In defense of 2019: a year of re-definition, and finding my way back to "zero."
In the immediate aftermath of my loss, I had myself convinced that I had a timeline. I had one year to figure out exactly what I wanted to do, then one more year to figure out how I was going to do it, and execute my plan. That was it. Two years. Those twenty-four months came and went, and not only had I not achieved much of anything “big,” but I felt more lost than ever.
What I hadn’t known, what I couldn’t have known, was how much more complicated life after loss is; how grief is a never ending maze of things that throw you backwards. I suppose I’d felt as though I needed to achieve something of note to “overcome” the years of anguish that came before; to make it so that my husband’s death, and my pain, weren’t in vain. In my more prideful moments, I just wanted to prove to myself, and the rest of the world, that I was going to be JUST fine (thankyouverymuch). But I wasn’t fine. The more I fought it, the less fine I was; until the scales tipped too drastically under the weight of my own resistance, to ignore.
I recently read a post from Christina Rasmussen (author of Second Firsts, and founder of The Life Reentry Institute), called ,”THE HALF STEP.” It really hit home for me. ”There will always be setbacks, especially in the beginning. When I say beginning, I mean the first 2 to 3 years after loss. Sorry I didn’t say six months or one year. That is not even the beginning, that is the aftermath.” It goes on to describe how every “half step” we take is a miracle…not the huge accomplishments, but the simple acts of living…making sure we shower, eat, work, breathe. This year, after enduring multiple setbacks and personal battles, I figured out one essential thing: I had to re-define my perception of the word, “win.”
I had to change the narrative in my head, from worrying what I looked like all the time, and what people thought of me, to “do what I have to do,” and “screw the optics.” I sold my beautiful, huge, brand new house in North Carolina: and I moved in with my mother…in a 55 and older community in NJ. Four of us, and my pets, into two spare bedrooms. It was the hardest couple of months since Kenny passed away. Not (just) because it was cramped, or because I was living with my mother at my age, but because I was effectively cracking, and burying my carefully crafted facade. I had worn those beautiful things like armor: “I can’t be sad because I live in this beautiful place, I can’t be broken because I have this beautiful house.” Without them, I felt naked…vulnerable, and stripped of my defenses. The fact that I was doing this willfully, and willingly, didn’t make it feel any less awful. By the time we landed in our new home, I felt thoroughly shaken of any of my grandiose delusions of huge achievements (at least any time soon).
Breaking myself down was a distressing, but necessary, component of getting any further ahead. Going to Israel, this fall, was the first “whole” step I’ve taken; it was a leap, actually, and I am forever changed from my time there. I feel indebted to the people I met, whom I think of every day, that helped me without an inkling they were doing so. Getting to know people, their stories, their lives. Learning about another culture, connecting to the history, seeing things I couldn’t have imagined. That leap forward, as strange as it sounds, put me back at zero. No longer in the negatives…inching my way out of the “aftermath,” and officially landing at “the beginning.”
Back at zero, my “wins” went from “writing recognition from my mentor,” to “garbage was out before the trucks came on Thursday morning.” From “My life looks so pretty,” to “Kids are bathed, fed, wearing clean clothes that fit, did homework, and survived the day.” I’ve focused more on our mental health, and daily lives, than where I want us all to be “someday.” Aside from taking the pressure off, it’s been rewarding in ways I didn’t expect. I care much less about how put together I look from the outside, and feel more“in the moment,” helping me connect more with my kids. I also say, “No” more now than I ever have, and it might be my biggest win, yet.
If you’d asked me three months ago, I would have told you that 2019 could go suck a lemon. Instead, I feel a need to toast…
To the year I let go of my excessively high expectations.
To the year I let myself be a human, again.
To the year I stopped giving myself timelines for life, and success.
To the year I chose to venture back to “life,” and stop hiding.
To the year that brought me back to zero.
As for next year? My resolutions are few: keep it simple, keep it consistent. Anything I truly want will come with daily dedication. Maybe next year, I’ll be toasting to another half step forward, and that would be great. It’d still be further than I was last year, and further than I am now.
So cheers my friends! To another year, more half steps, and starting from zero. XOXO!