Grief

Grieving is a funny thing.
Of course I don't mean ha-ha funny. I mean funny in the more horrible, unexpected and unpredictable way. Funny in I have to laugh or I will cry again way. I will probably cry again regardless.
I have found myself grieving more than I thought possible this past year. I have lost more than any other time in my life. Some things caused me more pain to hang on to than to let go of, yet I find myself unable to relinquish this strangle hold on them.

With much therapy and too much reflection, I have realized that so many of my most painful moments come from my need to control. If I hold on, I can fix it. I can control this situation. I MUST control this situation.

This will not be news to many of you but for some reason it always is to me-  I cannot control situations. I will make mistakes. People will leave. Some for just a while, and some forever. Some I am better off without and some I will mourn the loss of for much longer than is logical.

This is what I mean by grieving. We grieve the lost relationships, not just death. We grieve those who choose to leave us. We grieve those we choose to leave, because while we still love, we simply cannot sacrifice ourselves anymore. We grieve the broken promises, the never got to bes, the soft moments that we will never forget, the life that we had or the life we never got to live.

Grief is a funny thing. Just when you think it's gone, it hits. The first bars of a song. Rolling over in an empty bed. A restaurant. A tv show on the PVR. The sound of a blender and the smell of tequila. Nothing at all.
The most random of things can invoke such a response- like all the air has been sucked out and I can't stop shaking. I have tried to logically talk myself out it. I have pulled over to the side of the road and sobbed until I had nothing left. I have called friends. I have self medicated with wine and Ativan. I have tried to literally run away.

The only thing to do I have found is to ride it out. Sit in the shit as my yoga teacher always told me. Feel it. Experience the pain, the missing, the loneliness, all of it. I have rewatched a Brene Brown TED talk on Vulnerability about 86 times. She says if we numb ourselves to the bad, we numb it all. The good and the bad.
I have done that and I refuse to do it any more. I have gone through years of survival. Where I felt small bits of joy (from my children), but refused to feel very much of anything out of fear that I would absolutely break apart. I have to forgive myself for that. It was years, but I did what I had to to survive. Now I know better, so now I do better. I am always trying to do better.

There was a song on my phone that I could not listen to. For months, it came on in the shuffle and I would dive to change it. Logic says to delete it but I somehow couldn't do that either. That meant it was time to move on and that I would never again listen to it with the person that I attached it to. That meant it was over and we would never sit in the kitchen just laughing and talking for hours. The memories attached to one simple song were so bittersweet I couldn't let go of any of it.

I listened to it today on purpose. I cried a little (shocking I know). Not a lot, but a little. I remembered. And it was ok. I let those memories come without trying to suppress them. I thought about all the lessons I had learned from that relationship that I was grieving so hard. I thought about the days this week that I felt relief that it was over.  I thought about the amazing times that I would never have again with that person. I thought about all the times it just wasn't enough. I thought about the hours of miscommunication and the back and forth.
Then I deleted the song. It is time to move on.

I am grateful for the memories I have. I am grateful for the lessons that I learned from the experience. I am grateful that I learned that I am capable of feeling all the things, and that I am willing to be vulnerable and not defensive. That is a huge thing for me as I wasn't sure I was capable of that for a long time.
I also learned that I will be ok and that I am proud of myself for allowing vulnerability. I always knew I'd get hurt. I knew it wouldn't last. I knew it going in, and maybe that created this self-fulfilling prophecy of it ending. I will never know. But I do know that I allowed all the emotions. The good and the bad and I didn't numb any of it.
I learned that I am much more whole than I thought.

I found this in my drafts. I’ll go cry now.

I like to imagine I am a person who considers others motivations before judging their behaviour. I could say I don't judge other people, but we all do. I make conscious attempts to do it less, but still it is human nature.

This week has been hell. I remember thinking shared custody sounded lovely. Every second weekend off to do whatever you wanted- no kids, no husband, just chill time. I also remember thinking 50/50 custody would kill me and that was a reason to stay married.
I was almost right.

Every second week I don't see my kids. Every second week I don't get to hear their stories about school; I don't get to make sure they brush or eat vegetables. They wake up from nightmares and I am not the one there to hold them and rock them back to sleep. My entire life was organized about them and their needs for 8 years... and now I don't see them for 7 day stretches.

I remember thinking that my newly single friends went out a ton. I remember judging and wondering why the hell they weren't at early morning hockey.
It never occurred to me that they may be avoiding being at home, where empty bedroom doors loomed huge and the quiet was suffocating It never occurred to me that the interaction with the ex at children's activities was so anxiety inducing that they couldn't breathe. I never thought that parenting with a broken heart is the hardest thing they have ever had to do, and seeing the kids with dad was devastating. I also never anticipated the look of judgement and brokenness from my own child, when he blames me for the shattered family and stares at me with tears in his eyes. It's easier to avoid the look. It's easier to stay in bed when it's not my week. Even when it is my week, it's overwhelming to be the mom I used to be.

