Confession: I'm Not Quite Alright
After my father-in-law died, after the funeral, after coming back to New York, everyone kept asking, How are you? And I couldn't think of a proper (accurate) answer. Fine-ish was the best I could do. We were partly glad to get back to work because it gave our minds something else to groove on for a few hours a day. There have been days we've been lonely and relieved to have company, and days when the thought of returning an email or calling to make plans felt exhausting.
We were willing to wade back into life a bit, and life was more than willing to not slow down. At last week's story slam in Manhattan, I thought if I could just step back into the stream, it would carry me along. But I felt like I was standing outside somehow, looking in.
How are you? I'm starting now to see. I'm doing just well enough to look fine/normal/fully-functioning on the outside. But inside I feel flat, and brittle. I'm tender and raw when I'm with people here. If my phone friends were here to see me in person, maybe they could see the shock that still lives in my eyes. Maybe they could hear the way my mind gets stuck on this loop:
I've never heard anyone cry like that before.
But I'm here, and I can diagnose myself (if slowly). Yesterday I finally realized I need to handle myself more gently. The final tell was my inability to write four sentences.
I've had a new retreat in the works for April for some time, and instead of watching Netflix on demand in bed when we got home, I got to work finalizing the details. Because we're moving closer to April every day, regardless of how I feel.
And this retreat is a particular dream come true for me. I'm bringing in Phyllis, who has been one of my mentors and close friends for the last ten years, to facillitate it with me. I wouldn't be who I am today without her love and guidance, and I can't wait for you to meet her.
So we have the dates, the place, the schedule, and all I have to do is update the retreat page with a few new details, and four little sentences to invite you, to give you a sense of what the weekend will be about.
And I got nuthin', as Phyllis said.
Well, that's not exactly true--I have a couple pages of ideas that haven't passed muster with my first readers. And I've been beating myself up for this for days--because let's be honest--in my line of work, not being able to eek out four sentences is a problem.
"Your heart isn't in it," one friend said. No shit, I thought. This morning, my heart is still sitting by a grave that my mother-in-law has to pass every time she comes and goes from her house. My heart is till awake in the Oklahoma night listening to tears that rob us of our rest.
But this is no reason to stop hoping for healing, or to stop building transformative spaces and inviting people into them. No reason to stop being together, just because life can be sad or hard.
So the retreat is on. My word faucet is spitting things out in bursts and stops, and when I finally pull those four pesky sentences together, I'll post all the details. If all goes well, registration will open next week.
For today, I want you to have the dates so you can start making your arrangements. Here's all you really need to know:
Integrate: A Voice and Story Retreat in NYC
April 10-13, 2010
I would love for you to come.
Thursday, January 21, 2010 at 7:33AM | Share Article 18 Comments | Email Article Print Article | Permalink | in confessions, events
Reader Comments (18)
after my father died, i kept waiting for things to go back to normal. wondering why they hadn't, when they would. it was many weeks before i realized that the normal i was longing for no longer existed. that there would be a new normal emerging slowly, and all i could do was be patient and breathe.
here's to being gentle with yourself while you wait.
Dearest, dear heart-writing Jen - I can't remember how I found your blog (ohhh - just remembered - thru brene brown's blog) - but I can remember -- can feel it - it's such a visceral thing - how your words grab hold of my heart and both set it on fire an calm it (wild/weird combination)...
You have given so much - and I am praying, chakra-energy sending, spiritually tap-dancing my hope and desire that folks who/m you have touched with your vulnerability and courage (which would be, i'm guessing - everyone you've ever met - virtually or in person) will hold you in the Light, wrap a blanket of comfort and peace around you and your family as you move through your loss (slowly - I hope you and your family are supported in going slowly in resisting the cultural siren-song: "get on with your life" -as if).
My heart goes out to you. Thank you (again) for sharing from the depths of heart.
This really touched my heart - thank you so much for sharing it. I'm not quite alright myself either. Feels good to be able to admit that here at least. Also wanted to say how much I'm getting out of your wonderful Take Me With You videos - have been working along with you. I feel like this post is going to get me to my journal today:) Thank you for everything and take good care. Oh, and your retreat sounds AMAZING - wish I were closer to NY.
