A few mornings ago, I woke up after what had been a rough night with grief that had been triggered by a succession of sad news about other people in my life. Suddenly, losing dad was fresh again.
Despite several hours sleep, I felt as if I hadn’t slept at all. I reflected on the fact that grief wise, it had been a pretty steady week or so where it had definitely managed to catch me in moments – I was walking through a forest with my family at the weekend and suddenly felt grief try to shake me by the shoulders – but that I’d managed to keep myself together. Tears started but retreated. I immersed myself in the moment. I took a deep breath, or yes, drew on my capacity for humour. Not possible that morning though. I sat on the edge of the bed in a daze, picked up my phone, opened up Evernote and this came out:
I’m bench-pressing life.
The grief sits on my chest, heavy, lighting up the lines of pain that run through me,
Alerting me to the presence of loss.
Reminding me that I feel.
Reminding me that even as I go on living, there is grief waiting to be released.
If I block the feelings, I can lift life a little but then the grief comes crashing down, harder, weightier, meaner than it felt before.
Suddenly what seemed manageable seems insurmountable.
The grief pushes down on me.
It’s tempting to give in.
It’s too much.
But to do so will mean that I’ll go numb, that I’ll be unable to deal with life.
So I feel, and at first it feels like I’m collapsing, choking, like it will be too hard.
Like this loss is taking my organs in its fists and squeezing the life out of me.
But my other feelings are also there, reminding me of my ‘humanness’, of my ability to care deeply.
Reminding me that I love and that I loved. That I chanced, that I breathed in joy for as long as it would hang around for this relationship.
That I’ve struggled, that I’ve fallen, howled, raged against it,
That I’ve broken before.
And that I can and will heal, with room to remember this loss but not be owned by it.
I am still me.
I can fit around this loss. Or is it, that it will fit around me?
Grief is rounding out the sharp edges of losses gone by, lighting up the pathways of old memories, old hurts, old stories that I had forgotten along with their significance to my current self-concept.
Pointing out to me how I respond to that which comes upon me to challenge me, grow me, reveal to me where I am blind to my power.
I have lost, but I’m also gaining in ways that I might not be aware of for some time, but they’re there.
I have lost, but grief will restore me in unexpected ways.
For now, I just need to let grief do its work, even though it hurts,
Even though it wants to pull at me at inconvenient moments.
Even though it likes to tap me on the shoulder after I think I’ve figured it out, just to remind me to surrender to the uncertainty of it.
One day, soon, I will be able to lift more of life than I did previously.
There will be moments where, with the benefit of hindsight, I recognise
Without grief, I would not have healed what used to come up in times gone by.
Without it, I would be disrupting joy without even realising it.
Without it, I would not be as much of myself.
Grief helped me do this.
Grief made this opening possible.
Grief is making me possible.
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This gave me shivers (in a good way).
You know my grief well.
Beautiful, Natalie. Absolutely beautiful.
That’s so intensely personal, vulnerable and beautiful, Natalie, thank you so much for sharing it.
Your love and your tender heart are shining through your grief, Natalie, even if you may not be aware of that right now. You’ve been a blessing to so many. Thank you for sharing your grief with us. May it loosen its grip of you a little day by day.
As I read your words, I could suddenly hear the Beatles “Let It Be” playing in my head. Your words brought those lyrics to life for me. Sad and beautiful at the same time.
I am so glad you’re back to writing to us again.
Sincerely,
Elgie
Nat
Bench pressing pretty much sums it up. Been doing serious grieving myself yet may be stuck here alone again, for another frustrating and intellectually stunting school year. I wake up in the night with a Huge weight on my chest. The summer, my time to recoup, get stuff done, heal, has been ruined by Widowers overlapping/cheating and complete lack that his actions were horribly wrong. The summer race series here, my major way of socializing with actual peers won’t happen because he will be there with the OW. Take care of yourself, Nat. We’re all here for you.
Natalie that is lovely words. I particularly understand the part about allowing yourself to feel means it possibly overwhelms you and turns you numb, so then you can’t cope with life. That happens to me a lot. Not just grief but feelings in general.
Noquay, I feel your distress in your post. Have you told anyone about what happened? I would. I’d pick one of those people you know who you are hoping to socialise with over summer, someone who you already know has a sensible nature and won’t create drama out of it, and tell them what has gone on. Even if you don’t know them that well, its surprising how helpful people can be in times of crisis if you tell them what you need. Ask their help in minding you a bit, so you can attend these race functions knowing someone has your back and won’t leave you standing around alone, or trying to explain to people without becoming upset why you’re not with your ex. Because who likes a public breakdown, right? Nicer to keep your privacy and dignity. (I’m taking a guess there about why you are planning not to go). I advise don’t let someone else’s bad behaviour ruin your summer, you’ve nothing to be ashamed of. You can keep yourself at the opposite end of the gathering to your ex so you needn’t speak to him. I realise it won’t be totally the same as if your ex wasn’t there, but if you go and socialise with a select few would that be so bad? Maybe I have your situation all wrong. I’m just thinking I would rather meet for a pleasant chat regularly, with one or two others at these events, than see nobody all summer. But you are not me, so if I do have it all wrong please accept my apologies.
