The Dynamics of Flexibility

Best selling author Dan Millman says, “Flexibility involves a pragmatic acceptance of, rather than rigid resistance toward, the present moment, acceptance of ourselves, others, and current circumstances. This does not in any way imply passive toleration for what we don’t like, nor does it mean ignoring injustice or allowing ourselves to be victimised. Flexibility requires an alert and expansive state of awareness, it entails not just ‘going with the flow,’ but embracing and making constructive use of it. Mastering this law, we turn stumbling blocks into stepping stones and problems into opportunities.''

 

Flexibility may appear unrealistic and idealistic at first, bringing up a variety of questions, such as, “what if we’re attacked on the street, or a tragedy happens to a loved one? How do we ‘embrace’ that?” Such questions are fair and important, but the answer comes down to this: Great pleasure and great pain and injustice exist in this world. When something painful happens to a group of people, some of these people mentally resist the experience, in total shock, denial, and fear, they suffer the worst, like the tree with rigid branches that break in the wind.

Others in the group have developed the ability to bend, to accept and experience the situation fully, while keeping in touch with the bigger picture of life – with a sense of perspective about how things are. They accept their emotions and express them fully, but like the branch that bends, they do not break but snap back. Without mental rigidity or resistance, they can respond in the most effective, creative way. 

In flexibility lies great strength. With flexibility, we learn to treat sun and rain, heat and cold, as equals. We experience life as less painful, less of a struggle, by responding rather than resisting, we treat pain as a test and make the best use of it we can, if only to learn. When we view life only from the personal viewpoint of our conventional minds, we certainly won’t always feel ‘grateful’ for some events such as financial setbacks or catching the flu. This however, reminds us to expand our vision beyond ourselves to see the bigger picture so we can better appreciate that every circumstance, whether it appears positive or negative at the time, serves as an opportunity to strengthen our spirit.

Stress happens whenever the mind resists what arises in life – whether situations, people or emotions. Phrases like ‘’I’d  rather be’’ or ‘’They should (or shouldn’t) be’’ reflect our resistance to what is. By seeing everything we meet as a potential lesson that may, in the long run, make us stronger, wiser, or more whole, we get past expectations or judgements about what is and embrace life.

The serenity prayer used by Alcoholics Anonymous and other twelve-step programmes reflects the Law of Flexibility: ‘’God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.’’

Flexibility avails us far more than either passivity or resistance, by actively using whatever arises, embracing even the most painful circumstances, we deal with our difficulties more effectively as we begin to see them as a form of spiritual training.

Always fall in with what you’re asked to accept. Fall in with it and turn it your way - Robert Frost

For the Boy Who Makes Waves - By Joe Blair - E-mail: modernlove@nytimes.co - Published: October 9, 2009

PROSPECTIVE  buyers must wonder about the hard-packed runway of dirt in our backyard where grass won’t grow. And the hasp and padlock on the refrigerator. They must wonder why the gate on our six-foot-high picket fence is permanently bolted shut.

Deb and I hardly think about these things. We’ve been with Michael for 11 years.

There are two runways inside the fence. One traces the edge of the house. The dog made this one. He sprints from window to window, tracking my location. Am I in the kitchen? Leaving the kitchen? Walking to the living room? Walking back to the kitchen? D’Artagnan’s head pops up in each window as I pass. It might be cute if it weren’t for the destroyed windowsills and muddy paw prints on the siding.

The other runway, in the center of our tiny backyard, belongs to Michael. It’s a 10-by-3-foot stretch of shiny earth. There are three layers of sod beneath it, each one representing Deb’s hope that this time the grass will take hold, this time the grass will take hold, this time ...

Once she placed lawn chairs over the spot, but Mike moved them. She tried a heavy picnic table, but it blocked the sunlight and the grass almost died anyway. So we moved the table and Mike finished the job with his pacing.

First thing in the morning, whether at 2 or 6 or 8, you can depend on Mike finding one of my leather belts, sneaking out the back door, and starting to pace on that patch of dirt, a brown packed surface, hard on dry days, slick on rainy days. What could be better? A belt that, if you grab it by the buckle and move it back and forth at a certain pace, will make sine wave after sine wave, its tail lapping the ground ever so gently as it releases the previous wave into the universe.

