The Mask

The following was passed along to me. If you know the author or where it originated, please have her contact me. Thank you. -Lynda Cheldelin Fell

The Mask 

One day, many moons ago and shortly after my son passed away, a bereaved parent asked me “Have you started wearing your mask yet?" My reaction was to give her a puzzled look, the look of someone who did not understand what the mask meant or the meaning of her question. 

Having survived a full year of sorrows and after having experienced the “tidal waves,” the “crashing,” the “rebuilding” and the tremendous loneliness steaming deep from my tormented soul, I have finally understood what wearing the mask was all about.

Lessons came in early and quickly at the start of my journey as a bereaved parent. I rapidly learned that whenever I showed my “raw” grief over the loss of my child, or even glimpses of the incredibly difficult path I was traveling on, I was often times treated with pity, surprise or disbelief. Many of those times I was also bombarded with unsolicited advice, while other times I encountered distant stares and a coldness that stem from a place of disengagement and uncaring demeanor. 

It seemed to me that my grieving had suddenly turned me into someone to feel sorry for, who seemed overly vulnerable and dangerously approaching a point of failure. Someone I did not recognize and prompted to be shun away. 

My strength also became questionable and my grieving needs were shortchanged. Defective, unfit, complicated, stuck, unhealthy, and broken are many of the words crossing my mind when I think of a bereaved parent like me. It is not surprising then that my natural inclinations were (are) to conceal the depths and extent of my sorrows. 

Conceal? Yes, as I have quickly and painfully realized that my ability to “function” and “fit in” in a blissfully sorrow-ignorant society seems to be dependent on my resilience. The faster I am able to recover and move on, the stronger, more independent and capable I seem, and the more desirable person to be around I become.

Pain, I’ve noticed, makes people uncomfortable and weakness seems to have no place. My sorrow can only coexist, so it seems, in the dark depths of my broken soul. 

Luckily for me, I quickly discovered the “I am okay” mask, which I now wear daily – it feels safe and it works! This mask is what allows me to go to work, socialize and appear as “normal” to the rest of the world as possible. This mask also seems to give others a sense of comfort. The comfort steaming from the belief that I am okay, and finally “moving on/forward,” and “getting over it.” Clearly, if I look “okay” then I am definitely on my way to recovery. 

Unfortunately, the possibility of recovering from the loss of my precious child is null. There simply is no “moving on,” “getting over with” or “moving forward.” My grief has no expiration date, and my recovery is simply an impossibility. Wearing the mask is my saving grace, my safety net, but also my torment. This mask can be so exhausting… 

Consequently there are times, when burdened by the pressures of my contained pain, that I’ve chosen to take my mask off (just for a bit), and finally let the guard down and share my sheer pain. Sadly, disappointment has quickly followed. The reactions I’ve encountered have made me want to immediately crawl back into that little cold, lonely but safe place (where ONLY I know how bad it is, how cold it feels in it and how lonely it becomes) and once again, I am forced to wear the mask. 

The cold stares…the pity…and the ill-advised comments quickly disappear afterwards. 

So I ask, why is grieving so difficult to handle? Is it because of our human quality to quickly want to fix anything that seems to be broken? Or is it our inability to accept things that cannot be changed, such as death? If people were to just stop trying to fix me, telling me what to do, acting as if they understand how I feel (unless you lost your child, you don’t), and trying to change me (and all other bereaved parents), I (we) will be once again free. I (we) will not have to hide behind the “feel good/I am okay mask," since this mask can only masquerade the pain, but could never take it away. 

And I could only hope that one day, people will finally understand that the loss of a child is a devastating event beyond repair. That life as it has been known, no longer is. That the cycle of life has been permanently altered, the chess pieces moved, and the lives of parents, relatives and friends forever changed. You cannot fix the “unfixable” – you just can’t! 

Instead love and accept us just as we come…imperfect, broken, different, hurt, and desperately trying to survive." ~ Anonymous

Ten years ago today I weighed 100 pounds more

BY LYNDA CHELDELIN FELL

Ten years ago today, I weighed 100 pounds more. Yep, I'm a food addict. There, I said it.

On January 20, 2006, I weighed 227 pounds. My stomach never registered "full," and 30 minutes after a large meal I was already grazing. Sweets was my downfall. It's not an exaggeration to say that I went years without a fruit or vegetable. Cookies, brownies, cakes and pies were my entire food pyramid. Ashamed at my inability to control myself, I put in effort only to watch my weight go up and down like a yo-yo.

So what was my turning point ten years ago? I turned 40. And when I went for my long overdue annual exam, the doctor's scale gave me sticker shock. I knew I was a tight size 20, but inside I felt thin. I was intelligent, loving, caring, and compassionate. I was a good wife, a good mother, I volunteered in the community, and had a soft spot for the underdogs of society. But those qualities were invisible to most, because my book was judged by the cover. And that hurt.

But turning 40 worried me. Struggling with so much additional weight, if I didn't start taking better care of my "vehicle," instinctively I knew my mileage was limited. The sticker shock of the doctor's scale was a catalyst for change.

I knew that if I continued to treat my body poorly, it would treat me poorly. 

