Showing posts with label emerging. Show all posts
Showing posts with label emerging. Show all posts

Tuesday, October 9, 2012

Inner Voice


**Filling in for Amanda today...but she will be back next week!**
Decision making was never difficult for me. Options don't confuse me, and once I have made a choice I rarely question myself. I realize that many people engage in a mental wrestling match with every decision they make, and I have regularly been grateful that my mind and I generally agree pretty quickly. 
And then came widowhood.
One of the most disturbing aspects of widowhood for me was the about face I experienced in my decision making abilities. My previously certain mind betrayed me at every turn. When Phil died an avalanche of decisions that needed to be made immediately began, and then an on-going slide of questions to be answered by the last person standing continued. The first heart wrenching choices to be made included: whether or not to donate his organs (you have to make this one in less than 24 hours), burial vs. cremation, what type and how many memorial services to have, and will you be purchasing a monument Mrs. Hernandez? Once these choices were made I began to second guess each one asking myself repeatedly if I made the right choice.
The decision making process did not get any easier as the weeks and months passed. I discovered that I was entering the wrestling match of the uncertain on a daily basis without regard for the importance of the choice to be made. Was I doing this task correctly? Should I purchase the blue or the brown sheet set? Water the grass every other day or every third day? One minute option A seemed best, the next minute I was more inclined to go with option B. I found myself seeking advice on choices large or small; allowing myself to be swayed toward my adviser's way of thinking regardless of what my own instincts were telling me. Buy a new fence or fix the old? Sell Phil's truck or keep it? Get a gardener or teach the kids how to mow the lawn? Vacation or no vacation? The list went on and on....making a decision of any sort became a monumental effort. I lost confidence in myself, and began to believe that everyone else knew what I needed better than I did. Until one day when a well meaning friend stepped over the line regarding my privacy, and a little voice sounded inside my head..."He did not just do that!" Hearing the familiar sound of my own voice I realized in one mind blowing moment how much of my daily life I was allowing to be determined by what other people thought, felt, knew, said, or sometimes even ordered. The silence of my inner voice suddenly became deafening.
The truth is our inner voice still speaks while we are grieving, but sometimes we can't hear her/him over the din created by sorrow. The initial realization that we are no longer a part of a couple often begins an all-consuming tempest inside of us. But at the eye of the storm still rests the core of our being. That innermost self still knows what we need. When I first became aware that I was abdicating my right to run my own life, I asked myself the question...who are you? I didn't recognize the woman I saw in the mirror, because I allowed her voice to be silenced by grief.
When my inner voice finally spoke, the first thing she told me was that I would be okay. She spoke up when I tried to do too much, and pointed out when I needed a mental health day. When I wanted to quit, she reminded me that quitting wouldn't stop the pain. When I began to hear her again, she helped me choose between going out to dinner with friends and staying home to watch a movie. Myself helped me figure out how to manage the holiday season. She knew instinctively what I needed on the first anniversary of Phil's death, and all the ones that have come after. She consistently, and confidently, knows which choice is best for me. Sometimes I ignore her, and when I do I usually pay a price. But she loves me and she is proud of what I have done, and of who I am becoming. Only she knows the effort this has required. Finally I realized that her approval is what I need most. No one knows me better than I know myself. But I only discovered that fact when I was willing to trust my inner voice once again.

Monday, January 2, 2012

Emerging

from here


My latest realization about this process is that somehow I haven't emerged (yet) from this tragedy with a more negative outlook on life. If I had, I think it'd be pretty understandable. And to be honest, I'm not sure how positively I'd handle any additional tragedy in this stage of the process. But based on the progress I've made so far, I can clearly see that I actually have LESS negativity than I had before.

I truly don't know how this is possible. I also don't dare to think that this state of mind will always be. One thing I CAN count on is the roller coaster of emotions this process entails. I might be able to say that I have a positive outlook now, but a minute, day, week, month, or a year or more from now, I might be in a completely different state of mind. However, looking at the past 7 months, I can see how hope was there all along even when I didn't recognize it. It was hope that got me from one day to the next when I wasn't able to sleep, eat or think from the shock. It was hope that things wouldn't always feel as terrible as they did in the first few months that kept me afloat.

And now, it is hope that keeps me from packing it all in and giving up. I have stubborn hope that there's more out there for me. More love, more chances, more joy, more excitement.

There is another part of me that will probably always be waiting for the other shoe to drop. After experiencing what I did in June, I know even more than I did before how bad things can get. I remember a moment in the car on the way to the ER the day Dave was admitted when I said out loud to myself "Lightning CAN'T strike you a THIRD time. The odds are in your favor". Whoo boy was I wrong on that one. So now, there is a tendency to think that the next tragedy is just out there, waiting for me. I'm sure that when (not if, WHEN) life begins to feel peaceful and joyous again, there will be a part of me wondering when the bad stuff will rear its head again.

But, somehow that pig-headed optimism that good is out there for me, has been, overall, winning the fight in my mind and heart. If it hadn't, I don't think I'd have gone to Camp Widow at 2 months out, or made so many new, wonderful friends, or taken a year off of work to sort out my feelings, or run a 5K, or gone to concerts, or considered selling my house and moving or traveled. 

I could easily hunker down and isolate myself in my grief and opt out of life based on what it's dished up for me so far, but I haven't. I haven't settled for a restricted life based on fear and sadness.

This is not to say that decisions I've made or will make are not fear-based anymore, or that I won't do anything out of sheer sadness and grief. I know I will. I also am aware that I will look back on this time and realize that I wasn't fully emotionally stable yet and my mind wasn't yet fully functional.

But, upon reflection, I think I chose life much more often than not. I chose to live life as big as I could manage and plan to continue to do so, whenever I can.

Maybe this was partly due to my inherent will to keep going and kicking ass, but I'm convinced it had a lot to do with how my loved ones held me up when I couldn't hold myself up. Knowing they were there to catch me at every possible turn in this road kept me stronger than if I'd walked alone. There is no doubt in my mind that they were and are crucial to my survival.

However, at the end of the day, it's just me living for me now. The new me is emerging from the ashes. I keep getting little glimpses of perspective on how far I've come and how much farther I have to go. Even if I had spent the last 7 months hiding out in my house, it would be completely understandable. But I didn't. I didn't consider it an option. Some sort of blind and incredibly stubborn will to live kicked in and I chose life and all its inherent fears and beauty.

I am scared shitless, yes.
I'm also not done fighting. Not even close.
I will continue to emerge from this hell as a person who has not had her soul completely crushed. Bruised and battered, and continuously healing, but never crushed.