_edited.png)
This marks one of the first blog posts I’ve made in over a year. A lot can change in a year, even more in two, but one thing that has not is my belief on transparency and the important role it plays in creating new relationships and nurturing existing ones. To those who have stuck around, and to the new friends I’ve had the pleasure of meeting, thank you for allowing me the opportunity to shift and grow and transform into the newness that has become my current life.
Oh, for the Love of Butterflies
Butterflies have always been my mom’s favorite insect, and I once even had a blue one land on my nose when I was a kid. Aside from that, I’ve never had much appreciation from the flittering and fragile creatures that they are, but over the last two years, I’ve come to appreciate the disgusting and disfiguring transformation they go through prior to emerging as the colorful insects they become. (If you think I’m going to use the clichéd and overused butterfly analogy explaining the changes I’ve experienced this last year, you’d be correct.)
The last twenty-one months have catered solely to one constant, draining emotion: heartbreak. I said goodbye to two of the most influential and critical people in my life when they died from unexpected causes, closed my second business, and slept in my car with my two dogs during a bitter midwestern winter because I was newly homeless. I fell into a pit of emotional turmoil my angsty teenage self had known all too well. This time instead of blaring My Chemical Romance and reading YA rom-coms for escapism from the ugly situations, I decided to sit in the suck.
From January to May of this year, after life had begun to resume to “normal,” I did what most obnoxiously independent women do when they’re overwhelmed. I shut down. I turned my thoughts inward, acknowledged the emotions I was feeling—anger, sorrow, grief, loneliness, helplessness, and more anger—and gave myself the permission to let my entire world crumble. I cried, stayed in bed on more consecutive days than I’m willing to admit, and let myself believe that life would never get any better. I had never compared myself to a butterfly before this point, but I gained a very clear understanding of what it meant to turn into complete mush and undistinguishable parts. The depression held on for dear life and the tears seemed never ending, but then, something beautiful happened. For the first time in months, I laughed.
Laughter is the Best Medicine
My dear and wonderful mom, who is to thank for my being a writer and avid reader, came to my apartment sometime after my dad had passed away. She sat at the foot of my bed where I’d been for days, and she carefully listened to the guilt-talk and rage I spewed for what felt like hours. When I had run out of words to say and felt the effects of an emotion-infused migraine settling into my temples, she made a joke. I can’t remember about what specifically, but I remember I giggled before I could even register my response.
In a 2017 article published in Forbes, David DiSalvo cites a study on the scientific principles of laughter being the best medicine. He says, “laughter has an effect similar to antidepressants” in the way it releases serotonin in our brains, a much-needed neurotransmitter for our overall health. Too little serotonin can cause “physical and psychological health problems”
according to ClevelandClinic.org because the chemical is crucial to normal body functions, and it was obvious I was lacking the feel-good chemical.
My brain had been starved of serotonin (or any endorphin, really) for such a long time, that laughing for the first time in months had felt foreign. Not only did it feel foreign, but it felt wrong, like I didn’t have a right to feel any sense of happiness given the way my life currently looked. I’m sure anyone else who has gone through burying a loved one or a horrible situation can understand what I mean when I say that laughing and feeling a small ounce of happiness almost felt sinful. But that was where everything began to change for me.
Eclosion
Thanks to the help of my mom and the new release of serotonin in my brain, the anguish and pain I had been feeling started to look more bearable. Not pleasant, but bearable, and that was all I needed to feel like I would be able to crawl out of the hole I’d allowed myself to fall into. Prior to this, I sat with my emotions and let them take full control while I sat in the passenger’s seat and replayed memories that I hadn’t thought of in years. Now, I felt there was a glimmer of hope that things would get better; a small tear in the chrysalis if you will. Even months later, I still have days that are harder to get through than others, but I’m in a completely different headspace now than before. I gave myself permission to feel the emotions that would come up, but I no longer let them rule me. Instead, I allowed them to have their moment, and then thanked them for their presence, and moved on.
Thanking our emotions may sound downright neurotic, and I thought the same thing when I first encountered the idea of thanking our fear, but it has benefits that pay off. Elisa Boxer wrote a 2017 article for Inc. about thanking fear and acknowledging it when it arises because fear is the emotion that always tries to prevent us from doing something in an effort to protect us. But she wrote something that was massively eye-opening to me. She said, “by thanking the fear, you acknowledge it and work with it, rather than letting it work against you and keep you stuck.” Although I wasn’t experiencing waves of fear, the framework of the theory gave me the idea to use it for other emotions, too.
My grief turned into appreciating the immense amount of love I had given to my dad and grandma and mourning the loss of a life I had grown accustomed to. My anger turned into recognizing something happened outside of my control and that I felt helpless amidst the chaos of it all. My loneliness turned into acknowledging I had pushed people away during a time when I needed them most because I didn’t want to burden anyone else with the pain I was feeling when I knew they were also in pain. Acknowledging and appreciating my emotions as they came where what built the steps for me to emerge from the months-long depression I had been feeling.
Becoming
At the time of me writing this blog post, it's been seven months since I said goodbye to my dad, eight months since I said goodbye to my grandma, nine months since I closed my second business, nineteen months since I first became homeless, and twenty-two months since I walked away from my former life. As viciously poetic as it is, the truth is that it’s in the breaking that we learn who we are. It’s in the shattering and shredding of every last part of who we believed ourselves to be that we learn who we always have been.
The last four months have been dedicated to undoing and becoming; shedding the layers of false identity and adjusting the fitting of this new and exciting person I’m becoming. Just like with a well-tailored suit, there are adjustments left to be made and excess that needs to be snipped off because it no longer serves its purpose, but I’m learning to be patient with myself through the process.
It's hard to say when I’ll fully rid myself of that former version of who I was, but I can appreciate the uncertainty as I’m learning to fall in love with this wiser new version.
Parting Words
If the last two years has taught me anything, it’s that we often discredit ourselves for how strong we truly are. We tend to think that what we do is of little significance in the lives of others, when really the greatest impacts are made watching westerns and passing on small, random teachings.
If I can leave you with any advice, it would be to recognize your strength. You’ve survived every single worst day you’ve ever encountered. You’ve bounced back from any loss you may have experienced. You’ve healed from any heartbreak that seemed never-ending. You are much, much stronger than you know. And if you’re in the midst of going through the worst day ever, a horrible loss, or a never-ending heartbreak, just know I’m rooting for you. You’ve got this.
A butterfly cannot become something of beauty before first unbecoming into something of a mess.
Sources:
Kommentare