Develop compassion

Paring down the list for the remainder of 2008.

I’ve labelled all of the emails that are related to my current job search. I was looking at some of the other labels I’ve used in the past, just poking around my account. Under the Legal/Business label was an email I had sent to my husband in January 2005, 44 days before he died and shortly after I had seen him for what would be the last time.

After I got the news that he had killed himself, I tormented myself with the idea that he died not knowing that I loved him. I vaguely remembered sending him an email saying I couldn’t say, “I love you” and was worried that was the last communication he had from me, though I left a voicemail and sent an email the day before he died telling him that I did love him and was worried about him and wanted him to call me. There was no way to know if he got that final email or message. It haunted me.

The email I found today is the one I know he got, the one that made me feel so guilty for so long. Even though I had forgiven myself for thinking I could make or stop him from killing himself, it was so freeing to read what I’d actually written:

“Hope you’re doing well. I was quite shaken by how emotionally raw you seemed. I do worry that your body will not be able to sustain much more alcohol use and that’s the only reason I asked about your drinking at dinner. I can’t say “I love you” anymore. I couldn’t respect myself for that given that our marriage, relationship, even our friendship was based on who I thought you were and a lot of that was based on lies. But I do care about you and want you to be healthy and happy. You have an amazing, soaring mind and a truly loving heart and it rips me apart to see them stifled by the drinking. I don’t know if it’s possible for you to stop now, but I do pray for you and ask God to help you.”

I was amazed at how compassionate I was in that moment. Here was a man who had lied to me about being married to someone else, had ruined me financially and with whom I’d created horrible habits that lacerated my self esteem and health. But I was able to not lash out at him. I wasn’t a witch after all! I was great!

Why do I keep forgetting that I am by nature a compassionate and forgiving person? What will it take for me to have faith in my essential goodness?

nine pages on my frustration with Mr. Man and came to see that I was being all of the things with which I accused him. He loves me in his Mr. Man way and to expect him to love and live in the manner I dictate is unkind and more than a little ridiculous. I questioned a lot of my assumptions. By the end of the ninth page, I had more clarity and felt more light and space around my heart.

I’m sure that they didn’t mean to lose all record of my father having an echocardiogram last night. It sounds like the patient census is overreaching the hospital’s capacity. I’m going to remain patient and send good thoughts to the doctors and radiology techs and hope that they can find the results or that they repeat the test quickly.

My sister, who just went to the hospital, is likely to be a little more aggressive in her approach. I should hear something by five o’clock. That’s not too long to wait.

I made a vision board last night. After the images and quotes were all glued down, I added some of my own words and quotes. Spontaneously, I wrote this:

“Fear is a normal part of being human. It doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong. Love your fear the way that the Divine loves the fearful you.”

This ties in with my birthday tarot reading. For the suggested emotional outlook and rational plan, I got the Moon and the Nine of Swords. The reading, based on where they were placed, was identical. “Follow the path of fear. Know that your feelings of fear are not a reason to turn back, but will lead you directly to what you desire. Say ‘yes” to your fear and it will dissolve.”

Fear is clearly my best teacher right now. So I remain compassionate toward the part of me that seeks to deny, run from or fight fear and continue to lie down in the mouths of my demons.

I bought dinner and cigarettes (I know, I know, but this is NOT a good time for him to try to quit!) last night for a friend who is injured and housebound. I did it with a defensive and anxious attitude because I was projecting that he would want more and be needy and it would be difficult for me to extract myself. He did want to talk to me about some mutual friends with whom he had a business agreement that exploded. I was pretty clear about wanting to go home and he wasn’t too clingy. I tried to hide that I had paid for the stuff myself so he wouldn’t argue or try to thank me. It felt like the least I could do to make up for my obvious lack of enthusiasm about helping.

My attitude precludes this from being a compassionate act. If I do something nice for someone but do it with an unwilling heart, that’s just obligation and fear. My offer to check in tonight was prompted by my heart out of compassion. It was a spontaneous response to his need. I will try to go into tonight’s encounter with fewer assumptions and more patience. If nothing else, this man is a great teacher who stretches me to extend compassion to those whom I judge as grasping. Maybe if I could approach him with an open heart, he wouldn’t clutch so tightly.

Then again, maybe he’d eat me alive. Sometimes the journey of becoming more compassionate seems so simple and sometimes it seems that whatever progress I make will never be enough for me or the people around me.

If I posted it under my “admit what I really want” or my “feed the beast in me and give her room to roam” goal, I could justify my behavior simply and comfortably. I want to look at this situation through the eyes of compassion.

