When the child becomes the caregiver
How to stop worrying about things you can't change
@NewHappyCo has a wonderful knack for distilling life concepts into simple steps - bringing a wider scope of understanding, acceptance and kindness to the reader.
I'm a naturally anxious person and recent family events have stretched my feelings from worry, to fear, to acceptance, to hope for the better. If I don't catch myself, if I don't start realising - there I go again! - it's possibly easy a spiral to think of the worst-case scenario.
It doesn't help that I associate being in hospitals with the darkest moment in my life when I sat next to my mother in a day observation room of many beds, told her that scans show she had cancer, and watched her put up a brave front at the news.
But life really goes on, and I have bitten down on the inexplicable worry and fear that arises in me every time I step into a hospital. Recognising the emotion, understanding that I cannot change anything with worry, and reminding myself to stay in the moment. To be present, and to be with my family when they need me. I still need this constant reminder though.
The everyday light
I wanted to share this memory with you. Last month, I was sitting in someone's living room, basking in the harsh sunlight that streaked through the tall windows and watching as people walked past. The sunlight helped incredibly against the chill that permeated the flat.
Right now, I'm in my own living room, with the backdrop of heavy morning rain and a hot cup of overly ginger'd chai. The sound of an ambulance nearby rings through my mind as it steps out of post-sleep, wondering what the rest of the week will bring.
Some days, I'm feeling like a wilted plant that needs sunlight and water. Except my nutrients come in the form of good conversation, kindness and joy. When I get good conversation, even when I have become more of an observer than a speaker, when that happens, it hits a natural high. That I get to hear the stories in people's minds, that I get to hear what excites others, or makes them smile.
Stretching the gratitude muscle
My family was never big on hugging. Some friends on this email list would possibly remember I refused to hug, or would awkwardly let them pat me at arm's length in school. But as we get older, the literal human touch really matters, and it's an expression of gratitude, even if the actual words don't pass our lips.
In a team-building exercise I ran last week, I asked my teammates to share how they preferred to work, and what they felt their shortcomings were. I admitted that I was really bad at receiving feedback, both negative and positive. For negative, I would overcompensate or spiral trying to find how to improve, and for positive, I would not know how to respond gracefully, only saying "no, lah," with an embarrassed tone.
To you: Thank you for being here for me. Thank you for reading my insecurities and whimsical musings, and occasionally responding to me to let me know how you are getting along.
Always,
Medhā