On Resilience, Coping Mechanisms, and Differences of Opinion

To each their own.  Who am I to tell you the way you choose to cope is wrong?  I don't know your pain and your experiences are not mine.  Hard is just hard.  Your "my life is hard" is not a measurable event, and my version of "my life is hard" is just that.  Let's not compare.  Let's not one-up each other.

I spent time with Yuriko over the weekend, one of my favorite women in Tohoku.  She's strong, opinionated and honest.  She personifies "work hard play hard" which isn't a motto many think well of, especially coming from a woman, a wife, and a mother.  That I'm tired of this double-standard argument is not the point.  Not today, at least.  Yuriko told me of how Rio, her six-year old daughter got angry at her (and me) for the deed I meant as a good one which completely backfired.

"She was angry she didn't get to see you when you brought the Halloween candy," Yuriko tells me.
"I'm sorry.  I showed up without calling, I know.  I was on my way somewhere--I don't remember where now--and I saw your light on so I just popped in."
"When I took the candy back to Rio and the other two, Rio got really quiet, gave me one of her I'm-angry-now looks and said, 'You saw Amya-san today?'  So I said I had, and then Rio went off.  I got 'Why didn't she tell me?' and 'Why didn't you call me when she was there?' and then, 'Make sure you tell her I want candy next year, too.'  It was quite the tongue-lashing!"  Yuriko laughs.
"Oh, and then when I asked Rio, 'You wanted to see Amya-san?' she gave me one of these you're-so-dense-mom looks and said, 'Well yeah.  For awhile now.'"
Yuriko and I laugh but I realize my mistake and promise Yuriko I will stop by with more notice next time.

Rio is the girl who, at three years old, told (not asked) her mother to drive by the spot Yuriko's store used to be everyday for a month.  "Rio would put her hands up to the car's window and stare," Yuriko says.  "I have to assume that's how she was processing what happened.  I lost my store but so did she.  That place was just as much hers as it was mine."  This story ends with Rio announcing one day she didn't need Yuriko to drive past the store anymore. "She must have worked it out," Yuriko says.  "I don't understand it," Yuriko tells me, "but something clicked on that day.  She didn't need to see where the store was anymore."  It was on this day that Rio told Yuriko she would protect her mother if another tsunami were to hit.  "I'll beat it up," the three-year old Rio told Yuriko.  This was when I first fell in love with the girl.  I was then and still am today inspired by her resilience.

We cope with trauma and tragedy differently.  Here in Tohoku, a place still very much a disaster zone, there are multiple coping mechanisms:  some drink (sometimes to excess), some shut pain away, some cut themselves, some ignore it, some throw themselves into work to forget, others throw themselves into working towards progress, and a very select few try to work it out by talking it through.

I choose to read.  I need to escape into a world that is at times surreal, unreal, far-fetched, silly, and/or all of the above.  I won't take kindly to people saying this is not a legitimate way for me to process.  Nor can I support others who might think reading to escape is not a viable method of coping--not just for me but for anyone.

What about the other options then?  Rio needed to stare at the plot of land where she had memories.  Many around me drink.  Many who drink don't stop with just a few.  Medical professionals would very likely offer up facts on why drinking-to-forget is not a healthy way to deal with those parts of our lives we struggle through.  I am not one who drinks away my anxiety.  I read instead. It's not my business to be critical of those who choose a different way to cope.  Drink through your pain, deny it, work yourself through it.  I don't agree with the idea of suppressing feelings, drinking to excess, or overworking to forget, but I am constantly reminded of the fact this is not my country.  Who am I to say keeping things bottled up is wrong?  If drinking helps you process is it my place to say you shouldn't?  It's wrong for me, but maybe it's not for you.

I bring this up to say these are ideas I'm trying on.  I'm anything but comfortable with the idea excessive drinking and eating and gambling and the like as a legitimate and healthy way to process grief or trauma or pain.  That said, I'm not fond of those who easily right off my method of coping.  Indeed, I find myself surprised at how defensive I get when what is so important and necessary for me is easily dismissed or criticized.

Tolerance and patience:  the former I'm pretty good at, the latter I'm not.  Today's random musings are brought to you by kids whose resilience and strength I marvel at over and over.  Read away, dear child.  Talk back to your mother, Rio.  I hope it brings you peace.