At 33, I am very lucky to say I have only experienced one tragic loss and it happened 9.5 years ago. It seems that with tragedy, there is more compassion, empathy, and support for the survivor's well being, than if a loss is more natural and not tragic. People share tragic stories with me every week and I'm aware of tragedy in the world...sometimes so aware that I can feel the weight of it all at once and need to just be quiet and still so I can feel myself breathing. With a tragic loss, there seems to be different phases of processing. First you process the tragedy...then however long it takes...you move onto the loss part of the experience. It's almost like the tragic part provides a segway into processing what/who you lost.
So, when my grandmother passed away 6.5 months ago...there was nothing tragic about it. She lived a full, long, incredible life for 95 years. She died peacefully in her bed surrounded by people who love her deeply...myself being one of them. Everything about her passing was natural, beautiful and peaceful. I convinced myself that because of these facts, I could also just be at peace with her passing, because it was inevitable and part of life. I found comfort in being able to witness the whole thing because there was no question in my mind or my heart as to whether she was exactly where she needed to be.
November 6 marked 6 months since she left this earth. And I realized that I had never gone more than 6 months in my whole life without seeing her. I havent been able to stop crying since Nov 6. I long for one more hug, and to hear her laugh. I'd give anything to hear her tell me how proud of me she is and how much she loves my kids. I want to hear her tales from her childhood and how much money she paid for a bag of pears 35 years ago when they were on sale. Why am I all of a sudden a total disaster now? Grief. Greif and Ego. I was ignorantly bottling up my sadness around what I lost, because I was trying so hard to focus on what I am grateful for in the 33 years I got to know her. In some ways my ego protected me here from falling apart and not being able to hold space for anyone around me. I felt guilty when sadness crept in, in the early weeks of her passing, because there was nothing tragic about her death. I was focusing so hard on what I gained from our relationship, and didn't let in the thoughts of loss, for fear of never being able to stop crying. But here I am: crying all the time. My ego has ultimately lost the battle of inevitable emotions needing to release. She had a time and place to protect me from the true rawness of the first few months, and now she needs to rest so I can just cry.
Not everyone gets to have their grandmother as their soul mate...but I did. This woman saw me take my very first breaths, and I laid with her as she took her last. To me, there is nothing more profoud in life than this very thing. I will forever be grateful for her because I literally wouldn't be who I am without her in my life. She taught me things only she could teach me, and she loved me in a way only she could. She was the most special person I will ever know, and now I just miss her so much my whole body aches for her hug. I know the intensity of this missing her won't last forever...but right now it feels fresh and vulnerable and painful.
I didn't expect to be so blindsided by grief, but here I am. I haven't been able to put a finger quite on why I havent felt totally myself since May 6, 2019 and I don't know why it took me 6 months to connect the dots but there you have it. I'm overwhelmed with sadness, and just letting it pass through. It comes in waves, and waves always ebb and flow. I'm learning that just because there isn't a tragedy connected to a loss, it doesn't make the loss any less painful or difficult to deal with. I'm notorious for being hard on myself and expecting way more than is fair...and this is my challenge now: to be kind, compassionate and empathic to my feelings. To let them be valid, raw and as they are; with the intuitive knowledge that they will pass as they always do.
I cry in happiness for what I had with my Mem. I cry in sadness for what I miss. I cry in gratitude that she had a beautiful relationship with my own children. I cry in sheer ecstacy that I was able to lay with her as she left her body. I cry in joy for her love. I cry in celebration and mourning for her beautiful life.
No one talks about this stuff. Let's talk about it and be ok with tears. They are sacred waters of emotion, humanity and beauty when we let them out.
