The past month has been really hard. I've been back to bursting into tears whilst walking the dog, or driving home on the M6, or anywhere really. I guess that's why I've been finding it hard to write, because I haven't been being honest about my feelings.
I know that when I tell people I'm not doing well that it will lead to lots of messages checking after my wellbeing. That in itself can be emotionally draining. That may sound disingenuous, but it's true. I find that I expend lots of energy trying to convince people that I'm fine, really.
So instead I cover it all in the thin shield of happiness, one tap & it can all come crashing down.
But what is the pointing writing my blog if I can't write the truth? My ego so massaged by everyone telling me how strong I'm being that I pretend even to myself. The whole reason was to have a true reflection of what the whole process is like, for me. Maybe to help others and possibly for the kids to read if they want to when they're older. I know that I felt so alone at first, I just needed to know that someone understood, not a grief counsellor but a parent who'd gone through it.
I suppose it's not rocket science to understand that the schools going back would be a massive issue, everyone getting back to some kind of normal,
friends moving on with their lives. But at the same time still having the separation that Covid brings, the isolation that we all must indure, no hugs, no coffee round at friends, no meeting in groups. And of course the time of year doesn't help. The lapse between summer & Christmas, as the nights draw in and work looms far into the horizon.
I know from the past few months that my upcoming birthday will also be a huge obstacle. Only 2 kids sat on the edge of my bed, no Lauren demanding I open the chocolates she's bought because its birthday tradition that they eat one before breakfast. My only hope is that the lead up to the event is actually worse than the day itself, as that is what seems to happen in most cases.
The reality is that now, when I can admit that its been tough is when I'm actually feeling better.
I guess it's the same for lots of things. People don't admit they need help until they are ready to accept it.
Help is not really the right way to phrase it. No one can help the cause of my sadness, but I can look at the symptoms and how to relieve them, and I can acknowledge that sometimes it's just really, really hard.
"Of all the deceivers fear most yourself"
Soren Kierkegaard
