I want to start this post by saying, I am fine, doing relatively well considering the season, and doing remarkably well considering the time on the clock of the world.
And also, I am present this morning to the continued tenacity of grief and fragility of “wellness.”
Grief, for me, is an ever-present longing for what might have been and what will never be.
It shapes the way I walk and work in the world. It shapes my reactions to the simplest things and to other, more complex things. It makes me sensitive to things that in seasons when grief is less present would not affect me at all. It makes it harder to be in the world as my best self. It makes it harder to get things done that I want to do. It makes me want to both hide and be seen, embraced, and loved. It makes me feel a deep need to control what I can (my schedule and time, which I want to be largely unencumbered because more scheduled things and things to do make me more anxious) and want to control things I can’t (including others’ actions and reactions).
Fall and winter are hard seasons for me, even when I am doing relatively well.
I have come to accept this and have tried to build in more space and grace for myself and others throughout these seasons.
I remind myself that my grief is stronger in the dark seasons, for many reasons, and that spring will come again, bringing light and growth.
I breathe in deeply and take in the love and acceptance of friends and family who have weathered many seasons by my side and who remain steadfast even when I cannot.
I know these things. They keep me grounded in times, in seasons, like these.
And also, this morning, I woke up tired, with too many things to do, and the weight of grief like a heavy stone in my heart. I woke up feeling disappointed in myself and feeling like I continually disappoint others. I woke up longing for a life that could have been and that will never be.
It is okay. There is nothing for anyone on the outside to do. I am so grateful for the life I am privileged to live. I know that I will be fine and that being with these feelings and writing about them without trying to wish they were not here is the very best thing I can do.
And also, I would remind all of us, particularly those of us less acquainted with grief that we, the grievers, are all around you in this season. We are your friends and family members. We are your colleagues and neighbors. We are the strangers you pass each day on the street. It costs nothing to give grace, show kindness and generosity, and hold space for those who are suffering. As we approach the end of the year and enter the new one, may we remember to handle one another with deep care and the love of being fully human in this season.