Here’s To…

“I think you’ve done a really great job of grieving the loss of Chad as a person and as your husband. In fact, I feel like your grief over Chad is actually resolved, but I think you’re just now coming to terms with the loss of the life that you wanted; the life you thought you’d have. They are really two separate losses. Chad was the primary loss. Your “life plan” was a secondary loss. One you healed. The other you ignored. But you can’t ignore it anymore if you want to move forward from here.”

Ben. My very first therapist. The one who opened my eyes to the benefits of professional counseling in my 20s and helped me break through so many emotional barriers. He’s a master at his craft; so skillful at connecting moments from your history with present pain, false perceptions, and future fears.

And there I was, a decade later, sitting across from him again; a plan I didn’t try to orchestrate, but a place God led me to once again anyway. 10 years different, but so much the same. He, even more masterful at the art of pinpointing the real issues buried beneath the partial façade of “okay”; me, with a whole new set of issues.

Grief. Trauma. PTSD from finding someone dead. Anxiety. Disappointment. Loneliness. So. Much. Anxiety.

His words cut right through my hot tears, because I knew instantly they were true. That was the phrase I had been searching for in my 15-minute meltdown about the unfairness of all of this – “the life I thought I’d have.”

I knew he was right, because I can talk about Chad, tell stories about him, open a door and see his things, even catch a whiff of his deodorant scent in public and not even flinch; not feel blind-sided or get even the slightest bit emotional anymore.

But if you were to ask me what my plans are for this year, what goals I’m working toward, if I’ve been on a date, or if I’m happy, I’ll probably instantly get emotional, because the pressure of keeping this much disappointment locked inside has become more than I can fake-smile away anymore.  

And this is where I’ve been stuck for months now – in a bitter rut between the life trajectory I had four years ago, the plans I had envisioned for the future, and the existence I actually have today as a single mom of three kids.

Ben excavated this issue after just three sessions earlier this year, but here I am, 8 months later, still showing up to our bi-weekly Wednesdays stuck in this up and down cycle of ‘fake and okay’ to ‘drowning in disappointment’.

Last week, as I was sitting on his comfy couch, debriefing him of the last two weeks of what is always chaos and stress, through broken words and tear-fogged glasses, when I (we) reached what I feel like is a true epiphany – and that is that he [Ben] is really the only person I talk to about my feelings anymore. Every now and then, I’ll slow-leak some things to close friends when I feel like I’m about to boil over with emotion, but for the most part, I just stuff it down and keep going.

I expressed my grief about losing Chad frequently in the first two years after his death, which, according to Ben and every other grief book I’ve read, is why my primary grief over him as an individual is so resolved.

Talking about Chad and our love for each other was easy, and I never felt embarrassed to do so, nor did I really care what anyone thought about it. I just needed to say what I needed to say to heal that piece of my heart, and I did so freely. But at some point in the last two years, I stopped talking. I largely stopped writing and no longer felt free to express where I’ve been.

I’m not certain when this happened or exactly why. I don’t recall a specific incident that made me withdraw. Truth be told, I think it was a number of different things that made me feel like I should just be quiet.

Chiefly, because working in ministry has made me feel like I have to hide my flaws, lest church-people think I’m spiritually unqualified or question my level of faith or ability to lead. That’s nothing that anyone has said or even hinted to me. It’s a false perception I completely put on myself.

Secondly, I’ve never been a “poor, pitiful me” type of person. I’ve been through a lot of adversity in life. My ACE score would not have predicted things to even have turned out this well, but I’ve never seen myself as a victim, and I don’t want people to mistake my emotional transparency for a victim mentality.

Lastly, I don’t want people to mistake my disappointment for ungratefulness.

For some reason that I can’t figure out, people, unfortunately mostly Christian people, have a hard time letting disappointment and gratitude exist in the same plane of reality. As if those two feelings are somehow mutual exclusivities that reside on opposite ends of your emotional spectrum. This is also false.

You can be deeply grateful for the blessings in your life and simultaneously devastated beyond comprehension.

How do I know this? Because I am.

I’m deeply grateful that neither I nor my kids have cancer or some other horrid medical condition that I know so many are dealing with. I’m grateful we still have our home, and that I have a job and can buy groceries and put gas in my car. I’m grateful that I’ve somehow been able to keep my kids in the best Christian school on this side of town, that we have an amazing church family, that my parents and grandparents are still living, and that I have a support system of family and friends who still care for us almost four years after Chad’s unexpected death, but I’m also just utterly devastated that I am where I am in life right now at 36 years old.

I’m grateful I had a great marriage, but I’m devastated that I’ve been alone for so long now.

I’m grateful for three beautiful, intelligent, kind, and adoring children, but raising them alone and all the pressure that come with every single aspect of that is just soul-crushing, frankly.

Having a mindset of gratitude and thankfulness helps reframe what is important when life feels hazy, but it doesn’t miraculously make your sorrow disappear. More gratitude isn’t a magical antidote to despair. If anything, I’ve found gratitude is more a temporary distraction from my sadness that helps me keep going in a rough moment, but it’s not a cure.

You can focus on the good and make longer lists of the things your thankful for and pretend like ignoring your disappointment will make it go away all you want, but it won’t.

How do I know this? Because I’ve done it for almost four years now, and I’m still stuck here.

And that’s what I said last Wednesday – “I’m so tired of being stuck here.”

I’m tired of being stuck here in anger and sadness and bitterness and jealousy, trapped in silence because I don’t want people to think less of me if I say what I feel like I need to say to heal this. And for someone who literally thinks transparent vulnerability is her unofficial love language, I feel like I’ve been living like a fraud, and it has begun to erode my soul.

“You need to start writing again,” he said. “Not just writing, but sharing too. It’s the sharing that’s cathartic for you, because it’s the vulnerability that makes you feel seen and understood. Writing and keeping it to yourself probably does nothing for you at all.”

He’s not wrong. He actually couldn’t be more right.

I’ve actually written a lot of things in the last year. I’ve just shared none of them, because somewhere along the road, I started walking scared; looking over my shoulder, scared of people I might offend or feelings I might hurt or friends I might lose; scared of being judged.

Most of all, I think I’m scared that if I let myself deconstruct this knot of disappointment, I might dig a pit I can’t climb back out of. I’m afraid of being more stuck that I feel now; that this feeling won’t ever go away, and I’ll be trapped in a spin-cycle of secondary grief forever.

And to that he so tactfully said, “But how is keeping it all inside working out for you so far?”

So…

Here’s to being real and honest and vulnerable again.

Here’s to deconstructing toxic things I recognize about myself.

Here’s to becoming a healthier-minded mom for my kids.

Here’s to freeing myself from secondary grief.

Here’s to growing in faith in God, hope in the future, and love for myself and others.

Here’s to hopefully finding joy and contentment again.

Here’s to 2022.

Happy New Year!

Blessings!

Shannon