Grief and Knowing Yourself

"To know thyself is the beginning of wisdom" -Socrates

In the past many weeks I have seen so much of myself. Though they've been weeks of living hell, hanging on to functioning – if you could even call it that. I've always gleaned from and studied what I'm experiencing, always hoping to gain understanding.

If I had a dime for every time I'd been told not to overthink, I'd have...some amount of money. Some dimes. But I know the line between processing and slipping into obsession. To process, my mind will turn something over and over until I understand it. Whether it's learning how something works because it interests me, or understanding human interactions to try and be better or at peace. These last several weeks have been set on the latter. Making sense out of this.

In this time, I've been getting these gut feelings, followed closely by a wave of fear that would topple me and attempt to destroy my footing. There were a few days that I'm not sure I'd ever been so challenged mentally and emotionally in my entire life. I thought back to past breakups, and while they were trying times with much processing, they did not compare to this. Though I hadn't quite put my finger on why.

But these little moments of clarity have come. I know myself, I'd think, I know what went on and who he is. I know.

I'd reached out for support because I was suffering so greatly. I needed to make sure others were aware of me. I felt an immediate and sudden shift to my aloneness. But with sharing of trouble, comes advice. I tend make my mind up and then test my certainty against advice or input. When down for the count, this became slightly less important than trying to eat something that day.

Still, I felt that knowing inside of me. I felt a newfound sense of attunement with myself. See, I'd been struggling with feeling distant from many people, and within that feeling like I'd been changing and growing so much over the past several years, that some in my life didn't know who I am now. I looked back at past painful struggles with grief and moving forward after the loss of a relationship, and I correlated it with when depression set in. At the time, I was beginning to question my faith and find less comfort in it, more unease. This put a discomfort in some of my relationships, as well. Not only was there misunderstanding or a felt lack of space for grief over the relational loss, but it is incredibly difficult to question the Christian faith.

The past few years then, I lived with the weight of this. Going on hiding a part of myself, and feeling to some extent like I was both alone and could not fully trust others. What I'd actually done was grown weary of expressing who I was and what I believed, whether about grief or about questioning a long-held belief system.

As I felt myself thrashed among the waves of grief in this recent loss, I knew I had to reach out for help and tell others how to show up for me, and that I had to be authentically messy as long as it took. This approach has been incredibly healing for me in regard to those old wounds. I think it's something I could only allow myself to do because of the work I've done (with the help of therapy) and what I've learned in spite of depression over the past years, particularly this past year.

It is difficult, especially in times of grief, to be aware of oneself and find the energy to fight for that self. It is risky and feels even more vulnerable to ask others to be there for you. And it is all necessary to allow the grief to be with you.

"To thine own self be true." -Shakespeare

Neither Can I Know

My heart is longing for yours,

so.

My body aches and tenses,

and wonders,

where did my love

go?

My mind races and dances,

to the field of moments and 

fro.

My eyes give generously, 

dousing seeds of my 

sorrow.

Yet something in me dares to hope,

waits for you to 

show. 

Because if all of me can't understand,

then neither can I 

know.

The Split Path

Man, it really blows to wake up every day feeling like shit.  I didn't feel this way in depression for some time...  I feel numb, hollow, and achy all at the same time.  The actual thought of him never being in my life again is unreal.  I swear it feels like my chest – my heart actually aches. 

Then I go back, always the same, to wondering how in the hell would I ever do this again?  In the past, I wanted to want to marry someone, just because we were together.  Now, I wanted to be with and build a life with him, I began seeing the way we were in each others' lives as beginning to build a shared life.  I saw someone I trusted to share well in life's challenges, who gave me comfort and support and laughter, who shined a light on my dark days. 

There are many reasons and yet no clear one as to why we are not anymore.  Maybe that makes it hardest of all.  He was there and present, loving me so well, I never thought there was a major plot twist coming.  It's like all my systems cannot process the change in course. 

And I believe that love stays.  I value the trust that I've earned, the person who I love...I just don't know my place, anymore.  The one that he wants, not whatever one he thinks I should have.  

My damn heart keeps hoping.  I'm so rooted in my gut, that I can't go in the direction of "shoulds".  It's like I have to follow through, to the end of the path, or the fork, whichever it may be, to believe against her.  It's not that she's never been wrong, that inner voice, it's that too many times I've doubted her and messed things up. 

