We all know that life is hard. It’s no secret. Harder for some than others but nonetheless we are all facing some kind of battle in a way. Everyone is going through something. I previously talked about how often I heard that the second year of grief was going to be hard, like really hard. While I didn’t think anything could be harder than the first year, I can confidently say that the second year is by far certainly hard. It’s like a combination of the hard first year, mixed with new emotions and feelings that didn’t arise until the second year.
It’s as if the fog has lifted, the shock has worn off and we are feeling so deeply. Such deep emotions that I didn’t even know the human body was capable of. Emotions that you can feel in your bones and deep in your soul.
I wanted to touch on the first year of grief in comparison to the second year.
The first year is explained perfectly right here:
“The first year is brutal. You’ll be terrible at your job. You’ll lose friends. You’ll be a bitch, really, and some people will put up with it, but many won’t. Try not to dwell on it. Focus on surviving. Just get through the next ten minutes.”
All of this was true, however, for me personally, I don’t think ‘bitch’ was the right word as much as ‘setting boundaries’. I had to learn what and who I wanted to put up and deal with and who I was OK not having to deal with ever again. My work performance suffered, many times I wish I had taken more time off from work but in those moments I thought distraction was better. In reality, it wasn’t. My friendship circle got smaller as I learned who was truly in my corner and who wasn’t. All while I was just trying to do anything to get through. Sometimes one day at a time, one hour at a time, ten minutes at a time. Grief will do that to you. You’ll think you’re OK one minute, just to turn around and be in tears the next for no particular reason other than you’re just sad; sad AF to be exact.
The second year of grief is kind of like this:
“The shock that you didn’t know was protecting you in the beginning of grief begins to wear off and reality begins to fully set in bringing a deep, aching and defeating sadness with it.” FACT!
Here are 10 reasons why they say the second year is hard:
Shock and disbelief have worn off and reality kicks in.
Friends and family presume that you are over your grief and get less support.
You realize the second year that your expectation that things will suddenly get better one day are not true.
The second year of grief may be the time when you begin to question who you are now.
Now might be the time when you are having to adapt to being the only breadwinner.
You may start to think about whether or not you need to move.
The realization is sinking in that your dreams for your future life have changed and it can be hard to recalibrate.
You may have isolated yourself and kept away from your social life during the first year and trying to reconnect can be hard
There is disappointment when you realize that it still isn’t over.
Often the second year is the hardest as that’s when the real grief work might begin. The time when you may be ready to face your grief head on and deal with any issues that are holding you back.
And there it is folks... number 10. While they’re all relevant, number 10 is where I’m at right now. Contemplating how to face this tumultuous feeling of diving into the grief work, like fully submerging myself into it or staying stagnant with no real forward progress motion inside me.
Like most people, I appear ‘fine’ on the outside. I put a smile on my face, I make small talk, I show up to events when I have to and I just keep going. While on the inside, I’m not really here. I disassociate often, life is often like watching a movie. I feel intense emotions that have become hard to express. My brain is throwing intrusive thoughts at me constantly, I feel like swatting them away like I do the summer flies. If only it were that easy.
Year two has brought me a deeper sadness, one that I can feel to my core. It has left me questioning so many things; about the incident, about the present and certainly about the future.
I’m really great at supporting others going through a hard time and giving them advice on how to overcome, now if I could just apply my own advice to myself, I would be golden. Why is it so much harder to do that? Why is it so difficult to lead by example? The stories I share, the advice I give, the support I provide, are all genuine from the heart. Yet I can’t seem to do them.
Grief has become debilitating. I don’t want to do anything... ever. It’s nearly impossible to get me out of the house without some type of anxiety or panic. I’m perfectly content spending time alone. My brain is afraid to go to sleep so I spend a lot of time thinking and replaying scenarios in my head. As much as I don’t want to, it’s as if my brain won’t stop.
One thing is clear, I may not have been the best version of myself the first year. I mean, how could I be? My world was flipped upside down and inside out. I just thought by now, the dust would have settled a bit more. Yet here I am, still deeply grieving.
I know that the grief never goes away, I also know that things often get worse before they get better. I know that I’ll have to put in a LOT of inner work to truly heal myself.
My therapist challenged me with a few things this week and my first thought was, I can’t do that! But after my session, I realized, I CAN do it... I just haven’t been wanting to. However, with all the heaviness around this second year, I HAVE to do the things. I MUST do the things to help me move through and learn to carry this grief without it debilitating me or bogging me down.
So, this blog is a start. A start to recognizing I have many emotions to work through. A start to accepting I did everything I could. A start to finding some type of acceptance in this tragedy. A start at taking care of myself and not putting all my energy into others. I love helping people, I love guiding people, I love supporting people but now, it’s time to do all of that for myself.
I’m learning that self-care isn’t selfish. I’m learning that I can support others, without giving all of my energy (which is hard for me because I’m an empathy and truly feel others emotions) but I have to learn to reserve energy for myself as well. My soul needs healing and that starts with me.
I guess this blog is a way to help me stay accountable to the healing era or healing journey I’m about to embark on. A new way to do things, a new way to approach situations, a new way to truly take care of my grief.
It’s OK to not be OK but I know that I’m finally on a path to possibly feeling okay(ish).
I miss Tim... I miss his presence, his laugh, his corny jokes, his smile. I miss his support, I miss his encouragement, I miss everything about him. It’s time I start to heal and accept what is. This is my life now, without him. I have to find a way to get to radical acceptance and again, that starts with me.
So here I go, embarking on a healing journey that my soul so desperately needs. If you’ve read this far, I appreciate you. I know it was a lot but I’ve had a lot going on inside of me and I just needed to get some of it out.
Grief has no timeline, grief has no rules, grief is different for everyone. I’m navigating the transition from year one to year two. I’ll take you along with me through the highs and the lows and everything in between.
I can do hard things... and it starts right here, with this blog post.
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