The Stages of Grief....

It is said when something tragic occurs in ones life, we go through five stages of grief. Depending on the situation, the stages can last anywhere from a week to months, sometimes longer.

Because I was the one who left, I don't think anyone expected me be grief stricken.  Least of all, myself.  The first stage is shock.  Shock as in, you can't believe that what has happened, has really happened.  Shock was not my first stage of grief.  My first stage was denial.  Denial of what the reality of going through a divorce entailed.  I was so relieved to be away from the pressure, that I experienced what I would call a faux sense of euphoria.  I say that in a most respectful way.  I ran away from my pain and here in Arizona, I didn't feel pain.  I felt pain relief.

The reality of being truly alone didn't quite hit me until Thanksgiving.  Kicking into high gear, the holiday season and the first Christmas alone.  It never occurred to me at the time, that my Christmas would be quite so different from Christmas' past until I went through that first Thanksgiving.  The reality of the divorce hit me over the head...hard.  No, my first stage wasn't shock, my second stage was shock.

I have lived the same life, with the same man, under the same roof for so many years, I think I was so completely naive as to what a divorce really meant.  It never occurred to me then, that the man I spent so many years with wouldn't be there still; even though I didn't want to be married to him anymore.  He said he still loved me, why wouldn't he still want to leave family traditions like Christmas, the same as before?  Why?  My parents and kids said, "did I understand what it meant to be divorced?"  Apparently, it wasn't something I had thought would change.  Imagine the shock when I realized, not only had it changed, but it threw our entire family into a tailspin, because none of us knew how to do the holidays any other way.  That is denial in the most "slap me in the face" kind of way and it threw me into shock.  Was it really going to be this way forever?  What?

The next stage of grief is anger.  Although I alternated between shock, anger and denial for many months, the anger poured out of me in terrible ways. I became so adept at hiding my pain, suppressing my pain, running from my pain and denying it's existence that it knocked the wind out of me every time I went home.  I wanted my family to forgive me for the choices I had made.  I wanted their acceptance for choosing to live a different life then the one they knew.  I wanted them to be happy for me and to be proud that not only had I started over in a brand new city, where I had known no one, but that I was thriving! Ha! Wishful thinking and complete denial...again.  I was angry at all of them when I realized they didn't understand.  It didn't matter how much I wanted to explain my reasons why...no one wanted to hear it.  I was angry, furious even.  And, I thought, justified.  They hadn't lived enough life to understand.  Their experiences were minimal compared to mine.  How dare they judge me?

I made the decision to hide my life from them all.  Regardless of how lonely I was. How sad I was, how much I hurt...they would never know.  I would put on a brave face and flip them all the finger and fake it, even if it killed me.  And the running nearly did. I ran myself ragged, involving myself in anything and everything I was invited to.  Racing frantically from party to party, happy hour to happy hour, anything....anything to fill the void.  I wanted to fit in here. I was doing everything possible to fit in. But I missed my life in the northwest.  I missed normalcy.  I didn't even know what normal was anymore.  I felt lost.  But I would never have admitted it.  It took Mother's Day weekend without my kids around, and a middle of the night, drunken, sobbing, phone call to a friend, that finally, finally, I could admit how very sad and extremely lonely I was for my old life and my family.  I was close to the bottom, but I hadn't bottomed out yet.  Welcome to stage four...my old friend, Depression. 

As time went by and I got closer to my trip home for the summer, I was running faster, getting little sleep, drinking too much and spending far too much money, and dating frantically to fill the voids.  I became deathly ill.  I say it this way, because although I was seriously ill, now it seems a little melodramatic to say "deathly," but I really felt... deathly ill.  Before I left town, I had made some careless remarks, causing a rift among a few friends, that even now, I'm not sure if it will ever be the same.  The bottom was rising. 

