Eating Crow.

Insert foot in mouth, followed by ankle, calf, knee, oh heck, just swallow the whole leg.  This was me earlier this week.  In an attempt to fit in with the group and bring humor to the table, I ended up being completely insensitive and ate a whole lot of crow. 

My obsessive brain replayed the tape over and over again for hours.  I go home, sleep, wake up and the tape started yet again.  Then the shame voice, “You are an idiot.”  The rationale voice tried to talk louder than the shame tantrum.  It was a mistake (a big one), but no one died.  There will be opportunity for repair.  I am human and I errored.  After 24 hours, my rational brain won and the obsessive loop of shame settled down.  The whispers of shame are still there, but it is no longer the dominant voice.

I spent a little extra time this morning reflecting on what exactly happened that led up to the tasty crow and the subsequent obsessive loop.  As those insensitive words rolled of my tongue, I tried to reel them back in, but it was too late.  Flash back to middle school – you know that line between cute/funny and obnoxiously rude?  As a thirteen-year-old I could never distinguish where that line was and constantly lived on the side of rude.  Back then I was thirteen and anxious, insecure, and desperately wanting to fit in.  In the throes of teenage angst, inappropriate humor was my defense.  The other night was a friendly reminder that the insecure teenager occasionally makes itself known in my forty-year-old body.  As a teen, the mission was to fit in with the group – to become the perfect chameleon.   My more centered adult self’s desire has shifted to a much deeper place of wanting to belong.   Unlike fitting in where I become who I think you want me to be, I now desire to feel connected with others.  I want to be comfortable in my own skin and accept me for who I am. 

It was a little shocking to see how quickly the shame cycle can hijack my brain.  I am still vulnerable to its powerful force.  Shame says “I am an idiot” and speaks to who I am.  Self-evaluation and healthy guilt says “I did a really idiotic thing and I need to change course of action.”  I am always surprised how I can get hooked on the bad moment and lose sight of the hundred good moments.  Shame has the power to zoom right in on the ugly and lose sight of the surrounding goodness and beauty.

Eventually, the obsessive loop stopped.  I kept quoting the great Bob Newhart “Stop it!” sketch to myself.  For your viewing pleasure, click here to watch the skit. 

On a serious note, in my morning reflection I was reminded of two different disciples of Jesus.  Both denied Christ and violated their own integrity.  Judas betrayed Christ in exchange for a bag of silver; Peter denied knowing Christ three times to save his own skin.  Judas could not accept forgiveness and mercy so he hung himself.  Peter wept and allowed grace, mercy, and forgiveness to cover him.  Peter became the Rock and founder of the Church.  One chose to stay stuck in the loop of shame.  One welcomed and embraced compassion.  When I fall short, royally screw up, and make a complete horse’s rear of myself I can look to these two disciples and choose the path of grace, forgiveness, mercy, and compassion.

Survival

I had an unhealthy obsession with all things Holocaust as an adolescent.  Much of this obsession centered around understanding resilience in the face of the unthinkable.  I cannot remember which I read first, The Hiding Place by Corrie Ten Boom or The Diary of Anne Frank, but both works completely changed my life.  It set a trajectory of many term papers to come along with reading the wisdom of Eli Wiesel and Victor Frankl.  And for years, the fascination remained – why did some not only survive, but also maintain hope and compassion?

I have a recurring dream where I am some type of resistance worker being chased by secret police.  I am always wary of my surroundings and keenly attuned to the fact that I carry papers that represent peoples lives.  I often am searching for food and safe hiding places.  I connect this dream to seeing myself as a rebellious survivor. 

Recently, I was commenting on this obsession and it was suggested to me that while yes, I identify with being a survivor, perhaps I also find connection with that of the prisoner.  This took me back.  Rebellious fighter, yes.  Prisoner, no way in hell.  To be a prisoner implies helplessness, chains, and powerlessness.  Or one step further, weakness.  I hate weakness.  But she was right, I was a prisoner as a child.  I was at the mercy of those around me.  Unthinkable things happened.  And I found creative and brilliant means to survive.  I learned to navigate my way out of the prison and into a world of beauty.  I found mission trips, hikes through nature, writing, and books as means to transport me out of the darkness.  I learned to take care of myself with great tenacity.  But I also learned to not trust others and how to build up walls of isolation.  I learned not to feel too much; to stay numb and avoid the grief.  These survival skills saved my life and served me well.  I want to honor the little version of me that utilized these skills to thrive.  I want to thank the little girl version of me for having the strength to hold on to hope.

