Monday, I found myself spending most of the day in the car, driving the long, straight road between Denver and Wichita. As many of you know, I have spent the last nine weeks unemployed. Due to an unexpected delay in my start date for my new job, I wound up with an extra week on my hands. I was not made to be someone who does not have a job to do or classes to attend. The months of unemployment had worn on me, so, at my mother's suggestion, I decided to take a few days and visit my amazing friends, the Loflands.
I left Monday morning, happy about spending a few days with them. As I have said in other blog posts, they have been life savers for me, and I very much feel like I'm visiting a brother and sister, and nieces and a nephew. I'm in a much better place in life than I have been in until recently, so I was surprised to find that the closer I got to Wichita, the more depressed I got, and the more I wanted to cry. I hadn't struggled with so many thoughts and feelings regarding my ex in several weeks. Not even on his birthday, earlier this month. I tried to push things out of my head by focusing on the latest podcast I've been binging on (yes, I binge on informational podcasts...I have to fill the need to learn somehow, since going to school forever isn't a viable option). It helped, but it didn't totally do the job. About the time I turned off of I-70 for the final 90 minutes to Wichita, I realized something: The last time I traveled this road, I was in a very bad place in life. I was just barely managing to keep it together (and by that I mean...living), and I was still so crushed by everything, it permeated my thoughts nearly every waking- and even many sleeping- minute. On top of that, I was still severely injured by the accident that I'm still not sure how Ryan and I survived. Even though I'm in a much better place, I found that the emotional center of my brain was realizing that every time I had driven that road between Denver and Wichita, I had been in serious emotional distress. While I managed to control the severity of the emotional disturbance somewhat, I found myself shedding a tear...or ten...as I relived some rather horrific memories.
When I got to the Loflands, and was greeted by a very enthusiastic Daisy (their puppy), Becky, Missy, Benji, Jerusha and Christen, I finally felt a lot better than I had for the past several hours. As the drive went on, I had found myself worrying that once I got there, I'd be hit by the same barrage of agonizing emotions I had felt every other time I had visited. Thankfully, that wasn't the case. The kids went to bed (they'd been allowed to stay up late to see me), and Jerusha and Christen and I went out to the back porch with some wine, and spent a couple hours having the kind of conversations that only three INTJs who are survivors of the same cult and have all left the church can have. We mostly argued about politics (I'm still more conservative than they are), I gave them a brief lesson on the fall of the Whig Party, and the rise of the Republican Party, but of course, it was all very civil, and the three of us have a really good mutual respect for each other, which allows for awesome debates.
After I went to bed, I pleasantly surprised myself by actually going to sleep (insomnia is a huge issue right now), and going to sleep happily. I didn't cry myself to sleep as I had done many nights before in the Lofland house (no, not because of them!). As I went through the activities of the next day and a half, and then started my way back home, I found myself musing again on grief and emotional distress. It takes a lot of time to heal, yes. I'm definitely not "over" everything. I still think about things far more than I would like, and I still feel way more emotional about everything that happened, though I wish I did. I'm not sure it will never not hurt to think about what all happened. There will always be things that come up (like the drive to Wichita), that will bring up those sad and angry feelings again, even if I'm feeling really good at the moment.
As I drove home, I realized that I have clearly done a lot of healing. The fact that the drive to Wichita was hard for me was not a sign that I'm still in agony, or that I'm not far enough along. That's a sign that I'm human and, contrary to popular belief, don't have sludge being pumped through my black, cold heart. Though it surprised to at the time, I realized the fact that I wasn't more undone by the memories and emotions, didn't end up sobbing, and managed to keep from ending up a giant ball of agony is proof that I have done an impressive amount of healing between the end of December and now.
At the risk of sounding like a broken record, grief takes many forms, but then, so does healing. Both take time. Both can strike at unexpected times. The grief means I'm human, and the healing means I'm rising from the ashes. Just because I am doing well in Colorado, have an awesome new guy in my life, and am about to start a better job than I ever hoped to get, does not mean I will not still feel hurt and angry, nor does it mean that I will not mourn what was- and what wasn't. In fact, in my opinion, being able to be happy with my new life while mourning my old one is actually a sign of strength and bravery; instead of letting what happened to me ruin me and my life, I dared to imagine a different life, in a different place, with different people, and doing different things. I dared to seize life by the scruff of the neck and refuse to let it get the better of me. And that, my friends, is as Dauntless as it gets.