First off, all, accept my apologies for even writing about my stupid life/situation but yeah, Nats bench pressing really hit home because that’s exactly what’s going on. The elephant sitting on my chest. Crushing grief. I have told some folk, in particular folk associated with the race series as I am one of their most stalwart volunteers as well as a participant. Also told a long time fellow runner and as she too is having problems health wise, we are trying to train together, support one another. Some in the community know or guessed as I had multiple very public obligations, he wasn’t by my side as usual and I did my duty and immediately left. A few friends are very angry and have sworn to confront him. I’m asking that they not. I will be out of town on race days, running/hiking somewhere else. The most bizarre thing is that the OW has ties to here and is here regularly in the summer. I am very prominent and recognizable here and so she’ll see me without my knowing who she is. All the more reason to avoid some things, be very dignified in public, or be absent. Am still getting the house ready for sale, paying off all unsecured debt, looking for a job somewhere affordable yet progressive where I have a least a chance of meeting like minded, stable, healthy folk. Theoretically I could leave the six figure job here tomorrow, hopefully live off the profits of the house sale for a short time, live at my farm. In the end I’d be very isolated, poor, uninsured, and no man of quality would want me. I wouldn’t want me. Sounds stupid but I have been de facto alone and isolated for a long time, have no family so yeah, being partnered is important to me.
Noquay you do not need to apologize for sharing your experience and situation, you have as much right to do that as anybody else. I want to give you a hug, you do sound so alone right now, in your emotions. Though you have people around who cares about you, which I am pleased to hear. I was worried about you. I believe humans are not meant to be alone and that wanting to be partnered, especially when you don’t have a family, is perfectly natural. I hope you meet the right person one day. x
I feel for what you are going through, but “no man of quality would want me” – if you were ‘poor’ and ‘uninsured’?? Maybe it’s just because I’m a liberal Londoner that I find that offensive. maybe you should start to change your life by changing your belief systems.
Angela
I too am a serious liberal, really an eco-Socialist. Such has happened before when I’ve been struggling. Sadly, here in the US, you are severely judged by the appearance of your home, your town, your level of success. I’ve been flat out told by men in the past that solely because I lived in poorer housing, wasn’t able to do a lot of arts/sports things that they thought I was less than and therefore it was OK to treat me as less than. That’s also what happened in this instance; cheated upon because I live far away in an impoverished place, live in a home that is pretty much a constant construction project as I am forced to do all repairs myself and have little time to do so, a huge contrast to his perfect home in s perfect subdivision. Never mind that I am highly educated and have worked very hard to make this community a better place for all, I and all women here, are judged and even stigmatized by appearances and assumptions of those living elsewhere. Why I am doing the work to leave. It’s not my belief system, it’s what is. Welcome to America.
Natalie Lue you are truly a God-send. About 3 1/2 years ago I was reeling from the pain of a toxic situation with a man. I purchased and devoured both of your books “Mr. Unavailable” and “No Contact” as I tried to find me again. The pain at the time was most horrific. The knife cut deeper into my heart than the loss of my sister in 1998 and my dad in 2007. Over the years I have been on an emotional rollercoaster and finally realized I needed to just jump off the ride and stop the insanity of the ups/downs of a miserable life. I wrestled with why I was lied to and not given the choice of being dealt the truth and an opportunity to decide if I wanted to bite into this situation. My gut feelings proved to be so right. I have to say that I am still trying to do no contact but your words of encouragement and inspiration have pushed me further along this journey that I would have been able to do on my own. Thanks so dearly for sharing your story with me and so many others. God bless you and Heaven smile upon you. – Delois
I am so sorry for your loss.
This was beautiful and powerful, and thank you for sharing! I gave in and found a therapist who has told me in a round about way that I am “bench pressing” my grief. Grief of family loss and recently of the EU AC in my life. One day at a time. Breathe in, breathe out and remember you are alive. My luv 2 u.
This is beautifully written and profound. Thinking of you and sending prayers of comfort your way. Be super kind and compassionate with yourself, and have faith that whole experience will transform you into someone more beautiful than you already are (but you knew that :)).
I am so sorry for your loss.
I am coming up on 7 years of losing my husband. The grief is right below the surface waiting to come up. I struggled hard in February but don’t feel the same kind of weight as the anniversary of his death approaches. I am getting lighter each year, yet grief still surprises me at times I don’t expect. It has a power all it’s own. In the beginning I sat with it. Let it wash over me. Cried, raged against the injustices then eventually pulled myself up by the boot straps and decided I needed to make a conscious effort to move forward. It’s been a long road and the journey has taken me to my first relationship post death and the subsequent end that had my heart broken…..yet again. But, I still continue to live, breathe and enjoy life. Who knows what tomorrow will hold, but we go into it with wisdom and strength from the storms we’ve survived.
Kiki
So sorry about the loss of your husband. Sadly, we often think that after such a major loss, that things will be better from now on; not always true. Every person we meet has the potential to be “the One” or to break our hearts and we just have to dust ourselves off, wipe away our tears, and keep plugging away.
What a great post Natalie. I’m grieving my mum and the moment and your post struck a chord. Much love to you x