Tuning in to Compassion

Of late, I’ve been pondering the flow of love in my life, especially in my relationship with my husband which spans over half a century.  Ah yes, I can still remember those thrilling first years.  For sure time and everyday life has tempered things, but still I love being with him and am deeply committed to creating as much joy in our life together as possible.

This is true even now, when life has taken a turn we never expected.  My husband’s intellectual prowess was one of the first things that drew me to him.  And he was the one who saw my potential and encouraged me to develop my own particular brand of wisdom.  So, facing the diagnosis of his dementia was an incredible shock.  But, even in the face of its relentless progresses, he skillfully finds many alternate coping strategies.

I think we have a good life – a relatively happy life.  And surely we have been blessed.  We love each other and I have a great deal of compassion for what my husband is dealing with.  I also know that, most of the time, I support him in a manner that reflects the depth of that compassion.  And yet, sometimes I feel as if I am failing.

There are times when I feel I am not compassionate enough.  How can that be?  Surely love is the basis for compassion, and I love him and want things to go as well as possible for him.   I know he needs loving support – maybe more than anything else.

So what’s going on?  I began to meditate on my understanding of love which brought me back to my roots.  As a young child I had a strong loving relationship with my maternal grandmother.  She spent a great deal of time with me and loved me unconditionally.  And so, as I struggled with my feelings I found myself remembering and re-feeling how it was to be with her.  Just being in that place and letting her love envelope and flow through me, I felt comfort.

As I sat there it was as if love was flowing into my body and expanding my heart.  I just basked in this wonderful experience, and then, as I felt this love begin to overflow, I included thoughts of my husband in the feelings of love and acceptance.  And as I did so, a surprising thing happened.

Although I had begun this contemplation feeling I needed to be more compassionate towards my husband, what I felt first was more compassion for myself!  I hadn’t expected this.  But compassion simply welled up as I recognized the challenges we face in our life together. Ensuring that things flow smoothly, dealing with the day-to-day details, and keeping our life as creative and interesting as possible is not easy. The pressure of getting things done in a timely fashion, having to re-do things, and responding to new issues as they present themselves, all of these prompted an outpouring of compassion for myself as I realized just how difficult this really is.

As surprised as I was by the love and compassion I felt for myself, what surprised me even more was that I felt compassion for myself for the times that I wasn’t as supportive and compassionate as I intended.  Not that I thought it was okay.  But I began to see how the way I’d been berating myself was something other than simply a desire to be compassionate.  It was my perfectionist tendency beating me up every time I thought I’d missed the mark.  And I felt compassion for myself yet again.  From this place of loving presence, I found love and compassion for myself even when I was less than perfect – when I wasn’t perfectly compassionate.  And something just relaxed inside.  It was okay!  I was doing my best.  And I found I could accept the times when I tried and failed – and move on to try again. I could treat myself with the same kindness, caring, and compassion I would show a good friend. This was a wonderful revelation, but there was more. 

 As I remained in this place of deep loving presence with my husband I began to sense his struggles afresh.  The awareness of the challenges he faces, the frustrations he lives with, and the grace with which he handles it all, allowed a sense of his heart’s struggles to vibrate in a new way in mine.  Could tuning in to this vibration become my anchor?  Could it help me in my intention?

This gentle connection with my husband became the door to greater presence and awareness of the times when my compassion was threatened.  Usually – when I was trying to get something done by a certain time.  Yes, you’ve guessed it; it was that very familiar “perfectionist” part raising its head yet again. 

 

It was incredibly healing to discover that, in my personal situation, compassion was sometimes being hijacked by perfectionism.  I even felt compassion for my old familiar perfectionist part – that desire to get things right has served me well. It helped me to succeed in my studies, my work, and even in organizing and running our home and social life.   But, quite clearly, in this case it had become too powerful.  In this particular situation, perfection had begun to think it was in charge.  And I had let it!

But, now that I realized what was happening, it was up to me to provide some leadership.  Do I continue to follow my perfectionist tendencies, or do I recognize that no one is perfect, and nurture my newly found compassion for myself and my loved one?  Will I be the critic or offer compassion?  In theory there is no contest.  But in reality it requires considerable effort and constant vigilance.  It is not easy!

