Kind of Blue

A few weeks ago, Blue Monday* came and went - you know, the third Monday in January when the luster of the new year has worn thin, the weather is bleak, and there isn't yet a sign of spring in sight? Well, on that Monday, a few weeks ago, I distinctly recall not feeling blue, at least not in that way.

A few days ago, though, was different. It was a day that showed the first signs of spring, with birdsong and snowdrops and blue sky. It was a day that should have been one of celebration, if not for the birds and flowers, then for my appointment at the Macmillan Cancer Centre, when the Oncologist looked me in the face and said she 90% believed that I was cured of the cancer that had been excised from my body three years ago (90% "because if I were 100% sure, I'd be God"). While there was a moment of relief and gratitude, oddly enough, I came home not feeling full of cheer, but instead, rather glum; I came home feeling kind of blue. It irriated me, this state, that I could not quite put my finger on, and it irritated me that I couldn't put my finger on why I felt that way.

One day faded into the next, and I began notice two things. The first, was that so long as I referred to 'feeling blue' as my feelings, I wasn't actuallly in touch with my emotions at all. What I was describing was something with many interpretations of its meaning, and that meant I'd never be able to make it tangible; I'd never really hold it. This revelation led me to get more curious what specifically was going on inside, and what lay beyond the mind, in the body.

What I found initially was a familiar narrative about expectations: how I should be feeling, and what I made it mean about myself that I was not feeling those things. This awareness of the judgement against myself helped me see it was a voice in my head, and that allowed me to connect with body sensations. Along with the irritation, which was in my face as heat, deeper down, other emotions started to become known, that had all been pushed down into various places in my torso, legs and feet, tucked away out of view.

The other thing I noticed, was that what I actually had been experiencing over the past few days, was a kind of numbness and dissassociation. Despite all of the deep, varied and copious work I had done over the years in processing trauma, a part of me had not been ready to face some of the more challenging emotions around present-day uncertainty. Without knowing it, while I was working out all the old stuff, I had developed a coping mechanism to dampen down my current emotional experience, so that good news or bad, I could 'manage'.

While getting in touch with these emotions will likely not leave me in a state of unending bliss, it did help me to become more present and attuned with myself, and the irritation and 'blueness' dissipated. More than anything though, it helped me to accept the coping mechanism and the emotions that were hiding; for the coping mechanism was only trying to keep me safe from feelings that may have been too much to process, all at once.

The world we are navigating today will no doubt leave us with complex emotions, and without some boundaries or coping strategies, a steady-stream of 24/7 news from around the world is be enough for anyone to go mad. Our human body-minds were not made for a world connected by satellites and reporting without an off-switch. The reminder I often need to hear, is that all emotions are ok to feel, even if they don't make sense in our heads.

The last piece of this, is that I often am not the one to reach out for help. On this occassion I did, and a friend from the Compassionate Inquiry community offered me a safe space to work though what was going on, inside. Support is invaluable, in whatever form it may take and can show up in unlikely places, if we'd only ask.