What People Think

A family friend recently asked my sister how I was doing, and then seemed surprised when she replied that I'm still very sad a lot of the time and cry often. It got me thinking, if I don't regularly remind the world that I'm missing Dan and still grieving him, will they assume I've 'finished' or was past that 'phase'?

In the months after his death I spoke about my grief without inhibition and posted about it regularly on social media.  When I was having a particularly bad day, I used Facebook to express myself and purge the painful thoughts from my head.  It was a release and also helped me feel connected to my community and receive support when I couldn't bring myself to actually call someone or go out into the world in person.

If I was having a good day, I would post a happy or positive thought but still connect it to Dan - either because I wished he was there to share it with me; or to acknowledge that even in the good times he was still very much a part of me; or because the particular thing I was grateful for was due to him coming in to my life and giving me blessings that were going to stay with me forever.

I think it gave people insight into how complicated the bereavement process is and some of the particular challenges I was facing, which in turn, helped them to work out how to best support me.

However some time in the past few months the grief posts became less frequent. They haven't stopped altogether, I still share the highs and lows and talk about Dan constantly, but I probably don't broadcast the lows as often.

Maybe this is because I'm getting better at coping with the pain and processing it internally rather than feeling that need to shout it out to the world every time a wave hits?

Maybe I'm becoming more private with my grief, more aware of how people may interpret it, more self-conscious about being so raw and vulnerable.

Maybe there are less lows now?  That one is more difficult to identify.  I honestly find it hard to define when the tough times build and ease because when I'm deep in the loss, I forget there has ever been anything else other than the total mental and physical agony of missing my husband.

Whatever it may be, I don't like the thought that by containing my grief or limiting my public declarations of sadness, I'm giving people the notion that I am 'moving forward' and not grieving as much anymore.

I would love to get to the point where it no longer has a dominating presence but I still don't fully understand what that means or looks like.  I think sometimes I can feel so worried about people's expectations (or my own expectations) that I don't want to raise them to the point where I can fail to meet them.

But at the same time, it doesn't feel right to keep announcing that I'm missing Dan, just to keep other's informed of my state of mind, like some kind of public service announcement.  When people tell me that they have learnt a lot from how much I share and appreciate my openness, that's a nice thought.  It means my experience is helping others and it's good to think there's some kind of positive to this.

However, it's not my job to educate and I have to be careful not to take on that responsibility.  So I chose to let go of that sense of obligation and my fear of being judged and just be.  If I want to talk about how I'm feeling, I will.  If I want to keep that private, I will.

This is a long road as I integrate Dan's death into the new life I'm rebuilding for myself.  I have enough to worry about, so I'm working on not adding 'what other people think of my grieving process' to that list.

Take time out

Self-care can be taking the time to enjoy the light and scent of a beautiful candle

This week I started out wanting to write about how difficult it's been facing the onslaught of traditional and social media commentary on Robin Williams' death, from the point of view of a suicide widow.

I wanted to talk about how it felt to read the ignorant, misinformed and hurtful remarks about suicide being 'selfish' and 'a choice' or 'the cowards way out'.

I wanted to talk about how my battered and bruised heart broke, again, for his family. And the personal triggers that have been set off, taking me right back to that day I lost my love to the demon disease depression.

But I'm exhausted from the relentless onslaught of information.  It's like every day there's another new angle the media has found to explore. The thousands of words that I've read about him began to swirl around and around me to the point where it's just become white noise. It started getting hard to breathe.

So instead, I'm choosing to remove myself from that space and talk about 'self-care'. Because when my energy levels start to drop and my anxiety begins to rise, I know it's time for me to wind things back a couple of notches and give myself room to breath again.

Self-care doesn't come easy to me. I'm not great at being assertive and am a 'pleaser' in the sense where I'll put myself out rather risk making someone else uncomfortable. Not with family of course, growing up I had no qualms in hogging the biggest piece of cake or disappearing after dinner when it came time to do the dishes. However when it comes to work or social situations, I seem to be forever worried about disappointing people or being seen as self-seeking or high-maintenance.

