Solitaire (Roxy)

December 09, 2017

I removed my Mantra Band bracelet so it wouldn’t clink on the computer tonight as I typed. Engraved in that bracelet are the words “You are Enough.” I bought this Mantra Band as a present to myself.  I guess I was hoping if I wore it enough, I'd start to believe it...but at the end of this particular day I yank it off because I really don’t feel like I am “enough”... of anything!  

I’m not organized enough to run my family’s schedule smoothly. I’m not patient enough to teach 10-year-olds the way I used to. I’m not loving enough to listen to the most important people in my life. I’m too exhausted to finish day-to-day projects, but not tired enough to sleep.  Not only do I feel like I’m not enough...  I feel like I’m not myself.  

Ever feel like that?   

I have really been thinking a lot since Kara’s last blog post.  I am the last of six kids, so I can always tell when I’m being “mothered”. Kara is good at this.  She asks me all the time...Why are you keeping so busy? Did you eat anything healthy all day?  Have you taken time to pray or time to be still?  Did you write?  How do you feel?  I don’t like to answer her questions because answering them means I’m going to have to own up to some behaviors that need to be changed.  

“Being still” is the worst for me because it means I have to take the time to sit with my own thoughts.  It means reflecting.  Let’s be honest.  When we are all dolled up looking our best, it’s fun to see our own reflections… in a great, big full-length mirror! Focus on the positive! Find the beauty and celebrate it.  BUT... when we are feeling less than attractive, when we are NOT at our personal best, when we don’t feel 100%, we avoid mirrors at all costs.  We do this because many times focusing on ourselves leads us to look directly at something we might not want to see.

I have been dodging my own reflection for almost three years since my mom died.  But tonight, I’m “going there.”  If I stand in front of the mirror and open my eyes, I can’t help but see these things...  

Discontent, disconnection, but ultimately my least favorite D-Word.

Depression.    

It’s not there everyday, but the fact that it’s there any day means it needs to be addressed. I started noticing depression in other people.  It’s like when you drive a black car and then you realize there are a lot of other people who also drive a black car. I tend to notice people’s habits, when I share those same habits.  The first person I saw signs of depression in was my mom.

My mom was a “people person.”   She was the last of five children, and then she had six children of her own.  She sang for people, cheered for people, prayed for people, laughed with people.  She loved being around people...except for when she didn’t.  At night when she came home from running me to dance classes, cheering at my games, volunteering at schools, or being social with her friends, she would retreat to the dining room table with a Pepsi, a cigarette, and a deck of cards where she would sit alone not wanting to be bothered.  After she quit smoking she replaced the cigarette with M&M’s and sometimes a Diet Pepsi (to cancel out the chocolate)….but the card game remained the same.  Solitaire.  

Solitaire!  Like, alone.  Even the name of the game sounds depressing.

As a mother, and a teacher I respect a person’s need to have some alone time, but she did this almost every night for what seemed like hours.  She looked so defeated as she sat there shuffling the old worn out deck. Was she making mental lists of ways she felt like she wasn’t “enough”? Or was she just angry? She was definitely not content.  She knew she was not herself because several family members and friends told her they noticed changes in her disposition. She refused to listen. I can’t help but wonder how life would have been different for Mom, and selfishly for me, if she had listened.  

Night times were rough for her. How many nights could she have tucked me in and read me a story instead of play Solitaire? I hate that game.  Hate it. I know she didn’t care about those stupid cards more than me. I know she loved me with all her heart.  But as a kid, I thought she just wanted to be left alone. I thought she chose to play cards instead of cuddling me at night. I didn’t know why either- because I am one fantastic snuggle buddy!

As a kid, I thought adults got to make all of their own choices. Now that I’m an adult I realize I was wrong.  My mom didn’t choose to play Solitaire because it was fun.  She played it as a coping mechanism.  Just like I choose being active as my way of coping, which allows me to avoid what I really need to do.  The fact is, I don’t need to DO anything.  I just need to be still and be present (and I'm not just saying that because I love B Present Studio).

J.K. Rowling said, “It’s hard to explain depression to a person who has never been there because it’s so much more than just sadness.”  Solitaire is very much like depression.  It is lonely, it’s defeating, and people who have never played it don’t understand it.

I didn’t understand why my mom would flip through half of the deck, realize the cards she needed were buried, call it a loss, and shuffle again. Most nights she went to bed defeated. She lost not only the card game, she lost TIME.  She could have admitted she was depressed. She could have talked to therapists.  She could have taken medicine.  She could have changed her diet.  She could have tried different physical activities to relieve stress.  She could have tried journaling or reflecting, but she didn’t.   

Time is something you can’t get back...ever.  There are no “do-overs” in life.  My mom never got the help she needed to improve her daily life because she would not admit she needed it. I don’t want to downplay the fact that she still lived an amazing life, but I wonder how much she missed or how much better her life could have been if she would have talked about it or gotten help. If she would have reflected.  If she would have been still.  If she would have reached out to others who shared these same feelings.

When I’m busy teaching 5th grade, and teaching barre classes, and taking night classes, and serving on committees, and driving kids places...am I really just playing Solitaire?  Never truly engaging in one area?  Never dedicating myself wholeheartedly to one job or one focus, so I’m not solely accountable to anyone?  Am I so afraid to be close to people after my mom’s death that I keep everyone a safe distance away?  Am I spreading myself so thin that I just do a little of everything until I’ve reached my point of exhaustion? How long can I continue in this mode of surviving rather than thriving?

Kara is right.  Her sadness is not my sadness, and I can’t say that my definition of depression, disconnection, or discontent is exactly like anyone else’s.  She’s right about my needing to be still, pray, let my body rest, focus, and reflect.  I wish my mom would have looked in the mirror and reflected on her feelings… I wish she would’ve acknowledged her depression, understood that it wasn’t her fault and given herself some grace.  I wish she would have gotten the help that she needed, surrounded herself with people who understood, and thrived like I know she could have.  

I have learned so much during this grief process.  Almost three years after burying my mother, I realize I may have her disease, but I don't have to make the same mistakes she did in dealing with it.  I can talk about it, and reflect. I can write. I can communicate with others.  I refuse to play Solitaire.  No one should have to.

So when I stroke the last key on this computer tonight, I’m going to put that bracelet back on. I am learning to be still and reflect. I am also learning that I don't have to limit the way I live my life the way my mother did. I am enough and I will say it over and over until I believe it.