Healing Love
In Riposte #13 the Care Collective wrote about the need for a wider understanding of what caring communities and caring kinships look like. They argued that our capitalist, individualistic obsessed society had lost sight of the beauty and wonder to be found in wider connections with those outside our cishet, traditional family makeups.
Zoë Gibson Quirk found this to be true when she suffered from debilitating mental illness. Surrounded by a wide cast of unique and loving people she was nursed back to health and here she breaks down those different types of love that helped her when she needed it most.
When you’ve experienced a crisis, it is routine to be grateful to the people who helped you through. I’m no different. A few years ago, when managing severe mental illness, I too was grateful for the people who experienced it with me. With time to reflect, I am increasingly aware of the uniqueness of the people involved, and the part they played in my recovering health. The right medicine for my crisis was a heady concoction of Fair Isle jumper wearing doctors, letter writing sisters-in-law, two-year-olds and eighty-nine years olds. An eclectic but vital mix who loved me back to life.
And right there, sits the beauty and difficulty of care. The uniqueness of people. With 7.75 billion people in the world (and rising), no two of us are the same. We all differ in DNA, experience and circumstance, so no one network of support is replicable. Well, not the individuals, but the acts of love maybe.
I have taken time to understand the people I had by my side, not by name, but by trait. My hope is that in recognising and celebrating the types of love it was good to have around during my crisis, you may identify who you have waiting in the wings and what part you could play in someone else’s complex community of need.
Calm love
In a crisis, very little feels calm. Doctors provided me with a consistency of care that helped me feel rooted and safe. What was a frightening, unknown experience for me and my family, was a known, understood and treatable experience for them. Never did my situation seem insurmountable to them, even if it did to me. Calm, professional, seen-this-before kind of love.
Listening love
Before I was unwell, I had spent years paying for countless gyms memberships (that I very rarely used) in a vague commitment to my physical health but not a single quid on maintaining my mental health. Five years on, I’ve happily spent hundreds of pounds to let someone into my brain, to help me understand how I think and how I respond to the world. It continues to be invaluable. I’m really listening to you love.
Patient love
When I was sick, I moved back to my parents’ house. My Mum, Dad and now-husband were in the eye of the storm with me. Mental health doesn’t mend like a broken limb, with six weeks in a cast and plenty of milk. Recovery is rarely straightforward and never instant. My family gave me non-judgemental and constant support. They accepted (and tolerated) that it was going to take time for me to build myself back, and they made it obvious that they were sitting it out with me. I’ll be here, no matter how long it takes love.
“Recovery is rarely straightforward and never instant.”
Generous love
When times were particularly rough, my sister-in-law sent me a card, every single day. It became something to get up for, a breakdown advent calendar if you will. Knowing I was in other people’s thoughts was reassuring, it reminded me that my existence was not just valid, but wanted. I’m grateful that she was generous with her thoughts, her time and her cash - high-quality lino printed cards and first class stamps ain’t cheap! I’m willing you on love.
Quiet love
I spent many late mornings in my summer of discontent lying on a rug in my grandmother’s garden. Her veg patch bordered my parents’ garden and was deemed a safe distance for me to travel unsupervised. She would sit and read the newspaper, I would occasionally make tea or coffee, we would sometimes enjoy a ginger nut. I never told her how peaceful I felt lying on that tartan rug, looking at clouds and picking at grass, with her next to me. But a couple of years later, when it came to the end of her life, I made it my priority to visit regularly to sit silently reading by her side. I’m quietly here love.
Future love
Another welcome advantage of moving back home, was being nearer to my cousin and her children. Small children eat, sleep and feel emotions fiercely. They get pleasure from the smallest things - spilt yoghurt, seeing a bin lorry. The cliché is true, they grow up fast with daily new phrases, new jokes and new interests. In watching their rapid development, I became more aware of my own ability to change, evolve, and in time, heal. Starting a friendship with them meant I wanted to stay to see them grow, which meant I’d have to stick around for the future me too. Hope for the future love.
“Healing love allows us to feel hate, disappointment and fear and helps us find a way to keep going, despite it all.”
Without these six loves, I wouldn’t be here. It’s likely the people around me were as scared as I was but they didn’t shout at me or retreat from me. They gave me space and time to grow.
Healing love is the purest love I’ve ever felt. Healing love has to accept that something has broken, has failed, and is lost. It has to acknowledge that there are difficult parts of life and imperfect parts of ourselves. It allows us to feel hate, disappointment and fear…and helps us find a way to keep going, to continue to live and love, despite it all.
You don’t know when a crisis may hit, but you can be sure it will. Life is full of both joy and sadness, and it’s better to be prepared. So from my crisis to yours. With love.