Taking time

I just returned from a week away with my eldest daughter, Jocelyn.  She took two of her four horses to Arroyo Grande, California (south of our home in Napa by about 5 hours along the coast) for a horse training clinic. I took time off work to baby-sit my nearly two-year-old grandson Fischer during the day.  We stayed in a little place on Pismo Beach while mommy worked her horses. 

Fischer and I spent hours at this beach watching "men working."  Forget jumping waves or building sand castles:  Fischer was drawn, like the water to the shore, to the three-man crew constructing a new boardwalk.  To Fischer, watching these workmen was a little taste of two-year-old heaven. I have never in my life sat for hours just watching the building process--it is an amazingly sloooow process, with continual adjustments and "redo’s" and the need for numerous rest periods (the workmen rested, we ran with the seagulls along the shore). By the end of the week, though, I was amazed at the progress that had been made:  pilings were in place, connecting beams zigzagged throughout and boards were being laid for the future beachfront walkway.

Observing this process reminded me of how many things I do not give time to in my life:  taking the time to notice and celebrate progress that has been made, observing the things going on around me with quiet, rapt attention, honoring the never ending need for “redo’s,” and taking time to rest often when engaged in an arduous task.

I was reminded that life is a process—as our daughter Andrea, who lost her one-year battle with bulimia, would have said, “Life is a journey.”  As parents of sufferers we often become enmeshed in the minutiae and get stuck in the cognitive realm of facts, numbers and percentages instead of viewing our child’s healing as a process: a very sloooow process with continual need for adjustments and redo’s as well as noticing and celebrating progress, undivided, nonjudgmental attention and most of all, rest.

I thank my grandson for this reminder.

Blessings until next time,

Doris 

Comments

[Peggikaye (aka Pk)]

I'm going through reading through your blog starting back in January.

I honestly thought when I relapsed so badly last year that I'd failed.

It just had not occured to me that this relapse was part of the process ...

[Harriet Brown]

I would agree that true healing can be a slow process. But I worry that by expecting it to always be slow with plenty of relapses, we are settling for less-than-optimal treatment for our children and other sufferers. What would happen if we *expected* recovery to move more quickly and not include multiple hospitalizations, relapses, etc.? How would that change the shape and nature of recovery?

[Lisa]

Sometimes my recovery process feels as slow as paint drying on a wall, but I know what I'm working towards is so worth it.

[Chang Zizzou]

Thank you Doris. I don't know how many times I need to hear it but I guess the more the better. I sometimes expect my daughters healing to be an instantaneous process, sometimes it takes seeing the disease in another light to help me understand the time it takes to heal.

[alicia]

I recently heard Jenni Schaefer speak at the IADEP conference, and a very poignant part of her speech was about the effect of an ED on family. Jenni's brother recently told her that he had wished he knew what a big part relapse was of recovery, that it is to be expected, and that it doesn't mean the person has failed. The process is slow, but there is light at the end of the tunnel.

[Suzanne Gallo]

Doris

You are so right. It is such a slow process. As I'm organizing my double-wide expandable on my daughters's anorexia battle, I'm reminded how long the healing process is. The ups, the downs, the middle road. I cried a little at how much I love my daughter, and my heart goes out to you more than you know.