It does feel like I'm at a fork, and either path appears treacherous.  There is no way without pain.  I've sat here a few days.  I'd started down one, but something didn't feel right.  Maybe I'll just never learn how to not be loyal to a fault.  I've tried before and it wasn't less painful, nor did it evidence being "right". 

I suppose that's kind of how my gut-inner-voice works though.  I'll sit here, at the split path, until she tells me the way.  And I'll do my best to trust her, – and if she's wrong, I'll double back.  But either way there is pain. 

Unlike Anything

This is a grief unlike anything I've ever known. 

It follows me, 

and sees what I see, 

then descends on me. 

My heart has never known 

how to rip the band-aid off 

of love.

I long to do anything 

to lend my mind some rest, 

but it won't take. 

Even from the moment I feel my body wake, 

the sadness is there. 

All day the longing lays in wait, 

for a reminder of your missing touch,

to take my breath away. 

I'd be lying if I were to say

I didn't feel a little foolish 

for setting my heart on something, 

with sureness 

I had no business having. 

But the days slide by, 

drenched in my tears. 

Missing you, maybe forever. 

Maybe,

foolish as I am, 

I'll dare to dream of your embrace.

Single, Pushing 30

One of the hardest things for me to process about the end of this relationship is the implication that I should hope for a new one in the future.

Not long from now, I turn 30. I'm at a place in my life where making new friends is hard enough, let alone the thought of trying again to find a life partner – I don't want to. I'm at this point where I just want to be known. In my early 20's, I loved the life of meeting people constantly and having a lot of brief encounters, finding that the world is full of people to be known and opportunities to have fun. I had so much fun! I knew so many people, just a little bit – which tends to be enough for the good times. I was also constantly learning about life, able to experience it to the fullest in any given moment.

I'm not scared of turning 30, I've sort of been looking forward to it. But for the past couple years I've been feeling the change that comes at this time. It's harder to make friends. It's harder to meet people, let alone people who share your values and your humor and your interests. The people you know are harder to spend quality time with.

As I struggle to begin adjusting to being single again, I can't help but think of how disinterested I am in the get-to-know-you process, particularly teaching others about me and certainly not investing in others only to find out there's a barrier. And I would love more friendships but I want to skip to the comfortable part; to the depth. I don't want to be single forever (and now there's my eggs to think about, thanks 30's), but the thought of wading through profile pictures, trying to sum myself up in a limited amount of characters, getting ghosted from chats and dates, nearly being taken advantage of, and wondering if I'm "their type", if I'll be good enough...

Not to mention, I work hard in relationships. I think a lot about them. I want them to thrive. I want to feel free to be myself in them. In the past few years, I've narrowed my focus to a few close friendships that feed me and give me life. But it's the nature of things that the older you get, the less time we have for one another. So the loss of an intimate relationship at this stage of life is especially challenging. I find myself facing all these questions about the future that I can't possibly know the answers to; I don't bother to try, except that they are my constant, nagging companions in my solitude.

I know I'm past the age where the brief encounters give me life, or where I can convince myself there's a lesson or a purpose; what I want is to be known and to go deep. I'm past the point in my path where I'm hopeful about going back to a stage that was once fun and exciting, that now seems dreadful and hopeless.

And it's not that I need any convincing, it's that I've gotten to know myself better year after year. The past few have been hard, and I know that I am still burnt out. And I thought I'd found my person so I don't want to fill their space. Nor do I believe I could.

A Late Twenty-Something

Yesterday I was feeling daunted by the weight of what it's like to be in your late twenties. To put it succinctly, it's quite lonely.

Now is that time when friends are getting married, having kids, constantly doing something... And I'm constantly doing things. Suddenly the social access of your early twenties and emerging adulthood dries up. There are days, weeks, or even months between meaningful time spent. Worst of all, sometimes when you really feel like you need someone, there's nowhere clear to turn.

Baby Alicia didn't expect this. The social butterfly who romped around Northeast Minneapolis for the better half of this decade didn't know the gears would shift so dramatically. The dreaded activity of penciling or being penciled in would become the norm, particularly booking out weeks in advance and struggling to find a common free day. As for the here and now, as a single late-twenty- or thirty-something, it can feel very lonely.

Married friends fill their needs through their partners, and parent friends have so much more to do than me I can't begin to comprehend how anyone manages, let alone has energy for a social life! Another single friend and I were recently talking about the strange distancing one can feel from their family at this stage of life, as well. We agreed that growing into your own person can feel at odds with your family of origin.

