This Ordinary Life Of Mine
Going through my usual morning routine, checking my RSS feed, having a cup of coffee as my Bug plays outside. We have bacon on the weekend, our treat. We play and have cuddles and talk about things that happened yesterday and what’s going to happen today. We tidy up the house and do the reward chart ticks and balances. This is our norm.
I was laying in bed last night thinking about normal. What’s normal to us is abnormal to others. I don’t even think about all the million little things I do each day that are different to how other families run, until I am reminded, until I have to explain it to someone else. We are different and yet we are not. Someone said something to me yesterday that made me realise that while they look down to where I am, I’m happy with where I am because I can look down on where I was and appreciate how far I’ve come. All about perspective.
This post came up this morning in my RSS feed, Mentally Unhealthy. I’ve felt an affinity with Lori for a while now, even though our experiences are different the underlying loss and grief and emotions are similar, and it is sometimes startling to me how closely our progress and recoveries are. I know exactly what she’s talking about, and her doctor’s comment reminds me that not everyone has an understanding of mental illness. Lori highlights just how far we have to go, in talking about anxiety and depression, in understanding it, in taking away the taboo. She says “If I have depression, does that make less loveable, less worthy of being loved…?” It’s a question often asked in the privacy of our own heads, a feeling of shame, of not being good enough, of being less than whole, just because our brains work a little differently.
I still feel embarrassed about admitting that I suffer from anxiety and depression. My close friends and family know and I talk openly to them. I hesitate to write it here and share it with the world because I worry it will change how people think of me, will they think me weak, defective, unlovable? And yet when it’s someone I love with the same illness, I’m more accepting, it’s easier to talk about, I understand that there is nothing to be ashamed of. Why is that?
I was also reading this yesterday, 20 questions To Help You Know When It’s Time To Let Go, and while a lot of things stood out for me, this one struck home…
“10) How would I feel about my little sister/brother/daughter/son being in this situation?
This one may surprise you, it’s often a little shocking to see the standards we will tolerate for ourselves compared to what we think the people we love deserve.”
Someone asked me yesterday about my life before. It’s something I don’t think about a lot, which is probably odd. I don’t compare this life to the other one, I don’t relive that part of my past. It’s apples and oranges. I think about my x, I think about us and me and him. But I don’t think about what was normal to us then. Because that’s not my normal now. My Bug and I are creating our new normal, making it up as we go along, working it to suit us. I think we are doing well.