Day 65: Higher Power

Today, I think a Higher Power took hold and put me where I needed to be this evening.  I have been in a funk, worrying that I've said the wrong things at the wrong time to the wrong people and completely ruined any chance of getting a job doing what I love in a place I love.  So after getting myself all bent out of shape this afternoon, despite most things pointing to the contrary of my current thought trail, I was contemplating forgoing group this evening.  It is the first time in the last three weeks I hesitated when leaving the house to head out the door.  But I figured nothing would be lost in going.  The caveat here, is I am going on an invitation after my week of addiction medicine.  I am apparently the first person who has taken them up on the offer.  I find it to be my moment of peace in a busy week.  I don't have to be on my phone.  I am present.  There are no expectations, although, I have spoken up the last two weeks.  I get seriously nervous doing it.  But I do it.  And tonight was the first time I really felt like I made a difference for someone.  Someone who was adding to the grief of losing a loved one to dementia.  It was something I could speak to, I could support through naming the guilt and fears, showing a deep respect for the time it takes to care for the loved one, for the strength it takes to be that person's voice.  I could give hope that the person did everything in the best interest of their loved one, and hopefully be able to see that when the darkness of grief had parted.  It was the proverbial 2x4 from the Higher Power that my calling is caring for dementia patients.  That this is where I can do the greatest good for the world's greatest need.  It is such a difficult, dark place sometimes, but to be able to have these moments of deep connection.  The opportunities to educate and support abound.  My sense of self-deprecation and doubt was gone.  The anxiety of the nebulous "I can't do anything right" was replaced with the nervous of speaking up in a group of strangers and yet doing so for something I am so clearly compassionate about.  In the same breath of saying I hate giving the diagnosis of dementia, I could be finding ways to provide hope.  It's hard to see that in the moment of taking away someone's identity and independence, but there has to be some way to shine light in the darkness.  Even if the light only comes from the smallest of candles.