You tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine

by Elizabeth on June 11, 2017 · 0 comments

in Life

I haven’t known how to write here while my head is one big knot of thoughts, and anyway, it seemed like a good idea to untangle them a bit first.

Here’s where I’m up to.

 

What I’ve learned about grief is this:
Once you’ve experienced the ground disappearing from underneath your feet it’s difficult to keep your faith in the stuff you used to trust.  You stop depending on gravity, you begin looking around for quieter, rockier pathways, for stuff to grip on to in case your world flips another ninety degrees without warning.  You wear sensible shoes and colours that blend you right into the background, and many of the obstacles you fight are of your own creation. You prepare yourself for things that will probably never happen because none of the old rules apply.

What I’ve learned about grief is this:
It’s okay to feel grief while being surrounded by love and laughter, while being incredibly grateful for present joys.  It is possible to have a wonderful life and still find yourself stumbling over pain as deep as the ocean, all because GoogleAds targeted your demographic for pre-natal supplements and family passes to theme parks.  Get fucked, GoogleAds.

What I’ve learned about grief is this:
It comes and goes in waves, and sometimes I feel incredible strength and fragility all in the same day.  Sometimes the grief is an urgent, gaping hole in my lung and at other times it disappears like white noise into the background.  The moment you forget it’s there is when you’re most in danger of tripping over it again.

What I’ve learned about grief is this:
From here, everything looks different and it has taken time to start appreciating the new view, to stop wishing for the old one.  I made the most progress when I finally confronted it head on, learned the shape of my grief, named its parts and identified the bits I was strong enough to squash.  I’ve learned that I’ve had to rest a bit before tackling the final and biggest parts.

 

Sometimes I feel like a massive dickhead for not being over this yet.  Other times I remember to congratulate myself for managing to stay upright, for building some really great new stuff from the rubble.  Both things are true, even if it doesn’t make any sense.

Not much makes sense, but I’m learning to trust my instincts again and to put faith in old truths.

I’m okay, but I dunno.  I bet if you could see inside my head some days you would cross the road to give me a hug.

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