New can be harsh

This past weekend was my work's big annual meeting. It's always a good, but exhausting, multi-day event. One of the sessions this time was on compassion fatigue, which is different than burnout - or perhaps a type of burnout.The reason I mention this is because one of the characteristics they listed in the session really hit me in a personally convicting sort of way.

The troubling realization that came to me is how over the last few years I've lost some of my compassion and empathy, and more troubling is that I feel justified in this. After all, my troubles are worse than those troubles, aren't they. Isn't the grief of the involuntarily childless far worse than the fleeting troubles of the voluntarily childful?

I understand that pregnancy and parenting are hard and exhausting - I suffer no delusions about this. It's just that I'd take that kind of hard and exhausting, which comes with some pretty amazing benefits, over my kind of hard and exhausting, which comes with anxiety and depression, in a fraction of a heartbeat.

They say, "Oh, I'm so tired - the baby was crying all night - again. If anyone wants to buy a baby, let me know. Ha ha"

And I think one or more of the following:

1) I will take that baby in a heartbeat, you ungrateful so and so, or
2) don't they know how incredibly lucky they are?  After all, I was up all night too - only I was the one crying, or
3) simply, don't cry, don't cry, don't cry - you're at work (or where ever), you can't cry, or
4) if possible, I just walk away with my eyes rolling into the back of my head, before I lose it.

Don't hate me.

I can't tell you how many times these, or related, conversations happen in a group setting that I'm in, and while they laugh and relate, it's just me-one who has nothing to say or do but to nod and smile and try to not burst into tears - or a fit of rage.

It's hard, I know, and venting is necessary (if it were socially acceptable for me, I'm sure I'd definitely take advantage!) and I know that the kiddies are very much loved and the parents are very much grateful - I get it. Too bad that getting it doesn't make it any easier to handle.

So this is my number 14: a new, and harsh, realization that my grief has hardened my heart so greatly that I have trouble empathizing or feeling any compassion with those who, exhausted and haggard though they may feel, have that for which I so long. It feels very understandable to me and I can easily rationalize it, yet it also feels unacceptable to me because... well, compassion and empathy are better than jealousy and self-pity.

Kindness is better.

My rationalizing it has to end somehow, preferably without causing me to disintegrate further.

Oh, but I do not quite know how to fix this. Honestly, I don't know if I'm ready.

You can probably go ahead and start hating me now.

Or I could try to distract you with pretty photos.  Ooooooh, yes - look at all the pretty photos....

 

Then maybe you won't hate me too berry much! 

After all, #14 is harsh and I hate that it's true, but I do beleaf 

that such reflections can be good for the soul, and catalysts for change.

Maybe they can help me find my way out of the rain and cold.

And perhaps find a way to cross this bridge, now that I've come to it.

Maybe one day again I could even be like a bridge over troubled waters, or at least a sympathetic ear.

But from where I'm standing right now, the way there just seems like a terrifying mystery to me.

Week 42 of Photo 52: Mysterious

Perhaps I should start by fixing my eyes less on my own problems, in favor of what is good and pure and lovely - even though that's easier said than done. Maybe I should give myself a homework assignment of one kind response a week to any one of numerous people I'm insanely jealous of, and see what happens. Ugh.