Suffering has purpose

Are some tragedies impossible to overcome? 

I’ve asked myself this question many times, and parts of me say, no.  All suffering is reconcilable.

Other parts say, yes. There is unfathomable misery in the world; how can one possibly extrapolate any good from it.

It’s an odd concept, thinking that suffering can be meaningful, even purposeful.

The idea that our darkest hour of immeasurable pain can be useful or pull us toward something brighter seems like a quagmire we’d prefer to avoid. 

But we shouldn’t. 

It feels good to feel good.

Happiness, joy, excitement: these feelings all have backstories, and we’re more likely to pursue activities and people that give us these feelings because of our attachments to these stories. 

Imagine the time you hiked to a glacial waterfall mid-summer with a person you were falling in love with. 

This would have been a magical experience that you undoubtedly try to simulate over and over again in different ways because of how amazing it felt. Picnics on the beach, rock climbing, skiing, bike riding. Anything that looks even remotely like that magic is something we want more of, naturally. 

But experiences and relationships aren’t static.  Happiness isn’t a fixed state. Eventually, something happens to fracture that state and we are left to negotiate the outcome.  

Sometimes yoga and a good cry with a friend is all it takes to repair what’s been broken. Other, it’s not as smooth a transition, and all the meditation and walks and downward dogs and workouts in the world don’t make much of a difference. 

Sadness, anger, heartache, grief: these feelings are energies, too, much like happiness, and they have power and intensity not because of what they are innately, but because of the stories we attach to them.

All emotions have a storyline, and it’s this narrative that drives the meaning behind our feelings.

So what do we do with uncomfortable feelings? 

• Avoid them? 
• Bury our heads in the sand and pretend they don’t exist?
• Numb them with drugs and alcohol, food or sex, shopping or social media?  

Yes. That’s often what we do.  Far too often, we choose to get as far away as possible from pain and suffering, even if we’re not really aware that’s what we’re doing.

We make poor decisions to Band-Aid a gaping wound. Does the problem get solved? Does the root issue of that pain go away? No, it doesn’t. 

If anything, the pain gets more intense and more insurmountable and we have to work that much harder to keep the feelings at bay. 

Temporarily things may get better, but unresolved issues and pain have a nasty way of resurfacing.

So what should we do with uncomfortable feelings?  What is a more effective way of coping with discomfort, suffering and pain?  Ready for it?

Lean into it. 

Leaning into our discomfort means coming to a place of acceptance with our discomfort, and giving permission to ourselves to allow those feelings to be, just as they are. 

Leaning into our sadness or anger or grief means allowing those feelings to bubble over, to give them space to simmer down, to feel them melt away. 

Leaning in means to find a way to befriend our pain, so that we can hold hands with it, make peace with it, maybe even eat cake with it. 

It’s less scary then. The stories we make up about how hard it is to feel our pain keep us trapped, keep us from actually experiencing pain presently and without fear. 

When we can start paying attention to our feelings, we are free. 

OK, you say. I’m ready to eat cake with my ghosts. I’m ready for the thaw. Now what? 

If your feelings are overwhelmingly intense and coupled with thoughts of suicide or self-harm, you’ll absolutely want to start exploring your pain with a professional. 

Safety is key with exploring unknown or feared territory, and a mental health professional can be a great guide. 

Remember, slow and steady wins the race. The goal is not to rip off the Band-Aid; the goal is to release the pressure valve little by little and build resilience over time. 

If you’re not into seeing a therapist, perhaps you have a trusted friend or family member you can confide in.  Depression, anxiety, trauma: they are all starved by social engagement. 

The more you can reach out, connect, and start talking, even just little bits, the better off you’ll start to feel. 

And if you’re not ready to open up to a friend or family member, perhaps you can join a support group or utilize the crisis lines. 

Finally, if none of these options sound good to you, put your pain in a canvas or a song or a story, or take it to nature. Take that pain and create something with it; the energy has to go somewhere.     

When we’ve given our feelings a platform and can bear witness to them safely and with an open-mind, we become stronger.  

As a result, we learn new things about ourselves and the world around us. 

We may learn to identify patterns of unhealthy decision-making that motivate us to make a career change, or leave a toxic relationship. 

