"That's the difference between having control and having choices." Love this so much, Amy! When my husband had his motorcycle accident, I lost all control of most things, but we never lost our choices. It's why I made jokes in the Emergency Room, named the little alligators that my husband hallucinated in his hospital room, encouraged my daughter to call his trach voice his "duck voice". We can't stop tragedy, but we can choose not to be tragic. It may be the only control we have. As always, thank you for sharing. 💓
Thank you Jess! I love the stories about your family. I was a little afraid it might come across as “silver lining” thinking, but it’s really about trying to get a sense of agency within a situation you couldn’t control. Just remembering that we have choices feels like a lifeline in the midst of tragedy. XO 🥰
I appreciate you letting me tell them! Part of my own healing journey. And I didn't get that vibe at all. There is nothing Pollyanna about surviving the shit life throws at us. Choices are a lifeline, and even now, it's helpful to me to be reminded of that small but critical agency.
This spring, after I skidded off an icy road over the edge of a 500’ drop off, landed hard against the only tree before a 200’ vertical drop into a whitewater river and survived without a single scratch or bruise even though the car was crushed, I decided to go in the next morning to debrief with my counselor. I know how these things go if I let them run their course in my head. I have images of the what ifs running nonstop through my mind day and night. The anxiety is nonstop.
Her advice? Ignore the what ifs and focus on the what is. Now when I drive past where the event happened, I feel deep gratitude to that tree and whatever caused it to grow strong enough on that near vertical mountainside to save my life.
Wow, this is so incredibly wise and beautiful. Thank you for sharing your story with me. Your commitment to your healing process in the face of trauma and loss is truly inspiring. ❤️🩹🥰🙏
I love this quote: "grief is love that has nowhere to go." I think of grieving as a non-linear process. You never stop grieving, you simply adapt to having it there. You feel better over time not because the grief goes away, but because you mold yourself around it.
That "what if game," as I like to call it, keeps you spinning in your head, without actually landing in your body or feelings. Pausing, breathing, and feeling is what I have found to be the only way through.
Wise words Janine! I agree 100% that grief is non-linear. Unlike a scraped knee, it doesn't heal with time. I like to say that I am "healing" but I don't think I will ever be healed from my grief and trauma. That doesn't mean I don't feel joy, I just feel it in equal measure with sorrow. I like what you said about adapting to holding grief. There are so many ways we can support ourselves in grief, (talk therapy, somatic practices, mindfulness, community with other grievers) but it all takes time. Grief work is slow work - one of the most truthful things I've ever said.
Amy, I’m sorry for your loss. I’m a little farther out from my husband’s death, almost 5 years. I went through many of the same feelings you have had. I think you make excellent observations and recommendations.
There is life after a loss, but only if you go after it and wrestle with grief. I went through a period of profound sadness, followed by anger, not only for the doctors who felt mismanaged my husband’s care, but with myself, that I couldn’t do more to help him. I did phone counseling with the organization that arranged my husband’s stem cell transplant, I joined a group of grievers and I talked to everyone who would listen to me (I don’t have many friends, no parents or siblings and only one adult child, who still won’t talk much about the whole experience). I started writing down how I felt, and for the first time in my life I wrote poetry. I visited the cemetery and had discussions with myself (and him) on how I was coping. On the first anniversary of his passing, I had a day of gratitude for everyone who had helped me deal with grief over the last year. I still miss my husband, but after being with him 39 years, I feel that he had such an influence on me, that he’s not really gone.
At a year, I decided I didn’t like being alone, so put myself out there and went on a couple of dating services. The first relationship was a disaster, with someone who turned out to have a personality disorder, but I didn’t give up—the next real relationship has been going three years, and it’s good. He is much different from my late husband, but he cares for me, is always there for me, and he makes me laugh a lot. Plus, he is a prolific poet!
It is good to try those other doors after a loss. Sometimes what is on the other side is scary or sad, but many times you discover new things about yourself and find fulfillment and life after loss. I can see you are on that path. Grief leaves scars that don’t go away, but they fade and become less noticeable with time.
Hi Carole, thank you so much for telling me your story. You are a remarkable person, more than most people can imagine. Your strength and courage to keep going in the face of such extreme heartbreak is truly inspiring.
