Retail Therapy and Hormones

There is nothing like a catastrophic earthquake, tsunami and nuclear emergency somewhere else to make me stop and feel not only blessed but grateful. I am only one of the millions around the world watching in horror as news shows play videos over and over again of the too big to be believed devastation. I want to reach out. I want to help. I want for everything to go back the way it was.

That is the way of disasters. That's also the way of loss and grief. I want everything to go back the way it was. In the beginning I was so numb and in shock that all my brain could do to handle the enormity of the chaos was shut down. When the numbness began to wear off and I began to feel again, it was almost too much to bear. Like the nuclear reactors in Japan, I could feel myself teetering on the edge of meltdown. Like those boats and cars and buildings flying about like tinker toys, I felt like I was being swept away on waves of pain. There was no way to get my footing and nothing to hold on to.

In the last week I have been living in the state of total denial. Not of my father's death, that's right there in my face every day. No, I spent all day, everyday finding something to do outside of the house, which, may I say, without meaning any disrespect to the Japanese, looks like an earthquake hit. Talk about chaos. I can figure no way to make sense of it all. So, I (along with Sweetie, my driver)have been to every furniture and bedding store in town. The best defense is a good offense, right? The way to clean up a mess is to bring in more? Hmmm. Dr. Phil might be asking right about now, how's that working for you, Merry?

(Please pause here for a moment, while I search through the stack of magazines I have to find the paragraph I read a few weeks ago that hit home for me.)

Found it. In the March issue of Oprah there is an article by Martha Beck, called The Buying Diet.* The eye-catching headline told me "eating to soothe your anxieties and disappointments isn't healthy - and neither is heading to the mall. Although there are several things Sweetie and I would like to have to make Dad's house, our house, mostly I've been shopping (not necessarily buying) to relieve my stress. The stress and anxiety that comes from walking through this litter-strewn house and not having the energy to do anything about it. I'm blaming my stress on the fact that I'm just beginning to grasp the notion that it wasn't just my father that died. It was my purpose, my call, my daily routine, my identity. I was Luther's daughter and caregiver. Now who am I?

Back to the Beck's article: "Researchers found that stressed women secrete a different hormonal mixutre than men. Adrenaline and testosterone, to be sure, but it is mixed with much higher leverls of hormones like oxytocin that prompt "tend and befriend" behaviors - nesting, feeding and grooming. Men's stress response says 'fight or flee!' Ours says 'Fight or flee - and make sure everyone has a nice warm sweater.' There's a reason why, when anticipating nerve-racking social events most of us [women] go directly to 'what will I wear?' It's the same reason we may react to an argument by redecorating. Or, in my case, when faced with cleaning out my father's room so it can be repurposed (i.e. used by Sweetie and I) I'd much rather be wandering around Mattress One playing Goldilocks. (This one hurts my back, this one hurts my leg, try this one, Sweetie, I think it's just right.) It's good to know I have one more thing to blame on my hormones rather than poor self-motivation techniques.

Sweetie asked me last night if I felt he is rushing me. Me? Feel rushed?

Actually not, I seem to be happy living in shopping LaLa Land. Here's the weird thing. I've noticed in the last few days, I am feeling a tiny, eency weencie bit more energized. The idea of washing walls, and putting a fresh coat of paint on them is kind of appealing. Ah, the aroma of Mr. Clean mixed with Volatile Organic Compounds! Thank goodness the weather is on a warming trend so I can throw open the windows and paint with abandon.

But first things first. The desks have to be emptied. The books pulled off the shelves. The furniture moved. The rug pulled up. Perhaps with all that disruption my parents' ghosts will also leave the room. The Chinese say a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. Perhaps the same can be said for lassoing big pieces of furniture and the sense of loss that fills that room. One box at a time, it'll get cleared out, but I have to take that very first step.

Fight or flight? The jury is still out.

Praying for order to be restored in my life, your life and the world,

Merry ME

*The Buying Diet, Martha Beck, The Oprah Magazine, March 2011, pg. 48