All of this isn't a new thought or idea, in fact I've probably written about it before, however, each time I encounter a small bit of grief over this stage of life, I wonder if it's normal. Is this how things have always been for all people in this stage of life, – mostly exhausting? Sure, some of my own personal experience has to do with leaving the Church and the sense of security provided by faith.

That only further reminds me that sometimes I'm prone to longing for answers I will never get. I want to turn things around and around until I understand to a satisfactory level. The last few years of growing up even more, they're hard for me to understand.

I started to feel a sense of independence throughout my twenties; being established in myself. I didn't know how isolating it would feel down the road, that the tough times would be mine to deal with alone.

Maybe it will be different like I hear it is when I cross that threshold into my thirties. The storms will have weathered me, but my rootedness will have withstood the test. Maybe.

There's a Word For This

I didn't know there was a word for it, and even when I found it I didn't know it's what I was doing: deconstructing. Sounds so intentional. So much like taking a wrecking ball to things – wait, no, that's demolition. To deconstruct something is to pull it apart by its pieces until it isn't anymore. That about sums up what I've been doing.

Really, it started as a slow process, more like a loose thread that began a true unraveling. It's not yet finished, either, so it's a little terrifying to name, but not unlike untangling a knotted mess, there is relief the further I go.

It all began when I couldn't hear God anymore. Having grown ever more steeped in the belief that I could not be abandoned, well, that didn't seem to help all that much when I felt the very most alone. When darkness and sadness took up residency in my life, nothing had better answers or a louder voice. I tried, I asked and I sought, though wearily. I persistently showed up on Sunday mornings.

For so long it was so painful and uncomfortable, until I finally allowed myself the space to stop enduring the pain I had been experiencing while still trying to participate. I got up, bussed my coffee cup, put on my sunglasses and coat, and walked to my car – doing my best to avoid eye contact. Far before that day when I walked out of those doors the last time, people didn't seem to understand my struggle and pain, so why would they that day? I didn't want to be stopped. Something had finally begun in me, it was the pieces coming apart.

The next few months there was a dull ache. I wondered if I was betraying everyone I knew, because, well, everyone I know is a Christian and I wasn't sure I wanted to be one anymore. Even saying that to myself was hard, I don't think I uttered it aloud for months. At first it was because I wasn't sure I wanted to walk away, though gradually it became because I had walked away and desperately didn't want to be cornered with looks of concern and offers of prayer that didn't seem to change anything. I felt more well away from church, away from constant attempts to gloss over the pain and errs of the human experience, than I did slouched in a seat every week trying to find peace again. I wanted my choice to be accepted, not challenged and questioned, or worse dismissed.

Some of the time that followed was painful, because I'd wrapped my identity up tightly in all things Christianity and my church, that without it I felt hollow and very alone. At the same time, I knew I was nowhere near ready or interested to go back. Not just that church, any church. I tried once and while it was more accessible and realistic, I still felt uncomfortable. Since I started to let myself question, I wasn't sure what to say I believed anymore which suddenly made the world feel unsteady, too.

Over time it became a new normal and the sense of dread over whether I was missing something started to dissipate. Instead, I found so many facets of the Christian life I lived were with flaw that I couldn't fathom how I'd ever overlooked. It also became harder to reconcile the life I've lived so far, with where I am now and where I'm headed.

Writing this is a risk; a way to say aloud what I've been quietly turning over and over in my mind for over a year now. And it's not even finished – pulling apart several decades worth of layers and intricacies takes time. While some have fallen away like dust, others take prying and elbow grease and the right leverage.

The odd thing is, although it's been a challenging time and the things that brought me to deconstruct changed me, I am still me. Sure, I'm a little different me without church and without a formal life agenda, but I hope that I can be seen and respected for where I am. I hope I can be valued at more than a "lost soul" or a wandering sheep. The peace of mind I have is this: If indeed, God can influence me, surely he can do so without using a human's voice. So, it is to be seen.

Afterword: Although I share this publicly, I ask that you please refrain from digging or sending words laden with overt tone or undertone. I shared publicly in hopes of helping highlight that religion can be harmful and painful, even for those who were formerly a tight-knit part of it. There's no easy way to drop losing faith into conversation, so I wrote a blog instead.