I Write to Show Up For Myself

Lately, I’ve been questioning why it feels like life is closing in.  Why it feels like time isn’t on my side.  As I observe the world outside, my experience seems to have sped up, while my internal world has slowed down considerably.  What’s being asked of me with the days I wake up to live?

I open my notepads, notebooks, and my heart to explore why these feelings arise.  The more I question, the more I realize I don’t have any answers.  The more I seek within, the more I want to know about how others have navigated an untimely death of a loved one.

I stare at the blank page, wondering how I’m going to grow from releasing my hurts in written expression.  I think about what got me to this point of being cornered and waiting.  Waiting for direction, guidance…anything that points to progress in my newly assigned “widower-hood.”  I think about how none of us are really in control of this thing called life.

What I am really doing is giving myself space to grow into who I am now available to become.  I allow myself to be open to what’s possible, while holding on to a fear that everything can end in a moment.  There are times that I’m left to wonder what might have become of the relationship I was hoping to build with my now-deceased bride.

I have more recently been waking to an overwhelming sense of lostness that not having my partner leaves me.  Instead of staring at the emptiness of being newly single, I give myself the space on the empty pages to discover in my emotions what has been a challenge to accept.

Maybe it feels like my emotional walls are closing in to put me where I was supposed to be for decades.  Cultivating my skill in the craft of writing.  Mining the depths of a life of quiet service to the people in the world my bride and I were building.

Showing up for myself in the form of writing has been therapeutic for sure.  But, it’s also been frustrating in that I am unearthing things about my marriage relationship I ignored.  The bittersweetness of accepting the challenges against the joy of hope that life will be good again.

Allowing myself a space for uncensored exploration of my personal responsibilities.  The space to allow for movement out of being numb.