Smokin' Hot Resentment

It comes around again. No matter how much I know and how much I try to change this one comes around again. It’s sneaky too; I call it by other names: I say, “I’m annoyed” or “hurt” or “challenged”. Sometimes I play the “I’m too spiritual for my shirt” game and think about how sad it is that he or they are less spiritually evolved than me.

Yes, I even bring God into it. 

And then I realize, “Oh, this is resentment! (again)—and it’s mine!”

Last week I heard a woman talking about how much she resented her ex, and she talked about his ex who was the reason they are now ex, and how when they were together she was resentful at him for not being more resentful of his ex. Hearing her describe that tangle made me laugh—which, gratefully began to help me take one step out of my resentment.

The other thing that always helps me release the stickiness of resentment is this saying that I learned in Alanon:

“Resentment is like setting yourself on fire and hoping the other person dies of smoke inhalation”.

(The matches are always in my pocket.)

Head Into Heart

On Valentine’s Day we think of hearts. Sometimes we let our head rule our heart and sometimes it’s the other way around.

Maybe the best advice I have ever received is about moving a loved one from head to heart. And not just a loved one—maybe this advice is even better for a “non-loved” one.

The next time you feel resentment or are irritated by someone try this: Move that person or that thought from your head to your heart. Visualize it...place a tiny “them” in your heart. Put your hand there and press them in. Feel it get warm around them.

Most of our anger, rants and criticisms take place in our heads. But heart is body and physical. Cozy the person into your heart, give them a pat and let them rest there. Let your warm blood surround them.

When they come back to your head return them—like a toddler—to the nesting place in your heart. You will begin to feel the shift. I promise.

Cross my heart.

The Reluctant Caregiver

In my class on caregiving I always say, "Don't let anyone saint you." That means: do not take it when anyone says of your caregiving role that, "You must be a saint." The reason is, that as soon as you have accepted that intended compliment you are now prohibited from saying just how hard it is to be a caregiver. How will you follow "You are a saint" with "I hate this"?

Here's someone else writing about the pain of caregiving and the reluctant caregiver--of which there are many. In this story it's a woman caring for a mother-in-law but often its someone caring for their parent or even their own spouse. No, it's not a made-for-TV-movie where everyone finds caregiving heartwarming and rewarding.

Take a look at this short article. And know you are not alone:

http://newoldage.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/02/20/the-reluctant-caregiver/?smid=pl-share

Resentment

It comes around again. No matter how much I know and how much I change this one comes around again. Sneaky too; I call it by other names: I’m “annoyed”, “hurt”, “challenged”. Sometimes I play the “I’m too spiritual for my shirt” game and think about how sad it is that he or they are less spiritually evolved than me. Yes, I even bring God into it. And then I realize, “Oh, this is resentment—and it’s mine!”

Last week I heard a woman talking about her resentment for her ex and about his ex who was the reason they are now ex and how when they were together she was resentful at him for not being more resentful of his ex. Hearing that made me laugh—which, gratefully began to help me take a step out of my resentment. The other thing that helps me is this saying that I heard in an Alanon meeting:

“Resentment is like setting yourself on fire and hoping the other person dies of smoke inhalation”.

Cancer Caregiver Redux

A year later and I am walloped by unexpected resentment. I am remembering last July and how everyday was exhausting from taking care of him, all the household needs and work. He was lost in a fog of chemo and exhaustion. I had no partner and no comfort. But people all around me were praising me and saying wonderful things and I bought in.

I realized this week that I was making a deal and I didn’t even know I was doing it. I thought this summer would be mine; that he would be so appreciative that he’d say “Hey honey, this is your summer, lets make this one good for you.” Wrong. Surprise. The unspoken deals and even the unconscious deal I had made within myself. This summer is hard too and no one is giving me roses or a break.

Time to grow up: No one is going to take care of me but me. Makes me sad and the resentment is there, but better to face this than live is a pond of resentful expectation.

Post-Caregiver Let Down

A friend asks me, “Is this post-caregiver let down?” I am full of resentment, sadness, and just plain pissed. Everyone is congratulating him, praising him and asking “how are you?” He is, he says, “Fine, great, just fine.” But I see the lines on my face and the work I have left undone for months, the opportunities passed up, the ways I let go of things that I now have to go back and clean up. It’s not just the doctor’s visits and the worries but the cost to my life. My head haunts me with the Mother mantra: “Selfish, selfish, selfish”, the horrible accusation. Oh well, maybe I am but cancer and caregiving happened to me too. Was I expecting a trophy? No, but maybe thanks or something that sparkles.

FU

It’s chemo weekend. The infusion pump returns and the nasty drug called 5-FU. Yesterday to the oncology center for several hours then home to the visiting chemo nurse who hooks John up to the pump. These two days the chemo pet we call FU lives on John and dominates our lives. It is tiring. Tiring for him, yes and tiring for me. I am running. To work, then to the oncology center, then home, back to work, then to my night class. Groceries? Dry cleaner? Postage?

Today I feel resentful and then guilty for feeling resentful. I want to take a breath. I want to shop for shoes. I miss my life and I am afraid of losing myself. I want to be able to rest or be spontaneous; I want to call a friend. All I am aware of is what is not done: laundry, groceries. He cannot go to the grocery store or open the fridge because of the reaction to cold. I don’t want to eat and I don’t want to cook but he needs to eat.

What is hard is to sort out what is really him and what is really me versus what is cancer and chemo. Maybe he’d be this selfish anyway? Maybe I’d be this pissed anyway? It’s so hard to step back and see the good. I’m trying to remember who he was before cancer. Was he a nicer person then? Was I?

All I can think of today is FU.