Healing with Pride

Photo © Sarah Treanor / Ceramic Wounded Heart © Beverly Mangham

I've been thinking a lot lately about accomplishment, and just how important it has been in helping me to heal and learn to live again. I'm a few months into my third year of being widowed now. Since he died, there have been dozens and dozens of leaps into the unknown. Like most of you, a lot of what I have accomplished I did not have a choice in; planning his funeral, making it through all of the "first"s of year one, or even just getting out of bed on the days when I had only about one cell left in me that was strong enough to do so.

It can be so easy to forget to look back at all the things we've accomplished, especially when we're in pain. Even though these past few years are full of things I never wanted to accomplish - things I never wanted to be able to say I have done - each one of them still makes me feel incredibly proud. It's a kind of pride unlike any other. Because his death did break me… it completely broke me. And for a long time, I was terrified I might not survive. Yet here I am, somehow, learning to live a beautiful life once more and discovering that he is still an integral part of that. And I am proud - not because it didn't break me - because it broke me and I am still here. 

There are also the other things I'm proud myself for since he died… the ones I did get to choose. I have done things I never imagined I'd do because they are things he never got to do - like open-cockpit aerobatics in a WWII era biplane (I am still astounded that I did this!). I've achieved lifelong dreams that he and I talked of often - like having my first solo art show, selling my photography for the first time and visiting my first national park. I've even achieved a few new goals that the old me NEVER would have set for herself - like taking up Crossfit and, just recently, doing competitions (a big deal for a woman who hasn't done anything athletic since the age of twelve! No, seriously).

When we're talking about building our broken selves back up - pride in who we are and what we can do is a vital part of it. Because that pride - along with trust - breeds hope. A hope that "maybe, just maybe… I can survive this." which turns into "Maybe I actually can have a happy life again" and becomes "I am building a happy life again, no matter what".

Whether it's the things we never imagined having to do, or the things we never imagined we could do - it's really all about one thing: surprising ourselves and never forgetting it. There is so much healing in sitting down each day to allow yourself to feel pride in all you've accomplished. Going hand-in-hand with that is continuing to give yourself new things to accomplish each day that you can feel proud of. Things that allow you to surprise yourself. Even if that something seems very small, we all know - in grief - no accomplishment is small.

There is also, I've begun to realize, another aspect of accomplishment which I didn't expect to have after my fiancé died; him. He is interwoven into every single thing I achieve. Not only because his death has changed everything about my life, but because I still feel his pride in all I do. Death has not changed that. Sure, it still really sucks that I cannot call him or see his face light up when I tell him. That will always suck. But I still feel how proud he is and I decide to focus on that.

At first, accomplishing things was just survival… a thing I had to do. But over time, I'm discovering it to be one of the most important parts of building a meaningful and happy new life that includes him in it. With every moment that we surprise ourselves, we come to know, love and appreciate ourselves more fully and see our partner's place in our lives more clearly. Each accomplishment becomes a gift from their afterlife to our after life - ensuring they never really leave our side.

I challenge you to get out there and surprise yourself (and your partner) today. Big, small, doesn't matter. Spend ten minutes (or all day!) allowing yourself to feel proud for all you have accomplished up to this point of your journey... And feel how proud your partner is too. A little pride can go a long way.

Collision

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I was driving down the road in my neighborhood when I felt and heard a collision on the right side of my car. I immediately knew I'd clipped someone's car door which was parked along the side of the road and nearly left my car running to race out and make sure I hadn't hurt anyone.

I apologized profusely, even though I hadn't seen her open the door. I felt that since mine was the moving vehicle, I was to blame. Also, this apologizing mode is very automatic for me. Not to blame my childhood for everything, but it has child of an alcoholic all over it, I think.

It wasn't until I was driving away later that I realized that she was the one who'd opened her door into moving traffic and that it wasn't necessarily all my fault. I also realized that while I wish I weren't so quick to blame myself for everything, I'm glad I'm me. I'm glad I reacted the way I did instead of the opposite. I'm glad I got out of that car ready to take responsibility instead of ready to assign all the blame on others. I'm glad my first concern was for everyone's safety, NOT the state of my vehicle or how expensive repairs would be or why that woman opened her car door into traffic. I'm glad I was my true self, instead of hiding my vulnerability under a cloak of anger or righteousness.

So, whether my reaction was because of childhood programming, or my own neuroses, or the alignment of the planets, what I realized was that I'm ok. Seems like such a simple awareness to have. That all of me, faults, weaknesses, vulnerabilities and broken bits included, is good and worthy of love. This is something I've struggled with since I can remember being able to think. The fact that it took maybe 5 minutes for this to sink in is a victory. There was a time when this would NEVER have sunk in. I would have spent a lot of time thinking about how I was faulty and therefore it was my fault. I was a bad driver, a bad person, simply unworthy in every way. My hitting her car was my fault and my blaming myself was a symptom of how screwed up I was, and I was hopeless.

