Before Al had the first stroke in January 2011, I already felt like life was hard. We had four children, ages 11 and down, and I had just started working full-time at the kids' school, which was a massive adjustment for me. Little did I know that the chronic fatigue and occasional pain that I was experiencing at the time were signs of the autoimmune disease that would soon attack my body.
I had as much as I could handle being a full-time wife, mom, and office administrator and maintaining several commitments to my church and Christian group.
After that first stroke, I became so much more: caregiver, accountant, head of the household, and overall chaos director. That was way too much for me, yet I had no choice but to do it all.
The problem was that when others looked at our life from the outside, it might have appeared that everything was fine once Al returned home. But most people didn't see the changes in personality, memory, and cognitive functions that I saw. They didn’t see the profound trauma that we would process over the next 14 years. And I was expected to keep all of my commitments because, clearly, everything was back to normal.
With each stroke, Al changed and became more dependent on me. Then, to add some formidable challenges to our lives, we lost our beloved Joy in 2020, we filed for bankruptcy, a plumbing failure partially destroyed our home, and my health declined along with his. Just to name a few.
Unsurprisingly, I became weary.
Disillusioned.
Burned out.
Did you know you can survive in a state of burnout for several years? I know this because I lived it, and I’m still living it.
I started to hate my life.
I spent years mentally checking to avoid the pain and stress of having a disabled husband and young children who needed more than I thought I could give. I would rather fantasize about an exciting, fast-paced life than face the utter chaos of my real life. As a writer, I had no shortage of fictional fun to think, write, or dream about. Video games, social media, and pop culture entertained me when I wasn’t writing.
It took me far too long to realize that I would never learn to face reality if I spent my life escaping it.
In 2017, after six years of chaos, pain, disappointment, and what felt like failure after failure, I needed to start trusting God again. I slowly began to accept that He had a much broader vision of my life than I did. I attended a “Healing the Whole Person” seminar that summer, and I started to recognize my destructive behaviors as a response to past hurts and disappointments. I was setting up my life to avoid more pain. Theoretically, anyway.
It was around that time when Joy started to go to DBT. (Dialectical Behavior Therapy: DBT is a structured, intensive therapy that combines mindfulness and cognitive behavioral therapy to help people learn skills to manage their emotions.)
She taught me several helpful skills, the most important of which is radical acceptance. This skill resonated deeply with me and it was the one I needed most. Radical acceptance has been a cornerstone of my mental and spiritual health.
"At its most basic, radical acceptance is a practice that involves accepting emotions, thoughts, and circumstances that are unchangeable and out of your control. To radically accept means to completely recognize and accept the reality you’re in—even when that reality includes pain or discomfort. Regularly practicing radical acceptance can help us cope with painful emotions so we can move on or even come up with a plan to make an uncomfortable situation better." https://bit.ly/4aGxLye
Recently, I've been spending a lot of mental energy pining away for the days when the kids were little, when Al was able-bodied and could provide for our family, and when we could still go out on dates or make love. But rather than making myself happy, these blissful memories only fueled the already-burning blaze of my discontent.
Between flashing back to those idyllic days of our young family life and pleading with God to let me wake up from this nightmare, I realized that I couldn't make myself happy or change my circumstances. I remembered this concept of radical acceptance (again) and realized (again) that I had to adopt this approach in order to find peace.
With God’s grace, I realized it was possible - necessary, even - to accept my life exactly the way it is. It’s normal and healthy to look back to the past when my life was more manageable. But spending too much time pining away for those days and wishing I could go back, well, that only brought on a deeper depression, a hopelessness.
I also spend a lot of time now worrying about my future. How do I go on without my other half? How can I support myself with limited skills and deteriorating health? This worrying and wondering is also normal and healthy. But getting caught up in the pressure of trying to orchestrate the rest of my life elevates my anxiety exponentially. And it’s futile since I don’t know what my life will bring.
God (or my own brain, which, by the way, was designed by God) always pulls me back and reminds me to focus on today. He gently reminds me that today has enough trouble of its own.
In my experience, radical acceptance is the ability - nay, the choice - to look at my life and just accept that this is my reality. Regardless of what I want it to be (or wanted it to be) and regardless of how I feel about it. This doesn’t mean that I ignore my feelings, but I can separate the emotions of discouragement, anger, disillusionment, etc. in order to process them. It’s a helpful tool for me because I can face my emotions without actively trying to fight against the situation. Of course, it doesn’t mean that I’m going to give up or stop trying to improve my life, but it does mean that I’m done fighting against my unique challenges. For the most part, anyway.
I’m still sad, obviously. I still cry every day. But I’m not stuck in denial, anxiety, or fear. Well, some days, I’m terrified, but I do my best not to stay in a state of terror. I have to keep choosing to accept my circumstances. I can’t change what happens or what has happened, but I can change my reaction to them by clinging to God praying for strength and courage.
I have to lean into Him.
A dear friend told me, sometime in the past 14 years, that I was going to have to lean into death.
Lean into the death of my dreams.
Lean into the death of my husband.
Lean into the death of myself.
Lean into God.
Combining the command to die to myself (Matt 16:24-25) and to accept my circumstance, I grew to understand that, in any situation, God would comfort my heart, speak to me softly about what I needed to do, and give me the courage to face any problem. I was terrified when Al came home with hospice. I knew I was going to watch him die, and it was the scariest thing I’ve ever faced. But I knew God would give me the courage I needed in the moment.
And He did.
He didn’t make it easy for me. But he gave me the courage to bear it.
It’s essential to understand that acceptance doesn’t mean approval. When I accept my life as it is, I don’t have to pretend I’m happy about it. That would be twisted and unnatural. I am decidedly not happy that my husband and my daughter are dead. And I will never be happy about it. But I can accept the fact that this is my life, as much as it hurts. I can make a plan to keep moving forward, honoring their memory, being available to my family, and working to find a way to minister to others and support myself.
I learned that I have to surrender to my current reality, but I don’t have to succumb. Instead of curling up into a ball and waiting for death, I have the clarity to continue living this life and to make plans for the future.
Please understand that I have not perfected this concept, and I’m not perfect at dealing with grief and hardship. I’m still tempted to succumb every day. I would rather lay in bed watching Parks and Recreation, Psych, or The Big Bang Theory than get up and face life without my husband. (I mean, seriously, should I be worried that I get into my bed and ask, “Should I go to Pasadena or Pawnee today? Or maybe I should visit Shawn and Gus.”)
I do allow myself to cuddle up in bed in the middle of the day. It’s where I do my deepest grieving since I’m next to Al’s empty bed. It’s where I process my emotions and write notes to myself or things I want to remember. It’s the only place where I can cry as loud and as long as I need to.
But I also recognize the need to get up and stretch, strengthen, and move. I want to be available to my kids, so I make a point of being in the common rooms when they’re around. I have to pay bills and do the busy work of life. And I want to write.
Sometimes, it’s tough not to succumb; sometimes, I do nothing but hang out in bed and ignore the day’s responsibilities. To be honest, sometimes I need that break! But more often than not, God is nudging me to accept my life the way it is, to lean into him, and to approach my future with courage.
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