I too had a terrible experience with my first “relationship” after my husband died. That ended almost 2 years ago and I haven’t dated since. I am grateful you told me you found an amazing person (a poet!) because part of me feels resigned to being alone the rest of my life.
I don’t think I am meant to be alone, but my confidence took a big hit after I chose to give my heart to someone who didn’t want me. You give me hope to try again, what a gift. You’ve recreated a beautiful life for yourself, and I couldn’t be happier for you 🥰❤️
Amy, what you’re doing here on Substack is therapeutic and healing for you and for many others. I wish I had known about this site earlier. I also highly recommend the Megan Divine book, but the most important thing about grief is to let it out in as many ways as you can. When you internalize it, grief becomes a chronic illness.
My first “relationship” (and I’m glad to see you used quotes with that word, because some encounters are nightmares and not relationships) as a widow was with a man who was a poster child for narcissistic personality disorder, unbeknownst to me at the time of our encounter. Had I not consulted the literature and other websites (Quora actually has some great ones), I would still be thinking that I was the problem. People like him are charming and love-bombing at first, yet so awful later, and they are incapable of real love. As it turns out, my current partner and love of my life also experienced a similar situation with a woman and had concluded that being alone was better. I’m not sure how we both decided to try one more time and happened to coincide, but stranger things have happened. All the best to you, and I’ll be following your journey.
Find the fellow grievers!! Yessss. This is so incredibly helpful. When I lost my love and best friend, social media did not exist, my bubble was very small and no one I knew had experienced the loss I was going through. It took me many years and a lot of therapy before I could allow myself to grieve fully.
Thank you for this entire piece my friend. Love you!! Xoxo
Thank you Mesa for connecting so deeply with this story. This is something I hear regularly from young people who have lost their partners - no one in their peer group has gone through anything like this and they instantly feel like outsiders. I'm a little older (a lot older than you were), but still young enough that partner loss is not common in among my peers. I am so grateful for the internet and widow groups. I'm so happy you made it through those dark times, but I know how much you suffered (from your writing). You inspire me so much Mesa, you truly do.
It's been many years since I lost my parents. I still wonder what if for both of them l, like I could save them.
My husband was diagnosed with a rare autoimmune disease and the course of the disease is unknown. It could attack is internal organs or could stay localized and he could go into remission. It's a scary and helpless feeling. My son is having health issues too and my sister a non smoker alway has progressive lung disease. Sorry for venting. I feel like I don't know what to do anymore
This is a lot for one person to handle. I don't see this as a vent, it's pain that needs to be witnessed, and I'm here for it. Please be gentle with yourself if you can. I try to imagine I'm talking to a fellow widow, who I treat more compassionately that I do myself.
I just want to validate how hard it is to live in the unknown of someone that you love's diagnosis (or lack thereof). This type of trauma is slow burning because you get little hits of it periodically rather than one major traumatic event.
I've found that trauma has a cumulative effect and it's not one of those things that gets better with time, like a scraped knee. Therapy, EMDR, community (Substack), and somatic practices have all helped me, but I still have a lot of anxiety and triggers. I would like to do more mindfulness training because it is a good way to ground ourselves into the present, AND I know that a lot of my trauma has been encoded into my body where my mind cannot reason it away.
Thank you Emilio, I appreciate you restacking this post too! I wouldn’t say I’ve moved on, more like moving forward with grief. It doesn’t have to be either or, in fact it’s usually both at the same time.
What helped me when my fiancé Tim died suddenly was Megan Devine's book "It's OK That You're Not OK" and her website refugeingrief.com. It will be 10 years on November 5th. He lives in and through me, if that makes sense. Nothing Compares To You.
Marilyn, thank you for telling me some of your story. That he lives through you and your memory of him makes 100% sense to me. Megan Divine is amazing and her book had helped so many grievers, including me. We live in a culture that tells us to suck it up and just get on with life, but I haven’t found this to be helpful. I hope we are moving towards more openness to share when we are “not okay” well as our triumphs and successes. Growth happens in fits and starts, what a gift to be able to say, “No, I’m not okay.” I find my mood is much improved when I’m not trying to silently hold it together all the time.
Amy, it's brave of you to share your journey so openly. You're right, we often cling to the illusion of control, even when life's harsh realities shatter it. But you've found a profound truth: we may not control what happens, but we absolutely control how we respond.
