Struggle and Frumkeit

When we're struggling, why is it that we take it out on our Yiddishkeit? Why is religious observance one of the first things to go? Every situation is different, but I would say that this is the case across the board with various struggles. Some challenges have a direct correlation to Judaism, and therefore it makes sense for the person struggling to reject Yiddishkeit or being frum/the frum community. If a child is abused and it's covered up by community leaders, if a teenager doesn't feel like being frum holds meaning for him/her and s/he thinks that perhaps what's out there in the big bad world is better, etc., it makes sense for those individuals to leave frumkeit. But, what about a young person who is waiting to find his/her marriage partner, a couple waiting for a child, or someone battling an illness? 

Does becoming more lax in Yiddishkeit make what someone is going through any easier? On the contrary, s/he should strengthen his/her commitment towards G-d, it will help him/her find meaning in the pain. For people who don't understand the purpose of this world, perhaps it's easy for them to leave Torah and mitzvos, because they can't understand why if G-d is good He is doing this to them. But for someone who is frum (by choice), recognizing that the here and now isn't the purpose of one's existence will be helpful in gaining perspective in what s/he is going through. However, it seems like it's quite the opposite. When someone goes through a hardship, sometimes it's a struggle to hold onto the fact that there is a G-d who loves him/her and is watching over him/her. And even when s/he does know that, it seems to be difficult to strengthen his/her resolve to be the best Jew s/he can be. Why is this the case?

I'm still trying to figure it out completely, but I'll share some of my thoughts. (They aren't all my own, some of them come from various friends whom I've discussed this topic with.) 

Perhaps part of being single is not having to worry about how your actions will affect a family. You can be self-absorbed and do whatever it is you want without worrying that it may influence other people. If it's easier to sleep in and not daven by the zman, there isn't anyone who is going to take you to task for that or learn from your actions what is "okay" behavior. Things that start out innocuous can quickly become bad habits. While it's best to be doing things for yourself and your personal relationship with Hashem, sometimes the thing that keeps you in line is something else entirely. For example, you get excited about Shabbos, because you're teaching your young child about the beauty of Shabbos. Or, you watch what you bring into your house because you're looking out for the kedusha of your home, spouse, and family. 

There is also the part where the person struggling is angry at G-d. S/he doesn't understand why s/he has to go through the tough situation, angry that G-d put him/her in these circumstances. Perhaps there's resentment too. "You're not giving me what I want, so why should I give You what You want?" Maybe s/he thinks, "I don't want to be close to You and do what You say I should, because it's not bringing me to a place where I can feel good about my life."

Additionally, like I've mentioned multiple times before, when things bring us pain, we disengage. If I can't be successful and feel productive as a member of frum society, because I can't be who I want here (married) and I don't feel like I fit in, I'm going to focus less on that and more on things that don't bring me pain. Thus, little things that perhaps I was more careful about before start falling through the cracks, because unfortunately they're no longer as important. My focus isn't the same. When you're trying to keep your head above water, the little gray areas don't end up mattering as much.

Another interesting idea why people become "less frum" as they go through challenges, is when people feel like they don't have control, they often flounder in this need for control. Take an anorexic for example. A lot of people that develop an eating disorder do so because there is something in their lives they cannot control, and this is an attempt to control something, anything. People who are going through a struggle flout rules and regulations as a means to gain more control in their lives, because they're wrestling with this need to control something. 

Going through tough times is an opportunity for tremendous growth and strengthening one's relationship with G-d. That isn't always the easiest thing though, and sometimes it becomes about holding onto that relationship with Him even if you cannot be at the overall frumkeit level you were before.

Disconcerting Dichotomy

Perhaps there is something that I can't think of, for I'm having a hard time coming up with events or situations that elicit the stark dichotomy of emotions that a wedding (or other such simcha) does. Where else is there quite such disparate emotions being experienced at once? While some people present are over the moon with joy, others, such as older single siblings, relatives, friends, are experiencing uttermost pain.

A friend of mine brought up this point as we stood around at a friend of our's younger sibling's wedding. Having attended a classmate's wedding earlier this week (having to see how all her classmates have moved on with life years ago and she's still stuck) and her younger sibling's wedding a few months ago, she is well acquainted with the feeling. What should be incredibly happy is so hard and so painful.

