Acceptance vs. wallowing

[cjsmith]

Sometimes I'm very unhappy about something and I know there's not a darn thing I can do about it except come to some kind of acceptance. (People who have never had a problem outside your power to solve, stop reading now; save your innocence.)

I don't know how to accept something I loathe except to face it over and over and over. Otherwise, I go into denial, not useful long-term. So I keep repeating the unpleasant truth to myself until it doesn't hurt any more. I analyze. I try to find loopholes. I want to know just where the boundaries are. I want to know how bad it is, and I want to face that.

I wallow in it. If I don't, I keep getting unpleasantly surprised when it slaps me in the face.

So far there are not many things in my life that are bad enough that this technique doesn't work. But there are a couple... and it isn't working... and it's been years.

I am quite tired of being unhappy about this crap. If wallowing isn't going to work I can sure be happier day-to-day if I ditch it. Any other techniques??

Comments

[lkeele.livejournal.com]

Oh, what the hell. Let me consult Uncle Google and quote Shakespeare himself, because he said it so well. Background: Leonato's daughter has been horribly wronged, shamed, has had to fake her own death to get out of the shame (she was *gasp* accused of no longer being a virgin. Awfully dumped *at her own wedding* in front of everyone.) Leonato's brother Antonio says, roughly, "there there, it's not so bad, stop whining."

Leonato: I pray thee, cease thy counsel,
Which falls into mine ears as profitless
As water in a sieve: give not me counsel;
Nor let no comforter delight mine ear
But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine.
Bring me a father that so loved his child,
Whose joy of her is overwhelm'd like mine,
And bid him speak of patience;
Measure his woe the length and breadth of mine
And let it answer every strain for strain,
As thus for thus and such a grief for such,
In every lineament, branch, shape, and form:
If such a one will smile and stroke his beard,
Bid sorrow wag, cry 'hem!' when he should groan,
Patch grief with proverbs, make misfortune drunk
With candle-wasters; bring him yet to me,
And I of him will gather patience.
But there is no such man: for, brother, men
Can counsel and speak comfort to that grief
Which they themselves not feel; but, tasting it,
Their counsel turns to passion, which before
Would give preceptial medicine to rage,
Fetter strong madness in a silken thread,
Charm ache with air and agony with words:
No, no; 'tis all men's office to speak patience
To those that wring under the load of sorrow,
But no man's virtue nor sufficiency
To be so moral when he shall endure
The like himself. Therefore give me no counsel:
My griefs cry louder than advertisement.

Antonio: Therein do men from children nothing differ.

Leonato: I pray thee, peace. I will be flesh and blood;
For there was never yet philosopher
That could endure the toothache patiently,
However they have writ the style of gods
And made a push at chance and sufferance.

Isn't that a gorgeous speech? Spot on, William, spot on.

[cjsmith.livejournal.com]

Nor let no comforter delight mine ear
But such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine.
[...]
If such a one will smile and stroke his beard,
... I of him will gather patience.

Yes. There's a heck of a lot to be said for that.