The Art of Pain…

Evening came and went and whilst my love was sleeping the creativity I sought all day long surfaced in a rush. Sleep became impossible and I gave up trying when evening turned to night. In the quiet darkness of my house I crept to my desk and turned sleepless discomfort into shiny things. I found comfort in the act of shaping metal and pairing stone.

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The work is quiet and takes little physical energy, though it can often leave me exhausted if I do too much. I find sleep again after a few pieces are finished, my former restlessness replaced with satisfaction.

So not self-helpful…

I think I may have PTSD when it comes to self-help books, books on migraines, or generally any written device intended to explain to me how to make my current state in life better.

I have been trying to unwrap why I loathe self-help lately and I have hit upon a theory. It’s a relatively new theory so bear with me but here we go.

Ours is a society of the quick fix. If we have a cold and can’t sleep we take NyQuil. If we have a cold and need to go to work we take DayQuil. What we don’t do is rest long enough for our bodies to battle the cold on their own.

Due to our quick fix mentality we have a tendency to offer solutions to the people in our lives who express problems. We rarely actually commiserate. It’s not because we don’t feel sympathy or even empathy for them, but our language of caring has morphed over time from listening and empathizing to offering solutions.

As a migraine sufferer I have had a lot of experience on the receiving end of solutions. It doesn’t bother me from friends or family but it’s the complete strangers that make me crazy. Usually when I meet someone and they find out I have migraines I get asked my entire medical history by someone without a medical degree because their fourth cousin once removed has migraines and maybe they can mention something my nationally recognized neurologist hasn’t thought of yet. It is exhausting and not a way I want to spend one of the rare times I actually leave my house to go out into the world.

I think this is why I hate self-help mechanisms. Rather than listening to each other, talking about our feelings, and creating deep, strong bonds of friendship we are offering other people’s takes on our interpretations of someone else’s problem.

Meet someone at a party going through a divorce? Offer them this book. Got a brother with MS? Here’s a book on how one person worked through their experience with it. Children being… children? Here’s a book on how to parent in a way the person who wrote the book likes most.

Now I am not saying seeking self-help is a bad thing. Personally, if you want to read books on parenting, relationships, investing, whatever medical diseases you may have, and that helps you handle life, go for it with my blessing! There is nothing wrong in my mind about seeking out information.

What upsets me is offering these unsolicited solutions to others in lieu of care.

I get it, caring is hard. It’s time consuming, it takes real listening and empathizing to truly succeed at it and none of us have the time or the energy.

Is that last part true though? Would we find consoling someone less tiring if we did it more often? Could it be we are out of practice and therefore it seems more tiring and time consuming then it truly is?

Here’s my truth: My best memories are from times when I opened up my mind and heart and joined someone in their hardships. Really joined them. Crawled down into the hole they were stuck in and sat with them for a while. I have been blessed enough to build truly amazing relationships with people because I was simply sitting with them and listening when they were having a hard day.

Sometimes the way to be the most helpful is to offer no help whatsoever.

Handcrafted love you can wrap up in…

Being disabled comes with a wide range of emotions every morning. Today, for example, was exchange day, the day I hand my children off to my ex-husband for some much needed Daddy time. In general, I love having the uninterrupted thoughts that come with child-free time, but today I found some loneliness setting in with my solitude. When my children left they took with them the constant needs and demands that make it easier to forget that I am as sick as I am. As the quiet settled in around me my mood began to sink and I felt the potential spiral that is depression wake up and take notice.

Usually the best thing for me to do at times like these is get moving on something low energy but useful, like making the bed or folding laundry. As the dog had done her hurricane Penny act on the blankets, crawling to the exact middle of them and turning around and around until they are a tight spiral of warmth around her, I decided to make the bed.

I am so glad I did.

I am blessed in this life to call two excellent quilters friends. One is also my mother-in-law so I also call her mom. In my life I have been gifted with gorgeous, warm, hand-made quilts from them. Today I have three of them on my bed. One, from Mom, is a warm flannel shag quilt that she gave Dan. It is rarely off our bed. Another is a gorgeous batik quilt Ellen made me. The last is a smaller rainbow comfort quilt mom made to cheer me up when my headaches are bad.

As I smoothed out the wrinkles in each lovingly made layer of quilt on my bed my mood began to lift. Here, under my fingertips, was proof that I was loved. That two people cared so much about me that they would spent countless hours and money to make comfortable, beautiful reminders of their support. I can literally wrap their love around me every time I feel the slightest bit alone.

I hope quilters know how much the time and energy they put into their creations means to those of us who cuddle underneath them on cold days and warm, not just our bodies, but our hearts.

Thank you Mom, thank you Ellen. I am so blessed to have you both.

Managing life with chronic illness requires savvy spoons