Anxiety and panic are inside jobs.
That's one reason why it's so hard for someone who hasn't experienced them to understand what they are like.
In the past few days, I've had the opportunity to try to explain what they feel like to friends and family who have loved ones who suffer from anxiety and panic. If there is any good that can come out of my experience, perhaps being able to share the "inside" information is it.
Imagine sitting in your favorite chair, with your favorite beverage at hand. (Island Coconut Coffee with real cream.) The sun is splashed across the floor and the cat is basking in the warmth. You aren't awaiting a medical diagnosis. No debt collectors are banging at the door. You aren't facing foreclosure or starvation. No one is dying right this second. All in all, things are pretty okay. If anyone were to look at you, you'd look downright peaceful and content.
On the outside.
Inside it's a different story.
Let's start with the heart. It's probably racing, as fast as if you had just run around the block. It might even feel like it's skipping a beat now and then. But that's nothing compared to the stomach. It's in literal knots, twisting and churning, with surges of nausea. It feels like coming down with the flu. Only you aren't. Then the breath. You feel like you are suffocating, like nothing short of great gasping gulps will bring in enough oxygen. Yet you know if you give in, you'll hyperventilate and feel even worse than you do right now, so you try to breath as slowly and steadily as you can...all the while feeling like you are suffocating.
That's just the tip of the physical feelings. You might add feeling faint, dizzy, shaky, trembling, too restless for words--or conversely, absolutely frozen in place unable to move. All the while, sitting in your favorite chair, watching the cat stretch in the sunshine, looking peaceful and calm.
Mentally it's even worse.There is a sensation of impending disaster and complete doom. You might have enough money in the bank to pay your bills this week, but your mind looks ahead to next Christmas and goes hysterical about how you are going to pay to travel to be with the family if they invite you again. Not to mention how you are going to pay the taxes next April. If you can slow down those thoughts, others catapult in. What if your mammogram, which is scheduled in six months, comes back with a problem like it did a year ago even though it turned out to be fine and you didn't have cancer? What if, when you decide you want to sell your house, you have to repaint it all and how will you find a reliable painter who won't overcharge? And what if the jar of jam that is in the refrigerator has gone bad and you'll get food poisoning because you had it on your toast this morning? And what if you are out of work next year? How will you pay your bills? And how will you pay the taxes in April!!!! Especially if the family wants you to visit at Christmas.
Inside, it's as if your body and mind have become a blender of terror, the physical contributing to the mental and the mental to the physical, all shredded and whirled into fear soup.
Well-intended family and friends try to reason with you...if you risk enough to share what's going on...by telling you that Christmas is more than nine months away and it's not even tax day this year, much less next year, and you aren't planning on selling anytime soon and jam has too much sugar to go bad and no one knows for sure if they will have a job next year.
It doesn't help. You know these things intellectually and if logic were enough to banish anxiety and panic, no one would suffer from them.
Sometimes people who are frustrated because anxiety and panic don't make logical sense and tell you to just get over it. If it were that easy, you'd do it because you would like nothing more than to be freed from these mental and physical sensations.
Others suggest that you take medications and even if you are taking what your doctor has prescribed, you know that the only way to be totally free of the feelings is to be drugged into oblivion and you can't or won't live that way. Not to mention that the mind is the most powerful force on earth and a panic-striken mind can override all but the strongest of drugs.
There probably are some moments when the panic lifts. Maybe it's first thing in the morning, when you wake and think, "Oh, it's gone for good!" Or perhaps it's at night, when you fall into bed, praying that when you wake it won't be brooding on your pillow waiting for consciousness to break through. In those times, when the physical and mental torture wanes, you hope that perhaps today will mark the end or at least the beginning of the end. When it doesn't, the disappointment is almost too much to bear. You understand why some people think that suicide is the only way to be released from the unrelenting grasp of fear and panic because you don't know if you can stand to be disappointed one more time.
But you take a deep breath, sip your coffee, watch the cats and say a prayer that you make it through this minute because that's the only way you can manage. One prayer, one minute at a time. Because anxiety and panic are inside jobs.
Showing posts with label panic. Show all posts
Showing posts with label panic. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
Monday, March 25, 2013
Deliver Us from All Anxiety
One of the things I miss in the new translation of the Mass are the words, "deliver us from all anxiety." Somehow "deliver us from all distress," while presumably more accurate to the Latin, isn't as meaningful to me, especially when I am in the grips of an anxiety attack. I want to be delivered from anxiety, not just distress!