Thank you Rona! Yes, once we are full with the knowledge, encoded in our brains and bodies, that bad things can happen, we are too big to fit into our old lives. I so admire your work - I appreciate your comment. 🥰🙏
I think there's much truth to this, and I also think it's, to some degree, a matter of perspective. We have to keep reminding ourselves of the Serenity Prayer. We have to let go the things we can't control and focus on the things that we can. I fully realize that's easy to say and not easy to accept for someone who has lost the most important thing to them for reasons beyond their control. How do we spend what you rightly describe as our most precious nonrenewable resource, time? By focusing on what we can control. What other choice is there?
I think we all get stuck sometimes in moments when the weight of the world feels so heavy on our shoulders. When we feel beaten down it’s easy to forget that we have the ability to change our perspective, even if we cannot change the circumstances. Even knowing that we are choosing to feel victimized is better than just taking it as a given that we are a victim. One thing I still have trouble with is resting. I often feel afraid that if I don’t continue “moving forward” in some way, producing stories or photos, or even just the day to day laundry and grocery shopping, that I will remain stuck feeling sorry for myself. Resting is underrated, and I definitely could use more of it now. I can also be very hard on myself, which I know is counter-productive. I always tell others, “No one was ever motivated by a bully.” So, I’m trying to be kinder to myself. August is hard. I cannot believe that on the 25th Steven will have been gone for 3 years. How can that be? I miss him more now than ever.
I’d say we have zero ability “to control…” there’s a psychological shift when understand that being “in charge” is empowering.. efforts to be “in control” give power away and accomplish little more then ultimate frustration…
Hi Amy, I'm new to your Substack, and this insightful, poignant post really got me to see again how while we have no control in this life, we have choices. Very well-said. I'm so very sorry about the loss of your husband. I had cancer, and unfortunately I lost good friends to this dreadful disease. Like you, I've been in counseling and I try to live life the way my friends would want me to.
Thank you for confiding in me Beth. I am always thankful to hear about someone who has become cancer free, or is still living with cancer. In some cases, it can become a chronic and treatable illness. There are so many things I never understood until my husband got sick. Survivor guilt is real, but we do move forward and try to life life as you said, they way they would want us too. 🥰🙏
"Please believe me when I tell you my friend, that even if the door opens, you are like Alice in Wonderland now, too big to fit through the doorway." This resonates. And it makes me realize how much time and energy I have been spending trying to force myself through a doorway that can no longer accommodate me. I am terrified of moving forward, so I keep looking back. Two years + out from losing my love and I'm feeling more lost than ever. This shit is real. And feeling as if I should be over it by now --get over it, move past it, get on with it, figure it out, snap out of it, get a grip-- continues to lurk in the shadows like a bully, or a monster. I may be too big to fit back through the doorway, but I feel as if I'm shrinking.
Hi Betsy, on August 25, it will be 3 years since my Steven died. There are still days I could have written your comment 👆. That feeling of shrinking is so potent - in some ways, my life is much smaller than it used to me. I don't drive (grew up in NYC, plus I have terrible anxiety) so we don't do day trips out of the city like we did when Steven was alive.
Traveling alone with my son is difficult for me. He's 12, and is on the autism spectrum. He likes routine, and doesn't like crowds, and neither do I. Just thinking about packing for both of us is overwhelming, so we mostly stay home. I don't fit in with my group of special needs mom friends anymore, I feel angry that I'm raising a child alone and they still have their husbands.
I did a whole bunch of "living" my first year of widowhood because I was completely dissociated from my grief. Around 2.5 years out is when I started to really grieve Steven's death. I've told myself the same things you've told yourself, "I should be over it by now --get over it, move past it, get on with it, figure it out, snap out of it, get a grip..."
The hardest concept to wrap my head around is the way time has changed for me. It used to be linear. If something "bad" happened, I always felt better as time passed and the memory faded. Partner loss changes that completely. The trauma lives in your body and your mind, and as anyone with PTSD will tell you, once triggered you are right back in your past life. You are reliving the past or mourning the future that was ripped away.
Memories do not fade as time passes, but do we really want them to go away? We still love our person, but it's confusing because now grief is attached to that love. Learning to hold both is hard work, and it doesn't just happen over time. I don't like that we beat ourselves up over not healing "fast enough" but that does tell me that we are both motivated to keep going.
