Compassionate Presence

It seems appropriate as the holidays are quickly approaching to talk about how they are sometimes really terrible for people.

We have this idea that they should be happy and fun with everyone getting along.

Reality tells a different story.

Some people are grieving a terrible loss.  Some people are struggling with depression.  Some people are struggling with substance use.  Some people are struggling with their finances.  There are so many other reasons that the holidays can be really hard.

I thought I wrote a post a couple of years ago in which I wrote, "Don't be a jerk around the holidays" that I could recap.  It turns out that I didn't write that post.  I was also a little relieved not to find a post titled that.  It would have been my grief talking.

I would like to share some thoughts with all of you about how to support folks through the holidays.  I want to start out with a video clip here from Brene Brown.  It's a cartoon so it's worth it.

Ok, are you done watching the video?  Because some of the following language won't make sense without it.

As a social worker, there are myths about what I do.  Too numerous to list here.  Some held by the general public, some held by my clients.  I want to talk about the "fixing" myth.  First let's debunk this, social workers don't fix people.  And let's not get into how presumptuous that sounds.  Yuck.

Most of what I do is bear witness to others' experiences.  And that is so much harder than I imagine "fixing" could ever be.

It's hard to sit with pain.  It's uncomfortable.

And I'm calling out this myth because that's what we (the communal "we") tend to do when we are around people in pain, especially around the holidays.

And what do we do?  We tend to "silver-line" it.

We are so uncomfortable with someone's experience of pain that we don't want them to have that experience of pain.  So we minimize it-"It could be worse."  We try to cheer them up.  We "at least" it.  "At least you had a child/partner/etc/etc..."

I know that this comes from a place of caring.  I know it.  And I know that me calling this out probably got your defenses up.  I get it.  Let's lean into that.  Because this post isn't about you.  It's about the people you love and care about.

And what they need is your compassionate presence.  They are suffering.  They don't want you to fix, dismiss, or cheer them up.  They need someone to bear witness to their pain.

I know this as a helper and as someone whose grief is really sharp this year.

I also know that bearing witness isn't easy.  It is sometimes against all of our instincts because we want to help.

Bearing witness is helping.  We can even add some compassionate statements, "I care about you."  "I know the holidays hurt this year."  "I'm here for you."

Our compassionate presence with our loved one is a true gift, folks.

Let's stretch our empathy muscles a bit and try this out.

Radical Giving

Years ago, I read a book that shifted my thoughts on being a helper.  The book was so meaningful that I still think of it in the context of who I am as a social worker.  Robert Lupton's book, Toxic Charity: How Churches and Charities Hurt Those They Help.

I've written about it before (read this), and thought this time of year was relevant to revive the conversation.

One of the most meaningful pieces in the book was about Adopt a Family programs.  As a non-profit social worker for many years, this was a standard holiday method of giving for the families that I work with.

What Robert Lupton wrote opened my eyes to something that I probably already knew was there.

Adopt a Family programs can sometimes harm families.  It can feel shameful for families to have to come up with some list to their caseworker.  Sometimes the toys that are donated are broken.  Sometimes older kids get left out.  Sometimes folks who commit to buying gifts don't provide any gifts.

I could have read that section and completely denied the truth in that.  I didn't.  I let it sit with me.  And there were some tough feelings that came up, knowing that I had contributed to that shame experience.  I owned it.  And I tried to do better in my role as a social worker.

So how should we give?  So many of us want to help, especially around the holidays.  This is probably a really complex answer, that I simply don't have.

I do have some thoughts on giving that I would like to share.

If we are choosing to help by participating in an Adopt a Family program or giving tree, let's simply give.  Some tough questions sometimes come up for us.  "Why are they asking for such an expensive gift?"  And maybe we follow that up with a statement of worthiness, "They don't deserve such an expensive gift."

If we start asking questions/making statements about that, let's be curious about that.  Let's ask ourselves why those big feelings are coming up.

And then let's remember this...every child deserves to dream big.

Maybe you aren't able to get what they are asking for or maybe you can't resolve those questions.  That's ok.  No judgement here.  Perhaps there is a better way for you to give to your community with your whole heart.

I want to suggest something big here.  I want to suggest that if you are able to do so, let's simply give families gift cards (and something like a Visa gift card, no store cards with strings attached) so they can buy whatever they want.  So they have the dignity of buying gifts and celebrating traditions that are in line with their values and beliefs, not ours.

