There’s this episode of Friends that most older millennials or younger generation x-ers will be familiar with. If you’re not, here’s a clip (the part I’m talking about starts around a minute in). Ross has bought a new couch but refuses to pay the exorbitant delivery fee. Then this:
Ross picks up one end of the couch, then stands there watching Rachel expectantly.
Rachel: Hehehe…are ya kiddin’?
Ross: Come on! It’s only three blocks. It’s not very heavy. Try it! Come on, come on!
Rachael: *lifts the couch* Oh! Oh, I can do it.
Living through a crisis and then trying to reintegrate back into the world is like having this moment 600 hundred times a day. It’s disorienting.
Somebody’s hungry? Oh! Oh I can do it…
Somebody needs to have their pills organized? Oh! Oh I can do it…
Somebody wants to come over and hang out? Oh! Oh I can do it…
A crucial skill I’ve needed during this time (as I type this we are 6 weeks out from a hospital stay and angioplasty for my 35 year old husband) has been to figure out which couch I actually need to lift in a given moment. I’m writing about it because I think maybe it applies to other times too…during times when we are prone to the cognitive distortions that come with anxiety, depression, and other mental illnesses, it becomes very hard to sort out what we actually need to spend our emotional energy on, and what can wait or even be disregarded completely.
It’s like standing in a store full of couches but not being able to figure out which one I’m supposed to be picking up.
What if my kids get heart disease someday like my husband? High Lp(a) is genetic and they have a 50% chance of having it. Not that couch.
Did this happen because I saved the bacon grease to fry eggs in sometimes? Just do the best you can with the information you have now. Not that couch.
I’m afraid I talked about myself too much to the people who cared enough to keep asking questions and maybe instead I should have…I don’t know…Not that couch.
I can’t really be there for a family I care about who’s going through a hard moment. I’m going through a hard moment too. Not that couch.
No one will like my food ever again. I love sharing food with people. Not that couch.
I spoke to a prominent physician and researcher on the phone and now I feel like he thinks I don’t care about my family’s health and maybe he’s right. He was in a movie, after all. Not that couch.
I spoke to another prominent physician and she thinks the first one is a quack and now I don’t know what to eat for the rest of our lives. Not that couch. Just eat some taquitos right now.
J’s not here. Wherever he is, there’s a 1% chance that something is going wrong with my husband’s stents. There’s a 99% chance something isn’t going wrong. Not that couch.
We are vegan now. Or something. How will we explain that to the people who thought we were vegan before because they don’t know what that word means? Not that couch.
What if he dies, and I have to support my family and homeschooling doesn’t pay very much and NOT THAT COUCH.
S has three cavities. None of us have ever had any cavities before. Why did this happen? Did I give my family heart disease AND poor dental hygiene? Not that couch.
S has three cavities. I should call the dentist to see about getting them filled. Yes. This couch. Do this thing.
If you’re struggling, I really hope you find the resources you need to pick out your couch from the sea of couches in the crowded store. I know it’s so hard. But if I can do it, that gives me some amount of hope that you can too.