Stigma, let's talk about it.

I want to talk about stigma.....again. Because I continue to experience it, will probably always experience it. I don't like it but maybe talking about stigma will reduce it.

People who have experienced a traumatic loss are treated differently. Sometimes deliberately, sometimes very subtly. People don't look at us the same, partly because of fear, partly from judgement. Heck, maybe you can tell me why people look at us differently. My guess is partly because they just don't quite know what to do with us. We are proof that life can get messy, that tragedy happens. That, yes, it can happen to anyone. 

Case in point, one person I know never hesitates to say, oh that person's spouse, or child or whoever died by suicide. Now, I don't know the person being referenced. I don't need the weight of their pain on top of my own. I don't want to know their story from someone else. Tragic stories are personal. Not everyone needs the details. Especially in third person. Do I believe our stories need to be shared, absolutely. But, we get to choose who we share with and what we share. Sadly, others feel the need to do that for us. 

I can mostly tell when my story has preceded me. Because no one asks me personal questions. This might be a mixed blessing. Where did you grow up is a safe question. How is work is another. How are your kids is an easy one. It's an odd sort of isolation that is completely unnecessary. 

I try not to be defined by my loss. Some days I win that battle, other times not so much. I know too, that others define me, consciously or unconsciously. They define me by telling my story like it is theirs to tell. People suggest that someone divorcing will date again and try to find someone to set them up with. People will ask about ex-spouse/partner. Loss of a spouse by divorce is acceptable and life goes on. Loss of a relationship by suicide breeds stigma. Like the surviving person is a little sketchy somehow. Like if we'd tried hard enough we could have changed the outcome. Like we aren't quite acceptable somehow because of how life played out. Not true. I know it's not true. Others, influenced by stigma, look at people like me with some hesitancy, consciously or unconsciously. 

Let me say this is not always the case. Just as I can say, sometimes it is. All I ask is that people find compassion and inclusion for those who have suffered from a decision that was not their own. We are people first, not our tragedy first. We deserve to be talked to, not talked about. We long to feel seen, not feel invisible. We long to be included, not excluded because it might feel awkward. We are building a new life, a new sense of self, a new reality. That in itself is a challenge. We can do without the added stigma. 

Good Things, Pieced and Patched

Am I holding on when I should be letting go? Does anxiety keep me from fully living? Is my world deliberately small when it could be infinitely larger? Why do some people have tons of friends and I have a small, but exceedingly wonderful tribe? Do I patch holes on an unfinished patchwork quilt that got nibbled on? Or do I pitch it because it hasn't seen the light of day for years and just move on? Can you go back and start over? Can you trust more and worry less? How do you learn to dream and dream big? Can I set a record for the most questions in the first paragraph of a blog? 

So many questions.....  With answers as follows. Yes, Yes, Yes, and yes because some are more extroverted and others introverted. Probably. Probably not. No, but you can begin anew. Yes, with faith and practice. Dreaming on any level involves imagining and hoping. So let go of control, let go of expecting the worst and challenge yourself to visualize only good things. Only good things. 

Sounds so doable right? I'm thinking that quilt may hold the key. Approach it all one stitch at a time. There will be unexpected holes. Patch over them and move on. It doesn't have to be perfect to be beautiful. The patches we make in our lives give us more warmth, additional depth, extra color.

We are all a work in progress. May the work we do soften us. Remember sometimes we need to set things aside until we are ready to grow again. It's pausing, not giving up. It's rest, dreaming, trusting and faith in action. It's taking pieces, of this and that, successes and failures, of wins and losses and creating a new life. 

Everyone Has A Mixed Bag

I follow social media. Heck I am an active participant in social media. I see the picture perfect representations of life, and I see the ones that are real and rough around the edges. The ones where people are honest about life reality and the challenges it presents. I see, and I am concerned about, the ones who have already decided this year is a shit show, will always be a shit show. Two weeks ago we looked forward with hope, and already have lost hope.

Not that there haven't been significant losses. There have and they hurt. They define moments in life we all have to face. They do not define how today goes, or tomorrow or the other 353 remaining days of the year. Those days will be a mix of joy, sorrow, laughter, growth, grief. Those days will touch all our feelings, they will ebb and flow. Feelings are meant to come and to go. We can feel multiple feelings and release them or get stuck in them.

You know me to be an optimist, to be lifted by grace and held safe by faith. You also know life has been hard, sometimes brutally hard for me. Those "hard" times have the capacity to color my life if I chose. I chose to fill my life with color. The color of hope, the color of faith. Granted it's not all rainbows and pots of gold. I struggle, I feel anxiety, I wish things didn't happen the way they did. I feel doubt and question my ability to love, to trust. I am not perfect. I make mistakes, moments where my daughter would call me 'so pretty' but without saying it ridiculously clueless. I haven't though predicted, even jokingly, that this year is destined to suck. 

Yesterday, at work, I assisted a woman selecting a funeral tribute for her brother, her favorite brother. She needed to be heard and proceeded to tell me about how great her brother was. She showed me pictures and told how he was a beloved part of her life. How she wondered who would change light bulbs for her since her super tall brother was gone. In her loss she chose to rave about the goodness of life with her brother. 

We can do the same. We can feel all the feels and chose how they color our life. We can be messy, lost, struggling. We don't have to be perfect, have a perfect facade, or show only our perfect moments. We can be real and be hopeful at the same time. We can deal with today, today. We can let the other 353 days come one day at a  time. We can take our mixed bag and rave about the goodness in it.