Naming the Load

In my conversations, in my reading of other people’s reflections online, and in my own thoughts, I’m hearing two themes.

“I’m exhausted/weary/worn out and I feel guilty for feeling this way.”

and

“There is so much wrong in our world, and I should be doing more to make it right.”

The implication in the first is that weariness is an indication that something is “wrong”, and if I were a better or stronger person, I could just power through. In other words, I “shouldn’t” feel tired. That leads directly to the “should” in the second statement.

The word “should” is one of the most damning ways in which we pass judgement on ourselves. It is always based on an outside standard, rather than our inner wisdom. It rarely makes allowances for our own humanity. It is not the voice of our soul.

Genuine kindness to myself, or to another, is never rooted in “should”.

And yet, that simple word can be one of the loudest voices in our inner experience.

Often it is fertilized by a genuine desire to make the world a better place, and to show up for people we love. Yet its fruit is a disregard for my own needs and inner resources.

I recently heard someone in congregational ministry state  that one of their gifts of service to their community is “naming the load”.

That phrase immediately took root in me.

I am coming out of a season of upheaval and significant effort in support of a loved one who is recovering from a health crisis. The day-to-day demands are much less than they were a month ago, or even a week ago, and yet I feel utterly depleted. In response to this conversation, I started naming my own load.

What weight am I carrying?

We just spent over 2 months two provinces away from where we live.

We just completed a 1900km (1200 mile) journey back to our own home.

We are still carrying the emotional weight of our concern for our loved one.

Both my Favourite Person and I have continued to show up for our day to day jobs while doing caregiving and support.

We attended two funerals in the past month.

I could add more to the list, but even just this much gives me new perspective. If anyone I knew were carrying this kind of load, I would be completely empathetic to their exhaustion. I would feel no impulse at all to judge them for being in survival mode, or for needing a good cry and a long nap at least once a day.

I’m sure each person reading this could make their list of the weight being carried on a daily basis, just to meet what their life is asking of them right now.  (In fact, bonus points to you if you do so.)

This is the weight we bear just in showing up for our personal lives, and for the people closest to us. There is also the weight that we bear because we are part of a larger community, the heaviness we carry on behalf of friends who are suffering, churches that are struggling, community groups that are trying to survive. Beyond that circle is the wider  weight of the suffering we see in the world around us, the political unrest, the innocent lives being impacted every day by the forces of greed and lust for power.

lt’s no wonder we’re all exhausted.

When we name the load, we give ourselves permission to attend to only the innermost circle for a time. This isn’t  allowing ourselves to become deaf and blind to the heartache in the world beyond our own homes, but rather acknowledging that some days, showing up for my own life takes all the energy I have. Sometimes, showing care for those closest to me is all I can do, is in fact, all I “should” do.

It’s not self indulgent to say, “This is a lot”. It is an act of deep care.

If I don’t take time to name my own load, and tend my own heart accordingly, I will become but a shell of who I am meant to be. I won’t be able to respond with compassion. I will become numb and automatic.

By contrast, offering myself compassion for all that I carry, and making deliberate choices for my own care not only helps replenish my inner resources but also increases my capacity to offer compassion to those around me.

Our world needs compassion more than ever, and it starts with compassion toward our own weary selves.