It's a hard truth that no one was ever motivated by a bully. We would NEVER speak to another widow the way we speak to ourselves, but we are afraid to be kind. We think if we let ourselves "off the hook" we would never stop wallowing. It's a leap of faith to try the alternative, to give ourselves grace, love, and patience for a person who has been hurting so badly.
The unknown is scary, but it's the anxiety from trauma that makes it terrifying. There are many ways of healing trauma, talk therapy isn't the most effective because the minute you start talking about the traumatic experience your body tries to protect us by producing stress chemicals. We need movement to "trick" our bodies to stay calm while our mind finds ways to cope with anxiety. Short-term meds can help too (I'm not advocating for/against meds, just saying it's available and it's helped me).
I could have written another post, haha! Seriously, I have felt, and sometimes still feel, exactly as you described. It's the hardest work that we never wanted to do. We had no control over what happened, but we can choose to be kind to ourselves. That mean voice in your head telling you to "get over it" is trying to protect you from feeling pain. It probably saved you as a child, but doesn't work for you as an adult. You can say, "Hey, Bully Betsy, I know you mean well, but I got this, see how I've survived for over 2 years alone? I didn't die, I got this, trust me."
I hope some of this helps just a little bit, but if nothing else, please know that you are not alone.
Wow, Gabrielle! Your thoughtful response was like a torrent of compassionate wisdom and solidarity. a balm. I'm not sure where to begin with how your description of grief, the trauma of seeing a loved one die, and your "plan" for the future, die with it resonates with me.
This--"The hardest concept to wrap my head around is the way time has changed for me. It used to be linear. If something "bad" happened, I always felt better as time passed and the memory faded. Partner loss changes that completely. The trauma lives in your body and your mind, and as anyone with PTSD will tell you, once triggered you are right back in your past life. You are reliving the past or mourning the future that was ripped away. Memories do not fade as time passes, but do we really want them to go away? We still love our person, but it's confusing because now grief is attached to that love."
This encapsulates so much of my experience. And I do feel very much less alone in receiving this comment from you. Thank you. And, please know that you also are not alone. Parenting through this kind of grief, assuaging your child's wounds as you tend to your own, is a whole different kind of challenge.
Thank you Betsy. I've come to think that we are not alone in our feelings of "aloneness". Grief is such an isolating feeling, and I would be lying if I said that I don't feel like my loss is more devastating than anyone else's loss. Rationally, I know that's not true, but it makes sense that we feel our loss is the worst, because it is for US. Grief is not rational, and there is no "rock bottom". There are a thousand rock bottoms, and there will be a thousand more, BUT that doesn't mean that there won't be joy and love too. The more I embrace my grief as a consequence for loving someone so deeply, I don't judge myself so harshly. for it For every rock bottom, there are a thousand times we rise up. Let's give ourselves a f*ckload of credit for that.
Oh Amy…this is so perfect… you are so right! I couldn’t save mine either…CPR didn’t work. All these years and the wounds still there. But I did choose to keep going, working, enjoying grandkids and girlfriends and that guy. Guilt for having fun tried to derail, but I kept doing and it seemed he gave me signs it was okay. Sadly there are so many warrior widows here…I will restack this forever so they can know this is true, this is the way out of the hole, the emptiness, the sadness. Grief is forever… but we go through it the best we can. Your writing here brings me up tears ….not usual content 😅and knowing you know this makes me love you even more! Well done, beautiful lady. So well said! ❤️🤗😘
I'm tearing up myself Joan 🥰. This is one of the highest compliments I've ever received, and that you wrote it means the world to me. I admire you so much, your writing of course, but it's more about you as a person. You are open and honest, strong and bada$$, and a funny! I think we don't give ourselves enough credit, us warrior widows. For us it's "normal" to just keep going. What else would we do? Well, we could have stayed in bed. We could have become cynical and bitter. These are all choices we made or didn't make. We have survived the number one most stressful event in a person's life - losing a life partner. Of course we won't be the same person we were before they died, but there is beauty in the journey.