It is a mesmerizing thing. So absorbing. So incredibly fantastical that Mike can’t help releasing loud shrieks of delight. Or agony. Or pent up frustration. Or joy. In that muddy patch. In that sinusoidal belt. In that release into the universe.

Typically he will be naked. Or have only boxer shorts on. He will be screaming or singing or howling in a shatteringly high pitch; he is a supersonic Tarzan, an alarm clock we cannot ignore. Because we have sleeping neighbors: a veterinarian and his wife, a guy who is the head of some department at the University of Iowa, and another who works in the penal system.

And one of us, Deb or I, cursing beneath our breath, will peel ourselves out of bed and hurry down the creaking stairway.

“Michael!” we will say in our most authoritative voice. “Michael. Get in here!”

And Michael will drop the belt and do as we say. He will leave behind the thing he loves most. More than food. And he will do what we say. Until we are back in bed. And then he will return to his beautiful runway. With his magical belt. And he will make the world understandable in a sinusoidal way.

It is a poor substitute, we have learned, for the real thing, ocean waves. When Mike first saw the ocean, two summers ago on a beach in San Francisco, he was enthralled. He dropped the belt he always carries, threw himself on the sand that was warm and fine, and listened to the sound of the surf. It was as if he had finally found someone who spoke his language. The Pacific Ocean. Mother of all sine waves.

We visited the beach everyday for five days, but this was only vacation. And despite what boys want, vacations end. Soon Mike was back in Iowa and it was the belt again, lapping against the brick walkway while he waited for the school bus with his father.

One evening Michael’s twin sister, Lucy, said to Deb and me: “The teachers will think I’m stupid. Like Mike.”

“Mike is not stupid,” Deb said.

“Mom,” Lucy said, patiently. “You know what I mean.”

“Yes,” Deb said. “I know what you mean. But you’ve got to know what I mean, too. Imagine if you found yourself in the middle of China somewhere. And everyone was trying to talk to you. But you couldn’t understand them. And everyone thought you were stupid. But you were still just like you are. How would you feel?”

I have had glimpses of the kind of man I should be. Such are the revelations we are afforded. Passing glimpses, like the small, hidden pond you pass while driving on a particular road for the first time. Suddenly opening up and then closing once again. So that it can be instantly forgotten, or recalled only in part.

I have had these glimpses. Once, while attending some frighteningly capitalistic rally for Amma, the hugging saint, her face magnified and simulcast throughout the convention center in Coralville, Iowa, and printed on mugs and glossy paper and everything else, I had such a glimpse.

I had taken Mike to see the hugging saint for the same reason we have taken him a lot of places — with the hope that somehow it might help, that something might reach him. Anyway, what did we have to lose?

Once there, however, I did not want to hug the hugging saint. I did not need her blessing. Or the glazed smiles of her followers. Or the hypnotizing chants. I did not need anything other than to get my son, who was lying on the floor, feeling the carpet with his lips, and screaming, outside and in the car where I could maybe listen to the Cubs game. And then, while I was hauling Michael to his feet, Amma’s interpreter came on the screen and said something about eternity. And then he said something about kindness.

When I was 10, I would pray to God and ask for my challenge. “Give me my challenge,” I would pray. “Give me my challenge.” And at my lowest moments I have thought: “That was my mistake. I asked for it.”

These days I rarely talk to Mike because he rarely responds in any way. You may think this is cruel, ignoring my own son. And if you were to spend one day with him, you might be full of energy and hope and good will. But I have been with him every day of his life for 11 years. My bad habit of ignoring my son has become so ingrained that our routine of noncommunication has become something of a runway all its own. And I ignore the very things that fascinate Michael. The belt. The patch of dirt.

Still, once in awhile, we engage one another. Sometimes, for example, we play the blinking game. While lying next to each other, very close, Mike will look at me out of the corner of his eye, a sly smile playing across his face, and he will blink once. Then, in response, I will blink once. His smile will gain in radiance. And he will answer my blink with one blink of his own. This will go on for some time, whipping Mike up into a fit of laughter.

