This culture drowns us in “easy, 5-step” processes to exercise more, eat healthier, succeed in business, organize our houses, deep clean (including baseboards), cultivate positive thinking, save money, stay young, choose the right skincare regimen, maintain friendships, build a garden pond, deal with problematic relatives, survive family holidays, and even—yes—grieve.
I don’t write “drown” lightly here. Though we had these articles and tv shows before the advent of the internet, they were limited to the magazines we subscribed to or found in the doctor’s waiting room to thumb through. Now we see headlines and simplistic quotes multiple times a day on social media. People are hungry for ways to feel better and look better, and others are eager to serve up their own solutions. I’m not blaming either group.
But for those of us who are particularly sensitive, whether that’s a personality trait or a sensitivity brought on by the rawness of grief, this cacophony of self-improvement advice feels like criticism. Like we aren’t doing anything right. Like, if we’re having any feelings other than joy, contentment, pride, and love, it’s our own fault. (Not to mention if we have money stresses or imperfect skin.)
And of course when I say “us,” I most definitely mean “me.” I still remember my mother calling me out as a teenager for being moody (what teenager isn’t?), and that was a long time ago. Now the medical community, as in almost every doctor I’ve ever seen, reinforces my own self-blame over eating too many sweets. I’ve read hundreds of articles and books and tried routines, strategies, different mindsets, and drugs, all so I could be thinner, healthier. And then, for some reason, a couple of days ago I thought: Actually, I’m literally doing the best I can.
I eat chocolate because I’m looking for some small pleasure I can provide for myself, because I deal with chronic pain and fatigue, because I’m worried all the time about climate change/ecological crises and the political upheaval that will go with them, because childhood experiences or genetics or brain alterations from ME/CFS have made depression an issue for me and I chose food over illegal drugs for a modicum of relief a long time ago. I go for cookies instead of carrots because I miss my sister more than I even expected to, because we used to make cookies together or go out for ice cream and talk and laugh and enjoy being alive. I’m fat because—well, just because, and I don’t have to explain. Because I’m doing the best I can.
Not everything in our lives can be “fixed,” or should be. You don’t have to take every piece of advice given to you, even if it is good advice. Grief is going to be a wildly, weirdly different experience for everyone, and if you’re still alive, then you’re doing the best you can. Some people are going to wear their mother’s good winter coat and feel it like one of her hugs, and others are going to give it away because having it feels like a fresh bruise every time they see it.
Mr. Rogers famously said, “There are three ways to ultimate success: The first way is to be kind. The second way is to be kind. The third way is to be kind.” I believe we need to extend that kindness to ourselves as well.
Makes sense--I enjoy wearing my late mother’s coats. Purple and ecru