Unraveling

[sparklygrrl]

30 Years

It has been 30 years since you left us behind, got into your canoe, paddled out onto the ocean and slipped into her cold murky depths.  It occurred to me 2 weeks ago that every time I admire the view from my home I am looking at your grave.

You have missed out on so much.  You didn't get to see how the story that is life continued.

You have 4 grandchildren now.  The oldest is about to graduate university.  She is an incredible writer and poet and is following in the footsteps of your beloved; pursuing a career as a high school English teacher.  Her sister, nicknamed 'Bug', is studying biology and is captivated and on fire with the natural world. Your son's daughter, a statuesque beauty, is following her papa's career path; entranced with the artistry of cinematography and film.  Your Grandson is in high school and loved soccer.

Sometimes I see a stranger on the street and for a split second think it is you; that it was all a mistake.  Maybe you just needed to start over. Maybe you got amnesia and didn't know who you were and that you had a family of people who loved you. I still have dreams that you just show up out of the blue and after I have wept in relief, I get angry and yell at you for missing all of this time.

Fuck you, Depression!

[sparklygrrl]

Back Here Again?

We are sprawled on the couches in the living room. Niu Niu, our rescued Shanghai street dog, is curled in behind my oldest daughter's knees. My daughter is stretched out on one side of the sectional, looking at her phone.  She flew in from the 'Big Smoke' for her reading week.  We are watching Taylor Swift's Era tour on Disney. 

The subtitles to the song lyrics display across the bottom of the TV screen. The cleverness of the language play elicits a higher regard for the artist whom has been a fixture in our household since my daughter was 10, singing 'Love Story' with the little girl gang at day care. Tucked in with my dog and my girls, my tears erupt unchecked.  

It is my birthday weekend.  I am turning 53. I am surrounded by people who love me in a house that is paid for, on the ocean with an amazing view.  I count my many blessings. I still feel empty and sad.

[sparklygrrl]

Aggressive vs. Assertive

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"....I'm so sick of running as fast as I can; wondering if I'd get there quicker if I was a man....."

"If I was a Man" by Taylor Swift

Since arriving back home after working in a professional environment with a majority of women leaders, I had become used to being sized up for my skillset without my gender being factored into things.  I had all but forgotten the insidious subtle use of language to signal station as part of the underlying colonial structure. 

In passionately expressing my dismay at my white, middle-aged colleague's delay in addressing a complaint about racism, my director told me that I was coming across as 'aggressive.'  

I calmly looked at him and my colleague and explained that men often use the word 'aggressive' to describe behavior that in men would be described as 'assertive' in order to 'put women in their place.' I asked him if this was his intent.

They both looked shocked.

[sparklygrrl]

Back Here Again?

We are sprawled on the couches in the living room. Niu Niu, our rescued Shanghai street dog is curled in behind my oldest daughter's knees. My daughter is stretched out on one side of the sectional, looking at her phone.  She flew in from the 'Big Smoke' for her reading week.  We are watching Taylor Swift's Era tour on Disney. 

The subtitles to the song lyrics display across the bottom of the TV screen. The cleverness of the language play elicits a higher regard for the artist whom has been a fixture in our household since my daughter was 10, singing 'Love Story' with the little girl gang at day care. Tucked in with my dog and my girls, my tears erupt unchecked.  

It is my birthday weekend.  I am turning 53. I am surrounded by people who love me in a house that is paid for, on the ocean with an amazing view.  I count my blessings.  I have many.  I still feel empty and sad.

[sparklygrrl]

It's my 2 year anniversary on Tumblr 🥳

[sparklygrrl]

Surrender

I am taking a Latin dance class to try to get back in touch with 'joy'. As a pre-teen, I was obsessed with dance.  All types.

In hot pursuit of becoming a professional dancer, I would practice 3 hours a day until my bleeding toes would make me stop. Dancing made me feel free.

"Gently clasp the extended middle finger of your partner," the Latin dance instructor guided me, "Try to match the energy and pressure of your partner.  Allow them to direct you.   You need to trust. You need to surrender.  "

The irony of her words wasn't lost on me.  Trust has always been an issue.  

Too many, who should have been safe harbors, simply weren't.  I learned early that the only person that I could consistently rely on was myself. 

My father, a psychologist, didn't seem to know how to relate to me.  He was often not there, even when he was physically present because he was trapped in an alcoholic fog often retiring early.  He had high expectations of what I should do and become in my life but gave no real guidance or support for how to get there.

My mother, who separated from my father when I was six, ran off to adventure in the Caribbean with her new husband just when I needed her the most. 

My first husband was a reflection of what I thought I should want in a mate.  The marriage ended when the emotional, mental and near physical abuse hollowed my psyche and I sought escape to show my daughters that they were deserving of so much more in life than what I had settled for.

It wasn't until much later , that I met my 'twin flame'.  Gentle and kind, warm and unguarded, through getting to know him,  I was finally able to let down my guard, put down my sword and lean into the solid comfort that comes from knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that someone has your back.  