Tonight, I lie next to Mike. It’s 11, well past his bedtime. He has been nervous. Maybe he has broken into the refrigerator and eaten some of the food we have forbidden him to eat — like bread or cheese or milk — since we’ve put him on the gluten-free, casein-free diet.

He has been laughing hysterically for at least an hour, which might seem cute to you but to me indicates that Michael is on the edge of a seizure. Our faces are very close in the dark. Mike likes it this way. Close. He is a beautiful boy. His eyes are large and liquid. His facial features are clean.

The great challenge I asked for when I was a boy, imagining the crack of doom and the Argonauts and the seven feats of Hercules, is lying in bed next to me, very close to my face. Faith is nothing other than an acceptance of eternity and, at the same time, of death. The great challenge, my great challenge, is nothing other than, in the face of eternity and death, a question of kindness.

Can I, being alive at this time, love this boy? Can I listen to him? Can I be a good father to this boy?

We have glimpsed the future, of Mike at 6-foot-3 and 250 pounds, his sporadic anger triggering the need for drugs, restraints, while I grow older, smaller and weaker. And Deb and I decided that we want a shot at a different future, one in which Mike, near his beloved waves, in a place where it seems he belongs, maybe isn’t so troubled.

So after nearly two decades in Iowa, we’re moving to the coast, to the waves. I have no work there, but I will find work. We have no community awaiting us, but we will make one.

The people who come to look at our house don’t understand this, but it is not theirs to understand. It has not been given to them. It has been given to us.

“Mike,” I say, in the darkness. “You’re a good kid.” I say it, and then I keep listening for once. I don’t stop listening after a few seconds as I normally do. Instead, I let the seconds run on.

Mike has ceased his laughter now. After some time, I don’t know how long, he whispers very quietly, “You’re” and “a good kid.” And then, “a good.” And then, “kid.” And then, “Mike, you’re a good kid.”

“I’m proud of you,” I say. The words wave and wave. And then they come back. Broken and then full. “Proud,” Michael says. “I’m proud of you.”

“I love you,” I say. It’s a profession. It’s also a self-rebuke.

“Love,” Mike says a few minutes later. “I love you. Love you. I love. I love you. You.”

After Mike seems to be done with his response, I ask, “How would you like to live by the ocean?”

This brings a big smile. He is looking off. Away. At something far. The words wave and wave. “Ocean,” he says.

Joe Blair, a pipe fitter in Iowa City, is working on a collection of essays.

Feedback Aurora workshop on Compassion Fatigue - Saturday 01 November 2014.

Inputs/feedback by staff & parents    

The workshop went very well according to feedback from staff and parents (verbal and evaluation afterwards).

Aurora staff said that they were not aware of what parents of disabled children experience and go through. It was the first time ever that they sat in a room and listened to the challengges parents of disabled children face on a daily basis. They have never heard parents talk so openly and honestly about the journey they find themselves on. The experience was very enlightning for them they said. It was also suggested that the workshop be presented to all staff at Aurora – and for parents who could not make it on Saturday.

It was appreciated that parents also made use of the opportunity to share their experiences. Some of the inputs from parents include the following:

On the blue cards, challenges – ‘Our daughter of 14 restricts us from doing things at the drop of a hat’. ‘Our son of 7 make me work hard and no rest’. ‘Our son of 8 – attention to others (and self)’ (lack thereof because of the challenges to take care of him).   ‘Unfair’ son of 4.    We suffer ‘shame’ daughter is 1 year and 4 months old.  ‘Sadness’ describe another parent’s experience, where another one wrote ‘lonelyness’.  ‘I worry about finances it is a problem no body helping’ – said another. ‘the future  (when we are not around to look after our child’. Child is 14 years old.

On the pink cards, good things – parent of a boy of 7 – ‘it makes me love my family more’.  ‘Our son of 8 make us more aware to others, the innocence of actions of our child (is endearing)’.  ‘The smile and laugh of our child of 4’.  ‘our daghter of 16 months – time (princess)’.   ‘uncoditional love from kid’.  ‘Our daughter is still very young’.  Our son of 12 is strong’.  ‘Unconditional love from our 14 year old child’. ‘progress on my grandson since he is at Aurora (good)’.

