How to deal with pain
(and processing Meghan's new show)
Some thoughts on pain.
Four days into our seven day holiday in Bonaire my mother has a sciatica attack. She is immediately doubled over in pain, which reminds me of the intensity of labour pains. When I was pregnant with Elsie, our birthing doula encouraged me to call the pain “sensation.” I don’t feel my mother is ready for that kind of reframing. She only finds relief when she freezes her body into place. Movement makes it worse, although movement is also the cure.
While the first days of the trip are spent lounging by the pool and binging on an all you can drink supply of iced coffees and margaritas, the latter part of the trip involves climbing the fifteen stairs to her room, rubbing her back, worrying, analyzing her treks across the room.
“Yes, I think that’s a little bit better.”
(No.)
Studying her face. Was that last facial contortion slightly lessened?
(No.)
We get the kids involved sending them up to her room with iced coffees, picking her items from the buffet and tracking down the waiter for a take out container. In moments of crisis tangible actions are surprisingly soothing for the people watching. They want to help Grandma.
It’s hard to watch people in pain. I find it particularly hard, probably because I fast-forward to worst case scenarios. This is never going to end. This is only getting worse. Our life is now this. Every day thoughts in my world.
I’m the one who encourages us to watch sad character driven movies.
Hard Truths, for example, is on my film bucket list. Its synopsis reads: “Pansy, angry and depressed, lashes out at family and strangers. Her constant criticism isolates her, except from her cheerful sister Chantelle, who remains sympathetic despite their differences.” I look forward to carving out space for this film! I want to understand my personal emotional palate that also leans a little…darker.
Recently, when Violet was having trouble sleeping, I physically ached with her over her frustration and turned it into a very big thing. What’s causing this disturbance? How do we make sure it never happens again? All things that can’t be solved at 2 a.m with both of us pitifully saying, “Sorry.”
“I’m sorry for keeping you awake.”
“I’m sorry for not being calm because I’m tired and anxious.”
When life gets out of control it seems I panic.
The other night I was comparing our family to another family—in my usual quest for understanding.
Violet said, “Don’t compare.”
“I’m just trying to understand us,” I said.
“Understand us differently.”
Mic drop.
Although, standing in a bookstore I read half of a memoir called The Tell where the young daughter critiques the mother for being impossible to know—impenetrable beneath her perfection. Wow.
And because everything I absorb becomes a tool for understanding myself, I immediately think, yes, it’s true that I am a person who sees the cup half empty, and yes, I do panic when my kids are in pain, but…I am willing to be known. My girls will know me!
Mic drop.
White Lotus, Season 3. I’m still a fan after two seasons, despite the critique I’m seeing online about the new season being too slow. The character work continues to be so good. All 19 of them—perfectly foibled. Full of contradiction. Also Parker Posey’s Southern accent bemoaning the lack of decent people on the yacht in Taiwan (they’re in Thailand!) is satisfying TV.
I also watched snippets of Meghan Markle’s new cooking show and find myself in the camp of finding the tips kind of banal. Labelling baggies of goodies for my overnight guests is not my jam. Nor, do I have a guest room.
But I was a fan of her outfits (I like expensive beige!) and the opportunity to be lulled briefly into a fantasy world where mothers make artisanal loot bags (with ease!) and balloon arches (like it’s not at all stressful!). Nevermind that every birthday party my household has ever thrown has involved me racing to the dollar store thirty minutes before all the kids arrive and lots of tears.
Mostly what I felt watching Meghan was a mix of yearning to try again. Maybe I could have one more baby and this time succeed at all these domestic tasks, instead of running around like a crazy woman trying to achieve. Just more time…with a balloon arch.