"No Man is an Island" - John Donne

no man should feel like an island (says me)

I’ve been sitting on this blog for awhile. Sometimes I think I overshare and/or write too much about things that others might not care about. Then I went to my book club last night.

Our book was called The Anthropocene Reviewed by John Green. It’s a collection of essays that the author (The Fault in our Stars, Looking for Alaska) wrote about pretty much anything, or as one reviewer wrote, about “the human condition.” While I didn’t love the book in its entirety, it really grew on me and many of the stories I found to be quite fascinating. But that’s beside the point. The thing that came up a number of times during our gathering was how open, raw, and vulnerable the author is throughout the book. He has grappled with mental illness, he struggled greatly as a child, with bullying, self-loathing, low self-esteem, etc. He bares it all in the book, weaving his struggles into the essays, and our book club liked this about him. That got me thinking. If I’m not open, raw, and vulnerable, then what’s the point of writing?

Then, this morning I woke up, and a very dear friend of mine, Christine, out of the blue, sent me this quote from Isaac Asimov:

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“Writing, to me, is simply thinking though my fingers”

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I wrote back to Christine and said that I am stuck (again), to which she replied, “It will come…” And so it did.

Now I feel ready, with some tweaks, and listening to soulful music she recommended by an artist named Teddy Swims, to share this blog. If I share too much, or things you don’t care about, you know you always have the option not to read. And secondly, if I only write about a perfect life with nothing but rainbows and unicorns, I think it would become quite boring. And so I continue to think through my fingers. I’m certain it helps me more than it helps you, in ways I can’t even quantify.

I have mentioned before that I like Anderson Cooper’s Podcast called All There Is. It’s about grief. Not the happiest subject out there but definitely one in which most of us, if not all of us, have experience. The podcast is undeniably honest and raw. There are many tears. Tears from Anderson. Tears from his guests. Tears from those who call into his voicemail (I was one.) I have found the podcast to be almost addictive and I think the reason is primarily because of the universality of the subject and the correlated emotions that go along with it. Grief, followed by all the stages, all the phases, all the feels. And while the common perception is that we don't talk enough about grief, in this podcast, it’s all that is talked about and Anderson Cooper is about as real as it gets.

If you haven’t faced your share of grief yet in your life, you will one day. We all will. There really is no life without grief of some fashion. We grieve because we love, so unless we have no love in our lives, we have, or will, grieve. There are many common emotions that happen amongst those who are grieving. One in particular struck a chord for me that I wanted to explore. It’s the feeling and emotions around isolation. Isolate, the verb, comes from the Latin word insula, which means “island.” I think the image of an island perfectly encapsulates the word.

Photo by Ursula Drake on Unsplash

As I’ve been mentally exploring isolation, I have realized that the feeling of being isolated, the feeling of being alone on an island, can happen with many things we face in our lives, in addition to grieving a death. I suppose the death of another is the ultimate condition we grieve and it is widely spoken that there is no one path, or journey, through which one might walk as they grieve a death. There are so many layers. I would also offer that there are many layers to the feelings of isolation.

Aside from death, I can think of many other challenges and obstacles that some of has have, or will, face as humans that may cause us to feel isolated. And I might also add that this feeling of isolation is not a good one. It is a lonely place to spend time. Here are some of the things I came up with:

• Depression can most certainly result in one feeling extremely isolated.

• Loneliness, a lack of meaningful connections, can cause one to feel isolated.

• Divorce can cause feelings of isolation.

• Estrangement from loved ones is another cause.

• Retirement, when one goes from being busy and feeling important to suddenly having so much time on their hands and not many hobbies or interests.

• Anxiety, especially social anxiety, can cause isolation as it causes one to feel like no one else feels the way they do

• Disability. being and feeling different from others, can be a terribly isolating feeling.

• Living alone can be isolating if one doesn’t make an effort to see friends and stay active.

  

  Photo by Andrew Shelley on Unsplash

All of the above, and undoubtedly there are more, can contribute to feelings of loneliness but I am focusing more on feelings of isolation. For me, isolation creates a sense that no one can understand what I am going through or dealing with. Isolation can make me think that people get tired of hearing about my hardships and/or don’t know what to say if I share too much, or too often, about what I might be going though. I know that I have felt at times like I must sound like a broken record. I have felt isolated when I have been in a state of feeling low, distressed, or filled with angst. Although there is so much support available to help, when I am in this state, it is hard to know where to turn, or who to turn to. It takes energy to reach out to others and my energy is typically lacking during this time. I also don’t want to be a burden to others, or as I said above, sound like a broken record. Fortunately, for me, writing helps a great deal. Writing, and time. Both are healing. As are talking with loved ones to gain perspective, hope, and even solutions. Keeping these feelings to myself has proven to not be the answer but it is also challenging to reach out.

I have written a lot about being a parent to a child with a disability. I can only begin to imagine the isolation she feels at times, but I feel it too. I think no one understands what it’s like to be the parent. It’s also not anybody’s job to understand but it sure would be nice. I read somewhere recently that you should not expect family and friends to understand or to always know what to say or do. The article said you should find support groups with people in similar circumstances and a good counselor or therapist. I have failed on both those fronts. I have spoken with good therapists but my honest opinion is that they don’t understand. They don’t know it so they can’t speak well on it. And as for support groups, I’ve simply had no luck. I have contemplated starting one of my own. It’s probably what I should do.

I would not be surprised if you aren’t thinking to yourself that I should be used to having a child with a disability by now. It’s true. It has been 27 years(this Thursday). But the truth of the matter is that I have never gotten used to it. That doesn’t mean that I don’t think it’s been a true blessing in countless unimaginable ways. It doesn’t mean I don’t love her more than anything in this world. It doesn’t mean I am not proud of her and proud to be her mom. But the truth is that it’s simply not something to ever really get used to. I supposed this is in part because there are constant reminders of it for her, and by association, for me. Most things are an uphill battle, a struggle, a challenge, and more. All these things have built character and a resiliency like I have never seen in anyone else. But, and there’s always a but, it’s freaking hard. It’s hard to get a job. Hard to make friends. Hard to date. Hard to walk, hard to run, hard to hear, hard to be. Just hard to be.

So yeah, I’m not used to it yet and I may never be. And yes, it’s isolating, anxiety- producing, and a cause of grief, sometimes, for me. And more. And I don’t think anyone understands, like, really understands.

I am also learning that it’s okay if no one understands. We can’t all understand each other in the manner or depth that we know and understand ourselves. Life can be hard. Life is hard. Some days are harder than others. And someone not understanding a part of the makeup of who we are, is okay. We can commiserate, sympathize, and empathize with much of what others go through. But that doesn’t translate, for one minute, to me, or anyone, actually understanding what it is they are going through, or dealing with. I simply cannot understand something I don’t know, to the degree they do. I/We can listen. I/We can ask. I/We can learn. I/We can read. I/We can try. I/We can be a friend, a confidante. And I’m sure I/we have fallen short on many occasions toward many people. And while all of this is understandable, unfortuanately the isolation will continue to show up. I think it’s unavoidable and unstoppable. My hope is that writing about it reminds us that we just don’t know what others are going through at any given moment. And anything we feel we can do to keep people away from feeling so very isolated, is a move in the right direction.

Photo by Juli Kosolapova on Unsplash

This is me talking through my fingers. Thanks Christine for the push I needed. xx