Holding It All
I cannot pinpoint when this world first broke my heart, but I know it’s been broken for a long time. This past year, I have felt the pain of it all more acutely. My heart breaks for all the unoriginal reasons hearts have broken for millennia - the news of wars and suffering, the loss of family members and friends, the relationships that end.
Trying to make sense of the emotions spinning around inside of me, I listened to a podcast in which the host implied heartbreak was an immense disappointment that things did not turn out the way one had hoped. My first thought was to chastise my pain as the superficial suffering of a petulant child. I imagined myself marching around at three in my leggings, tutu, and plastic tiara, enraged at the indignity of not getting whatever it is I was coveting at the time. As usual, my first thought was cutting and condescending - always devoid of grace.
Can all this pain really be reduced to that? A temper tantrum at my lack of control? Am I really so immature? As a teacher, my heart breaks daily for the students who don’t have access to stable homes or predictable meals. It breaks each time I watch the system fail to provide children with the resources they need to be successful. It breaks as I stretch myself as thin as possible to meet each student where they are, knowing I will inevitably fail some. I wonder how many more times I will be called upon to assuage the fears of six year olds who have just watched news of another school shooting on TV. I used to assure them of their safety, but each time it rings more hollow.
My heart breaks as a citizen of the world. I watch immigrant parents separated from their children. I watch money spent wildly on industry and speculation, as people go hungry and lose access to government subsidies. I watch political leaders reduce themselves to petty name calling, as they cut funding for healthcare. The stock market roars as people lose their jobs, their livelihoods, their security. And I know it is all made worse by my insistent belief that it could all be so much better, that it doesn’t have to be this way.
And of course, my heart breaks each time I lose a family member. I always feel like it was too soon and I never understand why there had to be so much suffering. Why does cancer seem to choose its victims so indiscriminately? Why is it that no matter how desperately you try to care for the dying, you cannot take away their pain? I hold tightly to all the memories we made and grieve all the memories we missed making.
Yet, with all that I have listed, how could it possibly be that a boy not loving me is what ultimately empties me out and brings me to my knees? Why would that be the thing that leads to months of numbness and despair?
I am beginning to recognize that it is because I thought, just for a moment, I might have found someone to help me hold it all. My heart was broken long before I met him. He, of course, was not my first bout with disappointment. He is not even the first boy to tell me that he does not love me. This heaviness was not something that began with the split, it is something I brought with me to the partnership, a weight I was desperately hoping he could help ease. For years, I thought I was simply longing to be loved, but it turns out, what I needed most was rest. I wanted a moment to draft behind another, to let someone else take on the headwinds of life, so that I could catch my breath. I wanted to curl up beside someone and find protection from the harshness of it all. It is no mystery why that relationship became strained.
The pain is not just about the boy, it is my heart protesting the idea of facing it all alone again. I feel that little three year old inside of me marching around, crying out that it is not fair. This time, before I can belittle that child inside of me, I sit with her and agree because I know that she is refusing to accept the unacceptable in our world. She is enraged by the cruelty and the selfishness. She is deeply missing all of the people she has loved and lost. And she is kicking and screaming under the weight of it all.
As I sat on a blanket in the park, across from the boy who told me he did not love me, he asked how I have coped with loss in the past. The first thing that came to mind was an image of Russian dolls. I said something about how you never fully lose people, the pain is never completely gone, it lives inside of you, little versions of your past self and the hurt and loss each one experienced.
This has been how I’ve dealt with grief. Every time the universe comes around and knocks over my set of nesting dolls, I panic and cry out, and then I meticulously pack it all back up, carefully putting all my pain back in order and hiding it away. Each time life brings me more sadness, I harness all my strength to expand myself yet again, stretching out to find a way to hold it all. Year by year, I become heavier, bloated with grief.
This year, the sad events have been coming so quickly, it has been impossible to keep up with the pace of putting all the dolls back in order. A break up, a death, a diagnosis, and each day a new dump truck of headlines full of bad news. I know if I needed to, I could muster the strength to expand myself yet again. People are always more resilient than it seems they could be. I have seen people hold far more weight than me, but it feels like there has to be a better way. Surely this is unsustainable.
All the Russian dolls I have collected over the years are set out before me, a grim history of all my heartbreak. The prospect of picking it up again is overwhelming. I wish I had a clear cut way of dealing with it, a prescription for how to let it go. I do not have the answer yet, but I know it has something to do with acceptance.
“You think your pain and your heartbreak are unprecedented in the history of the world, but then you read”
— James Baldwin
Below are some of the books that have helped me navigate and work with my most challenging emotions.
A Therapeutic Journey, by Alain De Botton - This book acts like a companion to guide you through the low points of life. Not only does this book include helpful advice, it also serves as a reminder that there is a community of people navigating the same challenges.
The Year of Magical Thinking, by Joan Didion - This is a beautiful description of the process of grief. It is a reminder that while acceptance is a necessary step, it will always take the time it takes.
Radical Acceptance, by Tara Brach - Through the lens of Buddhism, Tara highlights the many challenges that often stand in the way of accepting life as it is. She offers both insights and specific practices to help work through whatever you are feeling.
What resources have helped you navigated emotionally overwhelming times?
