Spent

SPENT

adjective
having been used and unable to be used again.
synonyms: used up, consumed, exhausted, finished, depleted, drained, emptied;

having no power or energy left.
synonyms: exhausted, tired out, weary, worn out, dog-tired, bone-weary, on one’s last legs, drained, fatigued, ready to drop, enervated, debilitated, limp, done in, all in, dead on one’s feet, dead beat, bushed, knocked out, wiped out, zonked out, worn to a frazzle, bushwhacked, knackered…

This is how my friends and I felt the moment we had crossed the finishing line of the Great North Run yesterday. We’d felt it several moments during the race too. Long moments when we really wondered if we could take another step. I spent the whole eighth mile picturing myself curled up in a ball on the grass at the end. We are no athletes. We weren’t aiming for a great time. We were aiming to do our best and give it our all. And we did. And so we had nothing left at the finish. Of course it had drained us physically. But we were emotionally and mentally drained too. We could barely keep moving. We couldn’t think straight. Had no idea where we were or what we were meant to be doing. We had zero energy to talk or celebrate or even cry. We were spent.

We were not the only ones. Andy described that finishing pen as like being on the set of the Walking Dead. An eerie quiet. Everyone just following the person in front without thinking. No chit chat. That slow forward shuffle of zombies. Everyone was spent.

This was physical, mental and emotional exhaustion all rolled up in one. Because we are holistic beings. You cannot separate the physical, mental and emotional. Each affects the other.

And so when the people of Israel experience grief and trauma, it is described like this –

The elders of Daughter Zion
sit on the ground in silence;
they have sprinkled dust on their heads
and put on sackcloth.
The young women of Jerusalem
have bowed their heads to the ground.

My eyes fail from weeping,
I am in torment within;
my heart is poured out on the ground
because my people are destroyed,
because children and infants faint
in the streets of the city.

They say to their mothers,
“Where is bread and wine?”
as they faint like the wounded
in the streets of the city,
as their lives ebb away
in their mothers’ arms.

What can I say for you?
With what can I compare you,
Daughter Jerusalem?
To what can I liken you,
that I may comfort you,
Virgin Daughter Zion?
Your wound is as deep as the sea.
Who can heal you?  Lamentations 2:10-13

There’s that sense of utter exhaustion, isn’t there? Complete silence as there are no words, no more tears. They’re bowed to the ground, completely drained. Curled up on the ground with no energy to move, no energy to function. There’s an inner torment, yes, but no energy left to voice it or express it. The poet can find no words. He’s mentally exhausted, Completely spent. He feels helpless, paralysed in his grief.

Spent emotionally, mentally and physically.

Grief takes it out of you like you can’t imagine. It affects you physically. Processing so much inside is physically draining.

I know now that when I face something particularly traumatic and emotional, I feel the next day like I’ve been hit by a bus. Or two. My whole body reacts physically. I’ve come to expect that now and allow for it. That’s the language I’ve found to explain my physical reaction to an emotional trauma.

We cannot ever expect to be able to carry on as normal. Everything will take longer. It will be harder to think straight. Sometimes it will feel too exhausting to find the words, to describe how we feel, to explain what’s going on. Sometimes the tears will dry out and our hearts will feel like they’ve been poured out on the ground. We feel numb. Empty. Everything feels surreal.

There’s a road to recovery from the loss of someone or something so precious to us that is like the road to recovery from physical illness or injury. It involves lots of kindness and understanding. No expectations. Taking things slowly. Allowing more time. Plenty of cups of tea. As much sunshine as possible. Sitting, just sitting. A hot water bottle and a cosy blanket. Sleep. That’s how it looks for me anyway.

We need to be kind to ourselves and kind to others. Gentle in our care. Understanding. Sensitive.

So this is how I deal with it.

This is how you’re dealing with it.

That’s fine. Absolutely fine.

Now, how do you take your tea?