I left Monday morning, happy about spending a few days with them. As I have said in other blog posts, they have been life savers for me, and I very much feel like I'm visiting a brother and sister, and nieces and a nephew. I'm in a much better place in life than I have been in until recently, so I was surprised to find that the closer I got to Wichita, the more depressed I got, and the more I wanted to cry. I hadn't struggled with so many thoughts and feelings regarding my ex in several weeks. Not even on his birthday, earlier this month. I tried to push things out of my head by focusing on the latest podcast I've been binging on (yes, I binge on informational podcasts...I have to fill the need to learn somehow, since going to school forever isn't a viable option). It helped, but it didn't totally do the job. About the time I turned off of I-70 for the final 90 minutes to Wichita, I realized something: The last time I traveled this road, I was in a very bad place in life. I was just barely managing to keep it together (and by that I mean...living), and I was still so crushed by everything, it permeated my thoughts nearly every waking- and even many sleeping- minute. On top of that, I was still severely injured by the accident that I'm still not sure how Ryan and I survived. Even though I'm in a much better place, I found that the emotional center of my brain was realizing that every time I had driven that road between Denver and Wichita, I had been in serious emotional distress. While I managed to control the severity of the emotional disturbance somewhat, I found myself shedding a tear...or ten...as I relived some rather horrific memories.
When I got to the Loflands, and was greeted by a very enthusiastic Daisy (their puppy), Becky, Missy, Benji, Jerusha and Christen, I finally felt a lot better than I had for the past several hours. As the drive went on, I had found myself worrying that once I got there, I'd be hit by the same barrage of agonizing emotions I had felt every other time I had visited. Thankfully, that wasn't the case. The kids went to bed (they'd been allowed to stay up late to see me), and Jerusha and Christen and I went out to the back porch with some wine, and spent a couple hours having the kind of conversations that only three INTJs who are survivors of the same cult and have all left the church can have. We mostly argued about politics (I'm still more conservative than they are), I gave them a brief lesson on the fall of the Whig Party, and the rise of the Republican Party, but of course, it was all very civil, and the three of us have a really good mutual respect for each other, which allows for awesome debates.
After I went to bed, I pleasantly surprised myself by actually going to sleep (insomnia is a huge issue right now), and going to sleep happily. I didn't cry myself to sleep as I had done many nights before in the Lofland house (no, not because of them!). As I went through the activities of the next day and a half, and then started my way back home, I found myself musing again on grief and emotional distress. It takes a lot of time to heal, yes. I'm definitely not "over" everything. I still think about things far more than I would like, and I still feel way more emotional about everything that happened, though I wish I did. I'm not sure it will never not hurt to think about what all happened. There will always be things that come up (like the drive to Wichita), that will bring up those sad and angry feelings again, even if I'm feeling really good at the moment.
As I drove home, I realized that I have clearly done a lot of healing. The fact that the drive to Wichita was hard for me was not a sign that I'm still in agony, or that I'm not far enough along. That's a sign that I'm human and, contrary to popular belief, don't have sludge being pumped through my black, cold heart. Though it surprised to at the time, I realized the fact that I wasn't more undone by the memories and emotions, didn't end up sobbing, and managed to keep from ending up a giant ball of agony is proof that I have done an impressive amount of healing between the end of December and now.
At the risk of sounding like a broken record, grief takes many forms, but then, so does healing. Both take time. Both can strike at unexpected times. The grief means I'm human, and the healing means I'm rising from the ashes. Just because I am doing well in Colorado, have an awesome new guy in my life, and am about to start a better job than I ever hoped to get, does not mean I will not still feel hurt and angry, nor does it mean that I will not mourn what was- and what wasn't. In fact, in my opinion, being able to be happy with my new life while mourning my old one is actually a sign of strength and bravery; instead of letting what happened to me ruin me and my life, I dared to imagine a different life, in a different place, with different people, and doing different things. I dared to seize life by the scruff of the neck and refuse to let it get the better of me. And that, my friends, is as Dauntless as it gets.
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