Ugh.
This week has been tough. So much going on in the world. The news nonstop. The hospitals we work in, still full. The politics, the anger. It feels like everything is chaotic and so big.
When that happens, what can we do? I have heard from many in distress this week. From everything going on around them and their own personal loss, their own pain, then hearing the world screaming at them too, like static from a radio they cannot turn off. It’s almost too much to bear.
I listen as best as I can. I’m not a professional counselor, so listening is my best and only skill. I usually do not advise.
But I will share what I do when I’m feeling overwhelmed.
I get small.
Oh, I have read many, many books about dealing with tough times. I have listened while professionals in mental health lectured or have met with patients. I’ve listened to podcasts. I have sought remedies myself; yoga, meditation, exercise, a glass of wine, a talk with a friend, a walk in nature. Mindfulness. Journaling. Gratitude. Prayer.
These aren’t small things however. And sometimes, I must confess, it feels like too much work, too much effort.
Oh, it’s all good stuff. I’m not putting it down at all. It’s just that the feeling of being overwhelmed or sad or distraught is not so easily fooled.
Some say, well, turn off the news, read a book, take a bath, go on a vacation. All well meaning, and, maybe a good idea, but not enough. Distraction is good, but it’s a mere, short-lived bandaid.
So I learned to get small.
But what does that mean?
It means I come back to myself. Just myself. The smallness of who I am. The answers aren’t always out there. They just aren’t. They are in here. Inside yourself. Your own small self.
So, getting small means getting back in touch. Finding gravity. Settling in. Thinking about the little things. Not thinking about all the big losses and the world’s strife. We know it’s there.
So, put it in a box for awhile. It’s not going anywhere. It won’t feel bad that you have put it away for a bit. It won’t even know. Just imagine a box and place it there for awhile. You may need several boxes to sort things out. Draw them if it helps.
Then, find a place where you can just be you. A favorite chair. Maybe sit in your bed. Or on the floor. And then look at your hands. Your feet. I mean, really look. See how you can effortlessly move them. Feel the absolute wonder of your touch. What a miracle that is.
Then think about the store you were just in perhaps. Or the restaurant. Or the gas station. Or whatever mundane, routine chore you just did. Was there chaos? Was the world collapsing around you? No. It was all still quite fine, wasn’t it. You may have even chatted with the clerk, or talked about the weather. Or bumped into a friend. Or bought fresh flowers. The simple things of everyday life. And it was most likely calm, and peaceful.
We must return to that when we feel overwhelmed. When we feel like the world is collapsing or on the brink of disaster, remember the small joys. Those small victories. The miracle of ourselves.
We must let go of the things we cannot control. We can care, we can feel sad or mad, we can stay informed, but there must be some limit for us to survive.
I have been to so many deaths in my years working in hospice. When someone is dying, they let go of everything and focus on the small things. Getting up. Hugging their loved ones. Having a cup of tea in their favorite mug. Feeling the warmth of a shower. Looking at old pictures and remembering their joys. Their sorrows. Reading a card from a friend. Feeling the warmth of the blanket that covers them. Listening to music. Re-reading a favorite book. Talking to loved ones about fond memories. Fun times. Sad times. Just small things. But they honor those small things, because they add up. They are life. This is life. This is what matters at the end. This is what always mattered. But they had forgotten.
The sickness imposed a smallness. One patient equated it to a snow day. She said she wished she had embraced those days. The comfort they brought. How things slowed down and were quiet. How all she really needed was right there.
I know I am not articulating this as well as I should. I know it may seem silly to even talk about this. But it helps me and I wanted to share that with you. Because we all are in this together.
I started this blog years ago when the hospice nursing I was loving was overwhelming me. My mind couldn’t let it go. I was sad. I felt helpless at times. So writing became cathartic for me. Just moving it to a small space helped me to contain it.
The pillars in my life hold me up when the world feels too big; my husband and daughter, my pets, my books, my guardian angels, my love of being a nurse, my books, seeing stunning nature outside of my door. And tea. Lots of tea.
All small things.
But they are the world to me.
“And the end of all our exploring, will be to arrive where we started, and to know the place for the first time.”
~T. S. Elliot
You wonder about how well you articulated this. Please stop. Your words are powerful in their simplicity. Your experience with the dying has sensitized you in ways that we often lose sight of. I will be thinking about this in the coming week, with gratitude.
This is beautiful. You articulated it perfectly, actually, at least for me, and it was exactly what I needed to read right now. Thank you.