This is bold.  And maybe some of you are being curious about your resistance to this.  And good for you if you are being curious.

The money may get used to pay for utilities, it may be used to purchase booze to cope with the holidays.  You have no control over that.

Let's lean in a little to that discomfort.

And let's simply give.

Feeling the Feelings

Mother’s Day turned out to be the low point that I hoped it wouldn’t be.

This grief still sneaks up.

I’m sure that the weather we have been having had some impact on all of this.  A week of rain, which eventually turned into snow.  So it snowed on Mother’s Day for the second year in a row.

I don’t know how I ever survived a Midwest winter with all of the cold gray days.

A week without the Colorado sunshine and I’m close to the fetal position, having vitamin D withdrawals.

During these low points, I try to do everything I can to take care of myself.  Sewing, exercise, reading.  Avoiding eating a bunch of cookies.  Avoiding facebook for a couple of days.  All of those good self-care things that my social worker self knows how to do.

Still with all of that, it doesn’t make the sadness go away.  And frankly, it shouldn’t.

Some days just feel crummy.  And that’s ok. 

Because I know that if I pretend to be happy and ok, the sadness just lingers on.  And it seeps through anyway.  So I go through all of this trouble pretending and still feel like crap.

It’s ok to have low times.  Because I know that tomorrow (or maybe in a couple days), I’m going to feel a lot better.

Sadness is real. 

But wow, does it make other people uncomfortable.  Some people want to cheer you up out of the sadness or talk through the sadness until you aren’t sad anymore.  I will admit, that as a professional helper, this is so challenging.  To simply be with someone in pain.  To accept that you are not there to fix them, you are simply part of their story.

I don’t expect anyone to fix this.  It is nice to have folks that I can talk to, who can lend an ear, who can validate that this is real for me and that it is ok to feel like crap.

Maybe that’s the self-care that we don’t always talk about as helpers, feeling the feelings.  It’s ok to have a low day.  And while I’m having that day, I’m taking care of myself with all those great things, but those great things don’t need to erase the pain.  It makes it tolerable.  It gives me hope that it won’t last forever.

Because I know by now in this journey with the silent companion that there will be an upswing.  If there wasn’t by now, I would see a professional helper.  Maybe I should see one anyway.  I go back and forth about that one.

For now, I’m not going to pretend.  It’s exhausting.  And grief is already exhausting. 

I’m going to give myself permission to feel whatever it is in the moment.

And take care of myself.

And finally watch the sun rise.

The Beauty of Faith

Earlier this week, I heard some reflections on faith that have been rolling around in my brain. 

Have you ever heard the expression, Give it to God?  If you haven’t, it means releasing your worries to God and letting him handle it.

I have to say, when I’ve been told that, it feels really trivial.  It feels like the person saying it is simplifying my problem into a nice, neat solution. 

This reflection was so much richer than that.  This reflection was about the beauty of faith.  The beauty of releasing this idea that we have control over anything.  The beauty of hope.

These words meant so much to me in that moment.  Because in that moment, my heart was not at rest.  And my heart hadn’t been at rest in a while.

I thought about it later, I wanted that.  I wanted the peace of letting go.  In life in general, I know that I have this idea that I have control, especially at work, where I feel like I am there to help.  But I can’t even control that.  Despite my best intentions, sometimes the best I can do is sit with someone in their moment of pain because again, I have no control.  None of us really do.

I thought about what I wanted to let go of.  Stories that I have been holding onto.  Stories that I have been taking to heart.

And I realized that in my desperation to maintain this control, I lost the beauty of faith.  I lost hope.  Because I thought that if I did enough, or if someone else did enough, and I forgot about hope.

I went into this business of helping because I wanted to help people.  That seems so silly.  That is my 17 year old, high school senior self saying that.  I still feel that way though.

The great thing about wanting to help people is this belief that circumstances can change, life can be better.  Hope.

Maybe in the day to day, it is easy to forget that.  I’ve mentioned a few times that I often lose sight of my truths.

Yet this is the season of Advent.  The season of joyful hope.  The undercurrent of joy and faith. 

The undercurrent that was buried in this period of unrest.

I drove home tonight reflecting on the events of the week, the day.  My thoughts made a connection between those events and letting go of those stories that I had been holding onto.

I watched the sunset behind the mountains as I drove.

I felt the beauty of faith.

Simple Acts

My vacation ended with me going back to work still sick.  Not exactly the most restful way to return.