I'm sure there's some shame that's behind this, a feeling of deviating from the norm by no fault of our own. It's also about how this simcha rubs what we don't have, and what we can't be, in our faces. Even if we don't think poorly of ourselves because of it, there is a small part that wonders why aren't we worthy to be married or why it's like this.

It's crazy how circumstances or status can change so much. We could be so happy for the baalei simcha if we were just not in this position at this point in our lives. If I was married, I would be so happy for the person getting married. I wish I could be regardless, but I just can't. I hate that.

The Wedding: Shaken, Not Stirred

Happy for you, but sad for me. I wish I could rejoice fully, I really really do, but it's just hard for me. Your simcha, by no means your fault, causes me pain. It rubs what I'm going through in my face, and it's compounded by how at the same time I'm losing you and the close connection we had. It isn't the same anymore when you've switched over to the other side.

Weddings are also a breeding ground of insensitivity on everyone else's part. I just want to enjoy, as much as I can, and not be constantly reminded that I'm single, and older than the kallah. Perhaps it feels like an elephant in the room, or like we're ignoring something significant, but honestly, being single isn't my identity. It's nice that someone has this idea or that for me, but truthfully, I don't want to hear about it here, especially if nothing is done to follow up and make something happen with the idea.

The how-to's of wading through seem to include the head-nodding without really listening to the shidduch blabber, gluing yourself to someone who can act as your buffer or bodyguard when things get to be too much, and of course an adult beverage. Straight up is fine; I'll take it neat if I have to. A shot or two works, or a few cocktails –– shaken, not stirred.

Switching Over to the Other Side

Once you've been somewhere dark, you make a promise to yourself to not be like those that made your life miserable when you were down, once you get to the other side. Sometimes you stick to it, and sometimes you forget. It's sort of like making note of all the mistakes your parents made and vowing to never treat your children like that. It's also about watching your friends who suffered with you for a long time until they got married seem to forget what it was like to be single and start to treat you like the rest of your married friends do.

How quickly people forget.

It isn't per se a bad thing either. It's bracha, really, to forget pain. It's the only way that someone can move on...and so quickly fall into that role that unknowingly causes their single friends pain. They forgot what it was like when someone said "x" or treated them like "y."

I sometimes wonder what type of friend I'll be when I finally get engaged/married. I'd like to think that I'll be sensitive and not hurt anyone, but then I understand why it's hard. Will I be that floaty excited kallah? I really hope so. Will I be so focused on my marriage the first couple of months we're married...at the detriment of speaking to friends daily? I hope so. Not that I want to hurt my friends, but priorities. It's a lot of work, making a marriage work, figuring out a new relationship. At this point it becomes about quality vs. quantity time with friends.

So, yes, even within this scenario, I can still be sensitive to single friends. Maybe it's hard to navigate because not everyone wants the same thing. Some may want to know details and be involved in the whole engagement, while others don't want to hear any details. There's no harm in asking, is there, trying to do what feels best for your single friends? I guess I want to try really hard to be one of those engaged/married friends that doesn't forget this and doesn't say and do hurtful things.

Resilience

Within the frum community it is not uncommon for singles, especially "older" singles to feel defined by their single status. Not only do they have to deal with not being married, they often feel like they’ve been unfairly labeled or are constantly judged by a reputation they don’t want or deserve. They sometimes struggle not to blame themselves, feel like an imposter, and they may live under the tremendous pressure of needing to prove themselves to others or themselves.

Shame itself breeds shame, and it sends someone to a dark silent lonely place, a place s/he believes s/he alone exists. (It's not a denial that other people are single too, but that no one can understand his/her pain.) When things are hard, we tend to isolate and disengage to protect ourselves. This silence and withdrawal then further compounds the feeling of distance from community and shame we're holding onto. It matters not what s/he has to offer: how smart, talented, attractive, etc. s/he is; shame condemns him/her to this place s/he suffers alone. This is a place s/he is essentially disconnected from others. Because s/he is "flawed" via this one characteristic, s/he is alone, different, in a dark silent place.

