Am I Really" Barely Functioning?"
The words we use don't describe our reality. They define it.
I’ve created intellectual fois gras by force-feeding my brain content at every opportunity. It can look like watching YouTube sitting on the toilet, even with the bidet on. It can take the form of SubStack skimming in line at the grocery store. There’s nothing like trying to fall asleep with a motivational speech in my ear telling me to get up and get shit done. If I waste a second, I worry my goose will be cooked.
Unsurprisingly then, I found myself listening to a fascinating podcast while on a road trip in 2015. It was a dark and stormy night (for real).
The host and his guest started riffing about this thing called Appreciative Inquiry (AI). Apparently it was a way to get groups of people to work together to create positive change. I remember thinking, '“Wow, that sounds like a better way to think, talk and act.” Their conversation started answering questions that’d been rolling around, semi-formed in my head for a long time.
Listening to their conversation was a fork in the road that ended up taking my life down a very different path.
I’ve been a practitioner of Appreciative Inquiry for many years. It’s allowed me to change my own life for the better and to help many people, teams and organizations create lasting positive change.
I’m sure that sounds like a pretty good skill to have. So what the hell is it?
AI is an approach to leading change and, even more fundamentally, it’s a way of looking at the world. It’s the study, through questions, of the best of the past, the best of the present and the best of what the future could be.
I’ll talk more about it in future posts because I believe it’s one of the keys to unlocking the best in ourselves and others in almost any situation. Bringing AI into the world in new and innovative ways has become my life’s work.
There are five underlying principles that make up AI and two of them are relevant to this article:
Words Create Worlds
The first one is the idea that the words we use don’t describe our reality, they define it. Or, put another way, the words we choose to use are critical to creating our reality and it’s important to choose them wisely.
The world you and I are flailing around in right now is the by-product of the words we tell ourselves and the ones others tell us. There’s only one physical world and yet there are infinite interpretations of it. We’ve all experienced situations where people interpret and describe the same event very differently.
I’ve written previously about the power of the stories we tell ourselves. At their most basic level, stories are skillfully (or not skillfully) assembled collections of words you use to make meaning out of your experience. They’re how you make sense of the world. They are also how you handcuff yourself to a reality you say you don’t want.
It’s easy for us to fall into the trap of using weak, self-defeating language without even realizing it. It can be as simple as diminishing what we’re saying by inserting “just” into our sentences. “I was just wondering….” “I just wanted to ask….” “I’m just a receptionist…”
Or you can do what I found myself doing. I started describing my experience using words that made it sound like I was barely keeping my head above the raw sewage life was trying to drown me with. The more I red and reread my words, the more pungent and overpowering the stench started to seem.
What We Focus On Grows
We also get to choose where we direct our attention and energy. If you’re like most people, you tend to focus on what you don’t want or what’s wrong, broken or missing. It’s a natural human tendency and can limit us in all areas of our lives.
“I wish my pants weren’t so tight.” “I can’t cook.” “Chloe’s death broke me.” “You never recover from the loss of a child.” “You know, lots of marriages have broken up after the death of a child.”
The problem is, focusing on what we don’t want doesn’t help us get clear on what it is we actually do want. I was talking to a friend yesterday who has been dealing with a lot of stress. I asked her what she wanted and she said, “I don’t want to be overwhelmed this week.”
I gently pointed out she had just told me what she didn’t want. I asked to think about what she actually did want. After a few minutes of quiet reflection, she said, “I want to know what I need to prioritize this week and have a plan to get it done.”
Perfect. I asked her if she’s like any help with prioritizing and planning. She said she did and so that’s what we did. Her clarity on what she wanted was the catalyst for creating a plan that would get her there.
I’m Barely Functioning
Even though I know all this, I still find myself forgetting it. Sometimes I think progress can be measured by how quickly we remember what we already know after forgetting it for the hundredth time.
I like to think I operate at what I tell myself is a “high level.” I jump out of bed, am physically active and tend to get quite a bit done most days. Being that guy has definitely become part of my identity over the years. Jason doesn’t seem to like his identity being challenged.
“High level” is not how I’d describe my operating capacity right now. This stage of grieving is fucking exhausting. It’s mentally and emotionally draining which somehow leads to a deep sense of physical exhaustion. I find it almost impossible to adjust to anything that doesn’t go according to plan.
I was at a clothing store last week and they didn’t have the specific items I wanted. Normally, this wouldn’t phase me at all. On this day, I started spinning out. Tanja had to talk me off the ledge before I could even think about what to do next.
My good friends Jeff and Larry texted me the other day to check-in and here’s how I responded:
“I’m barely functioning. I did two calls yesterday and I had to nap for 3 hours afterwards. I’ve bawled my head off for a good chunk of last night. I miss her so much I can’t even describe it. I saw a counsellor yesterday so I’m glad for that. I know it will be really helpful. I feel like a fucking invalid and I hate it. I have no capacity to do anything. Things will get better but fuck me, this is so brutal right now.”
