“On the seventh day God rested,” but for some reason, we don’t think we need rest. Or so I thought, and still think at times. The only difference now is that I know how necessary sleep is, not only for our health, but also for our mental well-being and our coping abilities. In the immediate days, weeks and even months after my husband left, I hardly slept at all. I couldn’t.  My mind would not shut off. Of course, the usual demons, what did I do wrong, what could I have done differently, what is wrong with me, how will I survive, do I want to survive, all haunted me day and night. But trying to close my eyes and sleep just gave those demons free reign in my mind. So I stayed awake, trying to function. I took care of the kids; I cried;  I cleaned the house; I cried;  I ran the absolutely necessary errands; I cried; I went to see my counselor; I cried.

It happens all the time, in all relationships. We need to learn to listen. Not simply hearing, but really listening to what the other person is trying to say. We all have the fault of hearing what we want to hear, or what we think that person is saying. We think we know how the other person feels. We imagine the conversation before it even takes place. We have preconceived notions as to how it will go and what will be said. When we do this, we don’t allow ourselves to hear what the other person is truly saying. Try not speaking, not arguing but really listening while the other person speaks. Sometimes we can be surprised by receiving not what we thought we would, but what we really wanted all along.

Fake It Until You Feel It

 Sound easy? Sound, well, fake? Sound like good or bad advice? I sought out a counselor within the first month. When I couldn’t control my emotions at all, when I could not stop the tears, I knew I needed help. I don’t remember now which “friend” referred me to the counselor I chose. I say” friend” because if it is who I think it was, that person is no longer a friend and has, as I like to say, gone to the other side. Regardless, I am  grateful for the referral, as I benefited very much from the counselor. I saw her once a week for 3 years. I tried at one point to go every other week, and that was too long to wait. It was not cheap, but good things hardly ever are. I sometimes paid her to watch and listen to me cry, especially in the beginning.  I couldn’t even speak; I just cried. Her warm and loving disposition did my heart good.

Eventually, we did talk. I expressed to her my difficulty enjoying anything at that point. Even things I used to enjoy, or things with my children, were almost impossible to enjoy. After some time of weekly visits, she asked me to try something for her. She wanted me to pretend to enjoy it.  Pick something, anything, an outing with the kids, dinner with a friend, and pretend I liked it.  First I said I wasn’t sure I could even do that, but she asked me to try.  I agreed. The next visit, she asked how it went; was I able to do the exercise? To me, it felt strained, weird, and yes, fake. She explained that was okay, and we coined the phrase “fake it until you feel it.”

Seclusion. Retreat. Hide. 

These are all words I know too well. As I sit here wondering about a new friend of mine and how she is doing, I am reminded that I need to work harder to be a better friend to her. You see, she is going through a journey much like my own so I know, I mean know, how she is feeling and what she is doing by not answering my texts or emails or Facebook messages. I already know she won’t take my call. How do I know? Because not so long ago, I was her.

When we are in the pit of despair, when we are holding our pity parties, when we are depressed beyond all explanation, the last thing we want is to admit it to someone else, to let anyone see us like this, to ask for help.