Showing posts with label emotion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label emotion. Show all posts

July 31, 2012

So the Olympics are on...

...and I'm thinking about everything but the Olympics.  I'm thinking about how:
  • I'm afraid to pray, but am trying to remember that my sin is not news to Him, so I shouldn't be afraid.  After all, He did command me not to fear my storms.
  • Mum, realizing that I'm actually done with research on Friday, asked if I wanted her to come up earlier than Sunday...and I, not wanting to miss church, said, "No, Sunday's just fine."
  • I'm tired of people and tired of crying and tired of myself and tired of missing the one friendship I can't have right now.
  • home is going to be more of the same.
Do I have to?  Father, I need to stop being afraid of You.  Come near, please, and help me to pray.  I want You back.

July 27, 2012

Running

I'm in full flight...I have been, for a few days now.  Hiding, turtling, and then feeling alone - I wonder when that will make more sense to me.  For now, it just seems like the usual paradox.

I read this morning that "oftentimes when love hurts, we shut down and stop feeling.  We blame and get angry.  And in those times, we often miss the one thing that we ought to be doing.  Trusting in God that He will provide for our every need, knowing that He is in control of our lives even when our lives seem so very out of control.  Our issues do not shock him...it is okay to be angry.  It is okay to hurt.  It is even okay to be angry with God.  What is not okay is to sit in that anger; to remain in that place...when love hurts, where do you run to?  Where do you hide...is it in the promises of the One who created you and knows your every hurt, even when you aren't speaking to Him?  When love hurts, to whom do you run?"

Well, that pretty much sums it up.  I haven't been speaking to Him because prayer, at its core, is honesty about Him and me, with Him and me.  I don't feel ready to be honest, because this kind of honesty is something I imagine to be a Pandora's box of sorts - open one issue, and the whole lot come tumbling out.  Perhaps it will be better for me in the end, but right now...well, it's only been a month.  It's okay to grieve a loss (although I mustn't stay in this place forever, like D keeps saying.  I must not...yet it feels impossible to move.)

Father, I'm sorry.  You scare me.  Approaching You scares me.  Give me this day my daily bread...in time, I'll try harder to come back.  In the meantime, I count three people who I can talk to - thank You for these three.

July 22, 2012

Forever and almost always

Once in a while, I encounter a song that puts some kind of invisible-but-very-real bind around my chest.  Take, for example, these lyrics penned by Kate Voegele herself (who, I must say, has a beautifully smooth voice in addition to an attentive songwriting-mind.  Well done, Pandora):

I'll be fine; just love me when you can
And I'll wait patiently
I'll wake up every day just hoping that you still care




S says that "[I] have better things to wake up for."  Not right now, I don't.  Right now, this is all I want.  Ugh...that's stubborn of me.  Even the words, as they appear on my screen, look like belligerence.  Here's the thing, though: after a full day of vacillating between fragility and refusing to break, I'm ending the day feeling...steely.  (It makes sense, especially physiologically, that I'd need a break from all of the crying, although it may not be the healthiest choice to run to the other extreme and decide to try to not feel anything.)  But I'm tired of battling this expectation (whether it's from others or just from myself) to be happy and fun and bubbly and social and light all the time.  God meets me where I am.  He is, as I learned in church this morning, compassionate...and compassionate for me.  Yes, He meets me where I am, and where I am is none of those things...not today.  And I need to let that be okay.

A balancing act

[This is my first journal entry (a reflective writing exercise) for my Health and Human Values class.]

Toward the close of today’s lecture session, Dr. M posed the following question: “How are we motivated by the joy of others to join in their joy, and by the suffering of others to do something to relieve it?”  (He went on to attribute such responses to the activity of mirror neurons in the brain.)  This question drove me to reflect on one aspect of medicine which I expect will challenge me in the near future, especially once I am permitted to interact with patients: the necessary balance between maintaining emotional distance from their pain, and allowing compassion and empathy to inform my caregiving.

A dear friend of mine recently commented to me, “S, you are no passive observer of life.”  Not only am I inclined to agree with him, but I am also convinced that this kind of fire will serve me well as a physician.  The passion itself deserves explanation, of course, as it is a manifold creature – it includes anger (both righteous and unrighteous, I admit) as well as compassion.  In the context of my fast-approaching entry into medical school, I often feel compelled to consider my capacities for all of these emotions, but I want to use this particular space now to focus on compassion.

I am, by nature, the kind of person who feels deeply, no matter what the emotion.  Naturally, this character trait has always rewarded me with substantial and fulfilling relationships in my life.  However, it also comes with an important limitation: its tendency to drive me into distress, and sometimes even incapacitation (at which point, of course, I always try to employ appropriate coping strategies).  Seeing another person’s pain occasionally causes me to wonder what kind of significant difference I, a single physician, will ever be able to make in this broken world.  It’s a paralyzing experience indeed, and one that hits hardest when I encounter the stories of patients who suffer from illnesses with which I have a personal connection.  (I have already had one such experience in class, and today was only the second day!)  So I expect that both as a medical student and as a physician, I would do well to constantly check myself – to ensure that I am never becoming too emotionally involved with my patients.  At this point, I am not sure about how best to conduct this kind of self-evaluation.  However, I expect that I will learn more than enough about this at medical school (if not formally, then at least experientially).

I am reminded now of something written by Ann Voskamp, a favorite blogger of mine: “Compassion isn’t merely a vague sense – but a feeling so strong that it causes you to bend: it shapes your body, your life, into a response…it’s birthed out of the Latin ‘pati’ and ‘cum’ and it means ‘to suffer with’.  Compassion chooses to suffer with the sick, to be kicked in the gut, to weep with the weak, to pray with the powerless, to cry with the castoffs.  Compassion is the condition of being fully with.”[i]  Indeed, there will come a day when another human being entrusts himself/herself to my professional care, and I will gladly accept that challenge, that person’s burden.  I want to be shaped into a person who, as well as “suffering with” her patients, has the ability and acumen to respond with a therapeutic touch, whatever that may mean (i.e. a drug, a referral, or even just a simple conversation).

That has always been my reason for pursuing medicine: I want to be with those who hurt, firstly so that we can be human together…and then, using all of the knowledge and experience I will accrue in the years to come, so that I can heal.  To use Voskamp’s phrasing, I want to bend.  But like any human response, bending involves complexities of which any future physician should be prepared to address on a personal level.  I want to bend, yes, but not to the point where I break and cannot serve.  I want to be motivated by suffering, yes, but not to the point where suffering is all I can see.  So it’s my hope, now, that the next chapter of my education will teach me how to find the balance I need.

[i] Voskamp, Ann.  “When Compassion becomes a Gold Rush.”  Web log post.  A Holy Experience.  N.P., 12 Nov. 2011.  12 Nov. 2011.  http://www.aholyexperience.com/2011/11/when-compassion-becomes-a-gold-rush/.