“Sad. Bear sad.”

My two year old is beginning to learn emotions. Right now, his understanding of his emotional world consists of the following: “happy, sad, and mad.” I’m not sure if “funny” counts as an emotion, but he is also quite familiar with that one.

Early on when Thomas would cry, my husband and I would empathize with him, visibly model the emotion of sadness, and say something along the lines of, “Aw, you’re sad Thomas.” Soon Thomas learned to give language to his emotions, and would say to us through tears, “sad, sad” while he was actively experiencing his sadness. Lately he has gained a trusty sidekick, his best friend, “Black Bear.” He has begun modeling empathy for Black Bear, and will say to Dylan and I “Bear sad, Bear sad” with squinty eyes and a scrunched up face. This is Thomas’ own attempt at mirroring the emotion of sadness and empathizing with his Black Bear.

My husband and I have picked up our toddlers lingo, occasionally telling each other, “Bear, Sad,” as a coping outlet when we talk about our own sadness or grief. It seems to momentarily lighten the load ever so slightly, and evoke a glimmer of humor amidst our blues.

The five stages of grief are denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. We actually see these stages play out on a mini stage with our young children if we watch closely and allow them to move through their emotions. Grief is one of the hardest experiences to work through even for us adults; yet, we all experience it in little ways almost every day. We can’t prevent grief, as reality rarely matches up with our expectations.

However, we instinctively want to escape it.

I can see this in Thomas who will often resort to anger before he realizes his sadness. He will first be angry that we are done watching his favorite show Bluey. But eventually, if Dylan and I patiently wait for him to work through his tantrum, he will soften, then come to us and ask for cuddles saying, “Sad.”

Grief is a part of life and the human experience.

But I wish it wasn’t.

If I’m being honest, there are so many places where I’m practically a toddler in my emotional development (why that is I’ll save for another blog–when I finally work up the motivation to articulate my thoughts on childhood development). I struggle in the same way that Thomas struggles when coping with reality not meeting expectations. I feel angry when I can’t control or change my reality. But really, beneath that anger is a deep sadness.

Lately I’ve felt as though there is a deep sadness beneath the surface that I can no longer ignore. It almost feels like a chronic sadness that doesn’t go away. I guess that’s what they call depression.

I’ve had a few particularly sad days recently. Thankfully, these depressive episodes usually just lasts for a day. But on these days, it feels as though the floodgates of fatigue overwhelm me. My body, mind, everything, just feels tired. So tired. So tired, and so sad.

It feels like life becomes particularly burdensome in a way that’s hard to describe. It’s as though every little task I face in the day is suddenly a mountain; and you can only climb so many mountains in a day. The sadness is intense, and undeniable. I can’t hide from it. I can’t escape it. It’s like an open wound that’s palpating, and I feel myself bleeding out, with no way to fix it, and there is no one who can fix it for me.

On these days, to prevent myself from despair, I remind myself that just simply existing is enough. One foot in front of another. One moment at a time. Just keep breathing. Just live. Don’t let any other thoughts in. Don’t worry. Don’t self condemn. Don’t try to fix yourself or work harder to get out of the hole. Just live. Make it through the day.

I try my best to surrender all judgement. To relinquish myself of any extra obligation. Do what is necessary. Feed the kids. Put them down for their naps. Eat, drink, shower. Don’t judge the day. Don’t judge yourself.

Because when I have these days, if I let myself start judging, I know where my self judgement leads– unworthiness. If I let myself start working or striving for some subjective standard of worth, I know where that leads too–utter exhaustion. This utter exhaustion gives way to despair. And despair, well, that leads nowhere good.

On a day like today–when the sun is shining, I’ve had some rest, a few moments of blissful transcendence and I feel altogether a bit more still and whole–I can sit and process my feelings. I can think about what to do to improve my life, or better work towards healing and wholeness. I can manage thinking about the future, planning meals, booking appointments–all the things.

It becomes easy to forget what those other days were like altogether.

But the sadness is still there, it doesn’t go away. It’s maybe a bit more in the distance. It’s maybe a bit more mute. I want it to be gone so desperately. But in the silence, I hear it.

“Sad. Bear Sad.”