On trying to be a bear, and not a goat.

Posted with Blogsy

Did you watch the little short? You should. It's good. My therapist gave me the homework of watching this video, and told me that it isn't hard to give an empathetic response to a friend, but what is really hard is to give an empathetic response to yourself. Her homework for me was to try and be more like the bear, and less like the goat with myself.

In the past two weeks, I have had moments where I have felt like I cannot possibly do this. The worst definitely came last Thursday, when my husband came home early from work not because I had been puking all day and felt terrible, but because he felt sick and needed to rest. In my head I screamed "No, no, No!!!! I cant do this. I cannot do this." And throughout that afternoon and night I had huge sobbing melt downs. What does it mean to say yes in moments like that? What does it mean to be empathetic with myself? The conversation in my head was something like this. "I can't do this. I can't. Well you have to. Buck up. BUT I CAN'T!!!!!" More tears. I was railing internally against what was happening, that I had been sick for two weeks, that I had been nauseous for a month, that I didn't have any child care for the next day, that my husband was sick and couldn't help me. And still some part of me was admonishing, "At least you are pregnant. This is what you wanted. This is what you asked for." I cried and puked and railed until I went to bed. I slept, and puked some more, and slept. In the morning, it felt like defeat, but it was really a small yes. A small leaning in. Yes, I feel terrible. Yes, I am not able to do this on my own. Caden ate cereal in my bed. He watched netflix at 8 in the morning. I called a sitter agency and paid the big bucks to get someone to come to the house immediately. I talked to my doctor and he prescribed me higher doses of anti-nausea medication. I went to see my other doctor, and she put me in the hospital for dehydration. I sank into that hospital bed and I said a big yes. To sleep, to IV fluids, to medicine to stop the vomiting, to someone taking care of me.

I sort of wanted everyone to know, "I'm in the hospital! This is some real shit!" because what I really wanted was that empathy, but the thing is, I had been getting it all along from my friends. I sat on my bed on the solstice crying and coughing and sneezing and peeing and nauseous and texted these moms that I hang out with most Fridays, and as their stories of peeing their own pants when pregnant and their stories of covering up baby pee with towels to avoid changing sheets came in. As they made me laugh and encouraged me to sleep and gave me so much love and empathy, I realized why I love them. They always do that. They are always ready to get real and love you when things are hard, and do not flinch to tell their own stories. They are bears. But I was being a goat to myself, thinking I should be stronger, healthier, more emotionally resilient, better able to buck up. It wasn't until I woke up Saturday with a fever and realized that I had caught what my husband had, and that I was looking at a brand new sickness, and then discovered that I actually had the swine flu, that I stopped beating myself up. At that point it was complete surrender.  I had to say yes. Not yes! This is awesome! But yes, I am very sick, and this is really hard, and yes, I have to rest and I need help.

I am slowly learning that this is what it means to lean in. Not to stay cheery and sunny and always optimistic, but to accept what is really happening and work with it instead of running away. For me, learning to lean in means learning to be more gentle with myself, and not judge myself for my experiences and emotional reaction. 

I am still sick, but I am starting to feel better. For now I will continue to embrace baby sitters and television and all the help I can get. I will try not to goat myself, but I do hope to be back on my feet someday.

If you want to read more about this whole yes idea, check out this post on my friend Becca's blog, Writing for Clarity.