Part of the reason I don't write much is that I am constantly editing myself (and it is a mostly unpleasant experience).
That, and the truth---I am a stormy-weather writer.
And today is stormy out, and stormy inside.
Since my mom died, I've been prone to sudden and unexpected bouts of grief. They manifest as tears that don't really have meaning. Just a deep sadness.
As I attempted to drive with Miles out to the lake for a walk with a friend, it became clear that what I thought was fog was really drizzle. After suiting Miles up in his raincoat, loading him up, and getting on the road, I realized it wasn't a good day to walk. Or talk.
Traffic was backed-up, so it took me a while to turn around and head home. But in that time, and even now as I write, one of these unexpected bouts of grief/tears has arrived.
The difference between now and a few years ago, is that I'm much more tolerant and accepting of my feelings as they are, even though I don't entire understand them. It's been nearly 13 years since my mom died and over 7 years since Archie died. My dear friend Clif suicided in November. Am I still grieving?
The answer for me, as comes out of my mouth with countless people I counsel about grief, is yes. Grief is not linear. I'm not sure it ever goes away. It sort of becomes a part of us that seeps out over time. I am in relationship with grief now. Not just grief around the deaths of my loved ones, but grief around the thousands of little losses I experience weekly. In the last couple of years, I've grieved the loss of my identity as a yoga teacher. I've also been grieving about my realization that I suffer developmental trauma from being raised by a mentally unstable mother and a slightly narcissistic father (realizations that only recently became available to my consciousness). I grieve the loss of the parts of myself that had to be rigid to cope with my young experience and the parts of myself that struggle to have clear boundaries or to simply know what I want in any given situation.
All of this is part of being Kim. Surprise! I am a participant of this very human experience.
And I wouldn't trade it. Grief is not uncomfortable to me. It is real. It is often present. And I am grateful for all the practices that have steered me here---to this deep appreciation of what is, as it is.
That, and the truth---I am a stormy-weather writer.
And today is stormy out, and stormy inside.
Since my mom died, I've been prone to sudden and unexpected bouts of grief. They manifest as tears that don't really have meaning. Just a deep sadness.
As I attempted to drive with Miles out to the lake for a walk with a friend, it became clear that what I thought was fog was really drizzle. After suiting Miles up in his raincoat, loading him up, and getting on the road, I realized it wasn't a good day to walk. Or talk.
Traffic was backed-up, so it took me a while to turn around and head home. But in that time, and even now as I write, one of these unexpected bouts of grief/tears has arrived.
The difference between now and a few years ago, is that I'm much more tolerant and accepting of my feelings as they are, even though I don't entire understand them. It's been nearly 13 years since my mom died and over 7 years since Archie died. My dear friend Clif suicided in November. Am I still grieving?
The answer for me, as comes out of my mouth with countless people I counsel about grief, is yes. Grief is not linear. I'm not sure it ever goes away. It sort of becomes a part of us that seeps out over time. I am in relationship with grief now. Not just grief around the deaths of my loved ones, but grief around the thousands of little losses I experience weekly. In the last couple of years, I've grieved the loss of my identity as a yoga teacher. I've also been grieving about my realization that I suffer developmental trauma from being raised by a mentally unstable mother and a slightly narcissistic father (realizations that only recently became available to my consciousness). I grieve the loss of the parts of myself that had to be rigid to cope with my young experience and the parts of myself that struggle to have clear boundaries or to simply know what I want in any given situation.
All of this is part of being Kim. Surprise! I am a participant of this very human experience.
And I wouldn't trade it. Grief is not uncomfortable to me. It is real. It is often present. And I am grateful for all the practices that have steered me here---to this deep appreciation of what is, as it is.
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