Positive Caring

On reflection, my last post was a tad unbalanced. It is a hard row to hoe, I admit, but I recognise that there are positive aspects, and I feel the need to address those now. I've done venting and feeling sorry for myself for now, I'm ready to move on.


One of the things I've learned from my reading of others' experiences is that there's nothing like a life-critical situation for changing one's perspective. In the case of Christine's cancer, there's always been that "Oh my God, things are bad" feeling for both of us; when we first began this journey, nearly seven years ago, there was a lot of fear, uncertainty and doubt about the future, but also a sense that "this is worthwhile doing".


I can't really feel too sorry for myself; after all, I volunteered to do this. When Christine was first diagnosed and the seriousness of the disease was apparent, I immediately came over to join her. I'm no shrinking violet, I made my decision; made my bed, so to speak.


So without further ado, here's a glimpse into the positive:

The Angry Carer

Scared? In shadow? You bet.

A few months ago, Christine gave me the book Grace and Grit to read. The author, she said, is quite the philosopher. "Good", I thought, this will do me the power of good; a man describing the joint journey of a couple going through cancer. The ups and downs, the coping, the dealing, the however-many-stages-of-grief. This, I thought, will be good.


I read a little; I thought a little. I read a little more; thought a little more. Read more, thought more. Then I read some more, and stopped. It turns out that my journey is very different from his, Christine's from Treya's. It irritated me, he irritated me, and I finally decided that this was a book I would gladly burn pop in the yard sale box.


There is, of course, a reason. I am not Ken Wilber. I'm a little angrier than he; coarser, more...vulgar. I dislike bullshit and I declare that "it's not fair!" because deep down inside I still have the little boy who wants and expects the world to be a just and honest place, where there are no monsters hiding under the bed.

On taking a new direction

"Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way" - Tolstoy, Anna Karenina

A man in our men's group recently described a few aspects of his family. He has come to realise, after many years, that his father is a bully, and his mother, well let's just say that she's no saint (in his own words, a slut). Given that he's on a journey to deal with his feelings of being bullied, this has made him angry, let down and betrayed by people who should have been giving him positive role models.


Having worked on his own "shadow" stuff for sometime, he has recognised the darker side of his own nature and learned to be accountable for his actions and feelings, particularly in respect of his dealings with his own family. He's developed good communication within the family, and modelled respect for open and honest family values, and the realisation that his own upbringing was to some degree dysfunctional, has thrown his own life into sharp focus. Despite his own upbringing (his father's egotistical bullying and his mother's immorality), he learned not just to resolve problems but to avoid the issues in the first place.

First step in a new direction

No "victim" status for him; he's taken responsibility for his own life, warts and all, and now acts in a way that supports love, openness and nurturing.


I have done the same, in that I've recognised that some of my default responses to even momentary stress or difficulty in my relationships, are flawed and needed to be corrected. To this end, I now act in
harmony with a personal mission to foster good, open and empathetic communications with everyone, but my own family circle in particular.


This raises a question for me now; why do not all men (and women, come to that) see their role as loving warriors in their lives? It turns out that there's a pretty simple and straightforward reason for this. Most of us do not learn how to express feelings in an honest and constructive way, that fosters communication rather than conflict. Men in particular have few good models for this - often the only emotion they are able to express is anger, and uncontrolled, rageful anger at that. Frequently, men are told to hide their "softer" feelings such as love, sadness, shame and empathy; they effectively stuff them into bags and learn to show only their rage, often at themselves.


I will illustrate this with my experience, to demonstrate how I take responsibility for myself. For example, I would find myself getting angry with my 13-year-old stepdaughter for not putting her dishes away at the end of a meal. This escalated into an argument about how she never noticed that things needed doing in the kitchen, for example, loading or emptying the dishwasher. In addition, I'd get cross with my wife if she interrupted me or wanted to continue a conversation I was done with. The person I was really angry with was myself.


This created barriers to good communication, and I only realised how effectively I was shutting my most-loved ones out after I attended a New Warrior Training Adventure weekend, during which I learned (among other things) that when I would get angry with others, it was often over things that I also did. It turns out that I had failed to recognise that I often neglected kitchen duties, for instance, or that I was also guilty of interrupting. This, I realised, was hypocritical, and that I needed to take steps to change my behaviour.


Over the course of the weekend, I learned how to be accountable for my actions, not just to myself, but to others. I needed to own up to my shortcomings honestly, and take action not just to correct the behaviour, but to offer something to make amends. I also learned to acknowledge my shadow-self, which I (in the company of many other men) ignore. The "shadow", in Jungian terms, is that part of us that we ignore, hide, are ashamed of, and for whatever reason, goes unacknowledged. We're all too often encouraged to hear only criticism and to stuff our "childish" needs, feelings and actions away.


These parts of us, figuratively stuffed into bags, we drag around for the rest of our lives, pretending that they don't exist, and all too often letting them not just hold us back from expressing ourselves openly and honestly, but even allowing ourselves to use them as unconscious excuses to sabotage our own good efforts. In modern parlance, we "act out", behaving in ways that are immature, damaging to all around us and damaging our ability to become good human beings. We become stilted men, hobbling through life; immature and incomplete.


Is there a solution? Well yes, there is. I've begun attending a men's circle and keeping in touch with the men I've met there, and I'm proud to say that in the past few months I have taken huge leaps forward in knowing myself much better, more honestly. The side effects are equally beneficial. I find myself unable to make excuses for my behaviour - I'm forced to be honest because I know what drives the anger, insecurity, fear and lack of action. I'm pleased to be a New Warrior.




If all this sounds somewhat evangelical, well it is, and I make no apology for it. I'm proud of what I'm doing.

It's been a while...

Actually, it's been far too long. Several people have asked me what's going on in my life, and I have been saying things along the lines of "Semper in excreta sumus solum profundum variat". Which is not strictly true. Christine still has cancer, I'm still seeking honest employment, still struggling some with stress and depression, but this is not to say that there are no silver linings.

We're surrounded by loving, caring people, Christine and I danced in the Nutcracker in November, as did Tess (of course!)


I have been meditating, attending a men's circle, and have gone so far as to attend a "men's retreat" - the New Warrior Training Adventure in September.


Each of these elements have conspired (can one conspire constructively?) to help me out in some measure. Meditation has given me a sound, balanced and well-grounded core, has helped me develop inner peace and count to ten before throwing my teddy out of the pram. Dancing in the Nutcracker was an enormous amount of fun and gave me a lot of confidence, having been told at age 13 that I would never be able to dance.


The men's circle was another boon, albeit an almost accidental one. A pal of mine had invited me to go, and in my usual rather skeptikal fashion, I kept turning down his invitation. Oh, all right, I'll fess up; I made countless excuses. Finally, one evening, I was dragged along, and found myself in one of the few places I could be truly honest about myself, my feelings and behaviours. It was like confession, only without the kneeling, and it worked. 


Suffice to say that after even more excuses, I signed up to attend the weekend "training", an eye-opening adventure into myself. It's produced lasting effects, all positive. I find myself more rounded, balanced and positive. Christine and I are even better friends as a result.


That said, I'm still struggling. The "carer" element of my life has all but taken over, and I have a fight to look after myself. I've been a cancer carer for most of the last seven years, and it's tough sometimes. Its hard to look at Christine and know that even with the best outcome, I won't have her for much longer. Not that I let it get me down; I think of the line from Theodore Gesiel (Doctor Seuss, to you): "Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened."


Oh yes. I smile.