After I texted them, I sat and reflected on the words I had used. I noticed that writing them and then reading them back made already challenging thoughts and emotions even more difficult. I felt even shittier as I settled into the idea that I am “barely functioning.” I felt a heaviness that felt more oppressive than before I sent those texts.
After a few minutes I remembered that I have complete control over the words I use and how I choose to interpret my experience. I followed up my original text with:
“I need to be more intentional about my language. I’m not “barely functioning”. I have suffered a tremendous loss and my body and soul require rest to recharge and heal and I will be stronger for having the courage to listen.”
Choosing my focus and language with more intention immediately shifted my energy. I felt calmer, more empowered and had more clarity that what I’m experiencing is a normal and healthy reaction to loss. I was more easily able to acknowledge and accept my experience and to be more compassionate with myself.
My friends have been going above and beyond to do their best to support me. It’s been so touching to be able to receive their love in this way. Framing my experience through a more positive lens allowed me to better articulate how they could support me.
I also acknowledged that it will take courage to allow myself to slow down. Helplessness is a visceral fear for me and I can feel it breathing down my neck. Looking at dealing with this fear as an opportunity to show courage gets me fired up to take it on and overcome it.
There’s a lot to the words we choose. Strive for mastery at choosing words that elevate yourself and others.
19 < 70 & 19 > 0
When you lose a child, or anyone you love deeply, it can be really easy to start believing you’ve been ripped off. It’s even easier now that I’ve lost two people. I mean fuck, it’s not fair that Cindy killed herself and now Chloe’s dead too. Right?
Fuck that shit.
It has nothing to do with being fair. Living your life means shit will happen and you can’t be certain about what’s waiting just around the corner. It’s much less about what happens to us and what we make happen as a result of what happens to us.
I wanted to be able to spend seventy years with Chloe. That would have taken me right to one hundred years old which seems like a reasonable time to check out. I’ll never have that chance now. She’s frozen at nineteen years old for the rest of my life.
I could choose to focus on everything I’ve lost and how I’ll never get it back. I’ll probably do the first part of that with my therapist and when I do, it will be part of an intentional plan to bring it to the surface so I can work through it.
If I made what I’ve lost my sole or primary focus, I’d be overwhelmed with feelings of anger, frustration and disappointment. I’d be more likely to compare my current and future situations to how great they could have been if Chloe was still alive. I’d slip into that counterfactual fantasizing I mentioned in my last post:
So yes, spending nineteen years with Chloe instead of seventy is far from what I pictured.
And it’s also way better than zero. I’ll take nineteen years over never having had the opportunity to raise her, love her and be her dad. Those nineteen years are something sacred I’ll carry with me for the rest of my days.
So instead of focusing on what I’ve lost and saying, “It’s not fair and I’ve been ripped off”, I’ll focus on the beauty in what I had and have and will say, “I’ve grateful for the time I had with Chloe and l love being her dad.”
There will be times I slip into “not fair” thinking and when I do, I’ll remember I have the innate power to choose. I will willingly and intentionally exercise that power in a way that serves me and honours Chloe’s memory.
Fuck Better
You’ll never hear me say, “I’m doing better”, when I talk about the days ahead. The implicit assumption in describing today as “better” is that I was somehow worse yesterday. I don’t buy into that idea at all.
This journey isn’t about good and bad. It’s about fully experiencing each moment. It’s about relearning how to feel joy without the newfound guilt. It’s about letting the waves of grief wash over you. It’s about recognizing each day is unique and they’re all important.
So instead of describing a day as “bad”, I’ll use words like, “interesting”, “tough”, “insightful”, “tiring”, and “lonely.” Eliminating simple value judgements will help me dig deeper as I try to understand and communicate my experience.
You Are Powerful Beyond Measure
In her Ted Talk on Resilience, Lucy Hone identifies three things resilient people do. One of those factors is choosing carefully where to direct our attention. Resilient people tend to focus their attention on the things they can control and get busy taking ownership over them.
As the Stoics tell us, a few of the most important things we can control are our perceptions and our actions. That means that we have total control over where we choose to focus. Are we focusing on what’s wrong or are we focusing on what’s right and how we can create more of what’s working well in our lives?
One of our most important actions is choosing the words we use, both in our own heads and when we communicate with others. Make the choice to use words that energize and empower you. Make the choice to use words that serve and elevate yourself and others.
As for force-feeding yourself content? Take a break. As annoying as your thoughts can be, there’s much wisdom to be gained by simply noticing them more often. Maybe spend a little more time writing than reading. Walk without headphones. Converse with someone rather than consuming alone. Know that you already have everything you need to grow through life’s hardest things.