But not now. Now, I'm directing my thoughts elsewhere long enough to see a different perspective. Long enough to find value in myself as I am. I don't need to change to be worthy. I don't need to be better, smarter, prettier, nicer. I need to be me. The real me. And that's all I need to do.

Easier said than done, of course, but I'm getting there and I can see the progress.

What does this have to do with being widowed? Everything. In that moment of collision ALL I cared about was human life. I prayed a million prayers in the 5 seconds it took to run back to her car that no one's precious family member had been injured.

I'm not sure that would have been my reaction before I lost Dave. Now, a day is considered a success when no one dies, my loved ones are all safe in their beds and I can have a moment of peace and tranquility to balance out the little hardships of a day in the life of a human.

And somehow, through all the pain of the past two years, my heart has been broken open and somehow softened. Not dramatically, and not suddenly, but over time and so slowly that I can't always tell until I look back and compare the before and after.

I'm proud of who I am and I'm stronger than I ever thought possible, even when I feel as weak and as scared as ever. Realizing that is a victory in itself. 

Commitment

I am calling myself out on my crap.

I've been doing it all week.

While talking to a friend, I realized I have commitment issues.

I’m not talking about relationship – commitment – issues.

I’m talking about committing to life.

I've realized I have a major problem seeing past today.

A friend will ask if I want to do something, go out and have fun, say, a week from now.

And I can’t really commit to it.

I think to myself “That sounds like fun. But that’s a week away. Today I just need to focus on today”.

This week I've been struggling with – is this the “grown-up” version of me, or is this the “widowed” version of me?

I've gone back and forth in my head, trying to figure out when this commitment issue started.

And why?

I guess it started about a year ago. A year after Seth died.

When Seth first died, I used to keep myself far too busy. I think to avoid my grief and pain. For almost a year straight, I was far too busy.

Then I crashed. Fell flat on my face in depression.

Suddenly I had to stop my life from spinning. I had to slow down, and just grieve.

I had to just stop. Stop everything.

Make my life stand still, so I could grieve and breath.

Now I’m afraid of being too busy.

I think the fear comes from “What if I have plans, and I’m riddled with grief, and I don’t feel like going??”. 

Then I have to pull the widow card, tell my friend I don’t feel up to it, and feel slightly embarrassed that something fun is too much for me to handle.

It’s embarrassing.

So instead of making plans, say a week from now, it’s easier to focus on just today. Because in a week I might not feel well. I might be emotionally sick next week.

So instead of dealing with the embarrassment of having to cancel plans, I have trained myself to not look past today.

Everyone says – “Take it one day at a time”.

I don’t think this is what they meant.

I think there is a silver lining in it. Stay focused and present with just today. Not next week.

Also allowing myself to be un-busy, and just be, with my grief. Rather than avoiding my grief.

But am I missing out on life in the process? Am I missing out on something amazing – a week from now?

I can’t tell if my commitment issue is a good or bad thing.

I do know not being able to look past today, isn't exactly a great thing.

But I realized that my brain and body have naturally figured out how to handle my grief, even if I don’t like the process.

It’s amazing what the human brain and body can do.

Forcing me to focus on just today, is ironically a good thing.

Thank you my dear, tired, body.

I appreciate it.

Watch Me

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My therapist asked me a question the other day that sent me down a rabbit hole of introspection. She asked me how I maintained hope from the age of 5, after my mom died and my extremely troubled alcoholic father raised me.

My brain went blank. I could only get a fuzzy image of me just numbly soldiering my way through my childhood. I told her I didn't know, that maybe it was just blind determination or the stubborn desire to survive just built into me. But later that day, I finally realized what got me through those years of pain, fear, and loneliness.

I was waiting to feel the way I did when Dave was in my life. I was waiting to find him. No, I didn't know that then. I just knew that the way out of my situation was to find a family of my own choosing, since mine didn't work out so well. I had a vague notion that my chance for happiness and security was out there.

It turned out Dave was the person who could give me that. When I lost him, I lost my family. My only true family. The only person who made me feel as though I'd found my home. Within the circle of safety and love we created, I felt more secure and able to tackle whatever came my way. My grades in college improved, my sleep improved, I felt more brave and focused.

Worse things have happened to better people than me, but holy hell have I lost a lot. I simply can't figure out why this is my path, why I don't get to have a mom, a dad, a husband, a family of my own.

I suppose the why doesn't matter. It just is and it's what I have.  People everywhere go through terrible things. They also experience beautiful things. And so do I.