Care-givers and Compassion fatigue - Aurora Parent Workshop 1/11/14

Word Origin 1. fatigue, emotional distress, or apathy resulting from the constant demands of caring for others.

Caregivers of a disabled child can experience compassion fatigue. It results from the taxing nature of showing compassion and caring for someone whose care requirements is continuous and unresolvable. One may still care for your child as required, but the natural human desire to help our child is significantly diminished because of  compassion fatigue.

This phenomenon also occurs for care givers involved with long term care, and not only parents in full time care of their disabled child. Care givers  may develop symptoms of depression, stress, and trauma. Those who are primary care providers (typically a parent), are at a higher risk of developing these symptoms.

In the medical profession, this is often described as "burnout": the more specific terms secondary traumatic stress and vicarious trauma are also used.

Charles R. Figley, co-author of Compassion Fatigue: Coping With Secondary Traumatic Stress Disorder in Those Who Treat the Traumatized, states that, “there is a cost to caring.

What are some common symptoms of compassion fatigue?

Compassion fatigue has several symptoms. A person might isolate themselves from others, excessively voice complaints, appear sad and apathetic, display poor hygiene, have difficulty concentrating, become preoccupied and bottle up their emotions. A person suffering from compassion fatigue may also participate in compulsive behaviors such as overeating and spending, substance abuse, promiscuity and excessive gambling.

 

These symptoms of compassion fatigue may lead to more serious problems such as indebtedness, legal problems, chronic physical ailments including reoccurring colds and gastrointestinal problems, flashbacks to traumatic events and reoccurring nightmares.

Other symptoms could include: •intrusive thoughts • chronic fatigue • sadness • anger •second guessing •detachment •emotional exhaustion •fearfulness •shame •physical illness •absenteeism from work

As a parent caregiver of a disabled child, you may find yourself facing a host of new responsibilities, many of which are unfamiliar or intimidating. At times, you may feel overwhelmed and alone. But despite its challenges, caregiving can also be rewarding. And there are a lot of things you can do to make the caregiving process easier for both you and your loved one.

A look at caring for a disabled child

Providing care for a family member in need (and in our case a disabled child), is an age-old act of kindness, love, and loyalty. And as life expectancies increase, medical treatments advance, and increasing numbers of people live with chronic illness and disabilities, more and more of us will participate in the caregiving process.

There are many different types of family caregiver situations. We will today focus on caring for a disabled child. Regardless of your particular circumstances, you're facing a challenging new role.

If you're like most family caregivers, you aren't trained for the responsibilities you now face. And you probably never anticipated you'd be in this situation. We love our child and want to provide the best care we can. The good news is that we don't have to be a nursing expert, a superhero, or a saint in order to be a good caregiver. With the right attitude and the right help and support, we can be good caregivers without having to sacrifice ourselves in the process.

It is important to:  •Learn as much as you can about your childs disability and about how to be a caregiver. The more you know, the less anxiety you’ll feel about your new role and the more effective you’ll be. •Seek out other caregivers. It helps to know you’re not alone. It’s comforting to give and receive support from others who understand what you’re going through.  •Trust your instincts.

 

Remember, you know your child best. Don’t ignore what doctors and specialists tell you, but listen to your gut, too.  •Encourage your child’s independendance (as much as possible especially as an early intervention strategy). Caregiving does not mean doing everything for you child. Be open to technologies and strategies that allow your child to be as independent as possible. •Know your limits. Be realistic about how much of your time and yourself you can give. Set clear limits for yourself, and communicate those limits to doctors, family members, and other people involved.

Tips for Making Caregiving Easier

            Tip 1: Accept your feelings

Caregiving can trigger a host of difficult emotions (including anger, fear, resentment, guilt, helplessness, and grief). It's important to acknowledge and accept what you're feeling, both good and bad. Don't beat yourself up over your doubts and misgivings. These feelings don't mean that you don't love your child member—they simply mean you're human.

What you may feel about being a caregiver of a disabled child

•Anxiety and worry – You may worry about how you will handle the additional responsibilities of caregiving and what will happen to your child if something happens to you. You may also fear what will happen in the future as the condition of your child deteriorate?  