Oh, what I'd give to be there, sweet Jen. xo
I have been wondering how you guys were feeling. I'm wishing you light.
hugs - just hugs and gentle murmurings.
i know the depths of that grief and the crying you speak of so well -- it's hard to believe sometimes that we do heal after terrible (and sometimes sudden) losses, but we do...in the meantime, the pain sucks and hurts more than any physical pain ever could...be gentle with yourself, sweet girl...
my heart hurts for you. i understand all too well the feeling of not being able to move, to motivate, to string words together, to have the thoughts stuck on repeat...it is the most awful feeling in the world. you are on the right track, though, in being gentle with yourself...it is imperative, though often the most difficult thing to do, too, when everyone around you still needs you and somehow the &*^%$ sun still rises every day as if it doesn't comprehend that the world has stopped. i wish i had more to offer you, but all i know is to feel the feelings as they come, let them come up and out, and no judging of yourself allowed. you are in my prayers.
xx,
~amy
I lost a dear friend in a car wreck when I was twenty, and for a while I couldn't believe that life would ever be 'normal' again. As Emily said, there was a new normal that emerged slowly - but oh, it was hard.
Sending prayers and love your way. xo
Be oh-so-gentle with yourself and try to keep in mind that grief has no rhyme or reason - some days it will come in gentle waves, other days it will shred you. It also has no time table. But letting yourself accept the feelings - all 7 stages of them (which come and go as they please as well, and sometimes all at once) - is the kindest thing you can do for yourself. And don't stop sharing, even if you start judging yourself as a broken record, share anyway. You will be amazed by the love that reveals itself through grief.
kind lovely big hearted jen - be tender with the wounded healing parts of you and know that however you are is right and however you feel is right and however you make it through each day is right too... i am with Karen with her tapdancing reikeing blanket of light surrounding you and holding you in grace
Feel better, sweet Jen... Thinking of you and your family.
I've been reading along for a while now and haven't got to commenting. I wanted to send you my heartfelt thoughts. Grief has been my constant companion for almost 12 months now, and I am learning to accept it. Another blogger led me to this wonderful verse, which brought me much solace
http://www.gratefulness.org/poetry/guest_house.htm
I would love to join you for your fabulous retreat. Alas, it will not be this year. Perhaps another.
i feel your emotions in these words:
"But I felt like I was standing outside somehow, looking in."
my mom was diagnosed with a rapidly progressing form of dementia recently and i am far away from her. she is already lost and yet i still lose a little of her each day. and this is how i feel. like there's an invisible fence that creates a barrier between me and the outside world, i'm very much in my head, feeling selfish for whatever reason. wrapping my head around loss. and worry. and sadness. and missing.
it's a hard place to be.
thanks for the reminder to be gentle with yourself, myself.
Thinking of you. My mom died October 2008...and so I understand. I know the feeling of looking in. Things do evolve over time. Remember that there is no right way to grieve. There is just your way. Take care of you. Your words are a gift to many and a healing source for you, so turn those handles on that word faucet! Take care
confession: i just lost my dog just two weeks ago and all these thoughts about grieving and being brittle and tender and looking ok from the outside but feeling like i'm about to lose it on the inside...the fog lifts then descends again. i feel productive, then unable. i'm fine-ish and then burst into tears at the slightest reminder of him. so i feel all that too. but i feel silly (or guilty) when i share (or want to share, or need to share) this because little duncan wasn't a human, wasn't my grandparent, parent, friend or child. but he was with me every single night i slept at home for 14 years...and for most hours of every single day for 14 years. i miss him so much... and in the end grief is grief i guess.
i send you hugs, as many as you can hold. : )
This post seriously stroke a tender chord in me, a remembered chord from a few years back when I felt the same way, your story, my story, the human story.. I am always amazed how we are all connected in this not so big world. Namaste to you and may you be gentle with yourself as you heal.