I'm Doing The Best I Can!
And so are you Xx
Hello my lovely letter family,
Today’s letter is for you.
I find myself rolling around an old chestnut like a squirrel with no place to safely stash it away.
But before I get into explaining myself, I’d really like it if you would read this little excerpt from It’s Okay That You’re Not Okay by Megan Devine
There are wounds in this life that hurt, that hurt immensely, that can eventually be overcome. Through self-work and hard work, many difficulties can be transformed. There really is gold to be found, as the Jungians say, at the bottom of all the heavy work of life. But this is not one of those times. This isn’t a hard day at work. This isn’t simply not getting something you deeply, truly wanted. This is not losing something beautiful just so something more “right for you” can come along. The work of transformation does not apply here.
Read that last line again… The work of transformation does not apply here. This speaks explicitly to the grief and loss of the bereaved.
I have been tending to all the parts of me that need time, kindness, compassion and even forgiveness while navigating great loss, but I still often find myself here… wanting to share with you how hard it is when people die, when they have been your life, your whole life; wanting to express my truth so it opens space for others to speak theirs; wanting to scream that this is something you do not ‘transform’ from, but rather re-live, navigate and ‘transition’ through every single day; wanting people to understand the less silence and secrecy around all of this the more ‘normal’ talking about death may become… but the reality of my reality is that speaking about it (writing about it) can and does make people worry about me. And the last thing I want to do is to cause people to worry about me.
So, this is the old chestnut I often roll around – do I share my everyday life, my thoughts, my reflections, my rawness, my vulnerability, my sadness, the duality of it all and risk that people will worry? Or do I continue to share with hope that an insight into my days may be helpful to someone, including the cathartic act of writing that is helpful for me as well? Or, do I keep it all locked in a journal that I hope no one finds after I’m gone because I wouldn’t want them to be upset that grief had such an impact on me that they knew absolutely nothing about?
The last month that old chestnut has been quite nauseous with dizziness from being rolled around so much let me tell you. Today I think I’ll give it a rest from feeling queasy and snug it away in a safe little corner of my mind for a bit.
I’m curious to know your thoughts my lovely letter family…
Do you wish there was less silence around grief and loss? Around dying, death and the aftermath? When it comes to grief and loss of any nature (because the loss of a loved one is not the only time we experience the feelings of grief and loss) do you wish it was more acceptable to express how you are actually feeling without fear of being told to look on the bright side? Do you wish your feelings of grief and loss were embraced and acknowledged as normal feelings to a possible abnormal situation or experience in your world?
Silence is so unhealthy, we know this. Yet, through fear of judgement or having our feelings dismissed by the well-meaning, good intentioned but completely unhelpful reply “Just think positively” we often return to our default of ‘silence’.
If you feel called please leave me a comment with your thoughts or, if you prefer to share privately, please hit reply to this email.
I am genuinely curious how you feel about silence around expressing the feelings of grief and loss.
Before I sign off, I’d like to share this last little thought with you.
In the last seven weeks especially, I have had much to process and begin to transition through. The other morning, I found myself gazing out the front window watching the most glorious sunrise wash the sky with colour as the clouds absorbed its magnificence, then slowly the colours faded into the moments of another day unfolding. Tears welling, I heard my voice say “What am I doing?” Too which someone replied within an instant “The best you can”.
Keep doing the best you can my lovely ones.
All my love,
Sandra xo
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I think we rush all forms of grief. All forms of discomfort. People don’t want to see them and I feel the blame lands on the person, who is just having perfectly human feelings!