Luckily, I’ve had a wonderful counselor who helped me understand the difference between being ‘selfish’ and ‘self-care’ and with her help, I’ve learnt to identify when I need to say no or pull back; and how to let go of the guilt I’d usually associate with this.

I’m now actually really good at it.  I’ve developed an internal monologue that goes something like ‘Right, how are we holding up?  Have we got this?  Can I push on a bit longer or is it time to take a break? Yeah, feeling a bit fragile to be honest.  Ok, time to pull back.” 

Sometimes it feels like I’m a little character in a video game, running around collecting coins and fighting monsters and bouncing from level to level, and then suddenly I remember I’ve forgotten to collect those nourishing ‘food’ energy tokens.  Something red starts flashing in the corner of the screen and ominous tones start beeping at me, letting my know my vitality levels are dramatically low – if I don’t stop fighting the dragons and make ‘self-care’ my priority, it will soon be Game Over and I'll be back at the start.

So for me, self-care can be taking a half-hour break from work to walk through the nearby botanical garden or shouting myself to a 20-minute shoulder massage or pedicure.  It might be turning my phone and lap top off for the night to curl up on the lounge with a cup of tea, a packet of chocolate biscuits and some trashy reality tv (hello Real Housewives!).  Or it might be running a hot bath, lighting a candle and soaking in the silence. 

It's also about knowing when I'm reaching my limits in regards to my triggers.  There are days where I can talk openly about what happened to Dan.  I can speak up about his experience with depression and help others understand some of the challenges that he faced, doing my bit to raise awareness and fight the persistent stigmas.  However some days it can be too much.  Too heavy.  Too personal and too heartbreaking.  So it's also about knowing when I have to put my own wellbeing first, identifying the times when I'm nearing exhaustion and working out how to protect that part of me that is still grieving his loss. 

Yoga and meditation has been a wonderful source of self-care for me.  This week, when I started feeling dangerously low, I spent 75 minutes laying on a mat, listening to the calming voice of my yoga instructor reminding me not to let the past pull me back or the future pull me forward, but to live in the moment and quieten my mind.

For some of my widow friends, self-care can be cooking, reading, doing craft, going for a run or gardening. Basically anything that helps shut the noise of the world out, even for 15 minutes. 

Whatever it may be for you, I hope you too can find your place of peace and learn to check in there regularly.  After all, we are unable to grow and blossom without nourishment.

social media, grief, and letting go...

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It's taken me 4 months, 1 week, and 5 days to do it....

I finally changed my Facebook status to 'married to Steve Cunningham' instead of 'married to Jeremy King'. 

I realize that this was well overdue. I also realize in most circumstances, this probably would seem very strange, but for some reason, this was a very difficult change for me to make. Steve and I had talked about it many times - he didn't want to push me to do anything I wasn't ready to do, and I didn't feel right changing it OR leaving it the same. I even needed to make sure I ran it by Jer's mom first, to make sure she knew it was coming and to just hear that it was ok to feel so much stress about this silly little change.

The truth is, this was a new facet of grief I hadn't faced yet. And though it seems simple enough, it was hard for me to publicly admit that I am no longer Jeremy's wife (yes, I know I will always be his wife, but I can't be on FB anymore). I am so proud to be Steve's wife, but announcing that in a silly social network forum meant letting go in some weird way of Jeremy. It also meant that people looking for our story wouldn't easily find Jeremy on Facebook through me and visa versa. But knowing Steve had spent his previous marriage in a relationship with someone who didn't even want to acknowledge him, I knew it was important for Steve to understand how much I adore him and how honored I am to be his wife. And Facebook won't let me be married to them both (I know, the nerve!)

Sometimes I really hate letting go. But as Taryn so beautifully stated in her earlier post this week, "it isn't this horrible phrase consisting of forgetting those you love more than yourself...it allows you to love them even more and grasp the immense amount of love still out there " 

I am here today because of the love Jeremy taught me, and I get the privilege of paying that fierce love forward in my relationship with Steve. So, I continue to love Jeremy more while grasping the immense love I have now. That is a decision I feel good about.

And I can't help but wonder if grief before social networks was a little less complicated...