RESILIENCE, THY MOTHER IS PAIN

Time and Circumstance

One of the best crummy but wonderful things that came to me from losing Ted to pancreatic cancer was increased resilience.  I have a lot more hope than some other people.  I've been bereaved, cancer-struck, disillusioned at work, empty-nested and betrayed by life insurance policies....and that's all recent stuff!  Being set back for me now is just an appetizer at an all-you-can-eat HOPE buffet. I know from these and other adverse experiences that things do get better, and sometimes a whole lot better.  I have hope that was born from seeing hopelessness through to a new beginning.

In my teens and twenties, a great deal of my time was spent in a state of severe disappointment with my physical body.  I'm short.  I'm stout.  My shoulders slouch.  If I had to walk across the room with a book on my head, I would probably knock over an antique table with pottery from the Ming Dynasty.  My mother used to say I was like a bull in a china shop.  That was not a nice thing to say, but it's accurate. When I hit my thirties, I began to realize that not only was I a tangle foot, I was keenly empathetic and compassionate in a culture that tended to be materialistic and cold.  In fact, feeling pain and suffering because I didn't conform with society's messages of female beauty and appropriateness made me more empathetic to others who aren't perfect.  I learned instinctively to look beyond the surface of things.  The qualities of empathy and compassion were born of what I perceived as a defect, and it allowed me to make a good living with the result. I flourished in the field of human resources and employee relations.  Thank the gods of social justice that we live in an age that is at least beginning to challenge "body shaming."   But, I did get something worth having from my pain -- Resilience. 

On Amazon -- Book and Kindle Versions

This week, my book "The Widow Lessons" was finally published.  Because of the editing process, I read it front to back for the millionth time before publishing.  I could see once again that Ted's cancer was a jam I was certain I could help him get out of.  When he died, I was hit with the guilt of not saving Ted's life.  But I was also in a personal jam called "widow" that I couldn't get out of.  I ultimately figured out how to approach the building of a new life, and I wrote a book about it in order to help others.  Would I have been that resilient if I had never met with hardship before? 

Hardships like grief and loss, disappointment and disillusionment, pain and suffering, do open up the heart of a person to a thing called hope.  If you live with loss, and you rebuild, and you struggle each day to make the best of things for yourself and others, you become pretty cozy with hope.  You don't feel crushed utterly when you lose.  You find patience when you have to wait for an outcome that may or may not go your way. You face fear with bravery and courage.  Good stuff is born in pain.

This week I found a website called Widow's Hope.  http://www.widowshope.org/ 
Check it out....It seems like a good source of hope.

Also, from the people at On Being comes a terrific post on courage and hope.  It comes from adversity, like crashing precious heirlooms and finding out you aren't going to be a ballerina or a movie star. 


Where Does Courage Come From?

Link to The Widow Lessons on Amazon