Musings

Musings this morning, July 17, 2021

I write a lot about trauma and grief not because I’ve experienced more than others but because I’m a writer, and in my calling, we write what we know.

And part of what I know is this.

We’ve lived in a society that shamed intense emotion with the demand spoken often in a plea to move on. I quip about the notion, “chin up, chest out, shoulders back, eyes front,” but that is in fact the edge of shaming. We try. God knows, I tried. Walking through life in a fog of grief and trauma is like walking through a house of mirrors. Reality is clouded. Sense of self is distorted. Escape is impossible. Yet we try. To keep going.

It wasn’t until I eventually succumbed to the grief, exercising sorrow so intense I felt I might never recover that the long process to healing began. A sliver of light and hope, flashed. Then another. I wondered. Is it over? No. It was the tip of the iceberg. There was still more to process. Grief washed over me in waves so often I was afraid I’d drown. I emerged. Was that enough? I wondered. Can I finally get back to my life and who I was?

Another difficult lesson.
There was no going back to who I was before. She was gone. Another loss. More grief. Trying to go back to the personality untouched by trauma is a tune to trying to go back to the womb. That safe place before.

But “I don’t want to move on. I know the place I lost. I want that place. I’m comfortable there. It was difficult enough to make it here. I want nothing new. I want what I had.” Grief. 

Moving forward after trauma is neither sensible nor straight forward. Neither is Life after trauma. One-step-at-a-time applies. One day at a time, hour at a time, minute at a time. Inches. Two steps forward one step back. Living it. Recognizing it. Feeling it. It all: grief, doubt, anxiety, unsureness, procrastination, impatience, ….

When I heard this analogy, life started to make sense: Trying not to grieve is like living everyday holding a beach ball underwater. You expend so much energy keeping the ball under water you have that much less energy and cognitive ability to deal with daily life.  It’s when you finally let go of the ball and let it surface that you move on with resources and clarity.

The Pollyanna’s of the world remind us to be thankful for what we have. “Others have it worse, we should get over it.” God knows, I know others have it, have had it worse. However, grief needs processing and processing is unique to each of us. So, a nod to the Pollyannas for they are where I once was. They might cross the chasm at some point and too will meet the suggestion they just move on.

We learn what we live. Writers write what we know.

I hope someone reading this feels less alone today.

Be grateful, yes. I am truly grateful. 

Gratitude and grief can co-exist.

Step with love a step at a time.

Christine Sarno-Doyle

Musings this morning, February 14, 2022

I am working on acceptance…that where I am is enough.
There has always been a goal. I’ve always been driven.
I understand why.
Of late, though, with neither I have felt asea. 

In hindsight, the drive though well intentioned had consequences.
Blinders. Overextending, stress, anxiety, the ripple effects of which washed onto and over others to their detriment.

I’m comfortable today and would like to stay this way.
But what of passion? Mission? Contribution? 

Am I simply to exist and enjoy? … and immediately hear the ridiculousness in the asking. It’s just that there are only a few times I can remember that I lived simply.

Haven’t written much of substance lately. Every so often I revisit earlier writing, and to get the creative juices flowing, or in a desire to do or be more, I repost. Serendipitously someone else posts about being enough, not having to be more.
I take those to heart. 

So, I sit with acceptance.

There are no long-sought shores on the horizon.
There are whispers, though, which have not manifested into a destination.

I surmise that at this age acceptance is a healthy respect of drive and desire and for wisdom that energy be focused and deliberate.

There are whispers which have not manifested clearly.
Until then…

Musings this morning, February 5, 2021

Thanks for following my writing page.

I’m unsure as to where I’ll go from here. 

To have a book published authors need to have a following. Publishers want to see that there is an interested audience. But the building of - specifically the solicitation of - that audience feels foreign, uncomfortable. Promoting myself is out of my comfort zone. I prefer putting my work out there and letting go.  

I am leaning towards publishing my book online, print on demand and e-book, letting everyone know when it’s available and letting go.

I’m of the mindset that if we take the steps, and it’s the right path, the universe will conspire with us. “If it doesn’t open, it’s not your door.” 

So, the lack of activity here is me being me. 

That feels better.  

Musings this morning, December 21, 2020

In 2013 it was suggested that I was suffering from PTSD a suggestion I promptly dismissed. My reasoning: I had not been through enough. During a counseling session, I was asked to describe how I felt. 

"Shattered" was my answer. 

Not broken. Shattered.
It was a mind-body feeling as if there was nothing left.

“Do you know how to draw?” The counselor asked.
“Not really.”
“Do you think you could draw a vase?”
“Yes”
“Draw a vase of how you felt before. Then, I want you to draw a vase of how you feel today.”

This is what I drew.

At my next appointment, I presented them. 

The before vase was never perfect, had scratches and cracks. 

The today vase was shattered but I felt more so than what I drew.  In reality, I felt the entire bottom left corner was gone but could not draw the gaping hole for fear I would never be whole again. The thought terrified me, so I stopped.

Looking at the vases I could see significance in each.
The before one solid, strong, functional.
The shattered one, character. Interesting. Each line held an untold story.

This is when I learned about the Japanese art of Kintsugi. Broken pieces of pottery are mended by using a Japanese lacquer and the joints painted with gold or silver powder. It's a metaphor for embracing our flaws, seeing the broken parts of ourselves and others and a way of embracing them and the character each flaw holds. 

I’m glad I stopped drawing though. The thought still frightens me.

Sharing this for anyone who needs it.
I was diagnosed with PTSD in 2014.