The Language of Suffering

It’s been almost four weeks since I delivered Leif.  I remember being at the hospital and wishing that I was not a part of the present.  I wanted to teleport into the future, to at least a month from where I was.  And here I am now, almost a month away from then, and a part of me is still longing to be in the future, the time when the pain will be gone.  But will the pain ever really be gone?  And is the pain ever really that bad?  I truly believe that the Universe never gives us more  than we can handle.  The grieving process is beautiful in its own way.  It has gotten me in touch with reality more than any other experience in the past.  It has put me in the present moment, even when at times, I wish so much that I could escape it.  It is in the present moment that I can really feel myself being alive.

There is suffering everywhere in the world.  It is part of life.  However, it is the perspective and the attitude that we take on the suffering that manages its intensity and duration.  I believe the worst kind of suffering is the mental kind.  I cannot say that a person starving or being subjected to atrocious genocide is suffering more than the CEO of some corporation, always on the go, always craving power and money, always dissatisfied.  I am in no way a judge in whose misery is easier or worse.  The starving person can have an understanding, the in-depth wisdom that recognizes the lessons and the blessings in every moment and situation.  Meanwhile, someone who we perceive as successful and happy could be tortured by his/her mind, by lack of love.  We just never know and yet assumptions, judgments, and projections come to us so easily, muddling authentic reality.

Suffering is suffering, no matter what form it shows up in.  Pain and suffering are Universal languages.  I am learning this innate language.  I feel connected to those who are experiencing pain, for we share this collective theme.  I listened to Democracy Now the other day and heard a 10-year-old Afghan girl testify against American soldiers for coming into her house in the middle of the night and murdering her family.  I cried in that moment for her loss.  Losing an entire family can be seen as much worse than losing a fetus, but pain is pain, regardless of its circumstance.  And in that pain, I can feel the pain of the world.  My grief is teaching me about compassion.  It has taken me out of my little Universe and opened me up to the world outside.  I am being shown the way to Love all beings, realizing that anyone might be suffering.  With small steps at a time, I am changing perspective on my own suffering.   I’m acquiring a new found sense of gratitude, inspired to be a more compassionate and loving human.


6 thoughts on “The Language of Suffering

  1. Eloquent post tonight. I hadn’t realized it had only been a few weeks since your loss, now I understand even more. It is true we learn the most through suffering, the Great Teacher of Compassion for all beings. May you have peace this night. SB

  2. Oh Ania, as every time I have heard your heart speak you are spot on where I feel to be as well. Your impetus is integrating, even in the questing, angst and affirmation. Your ability to write and convey is so comforting in itself that the pain in the words is softened by the resonnance felt. What a gift you share.

  3. Suffering leading to compassion and gratitude. Thanks for the attitude! But a feeling of sharing your boat with us is almost like a dream come true. Or self-fulfilling prophecy is perhaps even closer to the mark. Through your words, someone I have never met, takes me through an experience in empathic consciousness beyond myself. If there is a way to sow the seeds of qualities such as these, you seem to be versed in it with your insights so well shared in both photo and word; yet reflecting a resonnance of humanity that feels very familiar, like family. Your sharing has a ripple effect well felt. Again, I thank you for eliciting this from me whether you want it or not! You tap in to a wellspring in me that wants to grow.

  4. So beautifully said. It has taken me longer to get to this place but I have and my new found empathy and compassion is something I am grateful for. Thank you for putting it in words.

  5. Hello Ania!
    It’s been 2 weeks since I’ve lost my child in a 12th week of pregnancy. It is my second miscarriage in the last 2 years.
    I used to believe that everything that happens to me has a higher sense. Two weeks ago I lost faith in it.
    Been through lots of stages, reading a lot about losing a child, to comfort myself to find the answers, to know why I am feeling, what I’m feeling.
    That painful cry in my head: “Give me back my children!” has stopped now, as it hasn’t got an adressee. I am standing at the beginning of the road ACCEPTANCE, taking my time to find what is it, that comes out of this experience.
    In the same time I’m still fighting the thought in my head, that anything happens to us is for a reason, that it is me who create reality with my thoughts. Why am I fighting it? Why I want to give away that power? Why am I afraid of my own thoughts?
    Because what if I am learning only through extreme situations, what if I create them, what if I’m longing for those painful moments?
    I am looking at my partner – the love of my life and thinking, what if my thoughts will bring death to him as well, so I can learn more about loss! And I’m scared again when I realise what I am thinking again just now! Crazy!
    I have recently hurt my foot and I have to use crutches to move around. It made me think about all these people that loose their physical ability but it also made me stuck on my sofa with laptop. I have read your blog today and found the words: “My grief is teaching me about compassion” and it stays in my head like a sign flashing green FIRE EXIT, the sign I followed when I was leaving the hospital two weeks ago.
    Thank You!

  6. Thank you for sharing your experience. I don’t think that the fear that you’re feeling about losing your partner is abnormal. I go through it all the time, to the point where I think I’m going completely nuts. Whenever he goes anywhere and is late coming home and doesn’t pick up his phone, I automatically imagine him dead…in a car crash somewhere. I talked to my therapist about it and she says that it’s only PTSD. So keep in mind that you’re not the only one going through these kind of thoughts. It’s hard to stay positive, but we have to do it for ourselves because we deserve to live even after a part of ourselves dies. The currents of life keep flowing and we can choose to either be the buoy and float in our own grief, or swim with the currents to see what’s further along. Much love to you Karolina! Stay strong…

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