When it comes to shame, it doesn't matter if someone's "flaw" is real or perceived, if s/he carries the fault for it or not. If s/he feels different, likely s/he will internalize this feeling, especially when people stigmatize him/her because of it.

In her book, Gifts of Imperfection, Brene Brown defines shame as a “silent epidemic.” She explains that shame is universal and one of the most basic human emotions. In fact, she suggests that those who do not experience shame lack empathy and the capacity for human connection. We all experience shame. Yet, shame makes us uncomfortable, and therefore we don’t talk about it. The less we talk about something, the more it has control over us.

We beat shame by understanding what it is, recognizing what is triggering it, connecting with others and sharing our story, our struggles, our "flaw" that makes us different. Says Brown, “When we bury the story, we forever stay the subject of the story. If you own the story, you get to write the ending.”

Brown draws on current resilience research to sum up what makes people resilient. She purports that:

1. Resilient people are resourceful and have good problem-solving skills. 
2. They are more likely to seek help. 
3. They believe that there is always something they can do that will help them to manage their feelings and cope with adversity. 
4. They have social support available to them. 
5. They are connected with others, such as family or friends.

I was recently talking about this with someone, how the more resilient you are, the more you're okay to share your story (and vice versa), and you recognize that people's judgements don't change your identity. They only affect you as much as you let them. 

The person I was talking to mused that this ability to be vulnerable and open up is born out of struggle. This recognition, a maturity if you will, the awareness that it doesn't really matter what people think, comes from going through something difficult and coming out, however battered, on the other side. Perhaps once you've been through all that, someone's appraisal of you pales in comparison. Maybe through the process of coping you realize that what people think doesn't change anything. And perhaps we realize that we need people, this connection. 

Sharing our struggles with others is how empathy works. (And empathy busts shame.) Rarely does a specific response from anyone make a hardship you're going through better, but what makes it bearable is connecting with others, knowing you're not alone. It's the hand extended to pull you out of that dark lonely hole.

Emotional Memories

Have you ever heard a song playing and you were transported back to a specific time and place, overcome with a rush of emotions and memories? Many different studies, such as this one, explain how memories and music are linked, thus music has the potential to store and trigger not only a basic memory, but the emotions wrapped up in said memory.

Sights/places and even smells and tastes can trigger memories as well, but there is something about music that is infinitely more powerful in bringing up emotional memories.

For me, there's one particular song that I couldn't listen to for quite some time after the big break up. Even now, years later, when I hear it I still feel a little gut punched. I remember the first time that I heard the song; I was somewhere, a restaurant, maybe a hotel bar/lounge, on a date with the guy the song later came to represent, well, him and our relationship.

It was a messy one, a relationship in which there were a few stops and starts. One where, in hindsight, we sort of knew we were wrong for each other, but neither of us were willing to call it quits. Not only did we often hear the song playing while we were together, it sort of became our story –– every single lyric applied to us. I think it will be a long time before I can hear the song and not think about him or our relationship/break up(s).

At least I no longer panic when I hear it. I don't feel slightly nauseous or start shaking. I don't get sad or angry anymore. I bet if I listen to it on repeat I could probably get rid of that rush of emotion it triggers, sort of like exposure therapy.

Places I don't normally go and I was first there on a date (with someone who mattered) will do this to me too, but in much milder version. Those memories are sort of, "Oh yeah, so-and-so took me here." Music just brings a tidal wave of emotions.

It's "Clarity" by Zedd, by the way. I know you were wondering.

Singles Awareness Day

Valentine's Day, which according to Google, has Christian and Roman origins, is a day of romance when people exchange candy, gifts, cards, and/or flowers with their special someone. For the rest of us, just remember, you're no more single on the 14th of February than you are every other day of the year.

While roses and hearts are red, this "holiday" is mostly about green. Also according to Google and some probably inaccurate statistic, it's the day of the most candy and flower sales in the US.  It's basically one of those "holidays" that was created by greeting card companies.

Days like Valentine's Day might make single people feel sad for themselves, but the good news is that on February 15th all that chocolate that the stores didn't sell is discounted! Go get yourself some chocolate and call it a day.