What I Don’t Want to Talk About

It’s been a tender morning for me. Ringo woke us up around 3 a.m., with that heaving and gagging that every half asleep parent knows will result in the need for a change of bedding. He threw up a wad of grass wrapped around a small rock, probably eaten when he dug a big hole outside at daycare yesterday, (he had help apparently, and they still adore him). I’m struggling right now with issues relating to the dogs, health and training specifically, some of which is Eric and I’s shared struggle (sometimes our struggle with each other) and some of which is mine alone.

Eric took the dogs hiking, so I’ve been by myself all morning, and yet not alone but rather in relationship with so many people, their wisdom and their suffering.

robinwilliamsrollingstonecoverI started my morning reading a recent Rolling Stone article about Robin Williams. In it, Tom Hanks says, “He had wisdom born of all the burns and scars of his life, and he was funny about it.” Revisiting that loss reminded me of another.

perfectpuppyI bought this book in the weeks before we got Ringo, firstly because of the Cattle Dog Lucy who’s the main subject, in so many pictures throughout. Truth be told, this book kind of made me feel like crap about myself, but reinforced what I was learning about the shift in dog training to positive methods, offers good strategies and sound advice.

The author Dr. Sophia Yin committed suicide this week at 48. She was a pioneer of the humane training movement. Both Sophia and Robin were healers in their own fields, her through her vet care and by helping people build good relationships with their pets, him through entertainment and laughter. I’m contemplating this morning how you can do so much good in the world and still suffer so deeply you can’t see a way through it.

After writing my morning pages, I took a shower and sat to meditate. After that, I watched the first video from Susan Piver for her newly launched Open Heart Project Sangha, which was all about basic goodness, what she calls “square one.”

For some reason, as Susan was talking about basic goodness, I remembered scrolling through my Facebook feed and seeing a picture of a cute fuzzy puppy with the caption, “Ready for a cuddle now.” I was shocked, surprised by my reaction, which wasn’t an immediate softening, no sense of “awww, how cute,” but rather a sense of dread, the thought that “one day that sweet fuzzy is going to break someone’s heart into a million pieces.” You know you are in a rough, tender place when the picture of a cute puppy, rather than making you feel warm & fuzzy, comforted and soothed, instead reminds you of loss, grief, and suffering.

Baby Sam

Baby Sam

Susan ended her dharma talk on basic goodness by sharing that she recently asked Tara Brach, “How is it possible to bear walking through this world in an open state?” This is an important question, because as Susan said herself, we all wonder how, “How am I supposed to walk through this world with an open heart when it’s such a crazy world, when it’s so hard and there are so many things that are so friggin’ painful that I feel like I might literally die if they touch me?”

Tara’s answer was simply “sangha.” The simplest definition of sangha is “community.” We can’t do it alone, and having a community, a place to belong where we can be genuinely ourselves, connect with others, find support, be in relationship, and as Susan describes “together and separately…dare to have confidence in basic goodness” is essential to being able to keep our hearts open, to be able to withstand what’s hard and feel the full wonder of what is beautiful.

I’m guilty of isolating myself. Of disconnecting, shutting down, spending too much time in my own head and by myself. Some of this is time I genuinely need to recharge, to rest and restore, but some of it isn’t so healthy. I get confused, think it’s up to me to solve every problem, to control and fix everything, that there is no help. I can easily sink into despair. I’ve had my own thoughts of suicide. I know there are some people who don’t want to believe that, who would reject and dismiss it, and I don’t feel entirely comfortable confessing it, but it’s true.

My life rehab started with the simple wish to “be a better friend to myself.” Not to be a better person, not to become successful or accomplish things and make stuff, but to practice maitri — loving compassion towards the self. I have a strong sense that right now that means two things: to accept help, to seek out connection and community, and to be gentle with myself.

kitchenbasicgoodnessI started to practice this open gentleness right after I finished Susan’s video. I went into the kitchen to make myself some French Toast. When I reached for the bowl, I noticed the greenness of the green, the way the light reflected off the smooth edges, how much it reminded me of jade. Then, the plate with its branch and buds, how it is square and round at the same time. Both of them sitting side by side on the countertop I chose over ten years ago because it reminds me of rice paper. I got out the bread, dense and whole and heavy with seeds. When I was done cooking my toast, I scrambled the remaining eggs to give to the dogs later and washed the pan. I noticed, let things touch me, was softened by the wholehearted effort I put towards nourishing myself.

It’s a start.

The healing comes from letting there be room for all of this to happen: room for grief, for relief, for misery, for joy. ~Pema Chödrön

16 thoughts on “What I Don’t Want to Talk About

  1. Lise

    Oh, Jill. *HUGS* You are not alone, and the fact that you are willing to share how you feel means that many of us are not alone either. I’m guilty of isolating myself too, and all of the things you mentioned within it.

  2. barbranostay

    I think that most people , if they have an ounce of sensitivity in them , feel or have felt the way you described in your blog today. “Life”, it seems to me , is a series of “ups and downs” , day in and day out. Sometimes things are running smoothly and then, “Boom” , from out of nowhere, something happens to remind you that this is just the “Way” it goes sometimes. Try not to take it too seriously ,because you know it won’t last . Such is Life – C’est la Vie….

  3. Alane

    hi jill, so glad i re-read your post. i kind of breezed through it the first time, but then came back to it on FB. thank you for sharing your thoughts & feelings so openly & honestly. i agree that there are so many people that feel the same way, i know i do. i’ve been trying to connect to a community, to stay connected to my friends who are “oh so busy” to not not give up on them or myself. it’s not easy at times. it seems frustrating most of the time. LOL. i was shocked when i read that the vet committed suicide. how sad. there’s a great book, i think it might be out of print, ” mother knows best” by carol lea benjamin. our dog trainer for our first dog (harry) recommended it & i’ve used it again & again & w/each dog (sadie, katie & now pippa)
    wishing you love, light & peace! xo

    1. jillsalahub Post author

      Thank you for coming back, for taking the time to comment, Alane. One of the best things someone can say when you are suffering is strangely enough, “me too.” ♥

  4. Elsa Solis

    Jill, thank you. I’v been struggling to keep in contact with family and friends lately… actually for a couple of years. I tried this summer to get out more and I found it hard. But I tried.
    For the past month or so I haven’t been reading your post. They hit to close to home for me. But for some reason I felt I had to read this today. I’m very glad I did because it feels good to know I’m not alone.
    Thank you, Elsa.

    1. jillsalahub Post author

      I’m so glad that we’ve reconnected, Elsa. I have always adored you, wished the best of everything for you, and feel so grateful that after all these years, I can call you my friend. ♥

  5. Kimberley McGill

    Jill, you’ve described the same struggles I have faced and often still do. I do know that reaching for help, finding community with others and having lots of compassion for myself has made such a difference, especially in the last couple of years. You are not alone.

    Know I love you so very much.

  6. Rita

    I appreciate the way you put your real self, with your real struggles, out here. Too stopped up with words to say much more. Just know that this one matters to me.

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