The other day, I was speaking to a friend who is one of most nurturing people I know. We were having a catch-up and I breezily announced that I reckoned I was through the “primary stage” of grief after my mum passed away last September. I continued, explaining that I couldn’t understand why I still haven’t decided what I want to offer next as a signature service – even though I’ve thought about it a lot.
She went a little quiet, then reminded me that I’d been a carer for at least two years before Mum died, and not to forget all the grief generated by witnessing an elderly parent in physical and cognitive decline. It was a mini “aha” moment for me, which I experienced as a deep feeling of relief and release. She had given me permission to be indecisive, to experiment and then change my mind.
She wasn’t at all surprised that I don’t really know what I want to do next. I’ve spent years putting my mother’s needs first, so I haven’t prioritised mine. I went on the back burner. This is the first time in a long time that I’ve been able to be a bit selfish – but even writing that down feels a bit selfish.
Instead I found myself reflecting on Mum’s experience of losing Dad after 25 years of caring for him after he had a stroke. How strange it must have been for her, suddenly being on her own and not having to think of him and his needs every minute of the day.
So here I am, able to make new choices about my future direction (pandemic notwithstanding), and not being able to decide what to initiate in my business beyond responding to external opportunities (which are, fortunately for me, coming in on a consistent basis).
A quick Google reveals that yes, of course, a bereavement can leave you feeling indecisive for months. For some reason I didn’t think that applied to me – that I should get focused and just crack on with life. I didn’t want to be seen as a butterfly, floating from one idea to another.
Upon mature reflection…
I took a break after that last paragraph to reflect on what I had written. And it occurred to me that, rather than focusing on the negative meaning of butterfly (a showy or frivolous person), I would prefer to ponder the deeper symbolism of the butterfly as the beautiful result of a long immersion in darkness.
There’s a powerful poem by Kim Rosen that takes me straight there. It’s called In Impossible Darkness, and it reminds the reader of what happens in a cocoon. The caterpillar liquefies, “conceiving/in impossible darkness/the sheer inevitability of wings.”
So perhaps, as I allow myself to sit in the darkness of indecision, I am still liquefying. But I can contemplate the sheer inevitability of wings.
I’m wondering if others are liquefying too, still in the cocoon of lockdown, all grieving some kind of loss – perhaps unable to imagine ever having wings. Perhaps we should all surrender to the process and trust that we will fly again – when the time is right.
What a beautiful and insightful article!
Your words always bring up something even though not always in the context you wrote.
The two words that resonated with me in a different context are – butterfly, emerging from a long ‘gestation’ as a beautiful butterfly (in my case, me as an authentic woman).
The other word is ‘surrender’, giving myself permission to not work all the time and sometimes to just stare at the screen without seeing or hearing so surrendering and stop trying.
I had to smile at your phrase that you went through the primary stage of grief, check.
It reminded me of my latest period of grieving the loss of my marriage and the illusions of that young girl.
What I learned from that process was the grief is an untidy process. There are no stages. The tears would come unexpectedly and sometimes at inconvenient times but, fortunately, I had the wisdom to allow the process to unfold as it did.
Be gentle and patient with yourself, Sweetie, and let the grief and decisions to come in their own good time.
Thanks so much Sue – I love that it sparked thoughts about emerging as an authentic woman! And yes, grief is a very non-linear and messy process. Thanks for your wise counsel!