Gut

I am struggling with decisions. I feel I have made so many major decisions this year, with so many of them terrible or at least majorly flawed, that I am incapable of making more.

In the past, I would have described myself as a swift decision maker. I was sure and confident in my choices and willing to accept the consequences of them. This past year, I would not say that. I would describe myself as permanently hesistant, always unsure and full of second guesses. This is foreign to me. 

I am sure it is also fleeting. 

I have told myself a thousand times in the last year that “this too shall pass”. I almost got it tattooed on my body as a reminder (that was an unsure decision also lol). I assume this lethargy and self doubt will pass as well. When the low times pass. When this seemingly permanent exhaustion and depression lifts. 

Today I had to make a fairly major choice. After the initial panic and inability to breathe, I listed the pros and cons. As I’ve mentioned before, I love a good list. It makes me feel in control when really, I have no control. So I listed. Pros. Cons. Discussed the options with my super smart friends and mom. My mom, bless her heart, will never and has never told me what to do. It makes me insane sometimes. It’s a great quality of hers, but sometimes I just want someone to make my choices. Like Monica did for Rachel. Clearly I can’t make my own, so someone else do it for me. 

A very good friend of mine told me to trust my gut. I immediately knew what I needed to do. For about 15 seconds. Then I started to question. 

I am 49 days away from being 40 years old. And I am so out of touch with what my “gut” is telling me that I need to write a blog about it. I am so full of self doubt that I need to question if I am hearing what my intuition is telling me, or if it’s someone elses voice. 

I have talked before about my voice. How I’ve silenced it over the years... how I’ve swallowed it down and how I’ve shoved my truth down my own throat rather than speaking. Also how I’ve promised myself no more. No more of that. My voice will be loud and honest and MINE. 

My good friend also said “it’s a mountain, not a hill. So it takes longer” when I complained about the amount of shit that has fallen this year. 

Girl. You’re so right. It’s a damn mountain. Nothing worth having comes easy. This, the absolute worst year of all of my 40, is my mountain. I wouldn’t sit down on a mountain climb and quit. You don’t get to the top by sitting on your ass- and nothing will change if I don’t do the work. If I don’t listen to my gut. 

I didn’t go through all this to settle for anything less than authentic and amazing and worthwhile. 

I will relearn to listen to my gut. To make my choices mine, and the resulting events also mine. That doesn’t mean to make choices in fear of the consequences, because I have also promised myself to live fearlessly. To love hard and love the most despite being afraid of being broken; to be vulnerable and open; to be soft despite the protectiveness of becoming hard. 

The gut never lies. My heart is an idiot. My brain is chronically overthinking.... but the gut never lies. 

Broken

I feel broken. There is no better word that I can think of. It feels like there is a weight on my chest. Every breath is too fast, too shallow and too much work.

When I bring my attention it it, my stomach flips and my legs feel shaky. My Brain is going in all different directions and then In none and I just stare blankly. I am broken. 

I am smart and self aware enough to identify about what I should do when I feel this way. 

I should exercise. 

I should call a friend for company. 

I should get off my couch and do something. Do anything. 

I don’t want to do anything unless its time with the people who’s absence is linked to my brokenness.  

I need to put my pieces back. If I’ve learned anything in my multitude of life mistakes, I’ve learned that no one else will or should put you back together. This time I feel like there are big pieces missing though, and even if I do someday suck it up and put them back, there will be a hole. 

I will find a way to fake it. It does not come naturally to me to fake anything and it takes an exhaustive amount of work on my part, but I will. Not because I’m trying to be tough or trying to pretend the emotions aren’t there, but because I have to. Fake it till you make it. 

Fraud

Ugh. If I had a descriptive word for this month, Ugh would be it. Don't get me wrong- there have been beautiful moments. Many beautiful moments that I wish I could freeze and stay in forever... but then reality comes back or I freak out and the moment is gone. So Ugh it is.
I got a random message from a friend a couple weeks ago. I wish I could say we are close, but I usually only see her as she drives past my house on the way home to hers. She is gorgeous, smart, funny and amazing in her strength and resolve. These are the people I want to surround myself with.
Her out of the blue message said that i influence her life in a positive way, and that when she doubts standing up for who she is and having a voice, she asks herself what I would do. She said I empower her by being so authentic.
If you know me, you know how messages like that affect me. To my core. That is the thing I miss most about training- conversations with people where they suddenly get it. Where something I said makes them rethink what they have been doing and realize how to change. I am not doing the work, but talking them through the mess. That's it. I take walking the walk pretty seriously, and shared my struggles and pain as well.
Her message made me so happy. She's always been an amazing person, she just didn't know it yet. The idea that I can help someone find their voice makes me happier than wine even does. This is the reason I am here. On this Earth, in this place.
Yesterday a friend posted a quote on IG. I loved it (bitches love quotes). I saved it and reread it. I thought about it for hours. I commented to her that it was my goal for 2018. To love myself fiercely and completely. To be my own hero and to save my damn self.
She said that I already do and I am one of the most authentic, strong and real people she knows.

