Good Enough is Awesome

It’s been about two months since my withdrawal to work on some radical self-care and a major attitude adjustment. Apparently, my Spidey sense was tingling when I decided to take a break, because the emotional turmoil I was suffering after five weeks of convalescing from the great dog-walking mishap was just a prelude to what lay ahead. In the few weeks after I decided to “reset”, the following occurred:

-My 91-year-old mother, who suffered from dementia but physically would have given the Bionic Woman a run for her money, was hospitalized with Covid, which she contracted from a “caregiver” who thought it was no big deal to continue working while infected.

 - I learned that the reason that my kyphoplasty had not significantly reduced the pain I was experiencing was because, in addition to fracturing my spine, I had also damaged my sacroiliac joint, which would require a much longer, less certain recovery.

-Neither my immobilization nor my mother’s dire condition changed the fact that my brothers and their families have no interest in interacting with me; the truth that there really is no longer a place for me in my family of origin nearly leveled me.

-My mother succumbed to respiratory failure after two weeks of Covid. She was buried some 1500 miles away while I was still immobilized.

-I underwent more injections, the main one being a cortisone shot directly into the joint, and I started what will be a few months of physical therapy.

Yup, it was a lot. And coupled with my ongoing isolation and pain it was the perfect recipe for what I am just now acknowledging was intense grief that had me teetering over the pit of depression. I’m happy to report that I am emerging, but I also need to admit that it is taking a daily heroic effort on my part to push beyond mere survival and return to the hopeful, grateful, happy-go-lucky nerd that I was earlier this year. There are days that are glorious and days that seem pointless, but I am committed.

Things that help me to keep pushing forward:

-Thanks to time and physical therapy, the pain is lessening. I’d guess I’m 80-85% healed.

-My increased gratitude for the smallest things: walking the dog, driving the car, cooking, the sun on my face.

-Connection with others, especially if I can be helpful in some way.

-A project! The CWP will be moving to her own apartment soon, and we are having a blast designing and executing.

-Future travel plans (locked down while prone).

And then there are the truths that were emphasized during my recuperation that I try to keep in mind when I start to wobble:

-I am blessed with people that love and care about me.

-My worthiness is not based on my productivity.

-There is no quota for adversity. It’s all part of my personal lesson plan.

-For me, sloth is a very seductive trauma response, not a moral failing.

-Writing is my anchor to mental wellness. If I stop doing it for too long (usually when the honesty I can’t avoid is too painful), I become unmoored.

-There is always more healing, at a deeper level, to be done.

One thing I am wrestling with and finally feel poised to conquer:  my pathological need to be the plucky heroine; the sainted survivor. To respond to others’ condolences with some “aw shucks, it’s fine” bullshit. To immediately jump to the bright side. I’m getting better at conceding that it’s been a buffet of shit sandwiches that I wouldn’t serve to an archnemesis. At viscerally understanding that I have to deal with all of the feelings, not just the “good” ones. That I don’t have to wallow in the difficult feelings, but I can sit with them until they soften a bit and then move on.

So, I’ll bumble along, allowing myself grace for the inevitable missteps and the days when the sadness stops by for a visit. My return may not be triumphant, or even complete, but it’s a start. And that’s good enough for me. All things considered, it’s awesome.