I live my life through song. The lyrics, the melody. They speak to me. Different songs depending on my mood or my circumstance. At the airport tonight I randomly thought of a song that I probably haven’t heard in at least 2 or 3 years. I had such a strong urge to look it up and listen to it right then, but I could only remember the beat. I waited for the lyrics to come. And then one word did. Blood. The name of the song. ‘Blood’ by Middle East. Why this song? I’m not sure I know yet, but I will try to unpack it.

The song is heavy, at least my interpretation of it is. It is about family and love and loss. Lately life has been heavy, particularly for my family. But then again when is it not? There is always pain. Your own or someone else’s. And then so often there is the fear of the pain to come or the pain from the past that you are trying to forget. It can be paralyzing for so many of us. It is debilitating. I mean this metaphorically and, also, literally. Anxiety and depression can be physically painful.

As someone who has struggled with depression, I know pain well. The kind of pain that grips you and takes over. Pain that leaves you on the floor unable to get up. Pain that leads to uncontrollable tears and then the opposite, numbness because it is so deep you just cannot face it any longer. In high school I had a plan in the back of my mind that soothed me. I could end it. If I really had to. Back then taking my own life truly seemed more tolerable than living it. The pain consumed me and I did not yet know my way out.

Today, it seems like a lifetime ago. That version of myself. Sure, it doesn’t always feel like that. I have my bad days where I feel low, both helpless and hopeless. I still feel shame about many things from my past. But today I feel okay. And more days than not, I feel okay. Of course, I still feel pain and know I will continue to. But I feel at peace knowing that it will come and go, just like feelings of joy will, as well. But it has been a hellish road to get here.

I teared up listening to this song tonight. I think because it reminds me of my own family and the weight we’ve carried. Maybe this is inevitable when living with chronic illness. We learned pain too early. Not the typical pain of childhood. The bumps and bruises that your parents can wipe away with a band aid and a kiss. It was a pain you couldn’t easily make go away and one you certainly couldn’t understand, at least not when you were under the age of ten. When a parent is sick life is scary and unpredictable and you learn to feel okay any way you can. Her pain was my pain. Her suffering was my suffering. I would have given anything to make her better.

I was recently asked on a date what I was like as an eight-year-old and all I could think of was anxious. During those years, I was scared most of the time, especially when she wasn’t home. Every time she left for a doctor’s appointment or for the hospital, I feared she wouldn’t come back. I hated the space in between when she left and when she returned. That space was lonely and the silence was deafening. I learned early on how to fill it with all the “what ifs”. I begged God to please make my family safe, happy, and healthy. Over and over again. This was self-preservation. The relief I felt every time you returned was intoxicating and I believed my various control tactics worked.

I used to look back at my childhood self with shame. Why wasn’t I stronger? Why was I so strange? Why did I behave the ways I did? While it still isn’t easy to talk about, it makes a whole lot more sense now and slowly the shame is dissipating. I’m learning to soothe the childhood me.

I understand from the outside looking in that obsessive compulsive disorder looks completely irrational. But is it? As a child, I felt out of control and I did not know how to express it. I was also told often to “be strong” which I interpreted as do not show you are afraid. I learned to control what I could. Of course, the organization of my dollhouse and the position of the throw pillows had nothing to do with my mom’s health, but it did make me feel more in control in some strange way. It was better than sitting with my spinning thoughts. When you are anxious and hurting, you will accept any form of relief. And if it works, even for a short period of time, you are going to repeat the behavior. This is what I mean by self-preservation. I learned to survive. Day by day.

When I was at the beginning stages of therapy, I was told to practice self-love. To talk to my inner child and repeat words of affirmation in the mirror. I was repulsed by it. I felt insulted by the therapist. My skin was crawling at the idea of it. What an intense response to self-care…

If you are in therapy and have had this reaction, try and ask yourself why and, most importantly, be patient. For me, it was impossible to practice self-love when I did not love myself. It felt foreign and any of my efforts would have been insincere at the time. I did not think I deserved any sympathy. The problem was me. Why would I go easy on myself?

My current framing of my struggle with obsessive compulsive disorder took years of therapeutic work. First there were the years of hiding it and then there were the years of being ashamed of it. It is only until very recently I could see it differently – as resilience.

I’ve learned the hard lesson that you cannot escape pain. Pain is certain. If you let it, it can consume you. My advice to you is to feel it. Don’t run from it. Don’t bury it. Don’t ask someone else to carry it. Feel it so you can move past it.

Cue ‘Blood’ by Middle East