Friends. I am a fraud.

I have not been doing any of those things. I have not been authentic. I have lost myself in a sea of other people's expectations and judgements about who I am. I have accepted things that are not acceptable. I have not loved myself fiercely or at all at times. I have lost my authenticity. I have lost my voice. I can actually feel it sometimes like a lump in my throat. My yogi Michele would say that's my blocked chakra but I don't always buy in to that yoga business.... but right now I can feel it.

These are two ladies whom I admire and who seem to live fearlessly. I know them both, so I know the fear is there- but they do it anyway. That's the goddamn key. I tell the kids that all the time- it's ok to be scared, but it's not ok to not try. So here we go. I am scared as hell but I have to get back to me. Back to being fearlessly authentic. Back to my voice.

Selfish or Self Care?

I have been called many things. Some accurate; some not. Some hit the core of who I am, and some were easy to brush off as foreign.
Few elicit a reaction as visceral as being called "selfish".
The most important job I have is being a mom. Being a teacher is hella important also, but these two small humans are part of me. I will never be famous, or change the world in an enormous way, and I am totally ok with that. I will affect the future with my children. It is a huge responsibility to create loving, kind, confident humans. If my children know they are loved, every moment of every day, and feel that security to make their own way in the world, then I have succeeded.
Because of all this, when I am called selfish, it somehow attacks my success as a parent. I doubt that makes sense to many, but it may to some. To me, selfish has such a negative connotation that it cannot possible be congruous with being a good parent. To be selfish is putting your needs over someone elses... and how could a good mom do that?

To survive, that's how.

I routinely put others before myself. I don't mean that in a bragging way. I don't mean that my way is better, because based on my current mental health, I would say it's not. I just do. I am sure I learned from my mother, and I am at my core a caregiver. I will give up what I want so others are taken care of. I genuinely do not mind most of the time. I will gladly give up an hour of sleep because A asks me to get up and snuggle with him. He's 8, so god knows it won't happen for much longer. I let him crawl on my lap even though he weighs 90 lbs and it kills my hip. I will happily allow G to sit with me and watch her terrible YouTube videos. I will give up my evenings for kids sports and activities and sacrifice holidays to pay for hockey. I will take them down waterslides even though I hate water in my face, and I will run up tobaggan hills in the freezing cold. I will give up space in my bed, expectations for how clean my house is and sick days. These are easy ones.

It's much harder to reconcile giving up pieces of myself.

I have blogged before about how I truly believe that we are responsible for what we allow others to take from us. I do believe that to be true. I have allowed everything. I have allowed people to chip away at me until I am scared there is nothing left but resentment and brokenness. I have enabled and maybe even encouraged behavior that I would say is not acceptable.

We have all heard the "put your own mask on before any one elses" with the airplane mask analogy. We have read the meme "you can't pour from an empty cup". I promote self care in every yoga class. I practice self care by eating properly so my arthritis doesn't cripple me, by exercising almost every day and with yoga. Sometimes though, it isn't enough. It's those extra times where I feel selfish. Where I take extra time just for me. Just to BE me. To be myself without who I am as being defined by the relation to someone else. To remember WHO that actually is. We are told who to be, how to be and when to be. Because if I am taking time, I am subtracting it from somewhere else.
I took a day yesterday. A whole day. It's a long story and I was supposed to be gone for the weekend, but it didn't work out. So I took the day. I had lunch with a friend. I wandered a mall for hours by myself. I looked at books and didn't have to bribe anyone to be quiet. I got a coffee. I sat. Just sat. I actually tried on clothes rather than just buying them in a rush so the kids wouldn't get bored. I wanted to run, but the time goes by fairly quickly.
I missed my son's game winning goal. I cried.

As usual, I have no insight or answers. I have the realization that I cannot give pieces away without somehow rebuilding them. I have the guilt about missing the goal, but the happiness of my kid when I came home and he gave me a huge hug and a long play by play. I have the certainty that adult decisions are rarely easy, and the knowledge that we largely live in shades of grey. There are so few black and white scenarios, and you cannot have it all. If I choose to be selfish, despite the negative associations, then I choose to give up my selfless designation. Maybe at 39, it's time to redefine the pieces that I am willing to give away.


Yours,
C.

The Bad

As I get older, I realize more that there are three sides to every story.  Each person has such  a different perspective and the truth lies somewhere in between.  But what is the truth?, just another subjective idea. 
It also never fails to amaze me how quick we all are to believe the absolute worst of people.
There is a quote from Pretty Woman about the bad stuff being easier to believe. 

Sigh.