I’m dodging someone. Not answering her multiple calls. Not responding to her emails or MySpace messages except with one or two sentence jokes. I don’t want to hang out with her. I just wrote – and erased – a long description of the actions and attitudes that make me uncomfortable. But that’s not the ultimate point and I’m trying to leave judgment behind. I don’t enjoy time with her. She’s not someone that I want in my life outside of casual social encounters.

She has my washer and dryer in her house, so I see her once a week on laundry night. I’m going to see her tonight at a friend’s party. I’ll call her ahead of time so the party doesn’t become dramatic. I wonder if it would be unkind to tell her, simply, that I’m not spending time with her because I don’t want to? If someone told me that, I’d be hurt and defensive. She’s not getting the hint or worse, she wants to discuss, endlessly discuss, how we’re drifting apart. The last few times we’ve met in public, she’s asked me to step outside with her so she could talk to me. Would it be unkind to refuse? I actually tense up every time I see a car like hers.

This is coming to a head and I hope that I can extend compassion to both of us and stay in truth. Enough is, in this case, far too much. I want out.

The 26 year old brother/brother-in-law of a great couple that I know was killed by a drunk driver over the weekend. He was the friend of many of my friends as well, a sweet man and a great uncle to his two young nieces. I don’t know the family well enough to go to the service but I will send a note to let them know that I’m thinking of them. I’m also going to put into my calendar to send them another note in about six months to say that we haven’t forgotten their grief and my thoughts are still with them. I know well that the worst pain sometimes comes after the sense of shock wears off and reality rushes back in. I cringe for them, knowing that well-meaning people are going to say all sorts of things that will be unintentionally hurtful. I’m grateful that I’ve learned from my experience of grieving how annoying and painful it can be to hear “It will get better,” “Just think of how much he loved you,” or “I had someone die so I understand.” I hope that I can communicate with compassion and sensitivity.

I fail to show myself compassion. It’s taking all of my frazzled energy to keep my professional face on at work. Part of this is premenstrual hormones having their way with me. Part of it-the bulk perhaps-is the looming two year anniversary of my husband’s suicide, which falls right before a friend’s big fundraising event and Mr. Man’s fundraising multi-band, multi-venue concert. Part of it is frustration at the lack of communication, clarity and direction at work. Part of it is the virus that’s apparently decided I make a lovely host and has settled into my head and chest for a nice long visit. Add in the big Stick of Should beating me up about how I should be happy because of Mr. Man and having a job at all and having a financial plan and friends and yaddayaddayadda and it’s overwhelming. Cue guilt for complaining and not being productive or grateful enough.

So I’m sitting here thinking I’ll run home after work, eat something quickly, sort the wash and drive to a friend’s to do laundry. I’ll get home between 9 and 10, put away laundry, take a quick shower and jump into bed. At that point, I might go right to sleep to try to beat this cold virus. I might go to my journal to try to tease out what’s going on internally that has me blue and yearning to shut out the world and hide under the covers for the next month or so. I’ll almost certainly cry.

No matter what option I choose, there’s likely to be a vicious judge shaking her head with her lips pursed at my lack of control, lack of enlightenment, lack of gratitude, at what a spineless, passive, undeserving, self-pitying, self-righteous little clot of mediocrity and self-delusion I am. The violence of that assessment brings tears to my eyes. I want to sit down with that internal bully and ask her why she feels that way. I want to hide from her or distract myself from her presence with food or sleep or socializing. I want to prove her wrong. I want to stop seeing the lack in myself and start focusing on the abundance of good qualities that others see so easily. I want to develop compassion for this fragile and resilient creature that I am. I don’t know how to begin. I feel very alone and a bit invisible right now.

Cue guilt over posting this and seeking comfort in others and, well, need I go on? I’m hoping that I’ll feel so much better tomorrow that I’ll be able to use this entry in the future to remind me that doubt and failure are temporary and gains are cumulative.

I made a date to give my friend a hug the other night. She needed one and I told her that I’d carve space in my plans to be still at or back at my apartment at a certain time to meet her and give her a hug. In the past, I’ve avoided friends in need if I felt that I couldn’t give them enough time. It felt cruel to say, “This is how much time I have for you in your time of need and no more.” This time I figured that 15 minutes of affection was better than none. She agreed, so she got her hug and laid her head in my lap and I held her and she cried a little and then we parted and I went out for the night. In keeping my plans intact, I got the social interaction and fun that I deeply desired to feed my energy and heart and in making space in those plans for her, she got the reassurance that someone cared and empathized with her pain. Much better than the all or nothing approach I took in the past.