So ten years ago today, my neighbor and I started walking. She had a puppy that needed exercise, and I was determined to advance into the second half of my life in better shape. So off we went every morning like clockwork. We walked my kids to the bus stop and, when the bus pulled away, we continued on to the nearby cemetery that offered flat pathways, scenic trees, and a peaceful ambiance. Every morning Monday through Friday we walked an average of 2 to 3 miles. 

I also changed my diet. I didn't weigh portions, I didn't count calories. My only diet rule was that whatever I put into my mouth had to be nourishing.....it had to be useful to my body. If it came from a box or a can, I knew the artificial additives cancelled out most nutritional value. Which meant that processed food of any kind was not only on the naughty list, much of it was downright harmful. 

At first, everything tasted bland and booooorrrring, but I was determined. And, to my delight, my taste buds recalibrated and healthy food actually began tasting good (who knew?!). 

Since I didn't own one, my neighbor brought her scale to the top of the driveway on the first of the month so we could check my progress. Between the morning walks and my eating for health, I lost 10 to 12 pounds every month. I didn't have a set weight I wanted to reach. My goal was to get healthy, not wear a bikini. And one day the scale revealed a triumph my neighbor and I never expected: I had shed 100 pounds.

Equally important was the treasured time with my neighbor. Our morning walks became our uninterrupted gab fests allowing us to laugh, vent, cry, and brainstorm. We walked through life's ups and downs including the death of her nephew in a car accident and the death of my daughter in a car accident. We walked through our children growing into adults, getting married, and the delights of becoming grandparents. As we walk through morning sunshine, spring rain, autumn's foliage display, and winter's bitter wind, we share life's challenges, joys, and sorrow. We giggle like schoolgirls at life's humor, and brainstorm over how to solve world problems.

Today as I celebrate ten years of healthful living, I also celebrate a friendship that I treasure beyond words. I'm 50 now and my neighbor is 58, and I imagine we won't be slowing down anytime soon.  Happy 10th anniversary indeed!

Do you have your own eating struggles? Join me in sharing our stories in Grief Diaries:  Through the Eyes of an Eating Disorder.

My 10 Rules of Grief

I May Not Have Depression After All

I have spent a lifetime with sadness on my lap, even when it seemed there was nothing wrong.  I eventually would go to the doctor when it would get to be too much and many times the results came back that I was suffering from depression. I seemed to wrestle with this most of my life.  At times I experienced a loss or something sad, I could understand the sadness.  But when life was good, why was I so sad all the time?  It must be a hormone thing?  Physical problems were a relevant issue since I had been in surgical menopause, had been diagnosed with Fibromyalgia and a few ruptured discs in my back.  All of these health issues can cause depression and that makes sense.  So I would take the pills prescribed and work on any problems that came my way.  Eventually the monster depression would come back and I would set there baffled and hopeless one more time.  Am I always going to feel sad?  I need to find a way to accept it.  Yes!  Acceptance is the solution.  So I threw myself into different ways to accept my depression, and surrendered the fight to something that was a part of me.

In 2010, I experienced a horrific loss that left me shattered.  My mother was in her early fifties, and passed from a drug overdose.  This was not my first loss in my life, I started losing loved one at the age of five.  A sister, uncle, grandmother, grandfather, husband, cousins, a father (not sure if he was my real father), several friends, three beautiful pets, and now mom.  Not to mention being raised in alcoholism, drug addiction, and abuse.  I was abandoned many times in my childhood and would be given to the foster care system.

I am definitely a fighter and a survivor because I would always make a strong comeback.  What did I miss last time?  What did I need to do better?  Yet the hopelessness would win every time.  So back to the doctor, another round of medication, and therapy.  Days after my mom passed I ran into a lady whose son had committed suicide.  She had a certain look in her eyes.  At first to be honest, I was like, “I’m glad you’re happy.”  I was in the dark grief world.  The place between living a death, and wanting to die.  I said nothing to her, I just watched and listened from a distance.  The day came when I approached her with a lump in my throat, and my eyes full of tears.  May I ask you something?  She said, “of course.” How is it that you are free and your eyes seem to sparkle?  What is it that you do?  You lost your son, but you seem at peace?

She started sharing her story with me about how she went on her journey.  She talked of a handbook called, The Grief Recovery Handbook.  She told me that this handbook had saved her life.  Being desperate and completely out of ideas, I ordered the book.  Within the first few chapters my life was changed forever and had not even started the work.  My life was running through my mind.  Come to find out all the sadness I was experiencing wasn’t depression it was grief!  I couldn’t believe it.  I couldn’t remember one doctor’s form I ever filled out mentioning anything about grief.  The only time I spoke to a doctor about grief is when my husband was killed.  The doctor himself had heard of what happened to him.  He prescribed tons of anxiety medication, and sleeping medication.   My world opened up and finally there was hope.  I had been treating my grief as depression my whole life.  It’s like taking a bar of soap out to fix a flat tire, it just won’t work.

I went on to work the book and have had wonderful results and I highly recommend it.  I am not a doctor but this is my experience.  I truly believe depression exists and should to be treated.  I went to my doctor with my new found information and she was very supportive and even encouraged me to do the work.  It has been four years since the loss of my mother and I can say I feel much better.  I still have my days so don’t get me wrong.  But today I know that I’m sad, not depressed, that I’m grieving.  It’s normal and natural to grieve.

I send you blessing my grieving friends,

Angie Cartwright