Since I've admitted to suffering from anxiety, I've been surprised at how many people have told me that they, too, have had their experience with this particular demon. People who appear to have their lives in complete order, with success in every aspect from relationships to finances, say that they battled or still do battle anxiety.
I'm not sure that misery loves company is quite accurate in this case, but it is interesting how many people carry this dark secret. And make no mistake...this is a very dark secret. The kind of dark secret that is usually associated with alcoholism, drug addiction or other types of haunting addictions. It's one thing to say that you are nervous; it's another to admit that even when you are sitting safely in a chair, looking out into a bright spring day, your heart is racing, there's a stabbing pain in your solar plexus and you don't feel like you are going to survive another minute, much less another day or week or month.
I wish I could tell those of you who have confided in me that I have the answer, the solution. I don't. Sometimes I get a modicum of relief and have a respite from the fear, but so far it has always returned. For me, it begins with my first breath in the morning, rising to a crescendo by mid-afternoon and, on the good days, diminishing by evening. Sometimes, by the time the moon is rising, I actually have moments of calm and peace. Those moments I treasure and try not to think that they will be gone by break of day.
It's the hardest battle I've ever fought and I'm not sure that I will win. All I know is that I keep trying and keep fighting and keep praying that perhaps, just perhaps, when the sun rises one morning, the demon will be left perpetually in the dark night of my soul.
Since I've admitted to suffering from anxiety, I've been surprised at how many people have told me that they, too, have had their experience with this particular demon. People who appear to have their lives in complete order, with success in every aspect from relationships to finances, say that they battled or still do battle anxiety.
I'm not sure that misery loves company is quite accurate in this case, but it is interesting how many people carry this dark secret. And make no mistake...this is a very dark secret. The kind of dark secret that is usually associated with alcoholism, drug addiction or other types of haunting addictions. It's one thing to say that you are nervous; it's another to admit that even when you are sitting safely in a chair, looking out into a bright spring day, your heart is racing, there's a stabbing pain in your solar plexus and you don't feel like you are going to survive another minute, much less another day or week or month.
I wish I could tell those of you who have confided in me that I have the answer, the solution. I don't. Sometimes I get a modicum of relief and have a respite from the fear, but so far it has always returned. For me, it begins with my first breath in the morning, rising to a crescendo by mid-afternoon and, on the good days, diminishing by evening. Sometimes, by the time the moon is rising, I actually have moments of calm and peace. Those moments I treasure and try not to think that they will be gone by break of day.
It's the hardest battle I've ever fought and I'm not sure that I will win. All I know is that I keep trying and keep fighting and keep praying that perhaps, just perhaps, when the sun rises one morning, the demon will be left perpetually in the dark night of my soul.
Sunday, March 24, 2013
Sunday Gratitude, Prayer Score Card and Anxiety
When I struggle with anxiety and panic, I become a hermit crab.
I withdraw, retreat, and everything from this blog to friends to laundry is left behind. That's what has happened these past few days. I've gone into my shell, trying to keep the battering waves at bay.
I don't think that I've ever faced anything as difficult as coping with the anxiety that has been my near-constant companion for nearly two years, starting when my mother first went on hospice and through her death and the last year of grief.
Oddly enough, twice now, in the middle of a raging panic attack, I was told what a calm person I was. Outwardly, apparently, I do appear serene, but on the inside, my heart is racing, my chest is aching and every muscle fiber twitches with "fight or flight." And yet, by dint of will and practice, I must look as if I am very much in control of myself. Perhaps that's why I retreat when the pain is too great. It's much easier to be calm when you are hidden under the bedclothes than when you are out in public.
As we enter into Holy Week, I went back to read what I had written last year about Jesus, the Garden of Gethsemane and panic attacks. And as we enter into Holy Week, once again I pray that perhaps with Easter will come healing and restoration and anxiety may become for me, just a memory of a time recorded on a blog. This is the week of miracles, after all.
With that, this Sunday I am grateful for:
As for the prayer score card,
3Yes
12 No answer
and 1--not sure. I had prayed for clear direction on a decision and I never got direction, but I had to make a decision. So not sure if that is a yes, no, or no answer.
I withdraw, retreat, and everything from this blog to friends to laundry is left behind. That's what has happened these past few days. I've gone into my shell, trying to keep the battering waves at bay.
