Losing it

A friend of mine recently came back from a ‘positive thinking' workshop for her job. When I asked her how it went, she replied, ‘Complete rubbish!’ with such ferocity that it made me choke with laughter.

Though the workshop obviously didn't work for her, her response really did work for me. Because, maybe thoughts can be trained, but feelings are a total law unto themselves.

I'm generally quite an optimistic person. I don’t poop rainbows, but I prefer to err on the brighter side of things, coming from the point of view that if you're still breathing, then there's the possibility of hope or change.

Don’t get me wrong, I can do anger. I'm a dab hand at fear. Resentment, I can slip into with the air of a professional. And I’m not at all a stranger to a wee bit of melancholy - where you hear a song, and get a tear in your eye as your memory takes you back to what once was. (Embracing my Scottishness, I apply melancholy to my life like some people put salt on their food.)

But as feelings go, I generally do my best to avoid sorrow.

I don’t mean feeling a wee bit on the negative side. I mean big, old, concrete Wellington boot sadness, when everything feels heavy and you can't see how it will ever feel light again. It generally involves the acceptance of something that feels so unacceptable. And I am not a fan of the accepting the unacceptable. That is not within my wheelhouse. I’m more of a, surely we can find a solution or work out a wee compromise kind of person.

However, it seems that of late, life has decided I ought to expand my range of feelings into ones I don’t like, by serving up a veritable plethora of loss:

A friend from Glasgow - the keeper of teenage secrets.

The most magnificent fellow student from drama school (picture if Joy and Mischief had a baby).

My friend who struggled with memory loss now caught in bewildering half-life.

Another friend in a hospice.

Facebook serves them up each day like it used to serve up birthdays.

And now two friends from here are moving back to Blighty. And yes, it's across the ocean to another country and not to Valhalla, but I feel the loss of them keenly

It was all a bit too much, and I could feel myself moving too closely towards the S-word.

So I did what I always do. I got busy. So busy that I was distracted from feelings. So busy, I got stuff done. So busy, I didn't have time for rest or sleep. So busy I got sick.

Not bad sick. I'm not careering it up to the Oncologist. Just cold/ flu run down sick, where you have to drink fluids and rest in bed for a couple of days. And that's what I did.

Eventually.

Beforehand, of course, I performed several laps of honor around the house declaring to all and sundry that people needed to be fed, and the house needed to be deep cleaned and there was work to be done, and obviously I had to be the one doing it. Everyone - including Arthur- observed me struggling like I'd lost my mind, and wisely decided to keep their opinions to themselves. And everyone - excluding Arthur - took turns asking me “if everything was OK?”

I experimented with the half-cocked, ‘Nobody understands me’ protests a couple of times, before recognizing that I actually was so worn out, even I had to give up the ghost. Surrendering, I conceded that everything was really not OK, and reluctantly retreated to bed.

Over the next couple of days of soup and pajamas and hot drinks and medicine and loud blowing of noses, I concluded that as much as I may try, I am not part Vulcan. As a regular old human, I have the capacity for a whole spectrum of feelings and it's pretty idiotic to try to completely avoid any one of them.

Though, in my defense, nobody likes sorrow. It's the big wet blanket of feelings. It's horrible to have your own sorrow and awkward to be in the company of anyone else’s. It's the Billy No Mates of emotions - the feeling even other feelings don't like. (Even hate is more popular.) Sorrow is something to get over. To hide. To be ashamed of. To move onwards and upwards from as fast as possible. It suggests you’re losing the plot. That’s why people drown their sorrow, or create drama as a distraction instead.

Unfortunately though, the really really annoying thing about feelings, is that they are not fucking trainable and the only way past them is through.

So I rested up and drank plenty of fluids and gave myself time to repair (Using the failsafe method of lentil soup, PG Tips on tap, and old episodes of Columbo.) And bit by bit, I began to feel better.

It sucks to lose people. And time is passing too quickly. But it's also not passing quickly enough. The news cycle plays some continual clusterfuck perpetuated to create fear or outrage. Bullying and violence appear to have become a skill set, along with stupidity. I’m not sure where I stand anymore.

I’ve exhausted my anger. Used up my outrage. Bathed in disgust at the behavior of those who are meant to represent their citizens, seemingly luxuriating in their ability to cause pain.

How could anyone look at the world as it is right now and not feel sorrow?

Add to that a cold and a sinus infection, and never mind sorrow, downright temporary misery should be a given.

As I began to feel physically more like myself, it crossed my mind that it's actually a bit of a luxury to have space for sorrow. It's a feeling you need room for. You can't work it through in a war zone, or in the middle of a crisis. I considered how lucky I was to have that space.

I wondered whether that thought could be classed as a fine example of ‘positive thinking.’ I toyed with the idea of calling my friend to ask her and laughed out loud when I pictured how she'd reply.

Anyway, after a couple of days of surrendering to my own vulnerability, I emerged from the kingdom of pajamas, soup, and dodgy 70s detective shows, with my sinuses free and clear, a whole lot more settled.

When people say they don't want us to be sad, maybe it would be better if they said that they wished for us to have some space to move through it. Because when we take the time to lick our wounds, we get to see more clearly why it hurts.

The world is currently not an easy place. Too often we are asked to see the unacceptable as acceptable and there are so many emotions flying around it is hard to feel your own. If life is the journey, sorrow is that bit where you have to stop the car because you appear to have misread the map, and now you can't see the road.

It's ok to sometimes feel broken. It's human. We each have the capacity for a whole load of different feelings. And for the tricky ones, I can heartily recommend Columbo, PG Tips, and Soup.

Till next week xo

Available on Amazon: (US, UK, AUS, CA).

The Audiobook version is also available on Apple Books and Audible.

Learn more about Lynn’s Story work at YouTellYours.com