In Gratitude, and all of the feelings,
Sarah
Friday, November 22, 2019
Sunday, November 17, 2019
On Motherhood and Vulnerability
The deeper I dive into motherhood and coparenting, the more I realize how much I don't know, and how much no one ever told me. This shit is HARD. It's the hardest job I have ever had, which means it's arguably the most important one. It's what brings out my best side, and therefore my worst side as well. It's what allows me to feel the deepest connection to God and to myself, while (sometimes simultaneously) also feeling so disconnected from who I am and what to do, that I often question my ability to raise solid human beings.
Part of being human is our expansive ability to experience such a vast array of emotions. Motherhood for me, has provided the opportunity to experience many conflicting emotions, often simultaneously. I never thought that I would be able to have feelings of the deepest most beautiful love, as well as the deepest most ugly resentment. But the closer I examine this, the more it makes sense.
We grow these humans with our bodies, and then keep them alive with our bodies for at least 6 months. Of course there is the deepest of deep emotional ties to our children. They give us infinite opportunities to learn more about ouselves, and to be better humans. But that's hard work. No one tells you how hard it is, until you've lost your sense of self, being all consumed by the needs of these tiny people...and so while you unconditionally love this little person, you also resent them for making you look so closely and so often in the mirror.
What I remind myself of is this: if we didn't have the feelings of disappointment, anger, resentment, frustration....then we likely wouldn't have the feelings of euphoria, bliss, unconditional love, connection. If we didn't care what happened to these little people, then we wouldnt feel any of the above listed emotions. The deeper we love, the more we feel. To me, this sums up so much of parenting. When I feel tunnel visioned and overwhelmed and like I might not make it through the day, I allow myself a few moments to feel those things, then try and remind myself that I'm feeling these things because of how much I care.
Being a parent means being vulnerable: ALL THE TIME. It means admitting you are wrong: often. It means holding space for others to grow. It means letting go, not only of your expections but also of your attachments to those expectations. It's a constant practice in the deepest kind of vulnerability there is, which means it takes CONSTANT courage. Brene Brown talks about how she as a researcher has studied this before, and she can measure how brave you are by how vulnerable you are willing to be.
I often talk about how I struggle with parenting. Part of why I do this so openly and so intensely, is because I TRUST I am not the only person to feel this way. My crass recounts of how stressful our days are when my kids are being total monsters, (75-80% of the time), is my way of trying to normalize the challenging parts of parenting. It's so easy to get sucked into the world of social media where people only post cute pics and stories of their kids...guess what? I do that too but I also try and remain realistic here: SOMETIMES MY KIDS ARE ASSHOLES AND I WANT TO RUN AWAY. If I lie about this, then I'm putting up walls and not allowing myself to share my vulnerability with others, which is isolating and not real life.
I make a CHOICE every day, and sometimes multiples times a day, to show up as best as I can for my family. Some days I slay it. Some days I barely make it by. Some days I scream more than I thought I ever would. Some days I just have it all together. All days, I choose to be vulnerable, because if I'm not, then I'm not available.
I'm tired. I'm so drained by the end of each day. After countless "1..2..3's..." and negotiations to get my kids to do what needs to be done so we get to where we need to be. Exhausted by literally teaching them how to be functioning humans in this world. My biggest fear as a mother is that I will somehow not teach my kids the coping skills they need to get by in this insanely fast moving, overwhelming world. I struggle every day with this fear, and I'm certain it effects my parenting, but I'm not entirely sure what to do about it. Once again, I return to vulnerability. If I don't know what the hell I'm doing, then other people must not know either.
Parents; mothers; fathers; caregivers: I see you. I see you so clearly. I don't know what I'm doing. I know I love my kids. And sometimes I kind of hate them. I know I ALWAYS love them, and I often hate parenting. It's confusing...it's unnerving...it's life. I need to breathe more...and I need to be seen and supported. I have no problems asking for help these days...and I hope you don't hesistate to ask me, because I SEE YOU and I will always do what I can to make things softer.
Thank you to those of you who do make this ride a little more light hearted...or at the very least, validated. There is no better form of support (for me) to know that I'm not in fact crazy...I'm not in fact making up how hard this is. Thank you to my own mother and father and all the mothers and fathers before me. I need to remind myself of your strength each day, to believe that I can do this.
