What I thought I knew - My first memory of being sad probably dates back to when I was age 4 and Pam pushed me off her bunk bed. There was a big to-do about this and we were mad at each other for a while. Maybe sad is part of being mad? I don't have lots of memories of being sad when I was little; I was pretty happy growing up. I did begin to notice that my mother did not enforce the rules with my sister as much as she did when I transgressed. This really burned me up. Why shouldn't she get into trouble too? A really sad event, one that seemed unfair at the time and just ridiculous now: I left my oversize red/white teddy bear on the garage floor overnight. My mother threw it out, telling me that it now probably had fly eggs in it and was no longer decent to play with or bring inside. What did she have against that bear? My grandmother bought me a new bear, pink and yellow - it was somewhat satisfying, but I was still unhappy about what my mother had done. OK, so feeling sad was about loss and feeling betrayed.
I went to grade school at Darby Avenue, just down the street from our house. Being picked next to last for the team sport was sad. Getting in trouble for talking to Elise in the first grade was somehow fun. Having to stay in at recess to finish an assignment was sad. Not being allowed to stay out late during the summer was sad. Actually, life was fairly simple, and I never thought that I was missing anything. Getting punched in the stomach by a boy in the 5th grade was puzzling and sad, but I didn't tell anyone. Mostly, I remember being sad because I was not the prettiest or the most popular. Actually, I think being sad about those things prepared me to live with the idea that I was not going to profit from my looks, but I still had to do my best. Putting that in writing makes me want to tell that little girl that she's great. That leftover sadness reminds me of why I now believe everyone has their own talent and skills - we each choose a medium that is unique and special to ourselves alone.
Moving to Salt Lake City when I was in the 9th grade was especially sad for me. Just after we moved there, during Christmas, my grandmother died. I missed out on her advice as a teen. She once convinced me that mixing prints would be OK, and zoweee.... I learned something from her about style. I noticed that my grandfather was sad after her death, and I would write letters to him because I wanted to make him feel better. Sadness when I was a teen came from not knowing anyone in Salt Lake City and having to re-adjust to the social norms, much different from the San Fernando Valley in California. My boyfriend my senior year of high school lived so far away that I was often disappointed by the minimal amount of time we were able to spend together. What was really sad: he did not make it to the airport to see me off the morning I left for college. I guess disappointment does not always have to be sad; it's part of any normal life.
Leaving home was a shock. I was homesick for at least a month and very sad. I probably cried. Then I got married, finished school, and started working. Skipping past the ordinary sadness that comes with every marriage, was the alternate joy of friendships and eventually three daughters. Mostly, the sadness in my marriage came from my lack of assertiveness and inability to stand up for myself or my boundaries and my lack of any sound communication skills. OK, so far sadness is from being mad, not being picked first or being pretty enough to be noticed, losing someone, adjusting to a new place, disappointment in relationships due to my lack of communication skills and, lets face it, wimpy self-worth. (I decided I didn't want to be a nag or a bitch, but I had no alternative plan B when it came to asking for what I wanted.)
What I know about feeling sad: The saddest I've ever felt was when my mother and then my father died. That still catches me occasionally, and it's been 10 years or more. Watching my in-laws die was also upsetting. My ex-husband moving out was a relief, but I felt sad for years after that, I think because I was alone. Grieving is now part of my experiences. For about 10 years, I worked for an agency where one of my duties was to complete Domestic Violence Evaluations. I interviewed perpetrators and victims, and over the years, accumulated a lot of sorrow and depression talking, thinking and writing about how awful people can be to each other. Since becoming a counselor, I have had clients with stories that make me cry on the drive home from my office. When I was laid off from the 10-year job, I was depressed for about a year, and am still experiencing the the stunned back-lash of what felt like betrayal. I looked for work, but was too depressed to give a good interview.
I think after writing this, that for me, sadness comes from anger, disappointment, loss and betrayal. It doesn't matter if it happens to me or if I hear about it happening to someone else. I used to watch "ER" on television every Thursday night after my dad died, and I would inevitably cry at some point during the episode. I like to cry in my car. I'm alone, the music is loud, and no one in the other cars knows me. Lately, as I continue to try to build my business and live off my savings, I experience sadness as anxiety over making enough money and fear that I won't. When my daughters are having disappointing experiences, I feel sad, often because I can't fix it for them and also because I didn't give them all the tools necessary to avoid disappointment. That would be a pretty big tool box, and I don't have all the tools necessary myself. Boy, THAT's sad.
Sometimes the daily routine becomes overwhelming. The trick is to realize that I usually feel better after even a bad night's sleep. If I dwell on things till late at night, I find that writing them down as a list of things to do helps me to sleep. (Never put anything on your list that you know you are not going to do....it will never give you the satisfaction you get from crossing off the items...) I know when I've become anxious and sad by the ache in my shoulders and neck and the dreams that involve driving a bad car (the Pinto or the 1967 VW bus I used to have) and being unable to find my exit or get off the freeway. If I want to feel better immediately, I call my best friend and just the sound of his voice talking about his day soothes me - and he knows when I need a shot of tequila to ease the pain. I'm sure there is more to being sad, so I'll reserve the opportunity to write about this more in the later blogs. After all, I've got a few more years to live and I still have the chance to run out of money and be sad about working the weekend shift at - (no offense kids), Chicago Connection.
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