Broken Valves + Heart Sherpas

This is of my “fire paintings” - a part of my healing practice. Painting lightens the load on my heart every time.

Today is my mother’s birthday. I was a far better daughter today when I called to wish her a “Happy Birthday.” And for that I am very grateful.

My mom has undiagnosed (because she thinks she is fine and refuses medical care), yet clearly distinguishable mental illness. Last fall, I noticed her delusions were getting a little worse, perhaps exacerbated by her feeling a little more frail due to aging. Yet, other than her brain’s twisting of her reality, she is completely healthy and in fantastic shape.

But it’s hard to listen to delusions. As a stubborn, fix-it girl, I just want to make it go away - for both our sakes.

In the fall I was expressing my worry for my mom to a friend and she told me it was a lot to carry on my own, that I should get support. She found NAMI (National Alliance on Mental Illness) for me. They offer support for family members of those with mental illness.

I couldn’t find a class that met near me, nor a remote one that started in the fall or winter so I committed to checking again in January.

Then the fire happened and I had to take anything “extra” off my plate. It would have to wait.

But my mother surprised me by having a big reaction to my moving 90 miles away from Los Angeles until I rebuild. Even though we only see each other a couple times a year, she drew comfort from me being near.

Her unexpected reaction was a wake-up call. I went to the NAMI site again and found a remote monthly support group based in northern California. They welcomed me with loving open arms and suggested I take the eight week course for family members.

It turned out there was a remote session that started the very next day. It was a miracle! Family members from as far away as Oregon and Washington joined the class to learn about mental illness and how to best support our family members. It was pretty damn beautiful and I can’t more highly recommend it.

The course ended last Wednesday (it would have ended synchronistically today, my mom’s birthday, had we been meeting in person as they usually close the series out with an in person pot luck).

Saturday was my first time seeing my mom since starting the course. I took her out for the birthday and early Mother’s Day celebration.

Usually when I spend time with her I am drowning internally with self-talk, bemoaning how her brain works, how she views the world as a result, and how very tortured she is. This time, my self-talk was far less and I was able to be more present with her.

I took her to lunch at a restaurant that we used to frequent in my childhood that had moved to a different city. As we ate, I realized it was very near the home of someone I had been trying to deliver a gift to for two months. Normally I wouldn’t ask my mother if I could take her on an errand like this because changes in plans can throw her off.

But I had the courage to ask if my mom would be OK with this detour. It did throw her off a bit, but she was also happy I had asked.

The gift was a scarf and hat set that I had pulled from our Love Scarf Project delivery on Valentine’s Day for a beautiful woman who lived down the street from me in Altadena who also lost her house in the fire. Only a few days before the fire she had been diagnosed with cancer. On Friday she had been released from a three week hospital stay due to a bad reaction to her chemo. So the timing of the delayed gift was actually perfect.

I thought I would be quickly dropping it off on her porch as I had the first time I had been there, but she ended up being outside when I arrived. So my mother witnessed — and it turns out, heard — the conversation.

I got back in the car and my mom was clearly moved. She quietly repeated “Oh my, oh my…” I could see in a way she had been standing right next to me as I listened to this woman tell me about her struggles and her passionate conviction that - in spite of it all - she would rebuild.

In a way my mom was also silently helping me carry the heart of this woman I was talking to. She still has that. Her mental illness hasn’t taken that from her.

It taught me how subtle the carrying of hearts really is.

I don’t interact with a lot of people these days because I can’t do the exchange — you carry my heart for a while and then I’ll carry yours. But I’m happy that I am far better equipped to help carry my mom’s heart — or really, to be most honest, to carry my own heart when I am with her — because of the NAMI course.

It was a lot. It was “extra” for me to complete it. There were days that I thought I might break because of the weight of what it had me contemplate. I doubted my judgment at taking the course so soon after the fire.

But I didn’t just learn how to be a better daughter of someone with mental illness, I ended up learning how to better manage my own trauma too. Our brains and hearts do funny things around trauma.

The NAMI courses are run by people who have family members with mental illness. They are boots on the ground with their wisdom and understanding.

I have great new compassion for anyone whose heads and hearts aren’t working at optimal levels.

I had a colonoscopy recently and a woman next to me in the recovery room started screaming at the doctor when she reported that they found nothing that could be causing the patient’s reported stomach pain. The patient was livid, and a fleet of doctors and nurses did their best to appease her. At the crescendo of her rant, she shouted that she had complex PTSD.

We all understood the overreaction.

I am nowhere near her level of trauma, but I saw myself in her. I have overreacted several times in a nearly as dramatic way since the fire hit — including in a dental hygienist’s chair and in a photographer’s studio. I long for the day that I don’t have to apologize for my overreactions due to the fire.

After hearing my hygienist say for the 39th time that my gums were in bad shape at my routine teeth cleaning in February, I ripped off the paper bib and said “I’m out. I literally have zero tolerance for criticism or negative talk of any kind right now because of this fire stuff.”

This past Friday I had a photo shoot that I really didn’t want to have. I am not in the mood for such things, and I definitely don’t feel attractive inside or out right now. I forgot to pick up the fresh flowers I wanted to include in the shoot.

I melted down when I realized I had screwed up. The photographer and make-up artist both enthusiastically extolled the virtues of photoshopping in the flowers later. I was instantly angry — not at them, at myself. But it, of course, ricocheted. I replied with a whopping smack of attitude “I am not a photoshop/AI girl. I don’t even wear make-up!”

The sweet make-up artist then gently suggested using the dried flowers from around the studio instead. The anger rose. (Poor girls have no idea about my relationship with fresh flowers!) I then said I’d drive five minutes and if I found flowers within those five minutes, I’d be back. Otherwise, they could keep the money already paid for the shoot and I wouldn’t return.

I did find some flowers a few blocks away and then profusely apologized. But man, I haven’t experienced being this out of control with emotions since I was a teenager. Some valve got broken.

Now I have compassion for all the broken valves.

So many people on this mighty jewel planet have had multiple big traumas in their lives. Big traumas make for heavy hearts that are sometimes hard to carry alone.

I’m glad I got help from NAMI to help carry the heaviness in my heart around my relationship with my mom.

I’m doing my best to not build up barnacles on my fragile heart right now, to let myself have feelings in private so I don’t have to worry about the broken valve in public. Hopefully I won’t have any more meltdowns with people who are just trying to help a girl out.

But, it’s a journey this heart business. It’s a big journey.

And this dance we are all invited to partake in - of carrying each other’s hearts — is a mighty beautiful one.

Pass the word about NAMI if you know someone who has mental illness or is supporting someone who does. They are definitely in the business of helping people carry their hearts.