"That's the difference between having control and having choices." Love this so much, Amy! When my husband had his motorcycle accident, I lost all control of most things, but we never lost our choices. It's why I made jokes in the Emergency Room, named the little alligators that my husband hallucinated in his hospital room, encouraged my daughter to call his trach voice his "duck voice". We can't stop tragedy, but we can choose not to be tragic. It may be the only control we have. As always, thank you for sharing. 💓
Thank you Jess! I love the stories about your family. I was a little afraid it might come across as “silver lining” thinking, but it’s really about trying to get a sense of agency within a situation you couldn’t control. Just remembering that we have choices feels like a lifeline in the midst of tragedy. XO 🥰
I appreciate you letting me tell them! Part of my own healing journey. And I didn't get that vibe at all. There is nothing Pollyanna about surviving the shit life throws at us. Choices are a lifeline, and even now, it's helpful to me to be reminded of that small but critical agency.
This spring, after I skidded off an icy road over the edge of a 500’ drop off, landed hard against the only tree before a 200’ vertical drop into a whitewater river and survived without a single scratch or bruise even though the car was crushed, I decided to go in the next morning to debrief with my counselor. I know how these things go if I let them run their course in my head. I have images of the what ifs running nonstop through my mind day and night. The anxiety is nonstop.
Her advice? Ignore the what ifs and focus on the what is. Now when I drive past where the event happened, I feel deep gratitude to that tree and whatever caused it to grow strong enough on that near vertical mountainside to save my life.
Not what if, but what is.
Wow, this is so incredibly wise and beautiful. Thank you for sharing your story with me. Your commitment to your healing process in the face of trauma and loss is truly inspiring. ❤️🩹🥰🙏
🥰❤️🙌🙏
I love this quote: "grief is love that has nowhere to go." I think of grieving as a non-linear process. You never stop grieving, you simply adapt to having it there. You feel better over time not because the grief goes away, but because you mold yourself around it.
That "what if game," as I like to call it, keeps you spinning in your head, without actually landing in your body or feelings. Pausing, breathing, and feeling is what I have found to be the only way through.
Wise words Janine! I agree 100% that grief is non-linear. Unlike a scraped knee, it doesn't heal with time. I like to say that I am "healing" but I don't think I will ever be healed from my grief and trauma. That doesn't mean I don't feel joy, I just feel it in equal measure with sorrow. I like what you said about adapting to holding grief. There are so many ways we can support ourselves in grief, (talk therapy, somatic practices, mindfulness, community with other grievers) but it all takes time. Grief work is slow work - one of the most truthful things I've ever said.
Amy, I’m sorry for your loss. I’m a little farther out from my husband’s death, almost 5 years. I went through many of the same feelings you have had. I think you make excellent observations and recommendations.
There is life after a loss, but only if you go after it and wrestle with grief. I went through a period of profound sadness, followed by anger, not only for the doctors who felt mismanaged my husband’s care, but with myself, that I couldn’t do more to help him. I did phone counseling with the organization that arranged my husband’s stem cell transplant, I joined a group of grievers and I talked to everyone who would listen to me (I don’t have many friends, no parents or siblings and only one adult child, who still won’t talk much about the whole experience). I started writing down how I felt, and for the first time in my life I wrote poetry. I visited the cemetery and had discussions with myself (and him) on how I was coping. On the first anniversary of his passing, I had a day of gratitude for everyone who had helped me deal with grief over the last year. I still miss my husband, but after being with him 39 years, I feel that he had such an influence on me, that he’s not really gone.
At a year, I decided I didn’t like being alone, so put myself out there and went on a couple of dating services. The first relationship was a disaster, with someone who turned out to have a personality disorder, but I didn’t give up—the next real relationship has been going three years, and it’s good. He is much different from my late husband, but he cares for me, is always there for me, and he makes me laugh a lot. Plus, he is a prolific poet!
It is good to try those other doors after a loss. Sometimes what is on the other side is scary or sad, but many times you discover new things about yourself and find fulfillment and life after loss. I can see you are on that path. Grief leaves scars that don’t go away, but they fade and become less noticeable with time.
Hi Carole, thank you so much for telling me your story. You are a remarkable person, more than most people can imagine. Your strength and courage to keep going in the face of such extreme heartbreak is truly inspiring.
I too had a terrible experience with my first “relationship” after my husband died. That ended almost 2 years ago and I haven’t dated since. I am grateful you told me you found an amazing person (a poet!) because part of me feels resigned to being alone the rest of my life.
