Tell Me What's Normal
Recently, I questioned the normalcy behind my pain involving grief. Instead, unexpectedly and with great surprise, I ventured into a new territory; and this new place wasn't grief-land.
I do this thing where everything is measured by time.
I also do this thing where I use Nickolas’ death as a benchmark and point of starting over for my own life.
His death and the dissolution of us was the end of an era.
I inevitably find myself auditing my progress in places like grief, career, and love every so often to ensure that I am and have made progress according to my impossible standards. Or is it maintaining standards or the proverbial “not settling” bit? Guess it depends on who you ask.
I chuckle as I write this. With reflection, I see how unforgiving this all sounds, and acknowledge, albeit, with tinges of regrets here and there, the pressure and work I have put on myself to incessantly “get to my next place” not just in the realm of my career or romantic relationships, but my grief, my healing process, and my stuff that was inadvertently brought to light through my grief journey that needed sorting.
Not too-too often, but on occasion, I would ask my therapist if this or that was normal. Typically, she would shoot right back and ask, “What’s normal?” I’d get exasperated by her response but she had a point. My questions about whether something was normal weren’t just about grief but about various aspects of my life.
“Normal”, whatever that typically means, rarely has been part of my life. Certainly not when it comes to my adoption, identity, family, and being slapped with the label of “widow” at 26. Even as a kid, I often wondered what it would be like to be “normal” or at the very least, average.
Weeks before posting my first entry, I got close to talking myself out of launching my blog altogether. Mainly because it still hurts to talk about it let alone write about it. I questioned whether the pain I kept subjecting myself to by rehashing it for the 100th time was a conducive thing to do at this point. And, is it “normal” to still feel this kind of pain over something that happened all those years ago?
So, true to my form, I took it to my therapist.
“Is it normal to still feel pain about my grief?”
This time, she answered with a very direct, “yes” followed by a, “…why wouldn’t it hurt?”
Good question. I figured enough time had passed (and by whose and what standard, I don’t know), the pain would’ve subsided by now. Granted, I’m not topping the figurative Richter scale but is it normal to feel consistently some-kind-of-way about it as frequently as I do?
I guess that’s why the experts say “coping with grief” rather than overcoming it.
It turns out, there’s really no expiration date with “coping”.
Here’s where it gets interesting and a testament that my grief has changed and I have evolved and I’m not where I started all those years ago.
Present day, my grief is less, if not barely about Nickolas or the future that never was. It is, no doubt, still the very essence of profound loss but less attached to an individual. As I think about this, I’m not sure that what I’m feeling and working with is exclusively grief either.
When I brought this to the attention of my therapist, she shared something with me that ultimately served as a compass that guided me to the right path after being directionally turned around for quite some time. She shared with me that when her clients are grieving, she holds space for their grief in a place of compassion and empathy. More than likely, this is where I was with myself: holding space for my grief in a place of deep self-compassion and self-empathy.
Makes sense. We do this for others, so why wouldn’t we for ourselves?
Honestly, I don’t know how to put this into words. However, if I were to describe what I am visualizing in the context of holding space for me, it would be my survivalist, tough-as-nails self tenderly holding my vulnerable and sweet self; my then broken 26-year-old self who had to pick up the shattered pieces and put it all back together; and lastly, the little girl in me who needs constant reassurance and validation.
No judgment. No criticisms. No admonishments. No questions. No strings. No hostility.
Just acknowledgment, acceptance, compassion, empathy, and love.
Nobody will and was going to fill these cups, but myself.
You’re probably wondering what took me so long to get here.
I never had the leisure or the time to get here sooner (talk about trusting in your timing) because tending to my grief and relearning how to do life as an “I” instead of a “we/us” was a much more pressing issue solely from a survival standpoint. Ultimately, I had to figure out how to be okay and function in my new reality before anything else. Grief or no grief, anyone who had to survive something knows what this feels like.
This place of self-compassion and empathy is a whole new place; an uncharted territory with my relationship with myself and the little girl within me. Although I would preface that this is a culmination of all the inner work I have put in over many, many years. Which also meant traveling to and from the depths of my hell all the while carrying the weight of my grief.
So, is this all normal? I still haven’t got a clue. But if it isn’t, I’d like to normalize it. Normalize grief. Normalize putting in the work. Normalize loving yourself unconditionally, unapologetically, and fiercely. Normalize the fight to save yourself. Normalize choosing yourself above anyone and anything else. Normalize owning your narrative. Normalize taking off that protective shield to accept and acknowledge all the bad things that have happened in our lives so we can heal and move forward.
All of this, with the hope that eventually, we’d all get to the point of thriving because as I have always said and countless others, surviving simply isn’t enough.
I’m here though, thriving alongside my grief, uncertainties, and pain points.
It’s not a perfect place or easy or always exciting or peaceful, but it’s a place that is consistently light and most importantly, free.
