Accepting the pit view

I had coffee with a friend the other day. I started pouring my heart out to her and she in turn shared some things that had been going on in hers over the past few years. It was very therapeutic, for both of us I think.

I'm not going to pretend that things for me at the moment are hunky dory. They're anything but and I have spent a lot of time and energy trying to climb out of this pit, expecting that as soon as I climb out of this pit that everything will be ok again. People don't like knowing you're in a pit...and they constantly encourage you to not give up, to keep climbing and promise you that one day you'll clamber over the lip of the pit and stand in the sun again and things will get better.

However, the other day my friend encouraged me with a different thought. She too, spent a lot of time down in the deep pit of dispair. She told me that she'd feel herself climbing out of the pit and getting to the top and then it felt like something or someone put their foot in her face and pushed her back down again. She said that this happened constantly, time and time again. One day, she told this to a friend and the friend said something to her like, "So why do you want to climb out of the pit? Why not just sit there a while?"

Radical thought, huh?

So, sit there she did. She stopped climbing and struggling to get out and in that she discovered some things about herself...and she discovered an artistic side of herself...and she began painting. She said to me that she would possibly have never discovered this new passion if she hadn't just stopped and accepted that she was in the pit for the time being. There were lessons to be learned down in the pit; new things to discover; new truths to explore, and one day she found that she wasn't in the pit anymore.

So, maybe I can learn something from that. What are the things I can discover down here? I'm not saying that by stopping the clambering and clawing I am going to wallow down here, but maybe if I can just accept things the way they are then my eyes will open to discover some new things. Down in the depths of the earth there is beauty to behold. Have you ever wondered at the beauty of stalagtites and stalagmites down in a cave? I have! Those things were only discovered when someone decided to go down deep and see what was there. Who knows what beauty I might find down here?

Just a radical thought.

Walking the path



Source

 I've been an independent soul all my life. Let me clarify that a little. I walked earlier than a child with my diagnosis should, I was always wanting to do things "Self!" despite the fact that I needed people around me. I hated being alone when I was little. Mum says I was never happier than when I was in someone's arms, or in my high chair amongst everyone. I hated being alone in my bedroom at night, always prefering to fall asleep on the couch and be carried to bed later on. I hated waking in the middle of the night and hearing the silence. I felt afraid that there was no one on watch, no one to hear me call.

But for the most part, I have been an independent person; not knowing how to ask for help, not even being able to identify when I need help. I kept up with my family on bush walks, participated in sport with my class at school.

I'm too independent. I hide things well. People ask me how I am and I answer, "Yeah, I'm fine thanks!"

I'm not.

Walking this new path on my own is lonely. The kids are growing up and starting their own lives, just as they should. I am happy for them. I want it for them.

But it wasn't supposed to be this way. They were all supposed to fly from the nest and then there was supposed to be he and me heading off into our future together as "Darby & Joan", keeping each other company and discovering new things together; having the time of just he and me that we never had in the beginning. I was looking forward to it.

Honestly, this feels like a death. I can't describe it any other way. I feel similar to how I felt when my grandmother died. This unfamiliar, empty, mourning feeling.

I feel as though I've woken up in the middle of the night and the house is silent and I know there's no one up keeping watch. No one to hear me call. My throat feels constricted. My chest feels heavy.

I try and remember all the reasons why I am walking this path. I keep reminding myself of all the reasons why I should accept and even embrace this path. Sometimes the remembering is enough to stir up the anger and the hurt and I feel myself marching up the path doggedly, knowing it's for the best. Anger is so much easier to feel. It's proactive. It can even be positive. It stirs me into action. It doesn't hurt.

But this melancholy is harder. It stops me in my tracks.  It causes me to look around the room not caring about what it looks like, how messy it gets. It makes me doubt myself.

I don't know how to ask for help because I don't know what help I need. The body just keeps on going even when the mind doesn't want to. I can cook, I can clean, I can organise things, I can take care of my family.

But I'm doing it on my own. Alone. In the night. And there's no one on watch.

I don't like it one bit.

One child at a time

I must admit to feeling a tad defeated after reading this particular article in The Age last Saturday. I felt despondent that, after all the hard work on acceptance and equality that a large number of short statured people have done, there is still an element in society that perpetuates the image of the court jester and the freak show. As Peter Dinklage says, "...media portrayal is, in part, the fault of actors who are dwarves. You can say no. You can not be the object of ridicule." yet there are those who don't understand that. They see their antics as legitimate entertaining, a job and a means through which they can educate others about our condition. I don't see it that way. I believe that the best way to educate others about dwarfism is to simply get out there and be yourself in your regular clothes, going about your regular life doing your regular job.