It is my choice to determine what I will attend to as we move forward.  And I intend to be more attuned to that flutter of compassion for myself when I fail and for my husband when he struggles.  It is my role to tell that familiar and insistent perfectionist part when it needs to be quiet. Things don’t always have to be done in a particular way, and some things don’t have to be done at all.  Being on time is an ideal, but some days things may take more time than I expect. 

It is up to me to become more aware, to recognize the moments of opportunity and deepen my attention; to take a deep breath, and to connect with my heart as well as his.  It is up to me to calm my perfectionism and to tune into my compassion. It is my choice, and I have chosen to fan the flame of my newly-expanded compassion.

The Year that Was – The Year that Will Be

Last New Year’s Eve was a quiet affair at our home, some fun and some shared reflections.  A long-time friend who lost her husband 4 ½ half years ago was over for dinner with her new partner.  They are a lovely couple and we are happy for them.

None the less, when we began reflecting on the past year and the one ahead I was taken aback by the emotional tsunami that swept over me.  I felt a great happiness for our friends as they spoke of all the changes their new relationship had brought over the past year and the hopes and dreams they have for their life together in the future.  But I also felt something else.

In reflecting on the year past, I was truly thankful for the way Winnipeg has begun to feel like home – the way I am beginning to feel connected again.  I was full of joy when I remembered the many times we were able to get together and do so many things with our children and grandchildren.  And the way old friendships and family connections have been rekindled and strengthened has warmed my heart.  Their openness to be with us, to simply ask what they can do to help, or even to suggest ways in which they’d like to support us is more than I had dared hope.  Plus the medical and home support we have received this past year has been more than I thought possible a year ago.

So, yes, I had lots to reflect on and appreciate from the year 2013.  However, when I asked myself what I was looking forward to in 2014, my mind went blank.  What was I looking forward to???  The wave, the undeniable fact that my husband’s dementia was going to continue to get worse – that he’d lose more ground, hit me full force.  And all of a sudden I felt an aching sadness – a deep sense of loss.

Now, in the past, I’d have berated myself for having a “pity-party” and have searched for something positive that I could latch onto, something, anything that I could look forward to.  But at that moment, I could think of nothing.  Absolutely nothing!

And maybe that was a good thing.  As I’ve learned to trust myself to navigate my inner landscape I’ve  found that it’s okay to let myself be sad, to allow myself to grieve when sadness about what is happening to my husband and our life together arises.  And so, rather than chastise myself and find something positive (however inauthentic) to say, I quietly let myself be aware of the sadness that was in my heart. 

I used to fear that letting myself feel sad was dangerous, that I could somehow drop off a cliff into a slough of despondency and depression.   But that’s not what happens.  When I listen to my sadness, it’s as if she no longer has to hold on so tight.  It’s as if she has been heard and accepted.  Somehow, usually after a short time, my sadness begins to soften, and, while I’m still aware of the sadness, I begin to feel other feelings once more.

So feeling sad on New Year’s Eve was okay.  I felt my sadness.  But I wasn’t overwhelmed. And, as the evening progressed I was aware of other feelings as well.  I felt joy for the happiness of our friends, and for the wonderful blessings the year past has given us.  True, I wasn’t able to share anything I was looking forward to, but there seemed to be no need to do so.

And then, as our friends left, I let myself reflect more on my renewed feelings of sadness and loss.  I didn’t force myself to “get over it” or “move on”.  I was just gently there with my grief as I tidied up and got ready for bed.  And then, just as I was getting into bed, the sadness began to lift.  And, as it did, I remembered a very special event I was looking forward to next fall.  Joy and hope was returning as I drifted peacefully off to sleep.

The next morning, when I woke up, I remembered last night’s sadness.  It seems to me that these short times of grieving may very well be keeping me happy and healthy.   For, if I didn’t deal with my sadness and loss, if instead I pushed it down and refused to listen, I would no doubt be setting myself up for a major crash.  Sadness is an amazingly powerful emotion, powerful enough even to block my anticipation of our daughter’s wedding next fall. In the light of day I knew that the many blessings I have appreciated this past year, and no doubt many of which I am unaware will also be with me as we move forward into the New Year.  I do have a lot to look forward to.  So, 2014, here we come!