The Yo-Yo
When we were kids, everyone had a Yo-Yo. For sure, we dreamed of making our toy do all the tricks they showed on TV, though most of us failed.
Yet we were happy just to keep that disc going up and down as long as possible. You could feel the initial energy in the string as you whipped the wooden disc downward, then felt that disc shoot right back up.
But eventually, the “energy” stored in the string would start to wane. The disc would drop down, but only return halfway, then a quarter, until finally, it just stopped and dangled there, inert at the end of its string.
Then you would either take the disc, rewind the string around it, and start over, or give up and put the toy away.
That was a good description of my life.
Cycles
“Surviving under such conditions puts a constant, draining demand on both body and mind. Each day stretches the limits of your endurance, siphoning your energy as if simply making it through is a battle you fight over and over again. The weight of this exhaustion is invisible, but it’s there…a cycle that leaves no room for rest or reflection…the brain, molded by the forces of environment and experience, turns its focus inward. The aperture narrows to the present moment, obscuring potential dreams and possibilities….blur any vision of the future, making it difficult to see beyond the pressing needs of now.”
Daria Burke, pg 72, Of My Own Making
My life was like a Yo-Yo. I’d push forward for a while, then just run out of steam and dangle helplessly. It was the cycle of being pushed to my limits and beyond, then collapsing. Each time, I thought it was the last and my life was over.
Yet, after a period of dormant despair, I’d feel the tug of a tiny spark deep within. I don’t know why it was there, but it was. Just a tiny ember of hope waiting to be fed kindling, then small sticks, until it was nursed into a real fire.
So, after a long period of giving up, just as in the past…and as would be in my future, I would regroup, pull me back together, and try again for a way to make things better.
High-strung
That winter of 1978, I was dangling at the bottom of the string. For a long while, I just left it that way. I kept functioning at work, but the stress got so bad that one day I ended up in the ER with abdominal pain and was admitted to the hospital. I don’t know what my co-workers thought, though one supervisor noted I was “high-strung.”
Lying in the hospital, I only knew that this job wasn’t working out. I felt like I was letting them all down, a failure, and that I would never fit into that high-powered atmosphere.
For one, I was a lab tech who deep down wanted to be a writer or literature teacher. So I didn’t have the drive to go after all the opportunities there. And second, with everything happening to me at home, I had no energy left for anything else.
Once I was discharged, I took a few days off to rest. Someone, either the hospital or my own doctor, prescribed Librium. I think they felt it would help with my anxiety.
I would stare at the bottle, which I kept in my desk drawer, but I wouldn’t take it. In spite of despair, I didn’t want to have to take something. I wanted to prove I could get better without it. And…if I did need it, well, it was there for me. But I wasn’t planning on needing it. After all, I was steeped in the family ethic of “strong, not needing any outside help, not admitting weakness.” As long as you didn’t admit to weakness or to a need, you were fine, and it didn’t exist.
Rewinding the Yo-Yo
About that time, early spring, someone at UCONN mentioned there was going to be an open position in the microbiology lab at the Torrington hospital, Charlotte Hungerford. I remember perking up inside but saying nothing.
Charlotte Hungerford was in my hometown and not very far from where I lived. That meant I didn’t have to drive with Dad anymore, and my gas bills would be affordable. And being closer meant less stress about getting to work in bad weather.
As to friends, well, I didn’t really have any at UCONN. Maybe that could change if I worked in town. And best of all, that hospital was known for better pay. In fact, the lab position there meant an almost $5000 raise. That alone made it worth it.
I could feel something in my gut come back alive. Hope. This was a goal that I could possibly achieve. And marshaling my energy to pursue a specific goal was my strong suit. So I applied.
Even though I thought I was a failure at UCONN, I had apparently learned a lot more than I thought from that job. So the interview went well. And when questioned about my reasons for leaving my current job, they seemed to understand that a shorter drive and a larger pay raise were solid reasons for a change. I did learn later from a co-worker that the supervisor there did call to check on me at Farmington, because in her mind, being a passionate microbiologist, she couldn’t understand why I would give up a job in a fast-moving, research institution. Whatever they said must have satisfied her, because I got the job.
There was something about moving to a more small-town, community hospital that fit my temperament. The people were friendly. Even with the varied personalities, their differences were more like disgruntled siblings, and for the most part, everyone had a sense of loyalty to each other. I could feel my stress level ease. Armed with a new opportunity and a chance to rebuild me, there might be a way forward yet.
So, I picked up the symbolic Yo-Yo of my life, rewound the string, and started over.
Soul Mosaic 
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