I don't think that I've ever faced anything as difficult as coping with the anxiety that has been my near-constant companion for nearly two years, starting when my mother first went on hospice and through her death and the last year of grief.
Oddly enough, twice now, in the middle of a raging panic attack, I was told what a calm person I was. Outwardly, apparently, I do appear serene, but on the inside, my heart is racing, my chest is aching and every muscle fiber twitches with "fight or flight." And yet, by dint of will and practice, I must look as if I am very much in control of myself. Perhaps that's why I retreat when the pain is too great. It's much easier to be calm when you are hidden under the bedclothes than when you are out in public.
As we enter into Holy Week, I went back to read what I had written last year about Jesus, the Garden of Gethsemane and panic attacks. And as we enter into Holy Week, once again I pray that perhaps with Easter will come healing and restoration and anxiety may become for me, just a memory of a time recorded on a blog. This is the week of miracles, after all.
With that, this Sunday I am grateful for:
- Trader Joe's Dixie Peach juice that tastes like summer when summer seems far away
- Daffodils...next to lilacs, my favorite flower
- The ongoing and joyful restitution of a relationship
- Bits of blue in an otherwise grey sky
- Hope...even when I'm feeling like a hermit card
As for the prayer score card,
3Yes
12 No answer
and 1--not sure. I had prayed for clear direction on a decision and I never got direction, but I had to make a decision. So not sure if that is a yes, no, or no answer.
Wednesday, February 13, 2013
Ash Wednesday: Beginning the Walk of Lent
Daily Trivia: Ash Wednesday
The Journey of Lent
I've been looking over all the wonderful resources online for Lenten retreats. Some of them are truly fabulous! I know I can't compete with them, but what I do want to share these next 40 days is my own Lenten journey. I Had originally planned to focus on griefwalking, then I thought about healing, but last night, as I reflected on Pope Benedict's resignation, I decided I would simply talk about my own way, in the hopes that maybe it would resonate with someone else.
Anxiety and Grief
What has dominated my life for the past year or more has been at times almost crippling panic and anxiety. It started about the time that I knew my mother was dying. Since it was a long process for her--including nearly nine months on hospice--I was on edge for a long time as well. I never went to sleep without thinking that perhaps tonight would be the night I would get the call. Then when the call did come, I was plunged into the darkest sea of fear and anxiety I had ever experienced. A fear that has had its storms as well as a few moments of relative calm, but a treacherous and troubling sea nonetheless.
At times I thought I was losing my grip on reality, my sanity. Although I faced several difficult issues, including a major theft (which is still winding its way through the courts), financial, health, and relationship issues, I wasn't being pursued by tigers, even though the flight or fight mechanism was stuck in the on position. Then, last night, I was directed to an article written by a grief counselor that said anxiety should be one of the stages of grief. She wrote:
Into the Desert
What does this have to do with Lent? This year, I'm not giving up anything per se. At least not i the traditional sense. What I am going to do is look at the relationship between anxiety, grief, healing, and faith. So to begin, I offer you this prayer from St. Francis de Sales, the patron saint of Catholic writers:
·
Ash Wednesday, despite being one of the most
attended holy days of the year by Catholics around the world, is not an official
Holy Day of Obligation. The ashes used to mark the cross on a person’s forehead
are traditionally made by burning last year’s Palm Sunday palms.
The Journey of Lent
I've been looking over all the wonderful resources online for Lenten retreats. Some of them are truly fabulous! I know I can't compete with them, but what I do want to share these next 40 days is my own Lenten journey. I Had originally planned to focus on griefwalking, then I thought about healing, but last night, as I reflected on Pope Benedict's resignation, I decided I would simply talk about my own way, in the hopes that maybe it would resonate with someone else.
Anxiety and Grief
What has dominated my life for the past year or more has been at times almost crippling panic and anxiety. It started about the time that I knew my mother was dying. Since it was a long process for her--including nearly nine months on hospice--I was on edge for a long time as well. I never went to sleep without thinking that perhaps tonight would be the night I would get the call. Then when the call did come, I was plunged into the darkest sea of fear and anxiety I had ever experienced. A fear that has had its storms as well as a few moments of relative calm, but a treacherous and troubling sea nonetheless.