I don’t think I am meant to be alone, but my confidence took a big hit after I chose to give my heart to someone who didn’t want me. You give me hope to try again, what a gift. You’ve recreated a beautiful life for yourself, and I couldn’t be happier for you 🥰❤️
Amy, what you’re doing here on Substack is therapeutic and healing for you and for many others. I wish I had known about this site earlier. I also highly recommend the Megan Divine book, but the most important thing about grief is to let it out in as many ways as you can. When you internalize it, grief becomes a chronic illness.
My first “relationship” (and I’m glad to see you used quotes with that word, because some encounters are nightmares and not relationships) as a widow was with a man who was a poster child for narcissistic personality disorder, unbeknownst to me at the time of our encounter. Had I not consulted the literature and other websites (Quora actually has some great ones), I would still be thinking that I was the problem. People like him are charming and love-bombing at first, yet so awful later, and they are incapable of real love. As it turns out, my current partner and love of my life also experienced a similar situation with a woman and had concluded that being alone was better. I’m not sure how we both decided to try one more time and happened to coincide, but stranger things have happened. All the best to you, and I’ll be following your journey.
Find the fellow grievers!! Yessss. This is so incredibly helpful. When I lost my love and best friend, social media did not exist, my bubble was very small and no one I knew had experienced the loss I was going through. It took me many years and a lot of therapy before I could allow myself to grieve fully.
Thank you for this entire piece my friend. Love you!! Xoxo
Thank you Mesa for connecting so deeply with this story. This is something I hear regularly from young people who have lost their partners - no one in their peer group has gone through anything like this and they instantly feel like outsiders. I'm a little older (a lot older than you were), but still young enough that partner loss is not common in among my peers. I am so grateful for the internet and widow groups. I'm so happy you made it through those dark times, but I know how much you suffered (from your writing). You inspire me so much Mesa, you truly do.
It's been many years since I lost my parents. I still wonder what if for both of them l, like I could save them.
My husband was diagnosed with a rare autoimmune disease and the course of the disease is unknown. It could attack is internal organs or could stay localized and he could go into remission. It's a scary and helpless feeling. My son is having health issues too and my sister a non smoker alway has progressive lung disease. Sorry for venting. I feel like I don't know what to do anymore
Hi Jane,
This is a lot for one person to handle. I don't see this as a vent, it's pain that needs to be witnessed, and I'm here for it. Please be gentle with yourself if you can. I try to imagine I'm talking to a fellow widow, who I treat more compassionately that I do myself.
I just want to validate how hard it is to live in the unknown of someone that you love's diagnosis (or lack thereof). This type of trauma is slow burning because you get little hits of it periodically rather than one major traumatic event.
I've found that trauma has a cumulative effect and it's not one of those things that gets better with time, like a scraped knee. Therapy, EMDR, community (Substack), and somatic practices have all helped me, but I still have a lot of anxiety and triggers. I would like to do more mindfulness training because it is a good way to ground ourselves into the present, AND I know that a lot of my trauma has been encoded into my body where my mind cannot reason it away.
Thanks so much, Amy
My condolences it's really inspiring that you can talk about this and move on with your life
Thank you Emilio, I appreciate you restacking this post too! I wouldn’t say I’ve moved on, more like moving forward with grief. It doesn’t have to be either or, in fact it’s usually both at the same time.
You're welcome always God bless you and your family
What helped me when my fiancé Tim died suddenly was Megan Devine's book "It's OK That You're Not OK" and her website refugeingrief.com. It will be 10 years on November 5th. He lives in and through me, if that makes sense. Nothing Compares To You.
Marilyn, thank you for telling me some of your story. That he lives through you and your memory of him makes 100% sense to me. Megan Divine is amazing and her book had helped so many grievers, including me. We live in a culture that tells us to suck it up and just get on with life, but I haven’t found this to be helpful. I hope we are moving towards more openness to share when we are “not okay” well as our triumphs and successes. Growth happens in fits and starts, what a gift to be able to say, “No, I’m not okay.” I find my mood is much improved when I’m not trying to silently hold it together all the time.
YES you said it perfectly. Thank you, you are a wise soul and so inspiring.
Amy, it's brave of you to share your journey so openly. You're right, we often cling to the illusion of control, even when life's harsh realities shatter it. But you've found a profound truth: we may not control what happens, but we absolutely control how we respond.
Thank you for this beautiful reflection Mo. I’m so happy my story resonated with you. 🙏🥰
This: “…even if the door opens, you are like Alice in Wonderland now, too big to fit through the doorway.” A perceptive, eye-opening post.
