I am not What Happened to Me

Showing my strength at Waimea Canyon, Kauai, Hawaii. 

A week ago, I had a really big moment. It was defined the by a very simple difference in word choice. It was not something anyone else would have noticed or defined as big - unless of course you yourself are widowed perhaps. While at the gym, one of the other girls in class asked if I was married and had kids. And I said - in this effortless, matter-of-fact way - "No, I'm widowed, so the kids thing is pretty much out of the picture for right now". And then I just continued about my workout. Just like that. No big emotional breakdown. No desire to run and hide. No real care for whether or not this other woman was pitying me. It just rolled out naturally. A fact. Plain and simple.

This was a big deal. Something felt really different about it. The more I thought about it, I began to realize what it was. I said "I'm widowed". It's the first time since he died that I have said it that way by default. Every other time I have said "I'm a widow". I AM a widow. It's a small difference in words, but it feels like a huge difference in perspective.

In that moment, I realized that a shift is happening. I'm starting to feel like this is something that happened to me, and not that it IS me. For the past two years, my world has been so completely consumed by his death and by my grief that it's been hard so see myself as anything other than a widow. I hate that. Because I was so many other things in my past life. A rock climber. A kayaker. A skydiver. A lover of hockey. A friend. A sister. A photographer. When he died, suddenly, I was just a widow. I stopped doing a lot of things I enjoyed - although not all. And even though I was still a friend and a sister, it's like I was wearing a pair of glasses in which the grief tinted everything and made any other parts of me very hard to see.

But lately, I've poured myself into my photography and writing in a way that I never have before. I've had a different kind of focus and a feeling of purpose about it. It's helped me reclaim that part of who I am. I've added new things too… things that the old me in my old life would have never been gutsy enough to try. In February, I signed up for Crossfit class - a very high-intensity, total body workout that's been a big trend the past few years. I have to explain this by saying that I've never been very physically fit in my life, and Crossfit is definitely something I never in a million years would have imagined I would sign up for. Not only has it been healing to try something I'd have never done before his death, but seeing my body get stronger over time has in turn helped my mind and soul to feel stronger, too. Each day I go to that class, I lift a little more weight, or run a little farther, and that progress in strengthening my body seems to be carrying over to my mind and spirit too.

For the first time since he died, I feel like I am more than just a widow. And don't get me wrong - I am actually damn proud now to call myself a widow. It means I am part of an incredible community of some of the strongest people I've ever known. But you all get it - it's still the club you wish you didn't belong to. And it's still important for us to find other parts of ourselves on this journey so that we can begin to see ourselves as more than just widowed. Rediscovering the other parts of ourselves - or perhaps discovering them for first time - is what helps us to be able to find something about our new life that we can feel proud of and even joyful about. It helps us to embrace the new life, which in turn helps us to better honor the person we will love forever and the life we shared with them.

Photo Note: This is photo taken of me by my best friend just a few days ago at Waimea Canyon on the island of Kauai, Hawaii. One more thing that I never imagined that I would ever do is visit this place. Upon seeing the Grand Canyon just a few months after Drew died, I decided to visit a canyon every year somehow. This is the third. Both a humbling and empowering place to look out on. 

Adapt

source

One of my online friends posted a challenge on a Facebook private board this week that got me thinking...

It was "describe yourself in three words without using the words 'wife' or 'mother'" (it's not a widow group, so the majority of the group are married).

And one response brought to mind widows I knew prior to my own widowhood.

Her identified that her whole identity was tied up in her husband and children, and she couldn't answer the question. She was trying to figure out if this was a good thing or a bad thing.

And my immediate reaction, based on my life story, was it's a bad thing.   

The amazing older women I saw widowed before I even married all had strong, loving marriages, and a fair smattering of joy and issues with adult children. 

Yes they struggled, and still struggle, with grief.

But watching from a distance I saw that being widowed was survivable, and must have tucked it away somewhere.  I saw that the common thing between them all was none had lost their identity in their marriages. 

What I saw from my then vantage point was they were able to adapt to their enforced life without their husbands because they had interests & communities they were engaged with alongside their marriages which helped them have a strong sense of who they were as individuals, as well as their partnership.