At times I thought I was losing my grip on reality, my sanity. Although I faced several difficult issues, including a major theft (which is still winding its way through the courts), financial, health, and relationship issues, I wasn't being pursued by tigers, even though the flight or fight mechanism was stuck in the on position. Then, last night, I was directed to an article written by a grief counselor that said anxiety should be one of the stages of grief. She wrote:
In fact, anxiety is the most common symptom of grief that I see in my practice. But I also know that it’s often one of the most overlooked aspects of bereavement...I must have read that statement a half-dozen times before it sank it. My almost paralyzing anxiety was normal! Just knowing that didn't eradicate the anxiety--even as I type this morning, my hands are shaking and my pulse is racing--and I didn't even have any caffeine!
Into the Desert
What does this have to do with Lent? This year, I'm not giving up anything per se. At least not i the traditional sense. What I am going to do is look at the relationship between anxiety, grief, healing, and faith. So to begin, I offer you this prayer from St. Francis de Sales, the patron saint of Catholic writers:
Do not look forward to the changes and chances of this life with fear. Rather, look to them with full confidence that, as they arise, God to whom you belong will in his love enable you to profit by them. He has guided you thus far in life. Do you but hold fast to His dear hand, and He will lead you safely through all trials. Whenever you cannot stand, He will carry you lovingly in his arms.
Do not look forward to what may happen tomorrow. The same Eternal Father who takes care of you today will take care of you tomorrow, and every day of your life. Either He will shield you from suffering or He will give you unfailing strength to bear it.
Be at peace then, and put aside all useless thoughts, all vain dreads and all anxious imaginations.
Thursday, February 07, 2013
The Healing Rollercoaster
Yesterday I reflected on the idea that healing was a bit like watching a flower bloom.
Today I'm thinking it's a roller-coaster.
One day, you are going up an incline, feeling like you are really making progress and thinking that perhaps in the morning, you will feel better than you have felt for weeks or months or even years.
Then the morning comes and you realize that you are plummeting down the backside, racing at heart-pounding speed through all the old familiar, unpleasant sensations.
At least that's how it's felt for me and the anxiety and fear that have accompanied me the past year or so.
It's really rather discouraging. Especially when I've been doing all the "right" things and then, without warning, the familiar sensations of racing heart, dry mouth, and ragged breath surface, adrenalin takes over and it's takes all my concentration to hold still.
I've read what seems like a hundred books and articles about quelling anxiety and while they all offer good advice, there is no sure cure. It is, as I'm coming to realize, a process involving trust and faith. Trust that it can end and faith that it will.
With Lent coming, I've been reading about the value of "offering it up," but this year, I'd rather not offer it up, meaning hang on and suffer with it, but offer it up as in give it away completely and let the Divine Physician renew and restore me from the soul out.
Today I'm thinking it's a roller-coaster.
One day, you are going up an incline, feeling like you are really making progress and thinking that perhaps in the morning, you will feel better than you have felt for weeks or months or even years.
Then the morning comes and you realize that you are plummeting down the backside, racing at heart-pounding speed through all the old familiar, unpleasant sensations.
At least that's how it's felt for me and the anxiety and fear that have accompanied me the past year or so.
It's really rather discouraging. Especially when I've been doing all the "right" things and then, without warning, the familiar sensations of racing heart, dry mouth, and ragged breath surface, adrenalin takes over and it's takes all my concentration to hold still.
I've read what seems like a hundred books and articles about quelling anxiety and while they all offer good advice, there is no sure cure. It is, as I'm coming to realize, a process involving trust and faith. Trust that it can end and faith that it will.
With Lent coming, I've been reading about the value of "offering it up," but this year, I'd rather not offer it up, meaning hang on and suffer with it, but offer it up as in give it away completely and let the Divine Physician renew and restore me from the soul out.
Monday, February 04, 2013
On healing
I've been thinking a great deal about healing the past couple of days, partly because I've been working on a project that talks about how Jesus healed the sick in his day and partly because I've been thinking about how healing happens...or doesn't happen...in my own life.
One of the insights that has come to me is our assumption that for healing to be miraculous, it has to be instantaneous. A prayer, an anointing and Voila! The cure is complete. It's how we tend to assume all of Jesus' miracle cures happened.
While many of his cures did seem to occur at the speed of the spoken word, others didn't. Take the story of the blind man who first saw men like trees. Jesus had to apply the mud pack a second time before his sight wasfully restored. And then there are the 10 lepers who were cured somewhere on their journey to see the priest. We don't know how long it took for their healing to show up, but clearly it wasn't right away.
