Three Years

For most of my adult life, I have been the least emotionally stable person in my interpersonal relationships. I have been the one struggling through physical and mental illness and undeniably, not always doing so in the most graceful and peaceable way. I have said unimaginably dramatic and cruel things to those I cared for and care for the most, I have complicated simple friendships, and I have raised the emotional stakes in almost every situation, no matter how benign. I shudder to remember my uncontrolled, raw emotions, my desperating coping mechanisms, and the despair and hopelessness I felt inside and unfortunately, transferred to my friends and family. This is not to say that no one ever mistreated me, or overreacted to something I did, or betrayed my trust, but simply that as part of my recovery, I started assuming that I was overreacting, emoting inappropriately, or creating drama for my own reasons. I did not start assuming this out of self loathing but out of pragmatism. I was usually correct, and approaching friends and family with humility, noting my weakness in this area, felt therapeutic, like admitting to a friend of mine who loves to ski that I am afraid of ski lifts. Over the past few years, my emotional health, distress tolerance, and quality of life have dramatically improved, and so have my relationships. As the former three have changed, my assumption feels less valid. Now, I am often the more emotionally healthy, balanced, or even reasonable person in a heated discussion, or perhaps most importantly, I am well trained and increasingly well practiced in using the appropriate skills to understand and manage my emotions. I am far from perfect, but I am closer to the middle of the pack then I have been for years.

With this move up the curve (if you will) comes interesting adjustments. Twice in the last few months, I have interacted with people whose behavior was erratic, unintentionally hurtful, and destructive to my trust in them. My first instinct was to examine my reaction, my motivations, and my primary emotions: was I reacting to this person because of an insecurity? Had I backed them against a wall with an ultimatum or impossible emotions? In  both these cases, and increasingly in others, I considered the issue and realized that while I undoubtedly could have acted differently, the escalation had more to do with them and their own issues than with mine. This is difficult. It is difficult because now that my emotions and my mental health are under control, I need to remember that others have emotional needs, gaps, and vulnerabilities and that I am at times uniquely able to help them deal with those, having done a good deal of work on my own. Secondly, it is difficult in the way that releasing a great load is, in the way that receiving a passable MCAT score was. It is difficult because for a moment, I peer back down the road I have traveled, usually taking care not to glance backwards, and see how tremendously far I have come. This is difficult because of how difficult that journey was and how close disaster still feels, even though this certain type of disaster is fading farther into my past.

On another personal note, my first medical school interview is on the three year anniversary of the worst day of my life, and also the third anniversary of one of the beginnings of my recovery. Looking forward, looking back, it is difficult not to be overwhelmed. It is difficult not to be afraid. Is it difficult not to be exhausted. It is not difficult to be grateful.