Jan 22

Jan 22 "To heal we must remember"

In the last few years there have been few among us that haven’t shouldered grief they had previously thought unimaginable, unbearable. To heal from such pain feels insurmountable.

To heal we must remember

President Joe Biden’s words during the remembrance ceremony on Tuesday evening have stayed with me for days now. For their simplicity, their truth and for the tumultuous trials of the man who spoke them. Personally, I have been so afraid to heal because at times I’ve worried that it meant not remembering. Not forgetting exactly, but letting go in some way, or not looking back. But here was someone telling me that my healing journey didn’t mean moving on and leaving the past behind me but instead moving forward while holding on to the memories of what was. That this message came from a man who had lost more than most and yet had been able to survive, persevere and achieve more than most helped it reach me with an unexpected clarity.

Recently, my own healing journey has stalled. At this point I consider myself a high-functioning griever. While I no longer spend a majority of my time in the dark, my feet dangle over the edge fighting temptation to slip back in. While sitting with President Joe Biden’s words this week it dawned on me that I’m not actually sure what a healed version of myself looks like. If I’m being completely honest, I don’t know that I’ve actually wanted to be healed. The pain of grief has felt like a penance for surviving when my daughter didn’t. How dare I heal when she never can? And then the starving, rational voice in my head reminds me that my pain doesn’t benefit her. In fact, it doesn’t benefit anyone, not me, and certainly not my family. Pain only begets more pain. By punishing myself, by depriving myself of healing, I am only hurting those I love most.

To heal we must remember

Ok, so let’s say I’m ready to try healing, I’m still left wondering what that even looks like. The precariousness and instability of life has made me wary of thinking too much about the future. I’m all too familiar with how life can turn upside down with only a phone call. Yet, still… I would like to be able to scoot away from the dark precipice, to not be constantly peering over its edge. I would like to break free of the depression that sucks away my energy and tempts me with meaningless distraction. I would like to disband the anxiety that sits in my chest claiming to be on the lookout for emotional triggers, but in doing so is actually creating a chronic state of disquiet.

My mother sent me a text earlier this week concerned about my emotional well-being. She said,

“It takes a lot of work to get yourself unstuck and you’re weary. Grief is emotionally and physically exhausting. It’s easy to stay in your warm little cocoon, and unfortunately the pandemic encourages it. I believe that Biden will bring a more positive outlook to our country… what a great time to help yourself and look to the future with hope.”

By no means do I (or my mother) think that one man alone can heal our country, or me for that matter, but clearly the shift in tone has already had an affect. THAT is something. Be it a kick in the butt or a knock on my cocoon door, it is something. After all, hope is a powerful antidepressant. None of this, however, will do the work for me. I’ve known healing would be difficult work, but until now I don’t think I understood what kind of work it was. It is not difficult because I have to let go of my grief and move on; it is difficult because I have to live with it and still move forward. I have to decide that I deserve to step away from the dark - that I am worth healing. I’ve not often thought of myself as someone that struggled with self-value or confidence. Maybe that’s why it’s taken me so long to come to realize that I was the one holding myself in place: not the pandemic, which I’ve often blamed, not the grief itself, but me.

So, consider this me sticking a finger out of my cocoon. Checking the temperature and direction of the wind while whispering to myself that I deserve to heal. I am worthy of healing… and so are all of you.