Thank you Rona! Yes, once we are full with the knowledge, encoded in our brains and bodies, that bad things can happen, we are too big to fit into our old lives. I so admire your work - I appreciate your comment. 🥰🙏
I think there's much truth to this, and I also think it's, to some degree, a matter of perspective. We have to keep reminding ourselves of the Serenity Prayer. We have to let go the things we can't control and focus on the things that we can. I fully realize that's easy to say and not easy to accept for someone who has lost the most important thing to them for reasons beyond their control. How do we spend what you rightly describe as our most precious nonrenewable resource, time? By focusing on what we can control. What other choice is there?
I think we all get stuck sometimes in moments when the weight of the world feels so heavy on our shoulders. When we feel beaten down it’s easy to forget that we have the ability to change our perspective, even if we cannot change the circumstances. Even knowing that we are choosing to feel victimized is better than just taking it as a given that we are a victim. One thing I still have trouble with is resting. I often feel afraid that if I don’t continue “moving forward” in some way, producing stories or photos, or even just the day to day laundry and grocery shopping, that I will remain stuck feeling sorry for myself. Resting is underrated, and I definitely could use more of it now. I can also be very hard on myself, which I know is counter-productive. I always tell others, “No one was ever motivated by a bully.” So, I’m trying to be kinder to myself. August is hard. I cannot believe that on the 25th Steven will have been gone for 3 years. How can that be? I miss him more now than ever.
I’d say we have zero ability “to control…” there’s a psychological shift when understand that being “in charge” is empowering.. efforts to be “in control” give power away and accomplish little more then ultimate frustration…
Thank you Dr. Moore! 🙏🥰
Hi Amy, I'm new to your Substack, and this insightful, poignant post really got me to see again how while we have no control in this life, we have choices. Very well-said. I'm so very sorry about the loss of your husband. I had cancer, and unfortunately I lost good friends to this dreadful disease. Like you, I've been in counseling and I try to live life the way my friends would want me to.
Thank you for confiding in me Beth. I am always thankful to hear about someone who has become cancer free, or is still living with cancer. In some cases, it can become a chronic and treatable illness. There are so many things I never understood until my husband got sick. Survivor guilt is real, but we do move forward and try to life life as you said, they way they would want us too. 🥰🙏
"Please believe me when I tell you my friend, that even if the door opens, you are like Alice in Wonderland now, too big to fit through the doorway." This resonates. And it makes me realize how much time and energy I have been spending trying to force myself through a doorway that can no longer accommodate me. I am terrified of moving forward, so I keep looking back. Two years + out from losing my love and I'm feeling more lost than ever. This shit is real. And feeling as if I should be over it by now --get over it, move past it, get on with it, figure it out, snap out of it, get a grip-- continues to lurk in the shadows like a bully, or a monster. I may be too big to fit back through the doorway, but I feel as if I'm shrinking.
Hi Betsy, on August 25, it will be 3 years since my Steven died. There are still days I could have written your comment 👆. That feeling of shrinking is so potent - in some ways, my life is much smaller than it used to me. I don't drive (grew up in NYC, plus I have terrible anxiety) so we don't do day trips out of the city like we did when Steven was alive.
Traveling alone with my son is difficult for me. He's 12, and is on the autism spectrum. He likes routine, and doesn't like crowds, and neither do I. Just thinking about packing for both of us is overwhelming, so we mostly stay home. I don't fit in with my group of special needs mom friends anymore, I feel angry that I'm raising a child alone and they still have their husbands.
I did a whole bunch of "living" my first year of widowhood because I was completely dissociated from my grief. Around 2.5 years out is when I started to really grieve Steven's death. I've told myself the same things you've told yourself, "I should be over it by now --get over it, move past it, get on with it, figure it out, snap out of it, get a grip..."
The hardest concept to wrap my head around is the way time has changed for me. It used to be linear. If something "bad" happened, I always felt better as time passed and the memory faded. Partner loss changes that completely. The trauma lives in your body and your mind, and as anyone with PTSD will tell you, once triggered you are right back in your past life. You are reliving the past or mourning the future that was ripped away.
Memories do not fade as time passes, but do we really want them to go away? We still love our person, but it's confusing because now grief is attached to that love. Learning to hold both is hard work, and it doesn't just happen over time. I don't like that we beat ourselves up over not healing "fast enough" but that does tell me that we are both motivated to keep going.
