First, I think I totally earned a gold star with that title, right? But seriously, it just seemed to make sense. Accept, be grateful, and there is a weight lifted. I'm getting ahead of myself, though...
Have you ever heard of the Kubler-Ross model, or the 5 stages of grief? A very simple description is that someone grieving will go through the following stages (not necessarily in this order, and not necessarily just one time per stage):
1 - Denial
2 - Anger
3 - Bargaining
4 - Depression
5 - Acceptance
I have revisited this model from time to time in therapy, but I haven't fully recognized its significance in my life. For one thing, the model was developed in a study observing terminally ill patients. Since that isn't my situation, I haven't fully appreciated how the model can apply to any situation where you are grieving.
Yet on Monday, after a particularly great, spiritual weekend, I found I was feeling so peaceful and so content, and it wasn't for any of my typical reasons. No one had told me that I was smart or talented that day. I don't know that my kids were particularly well behaved. I'm still not on top of all of our bookkeeping. The house is pretty messy in various rooms. I am still 10 pounds above my weight goal.
Admittedly, we are planning some fun travel and home improvement. So maybe there's a touch of excitement there. Still, I'm not romanticizing these events in my head. I know the travel will be pricey and messy, a real adventure likely full of complaints and a head cold or two. The home improvement undertaking will be crazy and SO expensive. (Know this, BIG mess ahead at Dianna's house). Just the same, I felt and feel good about it.
There were even sad things happening this week. Someone I didn't know, but who was very dear to many of my friends, passed away much too soon. I was very sad for this loss and for all I know who are suffering because of it. Yet I didn't feel consumed in it, nor did I feel the need to do something big as a gesture or to show solidarity. It wasn't needed. I am also grateful to admit that I didn't feel that awful, primeval impulse to ask myself "would anyone mourn me this way?" No, I only felt compassion.
Why was/am I so content right now? Ironically, the stages of grief came to my mind, and I looked them up.
Bingo.
Here is a humbling acknowledgement: I've been grieving over some things for a long time. A tough childhood. Missed opportunities. My own mistakes so far as a wife and mother. (Those are not listed in order of importance, of course.)
From the outside, someone who looks at my life might condemn me for grieving at all. I have a good life and a lot to be grateful for. That said, saying, "I/you shouldn't feel this way" has never helped anyone change for the better. Shame and judgement are no way to peace and growth, and we don't deserve it anymore than others do (and, no, they don't deserve it, no matter how silly their behavior). My point is, regardless of how good your life is, you may still find yourself grieving over something. It's okay. Honor those feelings for a time. They are legitimate.
Describing my journey would make a Tolstoy-esque blog post, you don't need that on a Wednesday. I can simply say, though, that there are some things in my life (in all of our lives) over which I (we) have NO control. We are powerless. We can't change the past. We can't control other people. We can't be in 50 places at once, leap over tall buildings, or see through iron. In the face of that powerlessness, it is not reasonable that we might go through the stages of Denial, Anger, Bargaining, and Depression?
The bigger question is, will we arrive at the most beautiful of all stages: Acceptance?
Acceptance can be frightening, like a monster of some sort from which we hide. What does it mean to accept? Retreat? Recognition of failure? I think many of us fear that acceptance is giving up, that we're choosing to not act, not fight the beast, not pursue our dreams. Maybe if we accept that something is what it is, can things never be better? Are we settling?
We're not. Acceptance just means to stop fighting against what you cannot beat. You cannot do away something that is. You cannot turn back time, nor should you.
On that subject (tangent time!), I'm reminded of a beautiful play written by an old school mate of mine. It featured a futuristic society where psychiatrists improve everything by altering peoples' memories. They erased trauma, and so everyone seemed happy and adjusted - less crime, more peaceful society, etc. At one life changing moment in the play, a patient remembers a devastating repressed memory and falls to his knees, pleading with a psychiatrist to remove this painful memory. I will never forget one of the responses of the psychiatrist: "But this is part of who you are." The night I saw it performed, I fell forward weeping into my hands. So much truth in that line!
We must learn to accept our journey to this point.
Powerlessness is addressed a great deal in the brilliant, inspired 12 Steps of addiction recovery. When we admit "that we are powerless over our addiction," we stop trying to convince ourselves that we're not addicts. We stop shaking our fist at the universe. We stop denying, being angry, bargaining, mourning. We see it for what it is, and we accept that it is what we're dealing with.
I'd forgotten this beautiful principle of acceptance. We don't talk about it enough in the LDS church, because we're so focused on change. Yet we absolutely believe in the grace of Christ. We know that we are incapable of saving ourselves and can only be saved through Jesus' atonement. Just the same, our recognition of the good we can do in our lives and our desire to minimize suffering often keeps us more focused on change and improvement. While change is good and necessary - it helps people turn to God and have better lives - there are some things that you cannot change.
I think that as I've come to realize that there are many things I cannot change (Denial coming to an end), I've spent so much time feeling Anger toward God for the disappointments and tough parts of life. I've remained in a frustrated, anxious state too much. I've been impatient with others, with life, with myself. (More Anger. I'm really good at this one.) At certain points, I've wanted to say, "Okay, God, let's make a deal. I'll do this, but you have to promise me this..." (Bargaining) As my powerlessness had become more clear, I've struggled with serious bouts of Depression.
Here's the thing. Powerlessness does not need to be Hopelessness. It's okay to let go of what you cannot change or control. The phrase that came to my mind on Monday was, "You are allowed to be happy now, no matter what."
I think a few good things triggered this for me. One person whose opinion I really value reminded me that there is more than one path to fulfillment. Another encouraged me to not assume my story has to have a sad ending.
BTW, I apologize for being so archaic. You don't need me to flesh out details. We all have them. We all get it.
So, what's the meaning in my title? As I have come to accept more and more what I cannot change, I've realized that I have so much to be grateful for, but I haven't felt the joy of gratitude. There is a difference between acknowledging your blessings and actually being grateful for them. You can see what you're given, but if you are angry or feel ashamed and unworthy of your blessings, you won't feel the love that comes with real gratitude.
Choosing gratitude is like exercising a muscle, and it's kind of easy. We can look around and ponder each specific gift, even just things like clean water and air. In time, we can see what a gift it all is - the relationships, the moments, the memories. Every fine detail that is good is worth receiving, and actually receiving can bring a lot of joy. It's important to remember that God wants us to recognize and receive these gifts. Otherwise He wouldn't have given them in the first place.
The weight I felt in that last bout of depression has started to lift with these realizations. I know it's not a silver bullet. I'm not cured or anything. My moods are still fun and changeable. Alas, my anxiety isn't magically gone.
In fact, last night I fell apart when I realized I wasn't paying attention to an important deadline. At first, I felt angry and defensive, and I sank into despair. After a few minutes and some perspective, combined with support from my husband and one of my kids (the most intuitive young man who knows just when to hug me and say it's okay), I accepted my own error, and peace returned.
So, I will end this long epistle by quoting the Serenity Prayer, which is regularly recited at the start of AA and NA meetings:
"God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
Courage to change the things I can,
And wisdom to know the difference."
If there is one change that is very easy to make, it's choosing gratitude. The peace that can come when we realize how loved we are, and accept that love without shame, is huge. I'm grateful to learn this. The weight is lifting...
I have so much love for you and this wisdom.
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