Kindness as a default

Lach and I left the dog groomers feeling happy and joyous and fussing over our newly pampered pooches.  It had been a really good experience for all involved and the mood was high.  They were clean and fluffy and smelt wonderful, and I had been validated as a good and responsible dog owner who cares for the well being of her animals.  Winning!

A vastly different experience to a few months ago……

I walked out of the dog groomers feeling utterly defeated.  All I could say was that “I was sorry”, and that “I had tried my best”.  It’s true that my dog’s coats did have knots and even a few matts, but I still showed up and handed them over for scrutiny.  So, after being told off like a child who’d disappointed her parent’s I collected my bundles of now fluffy nice smelling joy and left with my head hanging down.  But it was true.  I was sorry and I had tried my best, but this time I’d failed.

I read something on Facebook recently that talked about being kind.  Just be kind as a default position because you never know what someone else is carrying or experiencing on that day, in their lives, or even just in that moment.  I didn’t know what our lovely dog groomer was experiencing at that time, and I can say with confidence that she had no idea what I was experiencing at that time either.  No idea that there was a reason that I was late with the dog’s haircuts, that there was a reason why they had knots or matts and smelt a little bit too doggy even for their own liking.  And I didn’t tell her.

I could have told her that I just hadn’t been able to do everything.  How I probably should have asked for some help but that I hadn’t had the capacity even for that.  I could have told her that my son had been in terrible pain for a long time, that he had a seizure and was rushed to the hospital followed by 4 emergency neurosurgeries to tame the brain tumour that had taken on a life of its own.  I could have told her that I was so very, very tired. I could have cried.  But I didn’t.  I didn’t say or do any of that because I didn’t want to make her feel like crap, or that I was using it as an excuse, and I really didn’t want to face the look of shock and then pity on her face, followed by extreme social discomfort.   Well, that’s what I’d envisioned because that had been my experience so many times before.  Perhaps It was me that was being judgy at that point and I probably should have taken a different perspective or observation.  But I was actually so tired.  I did say that I would do better next time fully knowing that I would never be returning to that doggy salon.  I just didn’t have the capacity or strength to carry judgement from the dog groomer at that point.  It was easier to simply pay the money and walk away.

When Lach was first diagnosed, meeting new people would inevitably become uncomfortable.   Initially after being asked “what do I do?”, I’d go through the process of explaining that I wasn’t working at the time as my child had been diagnosed etc., etc.  That was all tolerable in the beginning but after a while with the looks of sorrow, shock, pity, and noticeable discomfort it became less so.   Over time I created standard answers to regular social questions that I found awkward, or that would inevitably lead to uncomfortable social silences and someone needing to refill their drink or excuse themselves to use the bathroom.  Brain tumours can be quite the mood killer and it takes a special person to be able to comfortably share that space.  I mean what can you say? 

I remember once being asked a series of questions by a professional with every question inevitably leading to an unfortunate answer.  In the end I suggested that he refrain from asking me any more questions as it was becoming quite depressing for both of us.  We did actually have a small, exasperated laugh at the conversation though.

Maybe I should have been more creative in my responses to have a bit of fun, or tried to look from a different perspective, but I guess at that time my life felt way too serious and I didn’t have the emotional tools to shift my perspective.  I could say that I would have loved to talk about other topics and other people’s lives and experiences, but the truth is that at that time a brain tumour diagnosis felt all encompassing.  I decided that it was probably easier to keep to myself and avoid meeting new people.  Looking back on my state of mind at that time I wish I could reach back and give myself the knowledge and tools that I have today, along with a giant hug.  I would tell myself to keep my heart open and allow others to share and help carry the unworldly weight that I was feeling in my heart at that time. 

These days I am a lot more open and relaxed and able to share our experiences more easily. I don’t feel the same trauma around those experiences that I once did, and I also don’t feel such a responsibility to carry or own other’s emotions or reactions to the journey that we’ve been on.   To talk about the challenges Lach and I have faced and how we have been able to grow and evolve through those experiences is a very empowering and emotionally freeing thing to do.  I truly hope that sharing our experiences will help others in some shape or form.  

But you know there are days where I don’t even want to approach it or talk about it.  Some days that can be challenging and some days that I feel tired.  Some days that I just don’t want to have to explain.  On those days especially, kindness as a default position goes an exceptionally long way.

As for mine and Lach’s day to day, our focus is definitely not on any diagnosis or treatment that he may be having.  We fill as much space as we can in our lives with love, joy, laughter, healing, health, fun, adventure, and faith so that all of the good things in our life easily outshine anything carrying a heavier weight.  We are so much more than any diagnosis.  This is only a part of our story.

•