A Part of Me

Grief is tricky.

When you least expect it, no matter how many days, months, or years has passed, it can break your heart again.

Over my lifetime I’ve struggled with grief on varying levels – losing innocence, losing trust, death of pets, death of grandparents, divorce, losing friends, workplace issues, death of a beloved husband … each event birthed a part of me, a coping mechanism, in hopes of dulling the pain.

I’ve made my rounds with therapists, went to church, prayed, prayed, prayed some more, took medication, exercised… all with the goal of finding freedom from depression, fear of failure, lack of control, and pain. I numbed with working more, achieving more, and constructed internal fortresses to protect my most vulnerable parts while rerouting emotional pathways where I rarely cried, even when it was appropriate.

The fact we don’t treat mental health with the same care and funding we give physical disease in this country is reflective of how the United States operates much like I did - “I’ll focus on what I can control that doesn’t fall into this subjective - if I pray hard enough category - until the pain just goes away.” I don’t have time to go down that rabbit hole, for now, but wish to share a snippet from my own mental health journey.

My world imploded with Mike’s death almost eight years ago. My best coping skills couldn’t cope. I don’t know how to describe the feeling other than being in a continuous state of your heart feeling like it’s in your throat and you could ugly cry.

All. The. Time.

Not being in control of my emotions was excruciating. Especially for a professional woman living in a world that already dismisses us as emotional, aggressive, and “bitchy” if we push too hard or cry. I said I didn’t want to burden anyone, but really, I thought I was weak.

But in a few months, the world went on and “the world” was ready for me to move on too. I tried. I tried to pretend I was able to focus and perform like I did pre-cancer, pre-widowhood. I fell in love, I remarried, I blended a family, and I built businesses… but the emotional weight I carried continued to get heavier.

I ran into a friend, a woman, who I’d been thinking of because she was recently missing from social media, and I hadn’t seen her in a long time. I was so happy and told her I missed her! Without hesitation she told me she had a breakdown and withdrew to start taking care of herself. I was in awe that she shared so willingly with me. It was brave. I asked for the name of her therapist.
It took me almost three years to call.

My therapist uses a blend of enneagram, EMDR (eye movement desensitization and reprocessing), and Internal Family Systems (IFS) therapies. The combination of these therapies, along with an immense amount of compassion in our sessions, created the most meaningful environment to begin to heal.

When I would say, “a part of me feels like _____, but a part of me wants to _____” that was real. And there were parts of me I protected, parts of me who protected me, and parts I loved. There were other parts of me I wished to be rid of, especially the depressed, sad ones. Or, the angry ones, fighting the social injustice pervasive in our world. Through this therapy, I’ve learned more about myself and daily continue to work on being compassionate with myself and with others.
I’ve been in regular therapy for three years now.

I recently signed up for an intensive weekend retreat my therapist was co-leading to take a deeper dive into understanding our parts and IFS in more than just a weekly session.

At the end, we all selected a random quote to take with us. Mine was poignant. I wanted to share while sharing my mental health journey, so the next time you think about a part of you, or a part of someone else that’s creating a disturbance in your heart:

It’s easy to love the nice things
About ourselves,
But true self-love is
Embracing the difficult parts that
Live inside all of us.
-Rupi Kaur