Retreating

I've been more and more withdrawn lately. I've always had a tendency to hunker down inside myself when things get hard. Now, I feel like sheltering within is the best way to survive my sadness. It's also the best way to insulate myself against outside hurts. I'm so tender that almost everything feels ouchy. I'm sure that emotional isolation is not the answer. It just feels like a much safer way to deal with this stress and grief.

It's such a paradox, I know, that I have asked for love and support during this season. And, yet, I've chosen to close myself off. It's sort of like I'm sitting in a deep, dark pit and I want people to shine a light down now and then so I know they're still out there. I want to know that, when I'm ready to fully face the world again, there will still be something there.

The only one I've welcomed down in the pit with me is my husband. Not entirely his choice. He wants to be with me. He wants to comfort me. He wants to love me. All of this I know. I also know that I am pretty terrible to be around sometimes. I haven't seen my patience in more than three months. My capacity to care about life's minutiae is sub zero. My soft skills are full of thorns and stingers and razor sharp edges. Sounds like a party, right? If you know my husband, you should probably invite him for a beer. He could use some time away from me, I'm sure.

I don't know why this bout of grief is seemingly worse than what I've lived through before. I think it's because my tank was fairly empty prior to my Dad dying. Life stress has been relentless for the past couple of years. As an empath, I've also struggled for months to feel peaceful and joyful when so many are suffering. I think about all the children scared and separated from their families. The women who are genocidally raped on our shores and abroad. The fear millions have of being bombed or killed or abducted or starved. I pray. I pray again. I pray some more. I donate. I write letters. I call politicians. But, I'm mostly helpless to save them. So, I spend a lot of time just feeling this world. And it's not good.

Told you I'm a party.

Why am I sharing this? I guess because I know that I'm not alone in being alone. And I want others to know they're not alone in being alone. And sometimes the only way you can protect your precious heart and whatever measure of peace you have is to shelter in place. Drink lots of water. Sleep when you can. Move your body. Find music that stirs your soul. Create. Tend to the things you know you'll need when this season passes. And be kind to yourself.

As people like to say, "It's okay not to be okay." Truer than true. You don't owe anyone a happy face. If you're not feeling it, hang tight till you are. The real ones will understand. The true ones will love you anyway. The truly real ones will fall in love with this new version of you. It's a version that is bursting with all the love you couldn't give to the one who passed. Your sadness is a beautiful reflection of what a loving soul you are.

All seasons pass, both the good and the bad. Writing this on a 116-degree day, I am beyond ready for this physical season to pass. I feel like this emotional season is on its way out, too. Not the grief, certainly. But the sadness. The shock. The feeling of being unanchored. The cloud.

Can't wait to get to the other side.

Xoxo, B