In the Service of Others: Working Myself Sick

I've been working myself sick lately.

Taking a step back from my commitments so that I can recommit to myself -- a lesson that I am always in the process of re-learning, but that has especially come up since the month of Ramadan -- has proved to be way more challenging than just canceling a few appointments and finishing a few jobs.

One of my major tasks at work is to address the needs of patients who are calling into the clinic; their issues may be urgent, or they may feel they are urgent despite the easy answers that come with a few minutes of gentle probing. They don't know our systems, and we don't know their lives. But we are building a scaffolding to address their health needs not only in response to symptoms, but at the root in prevention. Even though I have to keep in mind when there are difficult callers that they are experiencing really stressful situations, I can't get enough of the feeling that I am helping people.

I am always moonlighting to get more of that feeling. The jobs that I feel called to are all in the service of others: in the past three weeks, I have attended an equivalent number of births. I have massaged three women while they were in labor, watched their babies come into the world in the wee hours of daylight or the late hours of the evening, and absorbed that unique energy that keeps birthworkers up for hours and hours at a time (minimum, I have been with the moms for 7 hours or more per these births). You step out of your body for a moment, through giving so much of your energy to that person as they deliver. I have been wanting to write about this feeling for so many weeks, but haven't had the breathing room to sit with it.

 
This feeling is one of the reasons I love my healing work. People need me, it feels like. People need me to answer the phones, send the emails, stand by the bedside, advocate for their rights, connect them with resources... I am the interpreter of systems and the gatherer of knowledge -- how lofty and cool does that sound? But, in some ways, it's a trap.

When I am facing my deepest personal challenges, I often ask: "caretakers, who takes care of you?" It's not just a silly inversion of words. It really helps remind me that I need to rely on and truly trust others to provide me the energy in order to keep working in their service.

Lately, I've been circling the drain of thinking that the only reason someone would want my presence is for my ability to serve them. Resting your self-worth on a concept so tied to performance takes a toll on you when you decide, for your own basic wellbeing, that you must take time to eat food at regular hours, sleep in, and turn down potential job offers. Because there is no end to how many things people need from you, and ultimately you will disappoint someone. Ultimately, you will disappoint someone through taking what you need.

I can think of no better example of this than regarding my recent move. In the past few months, I have had cockroaches destroy my things and crawl over me while I slept in my Bronx apartment. The decision to move was inevitable, but I finally took steps to make it happen in the last month. In the past week, with the help of several friends, I packed up and shipped out to a new comfortable and roach-free place in Brooklyn. My previous landlord, however, decided to take this as a personal affront to him and called -- not to collect money or ask me to do any particular thing -- but to lecture at me for 30 minutes about my irresponsibility as a tenant. I interpret that he needed me to take his emotional burden from him as I tried to meet my own needs. Then it came forward: Disappointment in myself. Guilt about moving. Shame. In my mind, I was already taking responsibility. I had to realize that the other person must also hold up their part of the relationship.

I've put on hold a lot of the work that I can be doing for others, but that doesn't make it any easier to step away when I feel responsible. Or to acknowledge my own emotions/ego around success or failure. Or to admit that caring for others allows me to avoid caring for myself. If Allah gives us only the burdens we can carry, easing someone else's does not guarantee that you have managed your own.

I send love and wish ease to all those who are carrying burdens now that feel impossible to hold. I admire those who survive, who take what they need with no apology whether they are forced to or by choice. Know that I need to learn as much from you as I do from other healers about how to move closer to my own truth.

Seeking the Spiritual During Ramadan

Eid Mubarak, all!

This year has been a time of seeking intentional spirituality in my life. Ramadan has been really varied for me; there was no consistency that I could find in it, other than a renewed sense of wanting to move towards spiritual wellness. I fasted; I didn't fast. I felt grounded; I snapped. I was with family; I was alone with the roaches (my new struggle on the home front). Overall, I am proud to say I was more conscious of my personal health and needs throughout the whole month.

Just about the only thing that has been consistent is that I've been writing -- more importantly, writing dangerously. I wrote a poem every single day with an amazing group on Facebook, and I felt an intimate connection with several of them by the end. Sharing writing -- especially in a form you don't use often for show -- is one of the most vulnerable things I have done recently. That space existed as a way for me to start the process of leaning on others' support, even if we did not directly talk about our hurts.

It made up, at least in part, for all the ways in which I've felt unsupported these past months. Going back to Seattle and San Diego was a healing wake up call. I got to spend the last few days of my cat's life with her. I got to read more full books than I have in the rest of this year. My family and friends cocooned me and made me feel less alone. Coming back to NYC, conversely, felt like I was the only person on the planet. The water closed over my head again.

