grief.

I have been grieving all year.

I’ve experienced many kinds of grief throughout my life. I’ve experienced tragedies, unexpected loss, deaths, and multiple other kinds of grief that are less cut and dry.

This grief has been a little different.

I’ve been cutting toxic people out like it’s nobody’s business. I’m learning the depths of my past in relation to who I’m trying to become. I’m learning what I deserve, and I’m learning how much the people around me have influenced me, held me back, and spread a lot of bullshit (and quite honestly, abuse,) throughout my life. This might sound harsh; I’m not saying it isn’t.

Here’s the thing: losing someone sucks, even if they suck.

Even if they’re toxic. Even if they’re hurtful, detrimental, or have no place in your life anymore. Even when it’s a good thing, it’s still the hard thing.

It’s still a loss, and I’ve experienced many:

I’ve lost family—literally and figuratively. By choice, by chance, and by tragedy.

I’ve lost friends—by the dozens.

I’ve lost security. I’ve lost dreams. I’ve lost the entire foundation my life was built upon.

But, we rebuild. Sometimes these losses are out of our control, and sometimes we get to choose who stays, and it’s often the hardest choice.

I’ve been grieving all year, and I don’t know how to explain that. I don’t know how to explain that although I am building a life I’m proud of, there’s still a loss. I’m letting ideals die and the views I had of my life vs. the reality it’s become. I’m letting loved ones stay at arms distance. I’m letting things go simply because they are too heavy.

With acceptance comes a lot of grief, and it’s often a solitary one. I still don’t know how to explain that although no grandiose event has happened lately, my world is being knocked down and growing new. It’s amazing, and beautiful, and wonderful, and sorrowful all at the same time.

Sometimes the grieving doesn’t get easier, but it does get different. Sometimes there’s no way to talk about old wounds without opening them back up, but I think that might be okay. I think grief is a process that never ends—loss changes you, no matter how big. There will still be a hole, or a scab, or a scar. It’s okay to acknowledge it. It’s okay to talk about.

I will never be the same, but most days I’m thankful for that. This change is liberating, and freeing, and reassuring that my future is bright. I’m a lot of things, but I am not stagnant and I will not stop growing, despite the growing pains. Despite the losses. Despite any of this.

One thought on “grief.

  1. Pingback: twenty seventeen. | emily jamar

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