When I arrived home, I was weak with relief at the familiarity and comfort of my lifelong home.  I was pretty low physically and emotionally and needed some unconditional love and acceptance.  I vacillated daily between extreme highs and extreme lows, depending on the day and who was around.  My mom was a mix of tough love and nurturing-my-heart kind of comfort.  I still hadn't hit bottom and I cried on a daily basis.  There were good days and bad days.  I wore my melancholy like a sweater around my shoulders in the chilly summer nights.  I knew I was depressed, and extremely lonely... but for what, and why?  I wanted this... remember?

The middle of July, everything came to a head.  It had to eventually I guess.  It knocked the wind out of me and made me want to curl up in a ball and die...again...but as in all things that seem horrible and traumatic, there was a lesson in there somewhere.  If I paid close attention, I knew it would be really valuable and important.  I spent three days straight sitting in my old counselors office, sobbing my way through my past year, pouring out the pain of my decisions.  This was the beginning of stage five...Acceptance. 

As my summer in the northwest drew to a close, I drew boundaries with my kids and my parents. I needed time now, to process all of the words that had been spoken to me by family and friends. The same people who, although I knew they loved me and wanted to fix my broken heart, I needed space from them.  I am grateful for those last two weeks there.  I spent long hours alone, thinking about my past year.  I thought about how I couldn't see before now, how hard I'd been running and how very tired I was.  It took an old friend from my past to put it all in simple perspective, simply by being honest.  I went home sad, but determined.  Homesick the moment the plane touched the ground, but  truly ready to start over again...only this time, ready to deal with the things I'd left behind in both places and to stop running. 

I've been home seven weeks now and making a scheduled life for myself.  I stay home most every night.  I go to bed by 10 because I am tired.  I wake up at 5 because I am rested and ready to start my day.  I do my homework, complain about how much time it takes, but am grateful for the time it fills.  I am spending time getting to know me.  I am finding the normalcy I miss so much.  I am able to talk with my ex without crying.  I feel oddly unaffected by the knowledge that he is seeing someone, in fact, I know that I want him to be happy.  I still feel pain in the knowledge that in leaving the way I did, I hurt him so deeply; forcing him to go through those same stages of grief as well, but through a divorce recovery group, I am learning to forgive myself, which is so much harder.   Most of all, I am moving on and I have accepted what those choices have given me now. 

I want to find love again.  I believe that I will.  I'm in a better space than before I left.  I'm not completely healed, but I am on my way, and as my friend Miguel would say "for reals" this time...

Next week will be one year from the day I filed for divorce.  This blog has been an open journey of my heart through this process.  I felt compelled to share publicly because, although I know my journey is not original, it was always my hope that others who read it, might find a piece of my story that resonated with them and helped them get honest with themselves, and heal through their pain as I have been healing through mine.  Many of my posts seemed to say the same things again and again, but the messages were fairly clear to me.  I left a place I was unhappy to forge out on my own.  I was filled with guilt over the choices that affected so many and had small victories along the way.  I sought redemption and affirmation for what I believed was right for my life.  But I tried hard to look at this journey with honesty.  I believe I have.  I'm not much of a religious person these days, but my faith runs deep.  A verse from the book of Proverbs is one I memorized at young age and have tried to live by..."Wounds from a friend can be trusted, but an enemy will multiply kisses."  Thank you my friends and family for being willing to speak the truth and allowing me to hurt, process and accept the love in the messages.

I have decided it is time to retire this blog.  The sadness here is a place I hope to never be again.  I realized the other day, that I no longer feel so compelled to write about my sadness.  I have moved through the five stages of grief and I arrived at acceptance. What a difference a year makes.  I am still learning and my capacity for compassion is huge.  Judgment has no place in any of us, but especially in me.  I want to write about other things.  Happier things.  Funnier things.  I am starting a new blog on Word Press.  It will be much lighter and hopefully I will gain more followers and keep your support.  I will post on Facebook when I launch.  Thank you for reading...Tam