•Anger or resentment – You may feel angry or resentful toward the child you’re caring for, even though you know it’s irrational. Or you might be angry at the world in general, or resentful of other friends or family members who don’t have your responsibilities.

•Guilt – You may feel guilty for not doing more, being a "better" caregiver, having more patience, accepting your situation with more equanimity.

•Grief – There are many losses that can come with caregiving (the healthy future you envisioned with your child; the goals and dreams you’ve had to set aside).

Even when you understand why you're feeling the way you do, it can still be upsetting. In order to deal with your feelings, it's important to talk about them. Don't keep your emotions bottled up, but find at least one person you trust to confide in.

Where can we go for support – possibilities include:

•Family members or friends who will listen without judgment  •Your church, temple,

 or other place of worship  •Caregiver support groups at a local hospital or online  

•A therapist, social worker, or counsellor •Organizations specific to your child’s disability

 
            Tip 2: Don't try to do it all

Even if you’re the primary caregiver of your child, you can’t do everything on your own. You’ll need help from friends and other family members, as well as health professionals. If you don’t get the support you need, you'll quickly burn out—which will compromise your ability to provide care.

But before you can ask for help, you need to have a clear understanding of your child’s needs. Take some time to list all the caregiving tasks required, being as specific as possible. Then determine which activities you are able to meet (be realistic about your capabilities and time). The remaining tasks on the list are ones you'll need to ask others to help you with.

            Tip 3: Asking family and friends for help

 
It's not always easy to ask for help, even when you desperately need it. Perhaps you're afraid to impose on others or worried that your request will be resented or rejected. But if you simply make your needs known, you may be pleasantly surprised by the willingness of others to pitch in. Many times, friends and family members want to help, but don't know how. Make it easier for them:

•Set aside one-on-one time to talk to the person •Go over the list of caregiving needs you previously drew up •Point out areas in which they might be of service  •Ask the person if they’d like to help, and if so, in what way •Make sure the person understands what would be most helpful to both you and your child.

            Tip 4: Attend to your own needs

 
Someone said that “The capacity to care is the thing that gives life its deepest significance and meaning.” It's essential that you receive the support you need, so you don't lose that capacity. While you're caring for your child, don't forget about your own needs. Caregivers need care, too.

            Emotional wellbeing of caregivers

•Take time to relax daily and learn how to regulate yourself and de-stress when you

  start to feel overwhelmed.

 

•Keep a journal. Write down your thoughts and feelings. This will give you
  perspective and serve as a way to release strong feelings.

•Talk with someone you trust to make sense of your situation and your feelings.

•Feed your spirit. Pray, meditate, or do another activity that makes you feel part of

  something greater. Try to find meaning in your life and in your role as a caregiver.

•Watch out for signs of depression and anxiety, and get professional help if needed.

            Social & recreational needs of family caregivers

•Stay social. Make it a priority to visit regularly with other people. Nurture your

  close relationships. Don't let yourself become isolated.

•Do things you enjoy. Laughter and joy can help keep you going when you face

  trials, stress, and pain.

•Maintain balance in your life. Don’t give up activities that are important to you, 

  such as your work or your hobbies.

•Give yourself a break. Take regular breaks from caregiving, and give yourself an

  extended break at least once a week.

•Find a community. Join or re-establish your connection to a religious group, social

  club, or civic organization. The broader your support network, the better.

            Physical needs of family caregivers

•Exercise regularly. Try to get in at least 30 minutes of exercise, three times per

  week. Exercise is one of the best ways to relieve stress and boost your energy. So
  get moving, even if you’re tired.

•Eat right. Well-nourished bodies are better prepared to cope with stress and get

  through busy days. Keep your energy up and your mind clear by eating nutritious
  meals at regular times throughout the day.

•Avoid alcohol and drugs. It can be tempting to turn to substances for escape

  when life feels overwhelming, but they can easily compromise the quality of your

  caregiving. Instead, try dealing with problems head on and with a clear mind.

