#123 – Can you embrace life wholeheartedly even when it sucks?

Yesterday, someone praised me for the way I'm "compartmentalizing" during the difficult times my family and I are going through.

Am I compartmentalizing, or is this resiliency?

Almost 19 years ago, my mother suffered a stroke and fell into a coma. I was devastated.

And scared, because just a few days later, I was scheduled to teach my week-long course at the Master's in TV Reporting.

How could I possibly show up to teach after such a tragedy? This was the saddest moment in my life – could I muster enough strength to face the students and give them the best of me?

Remembering how my mother admired my grit and commitment to my work, I knew she'd want me to teach the class.

The first three days were hard, although I welcomed the distraction.

But on Thursday, when I made a joke and the students burst out laughing, I felt guilty: how could I be making people laugh when my mother was in a coma, with little prospects of regaining her health?

When I left the classroom, I called my friend and mentor Isabel, a psychotherapist. Sobbing, I told her what I'd done. She explained that what I did was a sign that I was starting the healing process. This, she said, meant I was resilient.

She told me that hiding my feelings or trying to plow through them wouldn't help. I'd be just lying to myself – which I now interpret as a response of the Ego.

But acknowledging that it wasn't my students' fault that my mother was in a coma was a sign of resiliency.

I wasn't showing up like nothing had happened; I was honoring my commitment to my students, who were in no way involved in my mother's circumstance.

Not compartmentalizing but honoring my commitment to my work, even in the midst of grief, was key to staying present.

That's my experience these days. My commitment keeps me going. My commitment to you, to my work, to writing. To myself.

So, no. I don't compartmentalize. The idea of putting things in boxes inside my brain sounds like a costly illusion – how much energy would I need to devote to keeping the box tightly closed?

Even if and when it sucks, this is the only life I have. I might as well make the most out of it.

What brain boxes could you open to be fully present to your life?

Love,

Carolina