When you’re more ‘no no no’ than ‘ho ho ho’. Moving from anguish to acceptance.
Permission to feel: Anguish
Let’s just Grinch up this ol’ ho-ho-ho happy lead up to Christmas shall we?
Why? Well because:
A) The whole of story of ‘How the Grinch stole Christmas’ is told in rhyme and for those of you who have been around here for a bit will know, I am partial to a rhyming couplet or two.
B) The feeling of the week is ‘anguish’ and, come rain or shine, I follow my spreadsheet plan.
C) Brené Brown (who inspired this whole feeling a week milarkey when I read Atlas of the Heart) says ‘poets, artists, and writers approach the topic of anguish without apology often capturing it in a way that leaves us with a sense of shock, heartbreak, and foreboding.’
I mean, it feels like divine intervention at this stage.
Now the poem that I have for anguish is one of the poems that I wrote for my friend when she was going through chemotherapy in isolation during lockdown in 2020. It’s called ‘It’s not fair.’ Very poetic.
‘It’s not fair’ is what we often cry when we feel the ‘shock, incredulity, grief and powerlessness’ of anguish - as defined by Brené.
I think that when we hit an ‘It’s not fair’ moment in our lives, we are actually somewhere between the depression and bargaining stages of grief.
When we cry ‘It’s not fair’ we have journeyed through the shock of unexpected loss and are settling into a pity pit for a little bit (yes, that rhyme was intentional, it’s a hard habit to kick).
Personally, I’m all for the pity pit… for a bit. We need it! We need the anguish and the teeth grinding and the self smothering of sorrow. Why? Because we are feeling it. It’s there already, it needs to be processed, metabolised. So fill your boots.
In my ‘It’s not fair’ poem we have a right old rummage around the side effects of chemo and the nightmare room mate in the hospital and the physical changes and the impact on the family. I mean it was A THING. I wrote it after a phone call with my friend when she cried to me, yep, you’ve guessed it, ‘It’s not fair.’
Let me whimper into the pillow:
It’s not fair.
Let me state it to the sky:
It’s not fair.
Let me scream and shout,
Leave the world in no doubt
It’s
not
fair.
It’s not fair I’m woken for my vital signs.
It’s not fair my pee’s turned pink.
It’s not fair that I’m force-fed pills and lines
It’s not fair I can’t kick up a stink.
Let me declare out to the universe:
It’s not fair.
Let me mirror my daughters’ cry,
'It’s not fair'.
Let me scream and shout, leave the world in no doubt!
It’s
not
fair.
It’s not fair I’m next to a chatterbox,
It’s not fair that my temperature spikes.
It’s not fair that I’m losing my golden locks,
It’s not fair I can’t go out when I like.
Let me get through this, each moment,
'Cos
It’s not fair.
Let me hear those who cry with me:
“It’s not fair!”
Let us scream and shout, leave the world in no doubt,
It’s
Not
Fair.
So, the poem helped my friend to FILL. HER. BOOTS.
Some of us have big Santa boots to fill, granted, but there comes a time when the boots are FULL.
What then?
Then one of two things can happen. We can fall into bitterness which is really entrenched bargaining… the trench foot symptom of a boot full of anguish for too long, if you will 😂. This is where the poor old Grinch was at the beginning of the film.
OR…
Or, my friends, we can look at how we can gain acceptance.
Oh FFS.
I know, right?!
‘What do we need to gain this acceptance?’ I hear you cry.
That’s better, well done for being curious.
Well it’s only flipping gosh darn it ♥️love♥️.
Look, the anguish that we feel in our lives often isn’t fair. It’s not fair that we experienced what we did, or lost, or never had or won’t ever have.
It’s 100% not fair.
So we have to love harder on ourselves and each other because, well, what else can we do? Get trench foot?
Love allows space. Love is undemanding. Love is witnessing. Love is allowing. Love is containing. Love is ‘yes, and’. Love is light giving. Love is creative and curious and caring.
Love given to us by others, by those who write poems for us or invite us round for dinner when we want to never leave the house again, or remind us of a song or send us a picture of something because something in that picture reminded them of us.
Love given to ourselves, by resting, by reflecting, by listening to our caring inner voice, by caring for our weary bodies or souls, by banishing the violent voices from our heads, by setting boundaries.
Love given to us by the universe, by the frost crackle on cold morning walks, the winter moon, the sun sparkle on waves which reminds us of the magic held in the every day; the magic of possibility and hope.
The festive period can be a tricky old time. It’s meant to be about love, but it can be a source of anguish. Ranging from a turkey that’s not going to defrost in time, to feeling deep grief because of absence.
Christmas Without You is.
A turkey with no stuffing.
A puff pastry mince pie in need of puffing.
A mulled wine missing all the cloves.
A Rudolph reindeer with no red nose.
An elf on the shelf who’s not moved for days.
A present this year that was last year’s craze.
A nativity scene without the stable.
A vacant chair at the laden table.
A present you’ve wrapped with no sticky-backed plastic.
Christmas loungewear, with no elastic.
An avocado with no prawn.
A Jennifer without a Dawn.
An Aled without a Snowman.
A cold steamed pudding, without a saucepan.
A merrily on low.
A snowball, without the snow.
A buck’s fizz with no … fizz.
That’s what Christmas without you is.
I wrote this in response to Brian Bilston’s poem with the same title. Turning to poets, artists and writers is a way for us to feel love at times of anguish.
For me,
and words have helped me to feel held in love.Here is my offering to you:
Please receive my words as gifts
This poem a billet doux.
Each line a delicate heartstring
To see the tough times through
Please feel the feelings from these words
As small squeezes of your hand;
A gesture of solidarity -
Not too fancy, nor too grand.
That all I’m ever trying to say,
All I want to do
Is encourage you to be who you are...
To be the youest you.
1As such, you many have noticed that you have been able to read the whole of this missive without a paywall being in the way. I have decided to not have one for now and if you have paid for a subscription then you should have been refunded what was due. I mean, if you’re dying to support me financially thank you, drop me an email and I’ll send you my bank details 😂. But I’d rather you shared this with someone that you feel is in need of a bit of extra love.
They say that you should write with your audience in mind and that is particularly true with this piece of writing. I have written it with someone very clearly in mind. Someone who is feeling anguish which is warranted, but so undeserved. Someone who deserves to feel love, who I hope can be reminded that love is something you don’t have to earn. And if you think that I mean you, then yes, I do.
I offer you this act of love, without apology.
Thank you for being here.
Thank you for reading.
That’s it for now,
‘Til next time.
Jacky x
All of these poems are in my book ‘Stop the world I want to get off’. I hear it’s a great stocking filler… although it does have some VERY rude words in it, so buy with caution. I have also ‘compiled’ a book on love called ‘I love you’, which I don’t get any royalties for because, well, commercial sense is not my forte, but it is also potentially a good stocking filler full of ‘dreamy date ideas’ (their words, not mine).