Compassion
We just got back from a restful week in the Wallowa Mountains with my husband's family. It was beautiful and enjoyable. There was plenty of sunshine, good company, and delicious food. I was weepy and depressed for half of it. One day when I just could not stop crying my husband asked me what was wrong. I responded, "I am pregnant with a mood disorder. Nothing needs to be 'wrong' for this to happen."
It won't always be this way, I am certain of that. I do the best I can each day. Self-compassion is non-negotiable because without it I just spiral further and further into "the pit of despair". When my self talk sounds like, "You're a shitty mom for sleeping so long. Everyone thinks your lazy and hates you for it. Just get up. It isn't that hard. You're a trash human," I will never get up, because I just buried myself in abusive words that are heavy and cruel. I bounce back much quicker when my self-talk sounds like, "Do you need extra rest today? Okay, I trust that when you are able to you will wake up and go be with the rest of the family. Your child is okay, and if she really needed you desperately, I trust that you would get up and help her. It's okay to sleep if that's what you need. When you need something else, I trust you to get up and do that too."
I am having a really hard time with self-compassion lately and I am realizing my road block stems from something a bit more sinister than negative self-talk. It comes from anger. Anger about mental illness in my family. Anger at denial. Anger at a lack of treatment. Anger at a lack of care. Anger at the fact that I was a child and had no agency or control over what was happening.
Bipolar disorder is often hereditary. In fact, a family diagnosis (years too late) was how I finally realized that what I was dealing with might be more than postpartum depression. A bit of digging revealed an eerily similar time-line in my life and the life of a family member. Even more digging revealed that it goes back many generations. Because of stigma and different cultural times, the diagnosis of "bipolar" doesn't go back far, but the disfunction, the trauma, the broken people breaking other people goes back as far as I can trace the line. The more I learn about it the more angry I become.
And just like the genes I didn't ask for, the anger trickles all the way down to me. It's a poison, but this time I do have control over it. I'm hit with a brick in my gut that the key to my self-compassion isn't just compassion for self. It is compassion and forgiveness for others. It is grace and love for those who will never be able to make amends.
Oof. That feels daunting. Even as I know that is the way out, it sure feels like a big ask! I'm gonna need some help with this one. Luckily, I know where to find it.
It won't always be this way, I am certain of that. I do the best I can each day. Self-compassion is non-negotiable because without it I just spiral further and further into "the pit of despair". When my self talk sounds like, "You're a shitty mom for sleeping so long. Everyone thinks your lazy and hates you for it. Just get up. It isn't that hard. You're a trash human," I will never get up, because I just buried myself in abusive words that are heavy and cruel. I bounce back much quicker when my self-talk sounds like, "Do you need extra rest today? Okay, I trust that when you are able to you will wake up and go be with the rest of the family. Your child is okay, and if she really needed you desperately, I trust that you would get up and help her. It's okay to sleep if that's what you need. When you need something else, I trust you to get up and do that too."
I am having a really hard time with self-compassion lately and I am realizing my road block stems from something a bit more sinister than negative self-talk. It comes from anger. Anger about mental illness in my family. Anger at denial. Anger at a lack of treatment. Anger at a lack of care. Anger at the fact that I was a child and had no agency or control over what was happening.
Bipolar disorder is often hereditary. In fact, a family diagnosis (years too late) was how I finally realized that what I was dealing with might be more than postpartum depression. A bit of digging revealed an eerily similar time-line in my life and the life of a family member. Even more digging revealed that it goes back many generations. Because of stigma and different cultural times, the diagnosis of "bipolar" doesn't go back far, but the disfunction, the trauma, the broken people breaking other people goes back as far as I can trace the line. The more I learn about it the more angry I become.
And just like the genes I didn't ask for, the anger trickles all the way down to me. It's a poison, but this time I do have control over it. I'm hit with a brick in my gut that the key to my self-compassion isn't just compassion for self. It is compassion and forgiveness for others. It is grace and love for those who will never be able to make amends.
Oof. That feels daunting. Even as I know that is the way out, it sure feels like a big ask! I'm gonna need some help with this one. Luckily, I know where to find it.
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