Last week, a coworker told me that I looked like Rene Russo from the movie, Outbreak.  The next day, I caught my reflection in the rearview mirror and realized that he was right.  Something about the natural light really brought out the worst.  My coworkers then thought it would be hilarious to put a picture of Rene Russo from Outbreak on my computer.  It was hilarious, so I left it there. 

But these past two weeks since returning from vacation have seemed really challenging.  This business of helping people wears on the soul at times.

And it’s only Tuesday.

I can’t seem to put my finger on it.  Last week, I thought, when I start feeling better, this other feeling of unrest will go away. 

It didn’t.

At the end of today’s work day, I was chatting with my supervisor and knowing that I was already home with the girls, she said, Go enjoy your kids.

And I thought, I don’t know if I can. 

And not because of them.  Because of me.  Because I had nothing else to give to anyone today. 

I sat around for a bit, lingered on the internet, spaced out on the couch while supervising homework, ate some chips.

I finally got up and started picking up the house.  I swept the salt off our front steps, emptied out the trash in my car, started dinner.

This return to normalcy, this routine of taking care of my family, brought me peace.  The girls and I sat down to a dinner of tomato soup and cheese quesadillas, and my heart felt calm.  And now, listening to the hum of the dishwasher while the girls are cozy by the Christmas tree reading books, I feel content. 

I often forget those things that help me keep it together.  I get frantic and caught up.  I forget my truths.

Today, these simple acts brought me back to my life outside of work, my real life. 

I don’t know if I will wake up tomorrow feeling the same peace. 

But tonight, I have it.

Day 11-Pillowcase Therapy

This was a tough week in the business of helping.  Some times are more particularly challenging than others.

Your strength in our hearts

I was grateful for the gift of such fabulous coworkers who listened to my stories and encouraged me to take care of myself.

I spent the night sewing Katy a Halloween pillowcase for her bed.  I have no evidence of this as she is now sleeping…with the pillowcase not on a pillow nearby.

I made lots of mistakes while working on it.  Including completely forgetting how to do it.  I had to use a youtube video.

And then I had several problems with the sewing machine.  All user error related. 

And then I made the pillowcase way too long, which was not acceptable for Katy, so I had to fix it.

I had no idea that sewing could be such an adventure.  A couple of days ago, my mom mentioned how she had such good memories of her mom (my grandma) sewing.  I’m not quite sure that my kids will have such warm and fuzzy memories watching me with the occasional swear and Don’t touch that! thrown in.

The thing about those mistakes is that I am learning how to use my machine properly, how to follow instructions and how to improvise.

And all of these mistakes engaged my brain and helped it work out some stress.

I had no idea that sewing could be so therapeutic. 

This post is part of the 31 Day series-Mindful Moments.

Day 8-Sincerity

I had a few hours of insomnia last night.  One of those nights of waking up around 1 am, tossing and turning for a few hours, and then a couple hours of sleep.  It wasn’t one of those nights where my brain couldn’t shut off…fortunately.  I was so tired.  I just couldn’t fall asleep.

That’s a hard way to roll into a Monday, for sure.

It was a long day at work and followed up later in the evening with a meeting at church.  I don’t suppose anyone is surprised that I signed up to be on the outreach (translate that into community service) committee at church.

I have been at this church for several months now.  My reasons for transitioning could probably be their own 31 Day series.

Feeling a little weary, I drove to the church with a belly full of dinner.  I was greeted with kindness and sincerity.

our homing

My parents came to church with me while they were visiting in August.  My mom remarked that it is very much like a small town.  Not in the gossipy, in your business way, but in the talkative, get to know you kind of way.  She’s right.  That’s actually one of the draws to this church.  The sense of community.

The meeting launched into a discussion about poverty and creating relationships with other people.  This group was willing to take a hard look at themselves and their own biases and have a genuine discussion about how we can really develop relationships with others.  They were sincere.

I felt at home. 

Conversations like this are common when I am working, I am surrounded by people who are professional helpers.  Having this conversation with every day people touched my helper heart.

I have been getting worked up lately over this concept of relationships and how we create these with real people.  Worked up in a good way.  Worked up like I feel I am being driven to be a part of a community that cares about helping others.

The weariness faded as I became engaged in this conversation. 

And with the sense of belonging came the hope of possibility.  I am looking forward to seeing where this leads.

This post is part of the 31 Day series-Mindful Moments.