When life serves you lemons, make a lemonade. Ugh…
Lemonade. Well. Yeah. I would say half-true, half-step, and also second step. It seems to me to be a pretty good strategy to overcome obstacles. I get lemons, so I deal with lemons. I don’t look left, I don’t look right, I look forward and cope with whatever comes my way. I see myself as a hero in an action movie, cutting rolling lemons in half with a sword. I put on a brave smile, gather all my courage, and enjoy the lemon-biting ride.
But there is still the pain that comes from the struggles, the losses, or anything that didn’t go my way. Making lemonade is a nice coping strategy to move forward effectively. I miss the second (or first) half – pain healing. How do I deal with pain?
Imagine I had strawberries before
Sweet ones, good ones. I loved them. I enjoyed them. I ate them every day. They were something I looked forward to seeing on my plate. I was happy to eat them. But over time, I began to realize that they didn’t make me feel good. I’m apparently allergic to strawberries.
So I try to cut them into different shapes. I make different dishes. I eat them at different times of the day. I mix them, cook them, and combine them with other ingredients. But no matter how much I love it, no matter how much I wish I could have it on my plate and feel good, it’s not what is happening.
Through and through
I think it back, I think it through, I think it forward. I try hard, I work hard, and I fight back. I might as well stand on my head. But it doesn’t change the fact that I’m allergic to strawberries.
And whose fault is that? Mine? Or the poor strawberries? Does pointing fingers change the fact that eating strawberries just doesn’t make me feel good, no matter how much I want it to? It doesn’t.
So what? Am I going to eat lemons with my oatmeal instead because that’s what life has served me with? Please, no. First I go and mourn that I cannot eat strawberries.
Prayer was not enough
That’s what happened to me and my life in Barcelona. I wished for the best. I planned, anticipated, looked forward, and prayed. I did my best. I tried and worked and tried and worked to make it happen the way I dreamt it would. Step by step. And it just didn’t work. I couldn’t deal with the noice that was always there, and I couldn’t get used to living in a city without green parks.
It sucks. I am left with pain, a broken heart, unfulfilled desires, and emptiness. Missing everything back there. With a hole in my heart. And it damn well hurts.
I don’t want to be hurt. I don’t want to feel pain. I don’t want to be broken. Nobody does. And yet I am. And yet I have no choice but to go through it. Slowly. Thoroughly. Painfully.
Not even EVERYTHING IS GONNA BE ALRIGHT saves me from the pain. Although it’s good to remember it for those bright moments of courage and action.
So what does?
I cry
I cry a lot. All the time. I cry silently. Tears roll down my cheeks. I cry hysterically. I cry out loud. I cry during my lunch, meditation, in the bathroom, while walking, working, or falling asleep. I cry whenever I feel like crying. Sometimes I cry so desperately and painfully that I almost choke myself and vomit. And that’s the moment that brings me back to reality. Now I am exaggerating. I am getting too deep into despair and victim mode. It’s not time to die yet. And that reminds me that nothing lasts forever.
Temporary
Pain is temporary. Joy is temporary. Sadness is temporary. Anger is temporary. Excitement is temporary. For heaven’s sake, everything in life is temporary. One day it’s over.
This realization is raw. It’s frightening for me. It’s extremely painful again. Because nothing lasts forever. And at the same time, it’s relieving. I don’t have to hold on to it. Because nothing lasts forever.
So maybe we should enjoy it.
Enjoy pain? Enjoy sadness? You must be crazy! Well, yes, enjoy pain. Since I know that being in terrible pain and crying takes me from the painful experience to relief and the ability to think constructively, I even relish pain.
And what about the lemons?
Whenever I feel like making a lemonade, I do so. Strawberries and lemons are just two different stories. And so I think we should treat them separately. The more I cry over lost strawberries, the more I feel like making lemonade out of the lemons I have left. If I didn’t do so, I would be left not only with bitter lemons but also with the bitterness out of not sufficiently mourned loss.
Stay courageous. Be kind to yourself when you are hurting.
And believe that you are damn💙good just the way you are! And yes, that includes me right now too.
– – –
Feel free to get in touch with me.
Because CONNECTION matters. Because SUPPORT matters. Because YOU matter!
Message me „lemons 🍋🍋“ and let’s talk.