To him, I can surrender.  An unknown dance partner, not so much.

[sparklygrrl]

Diagnosis : Burn Out

Sitting in the doctor's exam room, I stare down at my hands. My voice quavers,

"The depression is worse. I feel numb except for anxiety. Nothing brings me joy anymore....at all."

Large tears well up in the corner of my eyes. It had been 4 months since I had seen her.

"I'm pretty sure my boss is sick of me crying hysterically in her office."

My physician peers at me, her blue-green eyes filled with concern. I try to take a steadying breath so I can continue but it gets caught halfway.

"I'm self medicating....food....I've gained 30 pounds since the fall. I can't seem to run. That's what I always did to manage the stress. None of my tools are working, prayer, meditation nothing. I've been also talking to my therapist regularly since we last met. That doesn't seem to be helping."

I look up at her,

"I'm drinking too much wine and smoking too much pot."

I take a slow breath.

"Don't get me wrong, I am not being reckless...not smoking or drinking at work or driving under the influence. I just need to stop the noise. Drown it out somehow."

She regards me intently, her brow furrows. I notice the gray roots bleeding into her honey blond curls,

"So you blaze a big doobie to escape...I get it, but with the heightened anxiety, it's kind of like chasing your own tail."

"I know but I'm always on edge; haven't been sleeping well. All of my dreams are about work. I just can't escape it. I don't think I have emotionally or mentally been with my family since the end of last summer even though I'm physically with them every day. When my work phone rings when I'm at home, I literally panic. My pulse races and I just don't want to answer it, then I feel guilty because it could be someone on the other end just needing some support."

I begin picking at the nude color polish on my thumb. Chips of it fall to the floor making little rose beige half moons on the tile,

"I tried taking a vacation at Christmas but I just couldn't disconnect....kept worrying about having to go back."

I glance up,

"You know how it is there. It's the worst I've ever seen it. Everyone's exhausted, working short, trying to keep things going. Everyone is just done. I drive to work and look at the rock cuts on the way and think about just driving into them or sometimes in the midst of a panic attack when my chest is hurting and I can't breathe, I fantasize that I am having a heart attack....I don't want to die...I just want everything to stop for a while. I know how sick this sounds but it's the truth."

She nods her head in what I perceive to be sympathetic agreement and then looks me dead in the eye,

"Humans are not wired to stay in fight or flight mode indefinitely. You have burn out. I'm officially diagnosing you."

[sparklygrrl]

First Wave : 'Fear'

The early days were the easiest.  Our community wasn't hit instantaneously unlike larger centres to the south.  Despite daily reporting from the Health Unit, statistics didn't reflect any cases in our immediate area for a while.  This allowed time to prepare.

The fact that no active cases needed to be dealt with did nothing to diminish the heightening fear of staff at all levels.  In an effort to focus efforts, all but absolutely essential services were ramped down and environmental cleaning was ramped up. The anticipation of the first case at our hospital had everyone on edge.  Seasoned professionals who had 'been there and had seen that' suddenly seemed panic stricken when presented with 

Daily, decisions were made by the organization's Incident Command (Pandemic decision making body) using the most up to the minute information and guidance from government only to be changed the next day or a few days later with new insight. There was no escape from the mounting fear.  We were immersed in it.  At work, on the radio, topic of all conversations everywhere.

On the home front, when the government made the move to lockdown all but essential services, most stayed home but my husband and I did not.  We considered ourselves blessed to be able to continue to work.  To stay safe, our daily routines were altered to minimize potential for contact and to maximize precaution.  My husband became the public contact and would grocery shop and complete any essential errands once a week as my elderly mother lived with us and I have asthma. 

Upon arrival at home from work, I would strip and wash everything the second that I walked through the door.  Many family members reached out, concerned because of my proximity to what was being broadcast as public enemy number one. Truth be told, I felt safer at work than anywhere else.   I knew what the risks were, was supplied with personal protective equipment and knew the skill level and professionalism of my team who were the 'Environmental Services Super Heroes' and first line of defense against COVID in protecting staff and patients.

During that time was the closest that I ever felt to my teams.  My role was clear. Prepare and support my people. They were scared.  

My approach was simple. I tried to model bravery like a rock star but owned up to it when I didn't feel it and highlighted all of the measures in place to keep us safe.  

At each emotional moment with a staff member, I dug deep and channeled my inner lizard, relaxing on a rock soaking up the sun.  I consciously slowed the moment down and connected with them in order to talk them off of the ledge. We all leaned on each other.  

This was uncharted territory but we were in it together. 

[sparklygrrl]

So Now What?

So here I am. 

On the interwebs.  

Post COVID, I find myself in the throes of menopause, now officially an empty-nester, jobless, living on the Minas Basin in Nova Scotia with an extraordinary view, recovering from severe burn out.

How did I get here? Who am I now? What is my purpose?