Writing through my grief has given me strength. Sharing what I have written has made me brave.

In a very early therapy session, I remember crying because people had stopped talking to me about my loss. They had moved on. I felt so alone, and forgotten. I told my therapist “They are reading what I write – I can tell, by the number of page views. But no one is saying anything.” It took time for me to understand that “reading” was “listening.” It was giving me a space to say what I needed to say. Response not required, because people kept returning to read more. They were bearing witness to my pain.

I am back to not sleeping well which seems to directly correlate to how many things I have on my mind. Too many. Also as the temperature has dropped, we’ve been struggling to get the house to the proper temperature at night. I have found myself awake in stifling heat as we overcompensate.  Among them is how to adjust, again, to this next chapter of reflection.

The community that understands the most is that fierce tribe of people who have grieved. Are grieving. They acknowledge and they know. I have been putting off writing this post, the last in my second grief writing series. Writing this means another end to the structured writing, the community of support. I draw from this community, and the people who surround me, yet I am so often unable to give back. How can I be supportive when I have to put all of the energy into supporting myself?  I want so much to be a support for them, and yet need so much support from them. I feel guilty when it is one sided. They, that say the right things, and whisper fervently that they understand, and know what it’s like without uttering a syllable.  They. The community that “knows” will be parting from me a bit as I reach the end of this second round of grief writing.

Therefore I turn back to the rest of the community around me. Hoping that they can continue to catch me when I struggle to find footing.