Hard things are hard

by Lissa Carter, LCMHC

I can’t presume to know what life is like for you as you read this. I can share that, lately, life for many of my clients has looked like one unrelenting challenge after another. It wears you down. I would like to speak to the part of you that is exhausted, overwhelmed, and grieving:

It’s okay. You are not alone. Of course you are tired. Of course you are sad. You are allowed this, you are allowed to travel the full spectrum of the human heart, and this spectrum includes some times when living feels like a hardship. That’s part of the dignity of being human.

You don’t have to fix it. You don’t have to paste on a smile or a stoic expression and plow through as though all is well. You are allowed to face the day, the world, your life, with the emotions and thoughts that are true for you.

And yet life does not wait for us to grieve or rage or collapse. There are children that need to be fed and work meetings that need to be attended and trash that needs to be taken out to the curb, and none of these things have stopped because of our exhaustion.

Still, there is a subtle difference we can cultivate here if we practice compassion toward ourselves. It looks like standing at the stove, preparing breakfast for the children, letting the tears roll down your cheeks. Letting your family see that today, it is hard, and you can do hard things.

It looks like dressing in an article of clothing that through its weave or color calls in the strength and resilience of your ancestors, or a bracelet that was given by a friend and can symbolize, for you, her kindness or her courage. In this way you can mirror to the outer world your inner life (there is a whole fascinating history here, the kosmetikos, that I will one day devote an entire blog to).

It looks like answering “How are you?” with honesty that respects your true feelings: “It’s been a rough day, but I am finding the strength to do what needs to be done.”

Every day offers us numerous choice points, when we can choose to move toward the person we want to be or choose to move away from sensations of discomfort. Choosing to move toward the person we want to be does not eliminate the discomfort. But it does help us shoulder it with a sense of agency, with the knowledge that in doing this hard thing we are choosing to show up to life in a way that matters to us. There is a power in that.

We face so many moments in our lives in which pain is unavoidable. There’s a wonderful metaphor from Acceptance and Commitment Therapy that I use for myself and for my clients in these moments:

You are standing at a train station. You are headed north to attend the wedding of a beloved friend. The southbound train pulls in to the platform behind you, and the train is lovely to behold: shining, polished, its passengers ensconced in comfortable velvet seats with personal entertainment systems.

Then your train pulls in , at the northbound platform. It is in horrifying shape, rusty, decrepit; the windows are smeared and the passengers look shifty. You are reluctant to board this train, so you wait, and it pulls away. No matter, you think; another train will pull up.

Another train does pull up, but it is just as decrepit as the first. What do you choose to do?

Do you continue to wait, possibly even missing the event you had so looked forward to?

Do you board a southbound train, carrying yourself away from your destination, but enjoying a comfortable journey?

Or do you take a deep breath and board the train north, knowing that even though it will cause some discomfort it is carrying you toward the place you want to be?

We can spend our whole lives waiting for the “right” train that never arrives.

There is discomfort in doing hard things. But there is also a terrible cost incurred in avoiding them, in turning away from them, in letting the train go by.

We are in a moment together—-as a species and as a planet—in which there is no easy choice. We are being asked to shoulder discomfort again and again. I want you to know that you are not alone in your weariness, in your sadness, in your pain. And I know that we can do hard things, and we can be compassionate to ourselves as we do them. You deserve to show up as the person you want to be, even when it is hard.

Instead of pushing yourself mindlessly through the slog today, take a moment to dig into your personal “why”:

I am making breakfast for my kids because it matters to me to send them into the world with warm and nourished bellies.

I am attending this meeting because I want to show my coworkers that they are seen and that they matter.

I am brushing my teeth because I respect the elder I will become, and I want her to be free of tooth pain so that she can focus on saving the world.

When we get in touch with the deeply personal meaning underlying the challenges we face, we infuse them with purpose. And that does not make hard things any easier, but it does make them more meaningful.

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Please do not hesitate to reach out if you need help. We are in this together.