A group of friends and I were talking the other day, and the question came up: are you happy? What does happiness mean anyway? Most of us agreed that it is not a state of constant bliss and excitement, but rather a state of peace and acceptance of one's life. Of not constantly wanting to move on to the next thing, or constantly wishing for something new and better.
I do not think I can describe myself as a happy person by these standards. It's not because I'm thy type of person who wants a lot of stuff; in fact I'm satisfied with very simple things. I'm rather a homebody and like most to be at home with my husband, or with close friends or family. I don't have lots of friends, but the ones I have are very dear to me. I like to putter around my house, cook and knit. I like my job, and I'm excited about becoming a nurse one day soon. I love my husband more than anything and can't imagine my life without him. And the baby--well, it brings tears to my eyes every time she moves. The very idea that she's here, that I'm able to actually grow her in my belly, that she will be my daughter, really and truly, is a miracle to me after more than three long years of waiting for her to come.
Yes, I know I have many blessings. and yet this constant cloud of anxiety and hopelessness follows me throughout life. In all honesty, we are in sort of a crisis phase, on of those periods where things are about to get either much better or much worse, and the anxiety is worse than usual. But this isn't a feeling unique to those difficult times in life. This is a feeling that is with me more often than it is not. And I'm starting to wonder if it is really the stress of life, or something inherent in me that is wrong. I'm tired of always waiting for things to get better, especially now that I have so many things that I've wanted for so long. On the other hand, I wonder why new difficulties have sprung up to ruin the sense of contentment I hoped to have. Most of all, I worry that my negative thought will somehow affect the baby, that she is doomed to some kind of melancholy existence because I didn't think happy enough thoughts when she was forming. I worry that my depression and anxiety will keep me from being a good mother. I worry about my husband, who is under his own stress, and try to be positive and not make things worse. I'm tired of being sad and afraid all the time.
I took the beach grass photo above almost exactly a year ago, on a walk on the beach with the Mister. It seems so peaceful and happy to be walking on the beach with my husband and my dog--I remember it as a good day. But was it? Did I let the day be clouded by thoughts and worries? Sadly, I probably did. Can I learn to get to a place where I feel at peace with myself, and with the present? I want a peaceful and open heart, and the ability to accept the bad with the good. Is this something some are born with, or something we have to learn? Is it something I can learn?
7 comments:
Have patience with everything unresolved in your heart, and try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language.
Ranier Maria Rilke
You remind me so much of myself. Without my natural melancholy, I would never question and certainly never create. You have an artist's soul; the burden of which is lessened by sharing it.
I may be way off here (probably am) but I wanted to share something with you. I got this from a blog I read, Lemmondrops. Emilie posted this in her column (I'll give you the link, in case you're interested.) Emilie recently passed from cancer and although I have never experienced half of her pain, I learned so much from what she offered her readers. This struck me with a perspective on life:
Later that day, I read a few chapters of “Kitchen Table Wisdom,” a book of reflections by Rachel Naomi Remen, a wise physician and counselor who brings a spiritual sensibility to her work with cancer patients. A passage about joy stood out, reminding me of my anger at the word earlier in the morning.
Telling about people with terrible illnesses who nonetheless choose to “show up for whatever life may offer,” she describes them as “intensely alive, intensely present.” She writes:
“From such people I have learned a new definition of the word ‘joy.’ I had thought joy to be rather synonymous with happiness, but it seems now to be far less vulnerable than happiness. Joy seems to be a part of an unconditional will to live, not holding back because life may not meet our preferences and expectations. Joy seems to be a function of the willingness to accept the whole, and to show up to meet with whatever is there. It has a kind of invincibility that attachment to any particular outcome would deny us. Rather than the warrior who fights toward a specific outcome and therefore is haunted by the specter of failure and disappointment, it is the lover drunk with the opportunity to love despite the possibility of love, the player for Surrendering our lives to God gives us the freedom to experience real joywhom playing has become more important than winning or losing.
“The willingness to win or lose moves us out of an adversarial relationship to life and into a powerful kind of openness. From such a position, we can make a greater commitment to life. Not only pleasant life, or comfortable life, or our idea of life, but all life. Joy seems more closely related to aliveness than to happiness.”
I hope I didn't upset or offend you in any way by posting the above but rather gave you a different angle to look thru.
Thinking of you...
(The full piece can be found here: http://thecatholicspirit.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=961&Itemid=0)
What kind things to say. I almost came back and removed this post this morning, because it seemed so vulnerable, and well...pathetic. But your comments make me feel much better about sharing.
Dana, of course you didn't offend me. Thank you for sharing that.
Interesting blog, thank you for sharing this
I was reflecting on this post, Rose.. your memory of your beach walk made me think of childbirth (yes, I think of many things in this way..!). When we are in labor, it is hard and it can hurt while at the same time be incredibly tender and sweet. At a moment's climax it ends.. we have that sweet little one in our arms and a surge of oxytocin floods our system, helping us to fall in love with our babies and at the same time, acts as an amnesiac so that though we may remember that it did, in fact, hurt and it was hard somehow that memory is softened.
To me, life is akin to this... we have hard times.. sometimes things hurt or are laborous to get through. But then we have the sweet moments that soften those edges.. those are the things that are ultimately going to resonate the strongest with us in the end.
You are a beautiful person, my sweet Rose.. I wish you peace and many moments full of oxytocin :-)
I read this post a week ago and have been thinking about it ever since. I've struggled with low-key depression and anxiety most of my life, though for some reason in the past year it has lifted. I don't know if my feeling better has to do with my age (44) and changing hormones or some mental change I've made that I'm unaware of. It does feel like a gift to wake up most mornings not feeling anxious about the day ahead.
I suspect that my depression and anxiety are largely a genetic problem, as it seems to run in my family. For the most part, it has never been so bad that I've considered medication. I depend on home remedies instead--
one thing I've found to help a lot, particularly with anxiety, is journaling when I'm feeling especially bad. I free write and just get everything out there on paper. I find it cathartic and that I'm much more grounded afterwards.
The other thing that has been very helpful is exercise. I try to walk in the mornings when I can. Endorphins really help.
Your baby will be fine. I was very hormonal with both of my pregnancies, very depressed during the first trimester of the first one, and both my boys are cheerful, gentle souls.
Finally, for some reason people don't talk about how difficult our twenties are. H.L. Mencken wrote, "I spit on the grave of my twenties," and I fully agree with him. I had a terrible time all through my twenties. I'm not sure why--I guess I was still so unformed and unsure of who I was. In spite of my fading eye sight and bad knees, I'm much happier in my forties than I was in my twenties.
I wish I could say "here's a magic cure-all for your anxiety and depression," but I don't have one. Read, write, make art, knit, pray. Know you're not alone.
frances
Frances, I know you wrote this comment months ago, but I just now noticed it was here.
Thank you so much. Since this post my depression got much worse, but I am now going through a true recovery, and writing has helped me so much. I love the H.L. Mencken quote.
Thank you for that.
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