Grief Isn't Linear
I’ve been told there are five stages to grief – denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. I’ve been keeping track of them, constantly asking myself what stage I’m in, praying I’m getting closer to the end of the line. But, what I’m realizing is the “experts” are wrong.
Grief isn’t linear.
There are hundreds of stages to grief and the path is so intertwined, emotional and exhausting that it’s nearly impossible to roadmap. I’m certainly no expert, but if you ask me, grief looks more like moments than stages.
It’s feeling your chest tighten and running through a list of things it could be - the caffeine you drank, an allergic reaction, a heart attack, literally anything else, because that would be better than admitting you failed.
It’s sitting in your car, screaming at the top of your lungs, hoping all the pain will leave your body through your lips.
It’s going on with your daily life as if you don’t feel your ribcage crashing in with every breath.
It’s writing down lists of what they did to break you so that you don’t forget. Because there are days you can only remember why you love them and desperately want to pick up the phone.
It’s realizing they weren’t everything you thought they were and neither were you.
It’s writing them a letter and burning it (maybe more than once, because there’s so much left unsaid).
It’s donating everything that reminds you it’s over - praying that “out of sight out of mind” is real.
It’s getting hurt or sick and sitting in how incredibly alone you are.
It’s offering to change your entire self, begging them to stay.
It’s crying until you throw up.
It’s avoiding mirrors because you don’t want to be seen.
It’s feeling excited to change your life and to chase the goals you put on hold to help make their goals a reality.
It’s not recognizing yourself and being completely ashamed of what you’ve let yourself become.
It’s reaching out and reaching out and reaching out, again. Texting, calling, emailing, completely okay looking pathetic if it means not losing them.
It’s stalking their social media ten pages deep - trying not to like any posts. Then stalking their friends, family, even second cousins you know they haven’t talked to in years for clues they might miss you too.
It’s telling yourself things weren’t so bad and maybe you just didn’t try hard enough.
It’s wishing you hadn’t gotten rid of everything that smelled like them and every nice word they wrote.
It’s days where the simple act of breathing leaves you exhausted.
It’s waking up in the middle of the night clawing at the pillow beside you, searching for their body, then sitting up, painfully awake.
It’s not eating for days then eating everything.
It’s drinking bottles of wine in your underwear on the couch unsure when the last time you showered was.
It’s laughing until you cry for the first time in as long as you can remember and feeling grateful.
It’s watching 90 Day Fiancé and wondering how they got someone to fly across the world when you can’t get someone to show up at your doorstep.
It’s talking about it constantly to anyone who will listen - asking everyone if you did the right thing, or if you blew your life up.
It’s questioning if you ever meant anything to them or if it was all a lie.
It’s wondering what happened over and over and over.
It’s finding out who your real friends are.
It’s wondering what’s wrong with you - why you weren’t enough, why you’re never enough.
It’s crying to the Aldi cashier, because they dared to ask how you are doing.
It’s when your thoughts get dark and the idea of disappearing gives you peace.
It’s believing the lies they said about you.
It’s telling yourself you’re fine, then driving to the grocery store just to sit in the car and cry for half an hour in the parking lot.
It’s searching for the person you love in all the places you use to go – both hoping and dreading you’ll run into them.
It’s hearing a car door slam, smiling, excited they are home. Then realizing it’s been months since they walked out
It’s driving to your old house, because you forgot someone else lives there now.
It’s mentally knitting a scarf of all the red flags you refused to believe.
It’s hearing something hilarious you can’t wait to tell them, then remembering you won’t.
It’s going to a party and crying in the bathroom.
It’s kissing someone new for the first time, feeling excited and full of hope.
It’s doing something you always wanted to that they refused to do with you.
It’s going through all the stages in one day just to start over the next morning.
Unfortunately, grief isn’t linear and there’s no specified end date. Sometimes, you’ll feel more yourself than you have in years just to be crying an hour later. That’s okay. But make no mistake, this is a season. You have to allow yourself to feel it all if you want to move forward. Feel it, but don’t live in it.
There’s no way to go through grief and not be forever changed. But, at some point in this equation, you have to choose. Will you build a foundation within yourself, learn, grow and come out stronger, better? Or, will you let the flames consume you, burn you alive, leaving only bitter ash of who you intended to be?
It’s not going to be easy. But I’m choosing to grow. I’m choosing to chase my dreams and set my own soul on fire. As for you, my beautiful, strong, capable friend, you are worthy of the life you desire - a life that has you smiling the moment your feet hit the floor.
And remember, even when it feels impossible, you are strong enough to survive this. We both are.