In Gratitude,
Sarah
Part of being human is our expansive ability to experience such a vast array of emotions. Motherhood for me, has provided the opportunity to experience many conflicting emotions, often simultaneously. I never thought that I would be able to have feelings of the deepest most beautiful love, as well as the deepest most ugly resentment. But the closer I examine this, the more it makes sense.
We grow these humans with our bodies, and then keep them alive with our bodies for at least 6 months. Of course there is the deepest of deep emotional ties to our children. They give us infinite opportunities to learn more about ouselves, and to be better humans. But that's hard work. No one tells you how hard it is, until you've lost your sense of self, being all consumed by the needs of these tiny people...and so while you unconditionally love this little person, you also resent them for making you look so closely and so often in the mirror.
What I remind myself of is this: if we didn't have the feelings of disappointment, anger, resentment, frustration....then we likely wouldn't have the feelings of euphoria, bliss, unconditional love, connection. If we didn't care what happened to these little people, then we wouldnt feel any of the above listed emotions. The deeper we love, the more we feel. To me, this sums up so much of parenting. When I feel tunnel visioned and overwhelmed and like I might not make it through the day, I allow myself a few moments to feel those things, then try and remind myself that I'm feeling these things because of how much I care.
Being a parent means being vulnerable: ALL THE TIME. It means admitting you are wrong: often. It means holding space for others to grow. It means letting go, not only of your expections but also of your attachments to those expectations. It's a constant practice in the deepest kind of vulnerability there is, which means it takes CONSTANT courage. Brene Brown talks about how she as a researcher has studied this before, and she can measure how brave you are by how vulnerable you are willing to be.
I often talk about how I struggle with parenting. Part of why I do this so openly and so intensely, is because I TRUST I am not the only person to feel this way. My crass recounts of how stressful our days are when my kids are being total monsters, (75-80% of the time), is my way of trying to normalize the challenging parts of parenting. It's so easy to get sucked into the world of social media where people only post cute pics and stories of their kids...guess what? I do that too but I also try and remain realistic here: SOMETIMES MY KIDS ARE ASSHOLES AND I WANT TO RUN AWAY. If I lie about this, then I'm putting up walls and not allowing myself to share my vulnerability with others, which is isolating and not real life.
I make a CHOICE every day, and sometimes multiples times a day, to show up as best as I can for my family. Some days I slay it. Some days I barely make it by. Some days I scream more than I thought I ever would. Some days I just have it all together. All days, I choose to be vulnerable, because if I'm not, then I'm not available.
I'm tired. I'm so drained by the end of each day. After countless "1..2..3's..." and negotiations to get my kids to do what needs to be done so we get to where we need to be. Exhausted by literally teaching them how to be functioning humans in this world. My biggest fear as a mother is that I will somehow not teach my kids the coping skills they need to get by in this insanely fast moving, overwhelming world. I struggle every day with this fear, and I'm certain it effects my parenting, but I'm not entirely sure what to do about it. Once again, I return to vulnerability. If I don't know what the hell I'm doing, then other people must not know either.
Parents; mothers; fathers; caregivers: I see you. I see you so clearly. I don't know what I'm doing. I know I love my kids. And sometimes I kind of hate them. I know I ALWAYS love them, and I often hate parenting. It's confusing...it's unnerving...it's life. I need to breathe more...and I need to be seen and supported. I have no problems asking for help these days...and I hope you don't hesistate to ask me, because I SEE YOU and I will always do what I can to make things softer.
Thank you to those of you who do make this ride a little more light hearted...or at the very least, validated. There is no better form of support (for me) to know that I'm not in fact crazy...I'm not in fact making up how hard this is. Thank you to my own mother and father and all the mothers and fathers before me. I need to remind myself of your strength each day, to believe that I can do this.
In Gratitude,
Sarah
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