So it was with a heavy heart that I read that article and I felt as though I just wanted to disappear into a hole until the controversy died down. However, I didn't disappear. Instead the girls and I decided we'd take a trip up to The Dandenong's to get some fresh air and see the beautiful bushland. What a lovely afternoon we had! It was freezing cold but sunny. We found a gorgeous little craft store and spent some time browsing.

A mother and her two little boys came into the store. Of course, the inevitable happened and the littlest one (who would have been about 4 or 5) said in a loud voice, as only a four year old can, "Look! Midgets!" His poor mother looked as though she was hoping the earth would open up and swallow them completely. She bent down and gently said to him, "No, that's not right. Don't call them that."

Internally I cringed but I took a deep breathh and went over to the boy and gently said, "Hi! You know what? Midget isn't the right word. It is actually dwarf, but you can call me Leisa. What's your name?"

We had a really lovely conversation. I learned their names and we talked about all the cool things that were in the store. Afterwards the mother thanked me for taking the time to chat and apologised for the use of the word midget. Apparently the children had seen a TV program that showed short statured people and refered to them as midgets and she knew it wasn't right. I told her that I just wanted them to have a positive and educational experience meeting someone who was different. A couple of other people in the store approached me after that and said how much they appreciated the way I handled the situation. This lifted my spirits because it made me realise that when these incidents happen there are other people who are listening and watching too and they reap the benefits from the encounter as well.

We bumped into the famaily again when we entered the bakery to have afternoon tea. The boys saw me and greeted me with an enthusiastic, "Hi Leisa!" Mission accomplished.

This was one of two encounters that happened over the weekend. At church on Sunday, one of my new friends approached me and encouraged me by retelling a conversation she and one of her youngest daughters had regarding me.

"Mummy, did you know that your little friend told me that she is little because her bones didn't grow very fast? I think it's good because she's a grown up and when I talk to her I don't have to look up all the time!" (paraphrased)

These two incidents over the weekend really encouraged me. The world doesn't necessarily need a documentary on dwarfism aired on TV or a controversial article in The Age to educate people what we're about. We just need to be ourselves, make the most of each opportunity when they arise and educate the world one child at a time.

Taking the bull by the horns

Yesterday was a bit of a "Jonah Day". I don't know where I first heard that expression - I think maybe I read it in one of the "Little House" books....no, I'm wrong. It was one of the Anne of Green Gables books. I know this because I Googled the expression. In this case, a Jonah Day means a day of feeling stupid, a pain in the butt and generally sick and tired of myself.

It came to 4pm and I gladly exited the office and went home. I sat on the train and thought. I got home and my gorgeous kids had started dinner. In fact it was almost cooked when I walked through the door. I entered the kitchen and there was a teacup with a teabag already placed in it, ready for me to make a cuppa. I opened my bedroom door and my PJ's were laid out on the bed waiting for me.

My children are so thoughtful.

After dinner I decided not to do anything. I sat on the couch and promptly fell asleep. No one minded.

With the morning came a new resolve. I'm tired of myself. For as long as I have been writing online I have struggled with the same mess. I am tired of it. So today I am taking the bull by the horns and doing something about it.

I am taking inspiration from my most favorite couple on the interwebs and becoming transparent - in my relationships, in my workplace, in my writings. I'm doing this just because I'm tired of hiding. Hiding and secrets are a remnant of my past relationship.

No more. This is me.

I have also booked a session with a counsellor. I can't afford the psychologist I've been seeing off and on for the past 13 years, but I have found someone attached to a local church who counsels at a very reasonable rate. I am going to throw myself into it head first with the aim of becoming well once and for all. I want to unlock the secret as to how to let it all go and move forward. I'm not going to look to this counselor as the one who will show me the light and lead the way. I'm going to find it for myself as they facilitate the journey.

Sometimes it takes a Jonah Day to move you on.

Rub it out, start again

Have you ever had one of those days where you just seem to go from one oops to the other and seem powerless to stop it? That's been today. 

For some reason I have felt clumsy, socially awkward and one of "those" irate people on the phone who make you wonder why you ever took the job in the call centre. 

Yep, that's been me today. I have been irate with a Centrelink customer service operator after waiting on hold for 30 minutes, I've posted a diary entry that, in the end, made me seem like a stupid, lovesick desperado, I've gotten emotional at work, I've sent texts I wished I hadn't. I've looked into the face of a kind of person I really didn't want to ever encounter.

It's 3:50pm and I have ten minutes until I walk out these doors and go home. I am so looking forward to it. Hopefully the trains will be running on time on this cold Melbourne day. Hopefully the puppy won't have peed anywhere or chewed up something or carted a rotten carcass onto the carpet.

I plan on having a good nights sleep and looking forward to the promise of a new and better day tomorrow.