Routines

One of the things that we tend to hold on to is the habits and patterns we've developed. My social psychology teacher from college had a good way to sum it up: Robots Are Good. He said that most of what we do during any given day is on autopilot. A really good example is thinking about tying your shoes. How long has it been since you've had to stop and pay conscious attention to what goes on with tying shoes? For almost everyone who'd be reading this, it's something we can do while half asleep or thinking about something else entirely. It pretty much seems to happen on its own. Given how many things we have to deal with in any given day, if we had to pay conscious attention to even half of them, we'd wear out far before we'd get any significant part of it done.

Routines also provide us with a sense of security and comfort. Knowing that we know how to do things and deal with them is a big boost to confidence and self-esteem. After all, think about what it's been like when you've been sick. All of a sudden, you're having to focus really hard to try to figure out how to deal with the basic, simple, day-to-day kinds of things. I know for me that it ends up making me feel like I've dropped 90 IQ points, utterly stupid. It's always such a relief when it feels like I can get back to doing what I've known to do and am able to do it.

When a spouse dies, all the routines that built up around that person are suddenly shattered. We no longer have the person around that we'd done things with, even day-to-day things like going grocery shopping or doing laundry or eating meals. Coming home is hard, especially if we're used to either greeting them or being greeted. The habit pokes and prods at us to find that person and talk to them...and they're not there anymore. Going to sleep is another rough one. Usually the night ends with your spouse there and, when they're not, it doesn't feel right. It's a reminder of the absence, and the reason(s) for it. I can't say from personal experience, but I'm guessing it's much the same that happens when people divorce, even if they're overall glad for the separation. Those habits and patterns still try to run, and now they can't because the person they're built to revolve around and involve are no longer there. I know for me it left me feeling at loose ends, like I couldn't handle anything all that well anymore. I was lucky that work hadn't had much to do with her, and so there wasn't the same kind of thing there. However, just about anything outside of work pushed at those same buttons.

To get a sense of normalcy, we look for developing new routines again. It's a sense of confidence, a sense of comfort, a sense of being able to handle a life over time. For me and several of the people I've talked to, the routines get built up around whatever it is we can find to hold on to and manage. Sometimes it's good ones, like starting to go to the gym and work out again, or maybe calling and talking to people every evening. At other times, those routines build up around things that aren't so good for us. One of the ones that I started up again was smoking. Yeah, I know, it's not good for me, it's expensive, it's got lots of health risks, yadda yadda yadda. At the same time, it also turned down the emotional intensity enough to let me deal with it. On mornings when things were going rough on an emotional basis, it gave me something to do that not only turned down the emotional intensity but gave me a sense of what I could do.

The hard thing that comes up in time is having to look at the routines that initially helped us get through the loss...and let some of them go. That initial sense of comfort and control they provide can be scary to let go. Life had been a confusing, painful, frightening, depressing, overwhelming mess before. The new routines came along and took at least some of that away. When the price they demand becomes too high, though, then there's the experience of looking at letting them go. Along with that comes the fear of things going back to the way they had been before, when the routines weren't there to help things make more sense.

And again we get another chance to find out just how strong we really are.

Rat's Head, Ox's Neck

I like to read.  I've read a lot of different things over the years, physics, philosophy, Chinese medicine, spiritual books...all kinds of things.  One area I'd read up on awhile ago was strategy, especially some of the classics.  The title for this post came from The Book of Five Rings by Miyamoto Musashi.  One of the sections in there has that title.  It talks about the idea that sometimes you can get caught up in the little details and need to be able to remember to look at the big picture.  It seems to me like the reverse is true, too.  You can get too caught up in looking at the overall picture of things and lose track of the details.  It makes sense either way.

It reminded me of yet another detail of working through grief.  I've noticed a pattern in the last 19 months or so.  See, some things have hit me really hard and some haven't.  I can't say it's a hard-and-fast rule, but it's pretty common that it works out this way.  The big things often hit pretty hard, like birthdays and anniversaries and all.  I just went through our wedding anniversary recently, and it did a number on me.  The same hit with the anniversary of her death.  Heh, we had two anniversaries that we celebrated, one for when we got married and one for when we got together as a couple.  Both of those can hit pretty hard.

The other things that have tended to hit hard have been lots of little things.  Most recently, it's been looking for shaving cream and deodorant.  She'd had pretty intense sensitivities to chemicals and synthetic scents.  As a result, I had to be a lot more careful about what I'd pick up and use.  If I picked up something with synthetic scent, it'd give her nasty migraines, chest pains, and other unpleasant stuff.  I was in the grocery store for probably 30 minutes trying to figure out what to buy.  The habit of avoiding the synthetic scents is still there.  Then again, looking at the ones that were OK for me to use was sad, too.  I found myself bouncing between them, each sparking of memories that just ramped up the confusion and distress. And, at the same time, there was part of me thinking it was just ridiculous to be having that hard of a time with picking up such pointless little things like deodorant and shaving cream.  What a mess.

Those little things are the ones that I haven't thought would hit me like that.  There was no expectation of it, no preparation for it.  They aren't like getting hit by a train.  That's what the big days are like.  Instead, those little things are like a sucker punch that comes from out of nowhere while you're standing in line waiting to pay for gasoline and a coke at a convenience store.  And because there's no preparation for when they hit, those things can really hurt.  They don't mess me up for as long as the big ones do, but it doesn't feel much different in those moments.

It's like there's an upside-down bell curve for how they affect me.  The big ones I can see coming, but they hit anyway.  The small things come out of nowhere and hurt, too.  Oddly, it's the medium-sized things that overall aren't so bad.  I can see them coming and prepare some for them, and the preparation makes at least some degree of difference.

The hope is that over time the big things just don't hit as hard.  They run out of momentum; they run out of steam.  Hopefully they go from a train blaring down on me at full speed to a hard storm wind.  Maybe they push me around some, but they don't cause me pain or damage.  I'd also hope something similar happens with the little things.  There's only so long that it's fun to sucker punch someone, only so many times before they see them coming.  Heck, if you get hit enough times in the same place, it does make you tougher.  You just can't be hurt as easy in that place, in that way.

It's just a matter of hanging in there until that time comes.  I hope.