As I've said before, since my mother died, I've battled anxiety and panic on a near-daily basis. I've done all the "right" things, all the medical and psychological things one does to combat these problems. I have also prayed until I feel like I've battered the gates of heaven as well as had the anointing of the sick. While I am gradually feeling more like myself, there are days, like today, when for no good reason that I can discern, the sensations well up and I feel like a deer caught in the headlights of life. And the headlights are attached to a semi going 75 miles an hour down a one-lane road.
On days like this, even the hope of healing feels like a bad practical joke.
I have an acquaintance who has been involved in healing prayer and ministry for several years. We prayed together about my anxiety and afterward he said to me, "healing itself is a journey...remember that there is still part of the road left to journey on." Then he added, "the reality(is) that healing is possible and Jesus longs to pour that healing out on your life."
I've been pondering his words as I've been reflecting on how Jesus cured. I don't claim to have the answer to why we are sometimes healed and why we are sometimes left in our illnesses. Much better minds than mine have grappled with that question. But it has come to my thoughts that our belief, our faith plays a role, perhaps even an essential one, in how we experience healing. Believing that we are being healed isn't any guarantee that we are being healing. But doubting that healing can take place seems to effectively block any possible healing.
So I ask myself, do I believe that the combination of medicine, psychology and faith can really remove the burden of panic? Do I truly believe that healing is possible? Do I actually think that Jesus wants to pour healing on my life.
Do I believe?
"Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief."
One of the insights that has come to me is our assumption that for healing to be miraculous, it has to be instantaneous. A prayer, an anointing and Voila! The cure is complete. It's how we tend to assume all of Jesus' miracle cures happened.
While many of his cures did seem to occur at the speed of the spoken word, others didn't. Take the story of the blind man who first saw men like trees. Jesus had to apply the mud pack a second time before his sight wasfully restored. And then there are the 10 lepers who were cured somewhere on their journey to see the priest. We don't know how long it took for their healing to show up, but clearly it wasn't right away.
As I've said before, since my mother died, I've battled anxiety and panic on a near-daily basis. I've done all the "right" things, all the medical and psychological things one does to combat these problems. I have also prayed until I feel like I've battered the gates of heaven as well as had the anointing of the sick. While I am gradually feeling more like myself, there are days, like today, when for no good reason that I can discern, the sensations well up and I feel like a deer caught in the headlights of life. And the headlights are attached to a semi going 75 miles an hour down a one-lane road.
On days like this, even the hope of healing feels like a bad practical joke.
I have an acquaintance who has been involved in healing prayer and ministry for several years. We prayed together about my anxiety and afterward he said to me, "healing itself is a journey...remember that there is still part of the road left to journey on." Then he added, "the reality(is) that healing is possible and Jesus longs to pour that healing out on your life."
I've been pondering his words as I've been reflecting on how Jesus cured. I don't claim to have the answer to why we are sometimes healed and why we are sometimes left in our illnesses. Much better minds than mine have grappled with that question. But it has come to my thoughts that our belief, our faith plays a role, perhaps even an essential one, in how we experience healing. Believing that we are being healed isn't any guarantee that we are being healing. But doubting that healing can take place seems to effectively block any possible healing.
So I ask myself, do I believe that the combination of medicine, psychology and faith can really remove the burden of panic? Do I truly believe that healing is possible? Do I actually think that Jesus wants to pour healing on my life.
Do I believe?
"Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief."
Thursday, July 05, 2012
The Next Right Thing
In the months since my mother's death, I've found myself inexplicably caught in moments that I can only describe as panic. I will be doing whatever it is that I'm doing and suddenly I will be overwhelmed with a sense of anxiety and fear and heart-pounding loss. Now I've learned to control myself (most of the time) and mitigate the feelings (most of the time) by doing the next right thing.
Now sometimes that means breathing more slowly, or. getting a drink of water. It can mean moving around to change my physical being, journaling if possible, meditating and, lots of the time, praying.
What I do depends a great deal on where I am at the moment. Obviously, if I'm in the car, I can't whip out my journal.
If it's midnight I'm probably not going to stroll around the block.
If I'm working, doing the next right thing means doing whatever task is at hand (while maybe getting a drink of water and walking about for a minute or two.)
Sometimes, though, the only next right thing that I can do is just leave where ever I am and whatever I am doing until the waves of anxiety pass.
