For about a week before writing this I’d been feeling out of sorts, that kind of discombobulated feeling that is so hard to describe, and today I admit, I had a very rough day. You could say it was out of the blue, but in hindsight I might have predicted it, February has some significant family birthdays. I spent the first part of today raging at the world in one way or another, and then for the second part I cried my eyes out, that awful, raw, familiar, sobbing that physically hurts and that you think might not stop. It had been a while since I’d been in this kind of desperate state and my own sense of myself was that I have been doing ok.
Despite regularly having the fear that I am somehow ‘stuck’ in it, because you read about these things, I am stepping through my grief. However, the vulnerability and fragility of our human make-up means that we have very real, sore grief triggers that can rupture at any time, perhaps more so on birthdays or anniversaries. And whilst ‘progressing’, if that’s even an appropriate word, through it, there are so many rough, painful, bumps on the road. Some are worse than others, and at times it can even feel like we’re back at square one, but we’re not. Several people cautioned me that the second year of grief is worse than the first. At this stage, 17 months on, I’m living a simply day-to-day life and am very grateful for my slow, but for the most part, steady-enough recovery and a growing ability to genuinely feel the joy and see the beauty of life again.
Losing my lovely brother in 2024 has changed me and my life profoundly, in ways I’m still discovering, and these changes are still so difficult to ‘marry’ with my previous life and very hard to explain if anyone asks or has any expectations of me. When you don’t even fully recognise yourself, it must be hard for others to recognise you. Some of the time I have anxiety around it and feel like I’m trying to please people by trying to say the correct thing, the thing they want to hear, that I’m fine, that I’m loving my life. This kind of ‘pretending’ doesn’t sit well with me, in fact I find it almost impossible, no matter how hard I try. I can see how grief feels a bit like being an imposter, that feeling of being separate, disconnected or not belonging in circles or places where previously you had felt so at home.
It’s such a strange phenomenon really and a very tough journey that at some point we all face. There are so many days when I feel at peace and content, filled with gratitude for all the gifts in life but there’s no denying I had to go through some difficult February days, trashing around with my feelings, looking for someone or something to blame, re-visiting old wounds. There’s no way round it, but I truly believe that it is kindness and compassion that encourage us back to wholeness, and that very much includes self-compassion. So it is with intention that I approach the end of the month with awareness and care. I’m writing this in the hope that someone reading it may take comfort. Because grief can make you feel like you’re going or have gone mad, that you don’t fit, or belong, that you’ve said the wrong thing. You are not alone and this too shall pass.
It has been by opting out of a few kind invitations, resting, and purposefully engaging in good and wholesome wellness practices that I have returned to some kind of equilibrium again. I’ve been practicing loving kindness meditation practice, which I’ve heard described as the antidote to both fear and anger, both of which visit me regularly. It is a very helpful meditation practice where we wish ourselves and others well. As we meditate, we gently repeat phrases, or well wishes to ourselves, like, ‘May I be happy, may I be well’. For me it feels like a softening, accepting practice. I’m learning to accept my grief as part me and my life now and I know there will be plenty times like this again but also plenty times of joy. A lifelong friend recently assured me that if we don’t allow ourselves to fully process our grief, we deprive ourselves of being able to truly love life. I took great comfort in this. Poetry and nature, my other friends, are also great comforters.
‘Ocean’
by Mary Oliver
I am in love with Ocean / lifting her thousands of white hats / in the chop of the storm, / or lying smooth and blue, the / loveliest bed in the world. / In the personal life, there is
always grief more than enough, / a heart-load for each of us / on the dusty road. I suppose / there is a reason for this, so I will be / patient, acquiescent. But I will live / nowhere except here, by Ocean, trusting / equally in all the blast and welcome / of her sorrowless, salt self.’
Mindfulness in March
Drop-in mindfulness hour at CECAS, Myross Wood, Leap on Tuesday mornings 10-11am, March 3, 10 and 24. €12. Beginners, returners and newcomers are always welcome.
For more information: phone: 087 2700572 or email: susanoreganmindfulness@gmail.com
FB:susanoreganmindfulness
www.mindhaven.ie