about constantly working

When I say "working," I don't mean what we usually mean by work - paid employment or self-employment or somehow doing or providing something of value in return for something else of value, usually money. Well, maybe I mean the last one. Because I am talking about how much hard work is involved in governing my life, my emotions, my attitude. If I get another e-mail from another self-help guru touting how important it is for me to let go of my fears and my negativity, to accept full responsibility for how my life is today, to practice acceptance and the Law of Attraction, etc....well, I will just go to bed for a while. I am tired of all this effort. I would like a rest. What sparked this rebellion? Talking to a friend who is full of ups and downs, who is seemingly constantly thrown the most painful and difficult situations and circumstances. Just as she makes it through something, she is tossed another curve. And while it's very easy to say "oh, life is your teacher" or some such very true sentiment, it is not easy to listen to her pain - and worse than that, to her resignation and giving up. I'd rather hear her yell and complain than this dull voice of supposed acceptance that things will change and be different. It's as though her vitality has been stolen by too much pain over and over again. Sure, it's possible that she will regain her vitality and zest for life. Maybe even tomorrow. As it is possible that she will come out of this a stronger, wiser woman. That will take more time, in my experience. Right now, I weep inside for the steady pounding on her spirit, the constant deflation of her hopes, the never-ending assault on her equilibrium. All the words I have are not enough to comfort her, to restore her faith, to invigorate her with hope. I've been through so much of what she is going through. Perhaps that's why I know how horrible this is. And I know how close I came to throwing in the towel. Years ago, I did throw in the towel for a couple weeks and spent those weeks in a safe environment getting some healing space and time away from the demands of everyday life. Sometimes life's problems really are too much. People's minds and hearts break, and too often they do not recover. In such situations, it is abhorrent to talk about personal responsibility and "you brought this into your life for a reason." For many years, I've resented the hell out of Louise Hay for starting the whole "you create your own health" movement which has now transmuted into the "you create your own life" binge. It is so demoralizing to be sick or disabled or in emotional pain and hear that I brought it on myself. Why on earth would I want to be in this condition? And if I brought it on, why the hell can't I cure myself? I mean, if it were possible to cure oneself through positive thinking, we wouldn't need to raise money to fund cancer research, would we? And I don't think I have a failure to think positively enough. That is tantamount to saying that Jean Harlow's mother had the right idea when she kept her from the hospital because Christian Science praying would heal her. It didn't, and she died unnecessarily of septicemia, I think - something very curable when caught early enough. Does faith healing happen sometimes? Sure! I do believe in miracles. The thing is, they are called miracles for the very reason that they happen quite infrequently. My opinion and experience is that we get what we get, not what we deserve or what we ask for or what we want. I don't believe I asked for Lyme disease and the crappy complications that seem to have followed it. I got bitten by a tick. I went to a very renowned doctor, who now heads up the Complementary Medicine Institute at Beth Israel Hospital, and he didn't diagnose me with Lyme for five years. The medicine simply wasn't advanced enough for him to think that a borderline test result meant I should be treated as if I had the disease. Some people might think that was medical malpractice. I don't. I think it was medical inexperience - not his, the field's. You don't know until you know. There is no malice in not knowing yet. So did I ask to get Lyme disease? Not consciously, not subconsciously as far as I can tell after years of therapy and self-examination. In a past life? Who on earth knows? I only know that I got it and it sucks and I have a choice about how I deal with the consequences. That choice sometimes is very limited, between crying and being angry, between sleeping and watching a movie so I don't think. Sometimes, it's OK to check out. I get so tired of being so damned good all the time. There are times when all I say to people is "I'm so sorry you have to deal with this." I remember feeling so wonderful when my therapist Emily would validate my feelings. I'd be angry or hurt or discouraged, and she'd say "yes, I can understand that. That was a hurtful thing for her to say/do." I wasn't alone in my own world of meaning anymore where everything was relative and nothing was solid or constant. Instead, I shared reality with someone who said that there are some absolutes, there are some common human experiences and feelings, and you can trust your own gut, your own opinion, your own feelings. You can trust them and honor them and listen to them. I really needed to hear that. It was one of the most empowering things ever to happen to me. And the validation helped calm me down, helped temper the feelings, soothe my wounded heart, and enable me to think more calmly and even objectively about what action to take based on my feelings and the situation. When I was in college, my friend Linda's mother said to her that she often wanted to put her arms around me and tell me everything would be all right. I wish she had, even though I wouldn't have known what she meant. I did end up spending a summer with Layne Grasshoff, and she was wonderful to me. I must have talked a lot about how wonderful she was because my own mother got jealous and complained that it seemed I wanted Mrs. Grasshoff to be my mother instead of her. Honestly, at that point, I did. And probably because that was true and I couldn't tolerate what seemed to be betraying my mother, I didn't have much contact with her after that. For that, I am sorry. She was a generous, loving woman to me, who accepted me as I was. She loaned me the money for an abortion after I'd been raped, when I couldn't tell my own mother about it. She represented safety. Safety is so ephemeral for grown-ups. For many children, as well, who grow up in abusive families or no families at all. Yet it is such a fundamental craving we humans have, for safety, for the physical and emotional space to just let go of having to be good, having to behave, having to have a good attitude, having to set a good example, having to have faith, having to keep trying, keep going, keep working. Is there no respite from life's storm? That's what I was thinking about tonight when I listened to my dear friend Sam. I have no respite for her. Even the words "it will all be OK" are meaningless in that frame of mind, as they would have been for me if Mrs. Grasshoff had said them to me. I would have wondered why she said it to me, and I would have said "how do you know?" There are no guarantees in life, and it's all very well and good to reassure someone, but on what basis? How on earth do I know if it's all going to be OK? I only know that if I drink, it will all be worse - unless I am fortunate enough to die quickly from alcohol poisoning. I guess this is where I always end up, where I ended up after my two week "holiday" when I wanted to return to that safe place. I have no choice. I must go on. Suicide is not for me. I am too chicken, and I have too much innate hope. And so this human spirit adjusts, adapts, regroups, reinflates, revives. After a little rest, I am willing and able to do the work again.