It's something I actively sought to maintain through Ian and I's courtship and marriage - and I encouraged with Ian (even though I would not engage at all with some of his interests, they were part of what made Ian "Ian"). 

And something I've maintained since.  Plus it gave me the knowledge and confidence to seek out sites like widow's voice, a face to face peer support group and to take the risk of going back to school rather than work for the next little while.

If a humongous thing like a husband dying isn't going to stop these women, nothing will. 

And I'm not going to let it, either (but I may just step off to the side for a breather every now and then).

Jekyll and Hyde

This is a piece I read aloud at Camp Widow during the Blog Slam.  I thought I would share it everyone. 

I like myself – I like being me.

What’s not to like:
Nice Guy – live a clean life – adoring father – good at fantasy baseball.

What’s the point of change, this system works for me.  People would just have to put up with my bad to get my good.   I must be doing well; I have people who love me for just being me.

Then cancer takes one I love most. 

Lisa’s death rattles my confidence.  Months go by and I struggle with being a parent by myself.  With no one to bounce ideas off of, I start to question decision I am making.  My indecisions show and I find I have too short of a fuse with my girls.  I can hear them yelling at me, “But Dad!” as I say, “No, this is how we do things.”  Followed by, “You don’t understand me.”  I walk out of rooms thinking, am I that unapproachable, that unbending?

For the first time in my life a deep reflection of who I really am sets in.  Sleepless nights let me ponder what I’ve taken for granted.  I have not put in the effort to grow my personality; I have relied only on the basic skills I’ve been born with.

I start to ask myself questions.  Questions that are painful to face.  Are my three daughters dealing with a man whois not listening to them?  Even though I may see these issues as crazy, silly, over-dramatic; to them it’s important, and am I pushing them away where they grow up lying to their dad and then in the future to their husbands.  Why not, isn’t that what strong male figures do, not listen?

I see my flaws and in an unexpected way, enjoy this new awaking of how I missed the boat and what I did wrong.  I emotionally start to punch myself in ordert o change my ways, the soft blows feels nice, the pain causes me to alter my current path.

I can feel myself start to change; our bedtime routines are becoming more pleasant, I notice I no longer cut off the girls when they are arguing their point of view.  I walk in the door from work and even though my coat is still on, I stop and listen as three girls all talk at once telling me their “news” of the day.   

However, there are still days of blown opportunities, laziness where the girls are being punished for no real reason at all, in the back of my mind I know the battles I am fighting are not battles at all, just areason for me to be upset, and more real, I am taking out on the girls the tollof my long, lonely, tired days.  They have done nothing wrong, but end up getting blamed for all of my outside frustrations.

I have not changed enough. I continue my personal inquisition. The deeper I dig, the more punishing I become on myself.   After a night of making the kids cry at bedtime, I go downstairs and emotionally tear myself apart, going over every minute detail, every single word I’ve said and convincing myself I have ruined these girls forever.  The punches getharder and my body starts to bruise.  I’m too busy hitting myself that I can’t see the marks.

Soon the punches are at full strength and don’t stop.  The list of how worthless I am gets longer.  Now, not just on the bad nights, but every night when I go to bed, I lie awake replaying the mistakes I made that day.  I wake up exhausted and disliking myself that much more.  Night after night, week after week of focusing on my weaknesses, I am getting lost in my own disgust.

I hate myself.  What’s not to hate, bad father, crappy human being, took my wife for granted, don’t listen to others, try to win too many arguments.  I hate being me.

Lying awake one night, I can finally feels the bruises on my body. I’m covered in them.  Why did I do this to myself?  I call off the dogs, and tell myself to stop hitting.

For the time being I stop the interrogation.  I let the bruises heal first. 

I then call a meeting of the guy who liked himself and the guy who hated himself.  I tell them thereis only room for one Matthew.  I ask them to please leave the most useful parts of each of them on the table and I’ll create a new normal based off those.

I like myself.  But the difference is, this time, I do know what’s not to like.  And I will try my best to make those corrections, I may fail, but at least I now understand a healthy way to progress my personality.