We may learn to be more comfortable with being alone.

We may learn to be more inclusive and less judgmental of others, whereby enriching our connection to the community. 

We may make new choices that lead us in a direction of joy and meaning. 

By accepting and allowing our discomfort and pain to move through us, we align ourselves with the person we want to be, the goals we want to achieve, the life we want to live. 

This article is written by or on behalf of an outsourced columnist and does not necessarily reflect the views of Castanet.

The meaning of life

Losing a child

I am a mother, first and foremost. Most of my day-to day decisions are governed from this place of mothership which, as mothers know, can feel weighty and unrelentingly selfless but glorious nonetheless. 

My child’s safety and well-being, his laughter and his joy, his love and fears, his mind and his passions are mine to lose. The gravity of this responsibility is crushing some days; yet, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Each day with him is a privilege.  

As grateful as I am for my son, I know there are mothers who aren’t so lucky. 

Mothers who have felt their child’s radiant life-force cocooned in their bellies, felt total surrender, only to be betrayed by the forces of their own body.

Mothers who have wept silently, alone in a bathroom, never to speak of their misfortune again. 

Mothers whose nurseries cradle no one. 

Losing a child is among life’s worst tragedies. It is a plight no parent ought to forage, territory better left unclaimed. But it happens. Limited data on miscarriages in Canada (pregnancy that ends on its own before 20 weeks gestation), suggest as many as 10-20 per cent of confirmed pregnancies end in miscarriage. 

This means there’s a good chance someone you know has suffered a miscarriage. 

Additionally, stillbirth rates (a baby who dies in utero and is delivered after 20 weeks of gestation) in Canada measure 7.1 per 1,000 births. In 2012, the most recent year data was collected, this meant 2,774 out of 380,660 babies were stillborn. 

Further still, Canada’s infant mortality rate (number of deaths of children less than one year of age) is 5.1 per 1,000 live births. This means 1,903 children under the age of one died in 2012. 

These numbers are horrifying.  Families’ hopes turn to heartbreak, and they are never quite whole again. 

There can be so much fear and uncertainty during pregnancy, at delivery and in general child-rearing, it’s a wonder we keep doing it. But women have done so since time immemorial and will continue to do so in perpetuity because the benefits far outweigh the risks. 

The solution to loss is not to stop having babies; rather, the solution lies in learning to cope with the loss and adjusting to life without a child. 

First, give yourself permission to grieve, however that grief shows up.  Whether it’s anger, sadness and depression, guilt and shame, isolation, let it be just that. Eventually, these feelings won’t be so intense anymore precisely because you’ve paid attention to them. 

Next, lean on someone you love and trust and start talking. Too many women hide in silence, when what they should be doing is opening up and sharing their intense thoughts and feelings with a safe person. 

Talking is a catharsis and helps move the grieving process along. If there isn’t anyone in your life that qualifies as safe and loving, consider finding a therapist who can support you through your grief. 

Then, start finding a new normal. Life won’t ever be the same again, but it’s important to acknowledge that life can move forward in a new way once you’ve accepted the loss. 

Explore ways to honour your child, remember them and keep them close to you even though they are not in the material world as you know it.

This kind of adjustment is intentional and will take time, so be patient with yourself and only let go of what you can bear when you feel ready.    

There is no time limit with grief. You are allowed to feel exactly what you do for as long as you need to.  Our feelings aren’t static, and don’t last forever. Sometimes just knowing that can provide relief to the overburdened soul. 

Of all the wonderful and important things I hope to teach my son, resilience takes top spot. 

Being resilient encompasses self-awareness, strong emotional regulation skills, and great tenacity, three qualities that, when combined, mean it’s possible to overcome even the most wicked sufferings. 

Women become mothers not because they’ve had a child, but because they feel compelled to nurture and love an extension of themselves.

Once we feel we’ve become a mother, we are always a mother, which means the opportunity to teach resilience isn’t lost, it’s simply relocated back to the self. 

Once we’ve become resilient, we can open ourselves up to taking another chance to love selflessly again. 

This article is written by or on behalf of an outsourced columnist and does not necessarily reflect the views of Castanet.