Which leads me to today. I work in a friend's law office a few hours a day helping create manuals. Today I was just finishing a set of labels when I felt panic creep in and slip behind my chair. So I drank my water, completed the print job and set things up for tomorrow, believing that was the next right thing for me to do since it was nearly time for me to leave anyway.
After a quick trip to the bathroom, I was ready to run to my car! However, as I was leaving my friend asked me if I would go sit with a young woman who was having chest pain and wait with her for the EMTs to arrive. All of a sudden, I had a new next right thing to do.
I went into the break room where the woman was seated in a chair, her hand over her heart. I took her other hand and began talking to her, telling her what I knew I would want to hear if I were in that place: that the medics were on their way, that it would be okay. I took her pulse and it was strong and steady so I told her that her heart was beating fine and to just breathe calmly.
Then I asked her if she was spiritual and when she said she was, I asked if I could say a prayer for her. Her eyes welled up and she nodded, so I prayed that the great ineffable mystery of love that is with us at all times would surround us and then said, "In the words of Julian of Norwich, 'All shall be well and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.'" I had no sooner finished the phrase than the EMTs arrived.
I let go of her hand and slipped quietly out the door.
I couldn't help but reflect on the irony of it all. I was dancing on the edge of my own panic when I was suddenly called to help someone else. My own anxiety didn't subside as I was sitting with her, but I knew what I would want to hear and what I would want someone to do for me. And I knew that this was the next right thing for me to do.
I've often wondered why I've had these waves of panic over the past few months. As I was driving home, I heard in the soft stillness of my being: "So you could know."
Know what it was like to feel surges of fear.
Know what it was like to be terror-stricken and, at the same time, be utterly mortified to be terror-stricken in public.
Know what it was like to not understand what your body is doing.
Know what it was like to want help but not want to make a scene.
Now sometimes that means breathing more slowly, or. getting a drink of water. It can mean moving around to change my physical being, journaling if possible, meditating and, lots of the time, praying.
What I do depends a great deal on where I am at the moment. Obviously, if I'm in the car, I can't whip out my journal.
If it's midnight I'm probably not going to stroll around the block.
If I'm working, doing the next right thing means doing whatever task is at hand (while maybe getting a drink of water and walking about for a minute or two.)
Sometimes, though, the only next right thing that I can do is just leave where ever I am and whatever I am doing until the waves of anxiety pass.
Which leads me to today. I work in a friend's law office a few hours a day helping create manuals. Today I was just finishing a set of labels when I felt panic creep in and slip behind my chair. So I drank my water, completed the print job and set things up for tomorrow, believing that was the next right thing for me to do since it was nearly time for me to leave anyway.
After a quick trip to the bathroom, I was ready to run to my car! However, as I was leaving my friend asked me if I would go sit with a young woman who was having chest pain and wait with her for the EMTs to arrive. All of a sudden, I had a new next right thing to do.
I went into the break room where the woman was seated in a chair, her hand over her heart. I took her other hand and began talking to her, telling her what I knew I would want to hear if I were in that place: that the medics were on their way, that it would be okay. I took her pulse and it was strong and steady so I told her that her heart was beating fine and to just breathe calmly.
Then I asked her if she was spiritual and when she said she was, I asked if I could say a prayer for her. Her eyes welled up and she nodded, so I prayed that the great ineffable mystery of love that is with us at all times would surround us and then said, "In the words of Julian of Norwich, 'All shall be well and all shall be well and all manner of thing shall be well.'" I had no sooner finished the phrase than the EMTs arrived.
I let go of her hand and slipped quietly out the door.
I couldn't help but reflect on the irony of it all. I was dancing on the edge of my own panic when I was suddenly called to help someone else. My own anxiety didn't subside as I was sitting with her, but I knew what I would want to hear and what I would want someone to do for me. And I knew that this was the next right thing for me to do.
I've often wondered why I've had these waves of panic over the past few months. As I was driving home, I heard in the soft stillness of my being: "So you could know."
Know what it was like to feel surges of fear.
Know what it was like to be terror-stricken and, at the same time, be utterly mortified to be terror-stricken in public.
Know what it was like to not understand what your body is doing.
Know what it was like to want help but not want to make a scene.
To know what the next right thing is.
Monday, June 25, 2012
My friends all drive Porches, I must make amends
I've been feeling rather envious and jealous lately. Envious of what I see as much better and happier lives that everyone, everyone I say, has but me.