•Get enough sleep. Aim for an average of eight hours of solid, uninterrupted sleep

  every night. Otherwise, your energy level, productivity, and ability to handle stress
  will suffer.

•Keep up with your own health care. Go to the doctor and dentist on schedule,

  and keep up with your own prescriptions or medical therapy. As a caregiver, you

  need to stay as strong and healthy as possible.

            Tip 5: What else can we do as care givers

• Parents supporting each other here at Aurora? (for instance a parent telephone

   support system where we can call a fellow parent when we need to just talk with
   someone in a similar situation as us?)

• Telephone check-ins – where we have someone call us (prescheduled calls), to

    see if we are doing okay? Especially after a trying incident with our child.

• Check with your local religious group, tell people about your challenges and ask

    for specific support.

The Next step

Manage caregiver  stress and avoid burnout. There's no getting around it. Caregiving is stressful. But you don't have to be overwhelmed by your responsibilities. Learning to manage stress is part of being a good caregiver. And it's not as impossible as you may think.

Awareness is important when dealing with compassion fatigue. Heightened awareness often leads to better insight into ones situation of specific care.

Oftentimes, people are not fully aware of the effect their care giver responsibilities has on them emotionally. Becoming aware of behaviours in a person's care giver conditions and challenges may lead a person to recognize the signs and symptoms of compassion fatigue early on and prevent the condition. Awareness is also the first step to wellness for a person suffering with compassion fatigue.

In conclusion

Healing from compassion fatigue begins by practicing authentic self-care, finding support and obtaining information.

Authentic self-care is sustainable by putting a few techniques into place. Establish personal boundaries in what you can and cannot do, learn to express feelings and personal needs verbally with loved ones, make a positive change to a negative environment and enhance awareness with education.

                                                 

Read more :

 http://www.ehow.com/info_8201306_symptoms-compassion-fatigue.html

 

http://helpguide.org/articles/caregiving/caregiving-support-and-help.htm

http://mydisabledchildren.blogspot.com/

A Hope Greater Than Healing - 10 October 2014

 

Lots and lots of people in our churches are in serious, ongoing, life-threatening pain.

I wrote before about how God does not just bring us through suffering, but he also works in our suffering. But, what if the healing comes? Or, what if it never comes in this life? Is our hope in the comfort, the relief, the healing here? No, far more than healing, our hope is in God himself and him alone.

The Futility Around Us

For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us. For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the sons of God. For the creation was subjected to futility. . . For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. (Romans 8:18–22)

This paragraph begins and ends with suffering. We know from the Bible and from experience that there are deeply painful experiences of suffering for us in this life. And we also know that much of the brokenness we experience personally has to do with the broken world we live in, cursed by God because of sin.

The earth we call home has been “subjected to futility.” It is in “bondage to corruption.” It has been “groaning in the pains of childbirth.” There are earthquakes, tsunamis, tornadoes, and hurricanes that wreak havoc in our world. And there are smaller, but awful problems like difficulties with crops, water flooding basements, and trees falling on houses. In your neighbourhood, across our nation, and around the globe, the world we live in is broken and futile in all kinds of ways.

The Futility Within Us

And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. (Romans 8:23)

It’s not only creation that’s groaning in futility, but human beings — us — even Christians. Even those who have escaped condemnation (Romans 8:1–4) and have the Spirit of God living inside of them are groaning in pain and suffering and confusion. Why?

Because even those who have put their faith in Christ still must live in these broken bodies conceived in sin (Psalm 51:5). We’re called to “put to death the deeds of the body by the Spirit” (Romans 8:13), which means our bodies will still desire sin, even after we’re in Christ. Paul goes as far as to say that these bodies are dead (Romans 8:10–11). And not only is there still sin in us, but there is physical suffering of every kind. There is chronic pain, auto-immune diseases, extreme disabilities, cancers, and everything in between. Our bodies are “wasting away” (2 Corinthians 4:16).

The picture we come away with is one in which not only is creation futile and groaning, but so are we — groaning because of sin and because of suffering. A futile place with futile people. Things simply are not as they should be.

 

HTTP://WWW.DESIRINGGOD.ORG/BLOG/POSTS/A-HOPE/GREATER-THAN-HEALING