with my grief as it came in its rawest form was difficult to say the least. To overcome it – to move beyond that state of deepest grief – means we have to experience our grief. It means we have to experience all the emotions. And, experiencing so many emotions at the same time make us feel like we have lost control of ourselves. I know it did for me.
In my last blog, I talked about what resilience means, and how I define the three kinds of resilience. In this instalment, let’s take a little time to learn about how we can start to build resilience. We can learn how resilience helps us to become stronger and more self-accepting of our faults and our mistakes.
Resilience is not simply being able to bounce back from setbacks, tragedies and injuries. It also includes being able to learn from the mistakes we make. It also helps us to accept the consequences of our mistakes with grace and self-love.
I have been doing a lot of work on resilience lately. We have all been told that the concept of resilience refers to one’s ability to “bounce back” from adversity. Being resilient helps us to recover from setbacks relatively comfortably. It also allows us the grace to move forward through difficult situations in life.
While resilience comes naturally to some, anybody can train himself to become more resilient. Like any skill, resilience can be built with time and practice so that you can feel confident in your ability to face adversity and come through it.
Cooking was something I was always interested in doing. The first meal I ever cooked was a southern fried chicken dinner when I was around 11-years old. After that, I simply enjoyed cooking whenever the mood struck. I cooked regularly as a teen, then into my adulthood, I carried on.
Suzanne was an amazing cook—she was a true “foodie”. She loved to go to a restaurant and try something new. Then, as soon as the time was right, she would recreate the same meal at home. Her knack was getting the flavors almost identical to whatever we had eaten at the restaurant. It was a natural ability of hers that never ceased to amaze.
“In the Lakota tradition, a person who is grieving is considered most waken, most holy.”
It is not an alien concept. In many religions and belief systems (Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism, etc.), the bereaved are held in high regard and “revered” for a certain length of time, but what happens when that time is “over?”
It is my hope that one day, in the very-distant future, I will look back and see how far I have come and be proud of myself and my resilience. And when it comes time to close my eyes for the last time, I hope to be listening to music, because if all of my feelings of gratitude and positivity were to be encapsulated in one word, I think I would choose music.
Why can’t we ask for help?
Why are we—the collective we, men and women, widowed and non-widowed—so reticent to ask for help when we need it? I mean truly ask. I’m not talking about simply asking directions, either.
As humans, we are truly capable of being and doing anything. Literally. With exception of flying (although I’ve seen videos of people jumping off mountains wearing those amazingly cool flight suits, so even that may be possible), we can pretty much do anything we set our minds to do. But we “can’t” ask for help.
For many of us, the idea of moving forward—of creating a new life—seems somewhat alien, I know. I think most of us feel this life has been thrust upon us, and we have no choice but to carry on. But I disagree. I think it is a mistake to think this way. I know that after maybe three or four months into my widowhood, I wanted to completely change my life and how I had previously lived.
So now, I feel as though the sun has set on my old life; and I begin anew.
I have done a lot of work on myself over the last two years since Suzanne died. This morning, I had a revelation.
My attention has still been scattered. The revelation came when listening to a podcast about brain science. It dawned on me that I must apply my attention to what has become most important to me. This means placing it on activities and relationships that serve me—and not just what I “think” I need to place my attention and focus on.
In the last two years, I have made some seriously life altering choices. Originally, I was going to call this post “Bad Decisions”… But “Accepting Choices” actually seems more appropriate.
Over the last two years, I have found that on numerous occasions, I have “bitten off a lot more than I can chew.” It has been extremely difficult to chew on some of the things I have chosen to do—mostly to distract myself from my grief—which makes it even harder to swallow. No more. Things are starting to give, and I have started to learn the power of saying “no” to things (especially those that are distracting me from my grief and my feelings)… Unfortunately, I’m still a novice.