It seems I'm not alone. Joanne K. McPortland and the Crescat both express similar thoughts on their blogs today.
I particularly appreciate Joanne's take:
Damn choices. Damn consequences. Damn feeling jealous.
The one thing that neither Joanna nor the Crecat talked about, however, is the feeling of panic that goes along with my envy. The sense that things might get worse than they are right now and right now they aren't really all that wonderful. It's a sense that perhaps God is going to let me down; that God won't answer my prayers; that not only won't I ever get the vacation cruise and retirement income and spoiled family, but that I might not even get tomorrow's dinner.
Like Joanne, I know that the best and perhaps only way out of the envy trap is to count blessings, but some days, like today, I just don't feel like counting blessings. I don't even feel like looking for blessings. I just want what I want and I want it now.
I could try to put some sanctimonious spin on this, but I think I'll just leave it by saying that for whatever reason it made me feel better that I'm not the only one suffering from a bout of jealousy or envy today.
I guess misery really does love company.
It seems I'm not alone. Joanne K. McPortland and the Crescat both express similar thoughts on their blogs today.
I particularly appreciate Joanne's take:
I’m not coveting wordly goods, at least not more than usually. I can whip together a pretty good self-pity party on occasion, especially when friends are talking about their new vacation homes and their retirement adventures, but most of the time I have the ability to count my innumerable blessings. No, I will never be able to retire, or buy a new home (first or second), or help my kids and spoil my grandson the way every parent and grandparent longs to, but there’s nothing to blame for that but my own choices and their consequences. And all told, I am enviable in the gifts that God and life and people I love have showered on me.Yep, I know the feeling of smiling through the talk of the new vacation home and month in France and the 10K monthly retirement income that is 100% secure and not being able to spoil the kids or retire or or or....And I know, like Joanna, that it's the result of the choices I've made and their consequences.
Damn choices. Damn consequences. Damn feeling jealous.
The one thing that neither Joanna nor the Crecat talked about, however, is the feeling of panic that goes along with my envy. The sense that things might get worse than they are right now and right now they aren't really all that wonderful. It's a sense that perhaps God is going to let me down; that God won't answer my prayers; that not only won't I ever get the vacation cruise and retirement income and spoiled family, but that I might not even get tomorrow's dinner.
Like Joanne, I know that the best and perhaps only way out of the envy trap is to count blessings, but some days, like today, I just don't feel like counting blessings. I don't even feel like looking for blessings. I just want what I want and I want it now.
I could try to put some sanctimonious spin on this, but I think I'll just leave it by saying that for whatever reason it made me feel better that I'm not the only one suffering from a bout of jealousy or envy today.
I guess misery really does love company.
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
María de Lourdes Ruiz Scaperlanda put this quote on her Facebook page:
I have a lot of trouble with letting go...of things, people, events, ideas, hopes, dreams, desire, wishes, faults...I hold onto everything that comes into my life and give it up only under duress. Today I was talking with a friend who reminded me (as if I didn't already know) that in the past few months I've been forced to let go of many things because I simply didn't have a choice; they were taken from me.
Just for the record, I haven't like it much. As I've had to face enforced loss, I've experienced waves of panic, fear, and a sort of roaming anxiety that alights on things like finances, health, world affairs, the Mayan calendar and anything else that happens in my field of thought.
Maria's quote made me stop and think. I wonder if I'm magnifying all the problems in my life (and there are legitimate problems right now) and failing to see the beauty in some of the smaller things?
I think I already know the answer. Now to get my mind to accept it.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
First Blood of the Passion
My goal has always been to try to blog daily, but sometimes the best laid plans of (wo)men and mice gang agley as Bobbie Burns says. Mine have gone astray with yet more things to do with my mother's estate. It sometimes feels like it will never end!
While I've been getting death certificates and financial papers in order, I've also been thinking about the upcoming Passion Week, the High Holy Days of Christendom. In particular, I've been thinking about Holy Thursday and the events in the Garden of Gethsemane.
Like a lot of Catholics, for me Holy Thursday has been a day when the emphasis is on the institution of the Eucharist and the foundation of the priesthood. Gethsemane is sort of an "add-on" that happened, but not much attention is paid to it. It's sort of like Gethsemane is the transition between the Last Supper and the Crucifixion, with not all that much happening.
