Sometimes I feel like I have written all there is to write. And then I realize I am wrong.
The last blog update I wrote was last year in October. A full year has gone by since I have written. I was curious to see how my process of grief would go if I didn't have an intentional place to put my writing. I journal very regularly but my writing looks and sounds different when I know no one will read it. During a recent therapy appointment, I realized I am doing myself a disservice by not writing. I am making my head more of a mess than it already is.
When I started this blog it was a way for me to connect with my friends and family to share with them the process of my grief, to thank them for their love and support, and to give insight into what it is like to be widowed at 29. Over the years I have written about a myriad of topics about widowhood and being a single mom. I always posted my blog on the 15th of each month because Matt passed on October 15th. Approaching each month, knowing I wanted to share on my blog, knowing I wanted to write, lead to me processing in a different way than I have this past year. Writing more or less forced me to look at my grief through a different lens. And I think that lens has brought a lot of insight and healing.
Without using this outlet for my grief, I have noticed a difference in my mental health, my physical health, and my emotional health. I am more scattered, more tired, more unclear on my feelings. Because of the negative impact that not writing has had on me, I decided it was time again. So here I am. Writing again. Not sure the frequency. Not sure what these posts will look like or entail. But I don't believe I have written my last word. I believe I have more to say.
It has been 5 years without Matt. And much like the anniversaries prior, I am drained. I find myself crying often. I look at the clock and relive where I was at that moment 5 years ago today. The grief is still there. It has shifted. But I don't hurt any less.
Since I haven't written monthly, there is a full year of catching up to do. I don't know that now is the time to try to condense it into writing but I do feel like now is a good time for some reflection. In some ways, I thought my life would look a lot different after 5 years without Matt. I thought I had dug from the very bottom and only had one way to go. Up. I never dreamed I would go back down. Never thought I would hit rock bottom again. That I would rebuild again. But I did. I hurt in new ways. A culmination of life threw me down to a place where I was gasping for breath and struggling to live. I tore open old wounds, discovered new ones, and was faced with hurt and trials that I thought I had overcome.
During that episode, I was put in contact with a new therapist. I have been seeing the same one for 5 years now. She has done a lot of work with me and helped me tremendously. I still see her and utilize her tools. My new therapist works a lot with trauma and crisis. He has a different perspective and outlook on things (partly due to his gender). And he has helped me a lot in a very short time.
With the combination of two therapists, being put back on antidepressants and anti-anxiety meds, and being really mindful at all times, I am finally starting to feel better. Never in my life had I felt depression so dark and anxiety so high. After Matt passed I thought I hit rock bottom. I thought I knew what that felt like. But I had even farther to go. I realized that I didn't hit rock bottom then because I simply couldn't. We had to plan Matt's memorial services, write the obituary, I had probate, houses to sell, a house to build, have a baby, and somehow do it all while grieving the loss of my husband. Finally, after 4 1/2 years, I collapsed. In the midst of a pandemic, with nowhere to go, no outlets, no people to see, I felt as though nothing could pull me out of bed. Except my kids. And even caring for Olivia and Rylan was so overwhelming and daunting. I couldn't do it. I needed help.
When life got messy, as it did for many of us in 2020, when my floor fell from beneath me, I slipped into the darkest place I've ever known. My kids are old enough to be taken care of by anyone. They aren't in diapers, nursing, or in my belly. Which meant my body could fully crash as well. I didn't have to eat like I did before to nourish a growing baby. I could eat garbage, drink too much, not exercise, and sleep all day because my body wasn't for anyone except me.
No comments:
Post a Comment