It's a hard truth that no one was ever motivated by a bully. We would NEVER speak to another widow the way we speak to ourselves, but we are afraid to be kind. We think if we let ourselves "off the hook" we would never stop wallowing. It's a leap of faith to try the alternative, to give ourselves grace, love, and patience for a person who has been hurting so badly.
The unknown is scary, but it's the anxiety from trauma that makes it terrifying. There are many ways of healing trauma, talk therapy isn't the most effective because the minute you start talking about the traumatic experience your body tries to protect us by producing stress chemicals. We need movement to "trick" our bodies to stay calm while our mind finds ways to cope with anxiety. Short-term meds can help too (I'm not advocating for/against meds, just saying it's available and it's helped me).
I could have written another post, haha! Seriously, I have felt, and sometimes still feel, exactly as you described. It's the hardest work that we never wanted to do. We had no control over what happened, but we can choose to be kind to ourselves. That mean voice in your head telling you to "get over it" is trying to protect you from feeling pain. It probably saved you as a child, but doesn't work for you as an adult. You can say, "Hey, Bully Betsy, I know you mean well, but I got this, see how I've survived for over 2 years alone? I didn't die, I got this, trust me."
I hope some of this helps just a little bit, but if nothing else, please know that you are not alone.
Wow, Gabrielle! Your thoughtful response was like a torrent of compassionate wisdom and solidarity. a balm. I'm not sure where to begin with how your description of grief, the trauma of seeing a loved one die, and your "plan" for the future, die with it resonates with me.
This--"The hardest concept to wrap my head around is the way time has changed for me. It used to be linear. If something "bad" happened, I always felt better as time passed and the memory faded. Partner loss changes that completely. The trauma lives in your body and your mind, and as anyone with PTSD will tell you, once triggered you are right back in your past life. You are reliving the past or mourning the future that was ripped away. Memories do not fade as time passes, but do we really want them to go away? We still love our person, but it's confusing because now grief is attached to that love."
This encapsulates so much of my experience. And I do feel very much less alone in receiving this comment from you. Thank you. And, please know that you also are not alone. Parenting through this kind of grief, assuaging your child's wounds as you tend to your own, is a whole different kind of challenge.
Thank you Betsy. I've come to think that we are not alone in our feelings of "aloneness". Grief is such an isolating feeling, and I would be lying if I said that I don't feel like my loss is more devastating than anyone else's loss. Rationally, I know that's not true, but it makes sense that we feel our loss is the worst, because it is for US. Grief is not rational, and there is no "rock bottom". There are a thousand rock bottoms, and there will be a thousand more, BUT that doesn't mean that there won't be joy and love too. The more I embrace my grief as a consequence for loving someone so deeply, I don't judge myself so harshly. for it For every rock bottom, there are a thousand times we rise up. Let's give ourselves a f*ckload of credit for that.
So true about the rock bottoms that ebb and flow infinitely. I must apologize, Amy, for calling you Gabrielle. My brain.... (:
No worries!
Thank you Amy. What a generous and loving essay.
Thank you Bethany! I appreciate your comment 🥰🙏
Oh Amy…this is so perfect… you are so right! I couldn’t save mine either…CPR didn’t work. All these years and the wounds still there. But I did choose to keep going, working, enjoying grandkids and girlfriends and that guy. Guilt for having fun tried to derail, but I kept doing and it seemed he gave me signs it was okay. Sadly there are so many warrior widows here…I will restack this forever so they can know this is true, this is the way out of the hole, the emptiness, the sadness. Grief is forever… but we go through it the best we can. Your writing here brings me up tears ….not usual content 😅and knowing you know this makes me love you even more! Well done, beautiful lady. So well said! ❤️🤗😘
I'm tearing up myself Joan 🥰. This is one of the highest compliments I've ever received, and that you wrote it means the world to me. I admire you so much, your writing of course, but it's more about you as a person. You are open and honest, strong and bada$$, and a funny! I think we don't give ourselves enough credit, us warrior widows. For us it's "normal" to just keep going. What else would we do? Well, we could have stayed in bed. We could have become cynical and bitter. These are all choices we made or didn't make. We have survived the number one most stressful event in a person's life - losing a life partner. Of course we won't be the same person we were before they died, but there is beauty in the journey.
🥰😘💜🙏