Oh, yes, there's that whole "Your will not mine" episode and the betrayal of Judas, but those things often get sort of swallowed up in the following events: the trial, the scourging, the via dolorosa, the crucifixion and the burial.
That's why I think we need to take a new look at Gethsemane. The events in the Garden are, to my mind, exquisitely poised to help those of us who are living in these times cope with the stresses and pressures of our times. A new kind of meditation, one that is centered on Gethsemane, might be just what the modern world is seeking.
Let's begin with the first and perhaps most startling revelation I had. It was in the Garden that the First Blood of the Passion was shed. We talk about the "Blood of the Lamb" in reference to the Crucifixion, but it was there, under the olive trees that Jesus first began the Passion. Luke 22 says, "And being in anguish, he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground."
Now for most of my life, I sort of assumed that this bloody sweat was unique to Jesus, but it isn't. Other people, most notably a young girl terrified of the World War II air raids in Britain, have experienced it as well. It's called hematohidrosis and according to wikipedia:
This seems to me to contain a powerful lesson and example for us. Stress, anxiety and panic are so common that millions of Americans take drugs every day to cope. To think that Jesus was subject to the one of the greatest maladies of our time gives me pause.
I have more to say about this tomorrow, but for now, just consider for a moment that of all the events of Jesus' Passion, the one that we can relate to the most in our day and age happened in that time we so often gloss over--in the Garden of Gethsemane.
While I've been getting death certificates and financial papers in order, I've also been thinking about the upcoming Passion Week, the High Holy Days of Christendom. In particular, I've been thinking about Holy Thursday and the events in the Garden of Gethsemane.
Like a lot of Catholics, for me Holy Thursday has been a day when the emphasis is on the institution of the Eucharist and the foundation of the priesthood. Gethsemane is sort of an "add-on" that happened, but not much attention is paid to it. It's sort of like Gethsemane is the transition between the Last Supper and the Crucifixion, with not all that much happening.
Oh, yes, there's that whole "Your will not mine" episode and the betrayal of Judas, but those things often get sort of swallowed up in the following events: the trial, the scourging, the via dolorosa, the crucifixion and the burial.
That's why I think we need to take a new look at Gethsemane. The events in the Garden are, to my mind, exquisitely poised to help those of us who are living in these times cope with the stresses and pressures of our times. A new kind of meditation, one that is centered on Gethsemane, might be just what the modern world is seeking.
Let's begin with the first and perhaps most startling revelation I had. It was in the Garden that the First Blood of the Passion was shed. We talk about the "Blood of the Lamb" in reference to the Crucifixion, but it was there, under the olive trees that Jesus first began the Passion. Luke 22 says, "And being in anguish, he prayed more earnestly, and his sweat was like drops of blood falling to the ground."
Now for most of my life, I sort of assumed that this bloody sweat was unique to Jesus, but it isn't. Other people, most notably a young girl terrified of the World War II air raids in Britain, have experienced it as well. It's called hematohidrosis and according to wikipedia:
Dr. Frederick Zugibe (former Chief Medical Examiner of Rockland County, New York) stated: "The severe mental anxiety...activated the sympathetic nervous system to invoke the stress-fight or flight reaction to such a degree causing hemorrhage of the vessels supplying the sweat glands into the ducts of the sweat glands and extruding out onto the skin. While hematidrosis has been reported to occur from other rare medical entities, the presence of profound fear accounted for a significant number of reported cases including six cases in men condemned to execution, a case occurring during the London blitz, a case involving a fear of being raped, a fear of a storm while sailing, etc. The effects on the body is that of weakness and mild to moderate dehydration from the severe anxiety and both the blood and sweat loss."The key here is severe mental anxiety. Jesus was so terrified of what was coming, his blood vessels hemorrhaged. I don't know about you, but I've never considered that the calm, in control Jesus that we always portray going to his death experienced such "severe mental anxiety" the night before that he, quite literally, panicked. And in his panic, he shed the first blood of the Passion.
This seems to me to contain a powerful lesson and example for us. Stress, anxiety and panic are so common that millions of Americans take drugs every day to cope. To think that Jesus was subject to the one of the greatest maladies of our time gives me pause.
I have more to say about this tomorrow, but for now, just consider for a moment that of all the events of Jesus' Passion, the one that we can relate to the most in our day and age happened in that time we so often gloss over--in the Garden of Gethsemane.
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