Feeling Sorry For Myself

Not The Best Answer

Photo by Moaz Tobok on Unsplash

It’s a beautiful blue-sky morning. The windows are open, and the cats are basking in the sun by the patio door. Music and spring landscapes are playing on the television. I just got my new glasses, and my second great-granddaughter is arriving in a few days. Everything is going well—so why am I so discouraged and blue?

The past ten years were challenging, taking care of my husband, Dan, as he struggled with dementia and COVID, watching him decline, taking over the reins of our lives until he died four years ago, and then creating a new life for myself.

But something always kept me going as I cared for him, did what it took to age well, wrote the newsletter, and shared my thoughts with others. I’m not sure what that was, but it’s been missing lately. I’d begun thinking, “Why bother? What’s the point?” I told myself I had several valid reasons.

Dan’s death weighs heavily on me. I miss his hugs and smile, the safety net he provided for 60 years, and the person he was. No one can replace 70 years of friendship, memories, and love.

I hadn’t considered that my body would age despite my best efforts. My fingers aren’t as nimble, my knees complain when I climb the stairs, and I forget things. My mind has grand ideas, but too often, my body says, "You’ve got to be kidding.” It also demands much more tender, loving care.

Technology is moving quickly. I can’t keep up with it, understand its advantages, and avoid its traps. I use my devices, but dealing with AI, scams, and misinformation makes it challenging to know what to believe or whom to trust.

Everything I thought about America no longer seems to be true. Unexpected changes are happening daily. Is there something I can do?

My best guess is that I lost hope for a while. I wanted certain things to happen or be true, but they weren’t. I felt sorry for myself because life, as I knew it, had changed dramatically — and not in the way I wanted. But isn’t that a waste of time?

As often happens, a recent Substack article, this one by Cali Bird, encouraged me to rethink my position. In the article, Cali discusses her husband’s life-changing accident and seeks to find the treasures in the situation. One way was to list all the positives that have come from it. I wanted to do the same because there are many.

When Dan was alive, he cared for me and made my life easier. He supported my dreams and helped solve my problems. As the dementia took over, I had to take care of us and was ill-prepared to do so. Today, I am a stronger woman, taking care of myself and building a new life, which includes

1. Managing the house.

2. Writing this newsletter and possibly a book.

3. Closer relationships with my adult children.

4. Doing more than I thought I was capable of.

5. Learning to paint, taking trips, and developing new computer skills.

Even though I miss Dan enormously, none of that would have happened if he were alive. Therefore, it seems wiser to focus on the good, cherish my memories, and control what I can rather than feel sorry for myself and dwell on what could have, should have, or would have been.

I can choose either—dwell on what I’ve lost and don’t like, or hope there are answers and solutions for me to try that I haven’t thought of - YET.

The first option gets me nowhere, and the second requires an active decision to believe in and act on possibilities. Why not? It improves my mind, motivation, and desire to age well.

I choose hope.

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Janice Walton is a psychologist, a widow, a mother, a grandmother, a great-grandmother, and a writer. Her book Aging Well: 30 Lessons for Making the Most of Your Later Years is available on Amazon, and she has written articles for Substack