I haven’t written much on my blog lately. It’s not that I haven’t tried. I have. It’s not that I don’t want to. I really, really do. It is just that, well, I just don’t seem to have a heck of a lot to say. I hear you snickering. I hear you saying, “Jen always has something to say” but really, I don’t. My posts are usually fueled by emotion, by how I feel, and lately I just haven’t been feeling much at all. It’s strange because it isn’t that I’m feeling depressed or down because that would definitely be fodder for some serious cathartic writing. I’ve had my fair share over the last few years of sadness-inspired blog posts. I often write about things I love or things I feel passionately about as well. But lately I just sit here and rack my brain for something even remotely interesting to write about.
I couldn’t explain it really. I have been really busy with work here at UrbanMoms but that to me is motivating and inspiring. I have been really enjoying my kids lately. At 7 and 10 they are a ton of fun and really interesting people. You’d think that would help. I mean, after all I am writing on a mom website. Isn’t this a topic other moms could relate to? Yet when I sit down to analyze a situation or ask a question or retell a story it always falls flat or often doesn’t ever get farther than the idea stage.
I have heard a lot of bloggers and writers talk about Writer’s Block so I was thinking maybe that was what was going on. I read a bunch of stuff about how the pressure of writing gets to some or the lack of inspiration. But that didn’t sit right either. This was something else. The truth is, I just haven’t been feeling much of anything at all. And after thinking about it I think I kind of figured out why.
I have been doing this in order to survive.
When my mom, my best friend and role model, passed away at the end of July I knew I could easily crawl under a rock in the fetal position and disappear. But I also knew that a) she would not be impressed and b) it would not bring her back. I was determined to honour her so I started to learn how to turn it all off. I learned how to avoid thinking about her and feeling the pain and facing the reality of everything I had lost. It was kind of like plugging my ears and yelling “LaLaLaLaLa!!” at the top of my lungs every time I missed her. And, the more I did it the better I got at it and the less pain I felt. I had some pat lines I would hoist on people to show that I was fine or moved or thoughtful. Whichever was appropriate for the occasion.
Wow, was I coping well. I knew this because everyone told me so. And the more I told myself that the pain had no purpose the more I avoided it. The problem with this was twofold. 1) It would creep up on me at the most inconvenient times because, despite my desperate hope otherwise, the pain was still there. Just because I refused to acknowledge it didn’t make it go away. There were times when it would bubble over and I would find myself overcome and lost. But this was happening less and less and what was replacing it was an overall feeling of nothingness, of numb. My #1 emotion these days was numb. This was the flip-side of the problem. 2) I suddenly found that my heart-on-my-sleeve, overly-emotional self was simply non-existent a lot of the time. I was controlled and practical and predictable.
This numbness feels safe. But now the facade is cracking and I don’t want it to. It is bearable here. It may not be warm and comforting but at least it isn’t lonely and devastating either. And I know that is what I am going to find if I let go of this shield all together. I know because it happens in my dreams. I see her and I run toward her or I move to touch her or I look into her sparkling, freckled hazel-green eyes and then I know. It suddenly hits me – she is gone. And the pain hits me like an assault on my soul. That lifelong save-haven, that place without judgment, without expectations, with nothing but love and acceptance and security is gone.
And so I wake up from the dream and I commit myself once again to carrying on within my little world of denial, coping as best I can until I am one day, possibly, capable of facing the loss and the grief and the heartache head-on and still remaining intact. And until then I know, I will struggle to write here.
Jen, you know my heart is with you (and your family). I read this and cried and it reminded me of this quote that gave me strength when I needed it…. “God doesn’t give you the people you want; He gives you the people you NEED… to help you, to hurt you, to leave you, to love you and to make you into the person you were meant to be. ” I’m always hear if you need an ear, a shoulder or a bottle of wine!!!!
every year around my birthday (which is around now, same as you) i get really, really sad. nobody gets it, and i didn’t get it until recently. my birthday was an experience that my mother and i shared together. i didn’t arrive on this planet by myself. i’ve been really sad lately. i feel like a lone atom floating around the universe, my connection and guide ripped brutally and prematurely from me. the numbness, the pain, the longing, the almost-real dreams that tease…all so familiar, haunting, staggeringly hurtful. i feel guilt because there are stretches of time that I am an inneffectual mother, partner because of this pain/numbness. it passes, my friend, but will return periodically forever.
The numbness helps you survive. It’s part of the process. If you read about grief you’ll learn about the stages (Kubler Ross): denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. All the stages are normal and necessary. I think denial is the part when you are numb, life goes on and you pretend that it’s all OK. But it’s not. Then you move on to the other stages, not necessarily in the order listed and maybe not even all of them, but it’s a long process. And as Sara points out, never totally finished. I’m not able to express my emotions as well as you and Kath do, but I understand the grief and I’m thinking of you. xoxoxo
Oh Jen, I am right there with you. The numbness is totally paralyzing and its only compensation is that it keeps the tears at bay a few minutes longer. It’s like when your brain wakes up but your body can’t move yet…you know what’s happening, but you still can’t move a muscle and somehow, it’s so panicking, but the only way to shake it is to give in to it a little longer and then you wake up properly.
Comfortably numb. Go with what feels right and pushing reality away just so you can cope is totally normal. Sadly, we have the rest of our lives to miss our parents so if we need to stay numb for this stage, or any stage, that is ok. It is what sometimes keeps us from jumping off a bridge!!
I can relate to Sara following women with her mom’s perfume. The other day I was at Costco stalking an elderly couple speaking Portuguese. I was just dying to hear it and imagined they were my parents arguing about the industrial size soap.
Hugs await you Jen, just reach out.
A
Hi Jen,
Wanted to let you know that I think you are really strong and being strong means admitting to those less than perfect feelings you are having. I always count on my mom for advice and support I wonder what life will be like when I don’t have her reassure me. After hearing and following your story I make a point of realizing how lucky I am everyday. Some days my mom drives me nuts but she is always there for me. I guess you can never take that for granted. Thanks for sharing your story. Honesty like that takes real courage.
Leigh
Jen I hope you know how HEALTHY you are. What an honest, true post about losing your mom – and I apologize because I had no idea how fresh your loss is. You’re still going through all the ‘firsts’ without her. Keep being aware Jen and open with yourself about your feelings – and you’ll get there, I promise. This November will be a decade without my mom – a quarter of my life. I want to say it just gets so much easier – but it doesn’t, it just gets to be part of your life. I still dream about her all the time, and follow women around who are wearing her perfume, but I’m at a point where I can be thankful for the time we had, and the things that she taught me. And as unreligious as I am, I know she’s here with me all the time – there was one time when I was looking after my granny that I swear, I felt her. Give yourself time, the numbness will fade. I spent an hour this weekend lying on a bed telling my niece all about the crazy things her grandma, who she never met, used to do – she’ll get the spicier stories when she gets older. Hang in there my friend. xx
Good point, Marla. Maybe it is all just part of the process. Thanks guys.
Just my opin’ for what it’s worth. Don’t deny your defense mechanisms and don’t deny the feelings that kicked them into high gear. It’s all part of a process and your going to go through it, and do your mom proud, whether you are in pain or ‘numb’ .. so long as you keep moving forward, so long as you don’t lose sight of yourself.
Hugs Jen. I can imagine that for someone as full of life as you are, the numbness must be almost more difficult than any other emotion. Very powerful writing.
Oh, Jen, ((hugs)). This. This is why I can’t give up chais (in all seriousness)…. Numbness is easy, but never permanent. Two steps back; one step forward.