I find myself at a precipice looking over the edge. Like the haunting scene in Star Trek, in several episodes. But I digress.
Recently, as in practice what you preach, I found a little pocket of grief and let myself express it. I had never forgiven myself for falling in love with my X.
The exercise is simple to explain yet difficult to implement. When you discover a twinge of emotion or a reaction to an event, like seeing something or someone. Or if you notice a response to something someone says or does, make note. Chances are you’ve likely learned to suppress it, ignore it. This is a defence mechanism to keep yourself from getting hurt. Ignore that there is a source of pain. Shove it down.
Often it is socially inappropriate, for instance, to express a true emotion as it is felt. Starting to wale remorsefully in the food court, for instance is likely not a great idea. The problem with this is in some homes all expression of emotion is strongly discouraged, so there is no safe place.
Make note of your reactions. Write them down if necessary. Or perhaps they are still fresh and ever present, a pain you are always aware of. It takes more energy to suppress the emotion than it does to express it.
Don’t get me wrong. Expressing it is difficult and usually painful, sometimes it can literally overwhelm you. So you prepare for that. When you know you have some time alone, wrap yourself in a blanket, shawl, duvet, pretty well what ever you have.
Don’t leave this out. It is a way of calming yourself down on many levels. Then, prepare for afterwards. What will you do? A bath, shower, walk, movie, dancing….You know better than I do. My first choice is a walk outside. Familiar, stimulating, life in all its forms. There is some sort of healing power from being out in nature.
I may still need to take a walk. I haven’t gotten my 7000 steps in yet today. Not even close. So where was I, oh yes, I found a pocket of pain.
True to myself, I planned for afterwards. My family would be home for a few days. Perfect, they are everything. So I carved out an evening to get in touch with what still hurt and that was it. I wrapped myself in a shawl and let the pain rip out of me.
I loved him completely. All of the people I love look like him. They have brought me a huge amount of perfect moments. Like I spoke about the wedding. I’ve chosen to remember the goods bits. Like he’d been hit by a truck. I mean as if he were dead, not estranged.
But a gift he gave me has resonated through my life and it has been wonderful. Unfortunately my love for him was not reciprocal. To him I was just a cog in his wheel. Easily replaceable.
Now here I am still blaming myself for being so stupid, instead of admitting for better or worse, he was the love of my life. Question is, are we restricted to one per lifetime?