Swamp Adventures

Today marks the first time I’ve actually sat at my desk and wrote in two years.  As I writer, I’ve continued to dabble here and there, but had lost my ritual, my spunk, and my love.  For the past two years, my office had become a hoarding room for all the things I could not manage in life.  Every time I entered the room, the overload of papers, books, articles, mailings, gadgets, and personal effects engulfed me with emotions.  This was not me but I could not find an egress.

It started with family relations issues – I did not speak to my mother for a year.   Work related stress compounded as I used unnatural skills to survive a toxic office environment.  Life further intensified with the adjustment of my adult son and his dog moving in with me at the same time I started a new love relationship.  During that time, several medical issues also became a concern, financial challenges mounted, and several loved ones had terminal illnesses.  I made good strides with balance but then the flood reemerged in great force with the death of my family pet of 14-years.  Life as I knew it was over.  My heart was shattered.  This left me not only swamped by life but living in The Grief Swamp.

Being a native of Louisiana did not give me any special tools for swamp living.  And truth be told, I had only been on one swamp tour my entire life.  What I do recall about the bayou is that for some people, it generates unease, fear and misdirection; and yet for others it creates excitement and there is a daily quest for the unsung beauty a swamp beholds.

Grief is like a swamp.  Without a map, it’s easy to lose any sense of where you are and where you have been.  Once lost, you can start to thrash around trying to force your way out, but may get deeper into the marshes than expected.  That was me.  I was stuck there – me and The Swamp.  I could hear the calls of loved ones in the distance trying to guide me out.  But the harder I fought to escape, the deeper I went.  I tried hard to understand their faint ramblings, and travel toward their flashlight, but this caused me to stumble upon more dangerous bogs and increased decay.  Soon I found, I was going in circles.  Drenched in a multitude of emotions – hurt, anger, fear, loss, denial, helplessness – each turn I made, felt like I’d been down that path before.  

Listening to others is helpful sometimes, but there are moments in life where only you can steer.  My way out of painful situations has never been to keep busy to distract my thoughts.  It was not until I stopped listening to others, that I saw a glimmer of life beyond the everglades.  When I ceased trying to escape The Swamp, I found appreciation in its purpose.  Like the surrounding rivers and streams that flood, carrying nutrients to The Swamp; so would this experience provide all I needed to adapt and flourish.       

So I stopped hurrying about.  There were things my life had taught me for certain.  Perception is reality.  Acceptance is healing.  Honor thyself.  Trust your instincts.  The present moment is a miracle.  Time is a blessing.  Keep confidences.  In stillness there is truth.  And so I found a mound to sit on and made a pallet.  When I looked around, I saw so much richness here.  The marshes and wetlands have their own benefits.  The animal and plant life have their roles, including the deadly gators.  The decaying trees, even in their drudgery, have their stories and they had much to say to me – and I listened.  I soon found gratitude for The Swamp and its protection; for had I continued to flail about, I could have traveled into quicksand.

 

I’m not sure if it was God or Swamp People but I know I had a guide.  That guide helped me to choose The Swap Adventure over its drudgery.  It was hard to explain to outsiders that I was now enjoying swamp living, and so I talked mainly to my pilot.  Each day we found just enough beauty to survive and I was less worried about the outside world.  My new life would be waiting, and just knowing that gave me peace.  Here, even in the muck, I was learning new navigation skills like – saying no, embracing imperfection, self-care, trust and surrender, asking for help, intuitive listening, and really recognizing friend vs. foe.  I knew swamp life was where I was meant to be – at least for right now.  My life was starting to have purpose.  My needs and my feelings became important.  I was listening to me – really listening.   I was exploring each sighting and taking note of its lesson.  I was reflecting.  I was writing.  At times, I even painted.  Surprisingly, I took ballet.  I was choosing only what I loved.  I was remembering my loss with joy.  I even began helping others out of their swamps, real and imaginary – because I can clearly recognize a quagmire when I see one.

Grief is a swamp.  It’s like walking through molasses.  There is no established timeframe for when we will rise out.  For grief is cumulative and all past losses are compounded into the present loss.  Childhood experiences resurrect.  Old defense mechanisms pop up.  Self-Defeat emerges along with guilt.  But there is one thing for sure – we have a choice in how we see our condition.  We have a choice of whether to welcome in or fight against.  We have a choice in how we will endure until we can navigate out.  It does not matter if we crawl, walk or hitch a ride.  Whatever the choice – just make it an adventure!

Pen of Grace