There are things that have kept me sane -- a new job, an amazing conference -- but ultimately I have had to return to the principals of faith this Ramadan in a very concrete way. Fasting kept my mind clear, and when I chose not to fast, I chose it with the intention of healing my spirit from other sufferings. Fasting in hardship can also be a weapon used against yourself; when I found myself being too perfectionist about the practice of my faith, I decided enough was enough.

I have been thinking about what it really means to be nourished. As a healer, I need to trust my own instincts in that -- it is so incredibly hard for me to feel like I have given myself as much care as I do other people. This Ramadan, for a number of reasons, has given me the chance to reflect on that.

I don't have the answers of where things will take me next, but I am working to pare down my commitments and just be with me more often. Me and my writing. Me and my art. Me and my healing, before trying to reach out that hand to others. Until then, I'll share with y'all a poem written during this holy month:

#23
When I sleep,
The visions,
Hum.
The divine lodges,
In my throat.
And when I dream,
I see,
I am just one part of you --
The part,
That sings your praises.

On Anti-Violence, Artivism, and Healing: A StoryCorps Interview with Purvi Shah!

For the second half of this month, I put up a firm "On Vacation" sign and put my NYC life on hold. Back to the west coast, back to my family, and back to reading a book a day. So much of my past few months have been about producing -- more workshops, more writing, more editing, more jobs, and more meetings. Going back home allowed me the opportunity to take things at my own pace. I got to be a "student" again, this time of my own health and healing.

I've returned to NYC refreshed and hoping that I can carry on with that student mentality; though we talk about sustainable movements and self-care so often, it's a slippery state to hold on to! In the coming weeks, I'll be writing about what I've learned on my spiritual self-care as I've been fasting during this Ramadan, but for now I want to reflect on some learning that I did before packing my bags:

Take a listen to this conversation between me and Purvi Shah, a facilitator of the Movement to Power workshops hosted by the South Asian Women's Creative Collective (SAWCC). We're talking about anti-violence, creative expression, and our own relationships to healing in this wonderful piece for StoryCorps. And, while you're at it, check out the beautiful workshop video made by Shruti Parekh!

Personal Healing: Contact

I am theoretically happy.
I say theoretically because it sometimes feels like I am in a vacuum, all light and sound collapsing around me. I am holding in all the feelings that I've made myself too busy to feel, and sometimes things implode without me noticing it.
I have had mild depressive episodes since I was a teenager and most of them were related to loneliness and apathy. I solved them then by finding more faith in God and religion or by busying myself to the point that I could ignore the feelings until they went away. I started to restructure my life to be more accepting of myself - my body, my likes and dislikes - and the depression began to fade away. It would come as blips in the radar, anomalies that could be explained away as they came up.
But moving to NYC has been hard on everything. Though I would reward myself for my independence, I would also feel like I was slipping away from something. I was losing contact. I am a social person by nature, but my sociability didn't make me happier. It didn't make me feel like I was doing any good. I was drowning in shallow water, and I didn't know anyone who could help me out.
Contact. The all-important necessity that a lot of New Yorkers don't get. The manufactured contact between my long distance boyfriend and myself was great, but it was still something that neither of us could touch. I had contact with a few friends, but most of the ones I could communicate deeply with were far away. And casual contact here means attending the same events and then parting ways, no follow-up date or growing partnership.
And sometimes I blame myself for this - why didn't I call her again or send more messages? Meanwhile, rather than proactively seeking ties and friendships, I slipped into more of my delusions; working and academics were what I was here for mainly, right? I was dunking my head in without even realizing it.
Is this what it feels like to be an adult? Perhaps that is the cold reality that I need to swallow, the water that I'm drowning in, this transition between youth and adult. But I still hold on to the hope that human contact is not so hard to achieve, that it is still lurking out there somewhere.
I don't think that this is my constant reality, this depression that dogs at me sometimes. But, on the rare occasion when I am yearning for something more than a club meeting or a casual conversation before class, it is sometimes hard to put that in perspective. I think of all the lonely things: how my boyfriend is 3000 miles away, how I won't get to hang out in Washington till summer, how I wish I had a pet to hold or something. It's a frustrating thing to have little motivation because it turns into a cycle of negative thoughts and actions. You're not helping yourself during this.
Recently, life in the city has been hard for this reason. I have to break my own cycles and get some help, but it's an exercise in positivity when I don't feel I have any. It's a weird charade. But I have to keep trying.

*This post was not meant to bother anybody or invite them to worry about my mental state. I think that most people get sad sometimes, and this is just my method of expressing it rather than holding it in. If you would like to chat with me about it, please send me an email or a private message on Facebook. Thanks for your consideration.