And now I am 40.  The trauma is long over.  I have a happy and safe life.  I am surrounded by beautiful people and a loving family.  Now the question in front of me, do I still need to use these survival skills all the time?  Can I allow myself to finally grieve?  Can I allow myself to be vulnerable?  Can I let those I trust in a little further?

As I have taken more and more steps into the waters of vulnerability these past few months, I am pleasantly surprised at the amount of love and compassion I am encountering.  My own ability to love is growing deeper and deeper.  I found myself wrapping my arms around a hurting 10-year-old this morning at my school nurse job.  And I actually felt deep sadness for him and his situation (and I felt a small tear in the corner of my eye).  My oldest told me I “sounded like someone reciting poetry with all my cheesy talk about love and stuff like that.”  I now tear up when I hug my kids.  I make my husband hug me for extended periods of time because I like feeling his strong arms holding me tight.  I have opened up more to those in my inner circle.  And you know what I am finding?  Beauty.  Goodness.  Compassion.  

Survival skills saved my life.  And they still work in my favor.  They are what allow me to stay cool, calm, and collected during those chaotic moments of emergency room nursing.  They allow me to keep my temper under control when a patient is cussing me out because they are not getting the narcotics they want.  But these survival skills are no longer the only thing I am recognizing in my tool belt.  I am still learning how to use these newer found tools of vulnerability, connection, and feeling.  I have a long way to go to reach the point of feeling comfortable, but in the meantime, I am enjoying what I have gained so far.

Book Covers/People Covers

Don’t judge a book by the cover.  Or as my oldest child who happens to be a foodie would say, “Don’t judge food based on how it looks” (this coming from the kid that eats braunschwager like its candy).  For those not familiar with braunschwager, think liverwurst.

One of the highlights of my ER job is all the interesting people and stories I get to meet.    People usually do not come into the hospital looking their best, so it is hard to imagine them outside of looking ill, injured, and broken.  But if I get past the surface, there is a wealth of stories.  The other night, I helped checked in a man who won an Academy Award.  I have taken care of a POW shot down over Munich in WWII.  I had a patient who spent a few years in a POW camp in Danang, Vietnam.   I have taken care of Holocaust survivors.  I took care of someone who rescued stranded hikers from the National parks.  On the surface, they are the forgotten elderly.  Beneath the surface lies a vast depth of wisdom.

And then there are those I am quick to judge as rude or abusing the system.  I roll my eyes and have harsh, judgmental thoughts.  But again, I do not know their story.  I learned one such person watched their parent be brutally murdered in front of them.  Others had parents reject them or die of drug overdoses.  They grew up too fast.  So many people grew up without their basic needs met.  So many people are walking around with empty holes that need to be filled.  Maybe they came into our ER because they had no one to comfort them.  On the surface, they are rude and demanding.  Beneath the surface lies a vast depth of emptiness.

In my haste to scan a situation and get a task done, I fail to engage in empathy with another human being.  I fail to step into their shoes; fail to listen and engage with their story.   There are times when I miss out on wisdom and inspiration from another.  Other times I miss out on being that bearer of comfort and compassion. 

In my own story, I am grateful for those who did not stop at the cover but took the time to read the narrative.  I have had a few covers in my life – the mischievous bully stirring trouble at school, the “tough nut to crack” pushing others away, the angry agnostic – all a distinct cover aimed to keep others at a safe distance from my private struggle.   Thankfully, there were people who did not stop at the cover, but took the risk, opened the cover and engaged with my story.

We all desire for belonging and connection with others, it is how we are wired.  We are not meant to be alone.  Healing comes through our experience of love, grace, forgiveness, and understanding in the context of relationship.  Not everyone has earned the right to see every page in of our narrative.  We reserve intimate, raw, vulnerable moments for those who have proven they can be trusted with such sacredness.  At the same time, we do not have the right to dig into others stories where we are not invited.  We are called to not stop at the cover, or at best not assume that the cover tells the whole story.