My test, my challenge, my reason for living, now, is to give myself what Dave used to give me - that stable base from which to function. The security of the knowledge that I matter just because I do. Not because there's someone waiting for me at home. Not because I have someone who wants to be with me above all others. Not because I have a mom who calls to check in or a dad who worries about me and takes care of me, now that Dave can't. Not because I have kids who need me and love me. Just because I exist. Just because I'm me.

Maybe I can accomplish that alone. Maybe I need to feel the belonging of having a "most important person" again in order to fully heal. I'm not sure. I just know that what life has offered me is this. This time in my life when it's just me. Life has forced me to learn how to do this.

It's almost as though life has thrown out this challenge, has said "bet you can't accomplish THIS one!" sounding a lot like the bullies I remember from childhood.

To that I say "WATCH ME, mo fo! Challenge accepted."

Dear Me

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Writing has been a lifeline since Dave died.

Once I started my personal blog, writing every morning right after I awoke became a ritual I depended on. Writing was how I figured out how I felt. Verbalizing it made it tangible and sometimes uncovered feelings I hadn't realized I'd had.

I realized that by writing on a blog I'd become for other people the kind of lifeline that I'd depended on in the beginning and that was healing too.

To get even more healing out of this writing magic, I found a women's memoir writing group in my new city and began sharing my writing in a circle of supportive, talented women. I didn't think writing could bring me more gifts than it already had, but the gifts just multiplied.

Now, I host a women's writing group in my home every week and it brings me so much fulfillment.
Last week, the prompt was - What would your older self write to your present self in a letter? I wrote to this prompt as though I was actually channeling an older me. I didn't have to think. The words flowed out of me without restraint. The result was self-love I didn't know I possessed.

I feel like sharing it with you here because of all the writing I've done since Dave died, this one felt the most powerful and healing. Maybe you might like to try it yourself. I think it will surprise you. I certainly didn't expect it to be as illuminating as it was.

Dear younger me:

I want you to listen carefully. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter what you look like or smell like or sound like or dress like. 

It matters how much you love. 

But don’t love just anyone, honey. Love someone who makes you better than you would be without him or her. Love someone who makes you laugh until you pee. Love someone who thrills you and teaches you and honors you. Love someone who shares him or herself with you without hesitation. 

Don’t waste your time with the people who don’t love you back or who hurt you even though they love you. You can love them from afar but don’t let them stop you from living fully. Don’t let anyone get in your way. 

You know all those times you worried about what you said and how it might be the final straw that would turn that person away from you? Remember all those times you thought people would see right through your facade right down to the dark, selfish, ignorant, judgey, small and petty you? 

Oh, honey, don’t you know by now? You are worthy regardless. Every part of you and every cell of you is worthy and wonderful and the reason you sometimes feel so critical of others is because it’s YOU you’re so critical of. It’s just your own self-hate directed outward. Love yourself and and you’ll see good stuff in everyone else too. 

We’re all connected. The tiny 82 year old lady next door whose husband died when she was 50, the man in unit number 3 whose wife is clearly in the end stages of cancer or some other horrible disease. The gorgeous Greek guy who owns the restaurant on the corner and twinkles those blue eyes at you and makes you nervous and forget how to talk. The crazy hairstylist who channels old Chinese men. The beautiful, multifaceted women who come to your house to write each week. We find each other and we need each other and we’re all connected. We’re all worthy, faults and all. 

 

Remember what your beloved friend said to you? He said “I love you, bat-shit crazy and all”. 

That’s what I’m talking about, darling. That.

Remember to take good care of yourself, sweet pea. You have been through so much and your job now is to learn to give yourself what you need. The naps, the massages, the time to sit and think and cry. The chance to travel and meet new people and breathe and stop racing around trying to be better better better. 

If you can learn to give yourself that, you will make this loss a little less awful because something beautiful has arisen from its ashes. When you do, once again, find your days filled with work and possibly even a family, you might have the mindset of self-care a little more programmed in if you work on it now. 

Give yourself a chance honey. You deserve it. 

No one can take better care of you than you. Even if some wonderful man is worthy of your love and you find him, he can’t give you everything you need. You’ll need to pull from other sources to get all your needs met. The biggest source of all, the best source, hon, is you. 

 

Also, don’t go around so scared to lose. It’s something that will keep on happening. You can live in fear of it or not, and it’ll keep on happening. So then you’ve got loss and fear. Why have both? 

Live as fearlessly as you can. Walk right into the inevitable loss. There’s a whole lot of beauty along that road. And the loss? Well, you’ll survive it. Of course you will.

You’ll be very scared. Just remember to act anyway. Each time you do something that scares you, you’ll be a little stronger. You’ll build that courage muscle. Just treat yourself after you’ve done it. It’s a lot of work. I know it is. 

I know your core and I know you’ll be just fine. Just let in the love and light and do what scares you. Live and live and live until you fade away. You only have this one chance. Don’t ever forget that sweetheart.