Back to Florida, wanna come along?
I think I mentioned the conference was about how the brain works, and learning how to manage your emotions. There are basically three brain states, as follows:
Survival- fight or flight. Picture me jumping out of Angie's car barefoot, screaming, running with no destination in mind.
Emotional- Lots of verbal. Picture me screaming at Tim that he would never understand because it wasn't Jacob, he still had his boy. "If it were Jake, you'd be saying his name all the time!"
Executive- Able to problem solve. Picture me making the plan to take Cory's shoes to the Spanish Steps in Italy, and following through.
(For more information, visit www.consciousdiscipline.com.)
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As the conference went on, we were urged to keep positive intent in mind when looking at behaviors. Sometimes behaviors that could be viewed in a negative light are just the window through which a person's brain state can be glimpsed. The more we learn to be good observers, the better we are able to help ourselves and others move to the higher part of the brain, where we can make our best decisions.
As I sat at the table, surrounded by my new friends, just screwing around with my watercolors as I listened, I began to think about my own behaviors in the last year since Cory died, and even further back to some of Cory's behaviors when she was ill. I realized I have spent the last twelve months living in survival and emotional states, dipping a toe into executive only on my good days, and mostly only within the last three months or so. I thought about all of Cory's struggles, and realized my girl lived in a survival state for the better part of a year; a good day for her was to step into emotional. The things that became difficult for her were all a result of her executive skills being compromised by her illness: initiating tasks, organizing, memory, impulse control, prioritizing, and many more.
I tried to explain it to Tim when I got home. He used to be absolutely infuriated with the state of her room. It was towards the end of her life, when she was recovering from a long bout of psychosis that her living space started to reflect a healthier brain, which I pointed out to Tim, but he didn't really seem impressed by.
Finally, I thought, I might have the words to explain it well. If Cory came home with a new book or clothing, she would take it to her room. The bag and tags or receipt never made it to the trash. Her trash basket sat empty most of the time, but her drawers were full of a modge podge of clothing, books, schoolwork, half-full water bottles, and general trash. Why? Tim would say she was lazy. I would bristle, and round the mulberry bush we would merrily go. I argued my girl wasn't lazy. I would point out that she would do pretty much any task you asked of her, but you had to ask, and you had to give it to her one step at a time. Cory loved to help.
When left to her own devices, Cory simply couldn't always prioritize what was worth keeping from what needed to be thrown away. In her mind, everything in the bag, and the bag itself was hers, and her things belonged in her room...hadn't Mom reminded her of that over and over again?
When I thought about her reluctance to shower sometimes, I thought it was a combination of factors. First of all, she was often depressed, and when you are clinically depressed, rolling over is too much work, let alone hauling your butt into a moving body of water. Secondly, there were all those steps. A lot of times, I could get Cory into the shower, amidst many protests, where she would stand under the spray until she thought enough time had passed that she could shut it off. All those steps...they made her anxious. She did better when I posted some small cheater pics inside the shower: wash body, shampoo, shave. And occasionally, it was those damn voices working her into a state of delusional thinking: that the water coming from the showerhead was acid, and would burn her skin...best to stay away from that...it might be acid one day, and plain water the next...you never really knew, best to play it safe.
Could I apply this same positive intent to some of my own behaviors in the past year? It would seem we are often the last ones to give ourselves a break. When I looked at things from a brain perspective, my mass shopping seemed irresponsible, yes, but a coping skill at the time, maybe the only one I knew thus far, and I wasn't exactly in the shape to learn new ones for the first few months. If you think about it, 22 pairs of Hunter boots doesn't exactly scream impulse control. I have always been a avid collector/borderline hoarder (perhaps my anxiety peeking through), but even this was unheard of prior to losing my firstborn child.
During the last day of the conference, we broke into small groups and played games to review what we are learned. I will never forget the open honesty and bravery of the young woman at one of the game tables, who shared that mistakes are bound to happen, despite your best efforts, and you should be just as kind to yourself as you are with others- viewing mistakes as an opportunity to learn a new skill. The personal example she gave was that she had left an abusive relationship after several years. The thought that she should have left sooner would start to creep up on her, and she would cut it off. It was over; today is a new day. She would never wish her situation on anyone, but she had learned from it, and came out the other side stronger.
I marveled at her ability to share this very personal information with a handful of strangers, not fearing their judgment (she already had forgiveness from her biggest critic- herself) just feeling good in her own skin...how very brave. That is the kind of person I want to be. So when I spied Becky Bailey wandering about when I took a bathroom break, I stalked her.
Becky is an extremely intelligent woman who has made differences in the lives of so many others. Was there any way I could not ask her how to stay in my executive state from here on out? More importantly, could I use positive intent on myself, for a past decision?
She stopped mid-way through her response, when I told her why I wanted the answers to these questions. I told her what happened to Cory, that I was the one who allowed her to walk to the store, that she was, in fact, running the errand for me. I added that I'd spent the last year in survival and emotional states, and wanted her advice on how to keep my head above water.
Becky took me by the forearm, and stepped so close to me that our eyes were just inches from each other. She waited until my nervous darting glances stopped. She asked quietly, "Do you have other children?"
"Yes, I do. I have a son. He's eleven."
She nodded, her eyes never leaving mine. "Okay, then. I want you to listen to me." She spoke gently but firmly, punctuating her words with little squeezes on my arm, "You cannot disappear. You have a child, and you cannot leave this world. Do you understand that?"
I nodded, saying nothing. Does my face still say I want to die? Does it?
She asked me why I felt responsible, and I went through all the carefully constructed logic that placed the blame on my shoulders.
"But if it had been you, instead of your daughter...if you had been killed- walking, driving, whatever- would Cory have been as well equipped to handle losing you as you -terrible as it may be- are equipped to handle losing her? If you had been taken instead of her, two children would have been without a mother, and I can't think of anything more harmful to a child. When it is someone's time to go, it is their time. You were left here because you are the oxygen for your son. You have a job to do."
Then she said this,
"You're gonna have a few more years of survival and emotional; you just are. And when you start to feel guilty, I want you to dive under that feeling of guilt, get down deep, and crawl into the sadness. It's okay to be sad. When you need to go underwater...go... just keep high enough-", she gestured with a hand level at her nostrils, "so that you can still breathe, and make sure you come up often enough to take care of your son."
She looked at me for a moment, hugged me tightly, and released me. "That's just the way it is. Sorry."
I walked away feeling I had been given a gift...permission to have my feelings, and the right to take my time.
I need to just let it be.
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