2023.04.13 The Grief Pool
I went to a women’s retreat a few weekends ago. A healing retreat. A retreat to look at grief, trauma, relationships, life. I’ve shared my experience(s) with a few people, but I’ve been selective - for many reasons. One of the things I realized is that after my mom died, I was raw. I was stripped of any tools for self-protection or self-soothing. I was unarmed. But I was trying to live my life “like normal” - when it wasn’t normal at all. Not what I was used to as normal. What I didn’t realize - what They don’t tell you - is that now this is your normal. And your normal needs far more armor than you’re used to carrying. Oh, and They are busy not telling you this at the same time They’re busy not telling you anything else about this grief pool you just dove into headfirst - nevermind the “3’ DEEP - NO DIVING” sign.
I usually go into a year with a word in mind - an intention. I don’t remember what my word for 2023 was. I actually don’t know if I ever had one. Setting my intention for the year wasn’t really “pressing” when my mom died on Christmas Eve and I was just trying to navigate the “What to Do When Someone Dies” waters. I can tell you what it ended as: depleted. And it’s not all caps DEPLETED. I’m not screaming that at anyone. depleted. All lowercase. All quiet. All tired.
What I didn’t realize about the Grief Pool is that it’s kind of like that story about ducks looking so peaceful gliding along on the water, meanwhile their little feet are kicking like crazy underwater. The Grief Pool is as smooth as glass on the surface. You can see your reflection as if in a mirror - smiling, contemplative, melancholy, laughing, calm. What you can’t see, what no one can see, is that under that crystalline surface, the water below is boiling, roiling, tossing you around, slamming you into the sea floor, letting you come up for a small gulp of air before sending you reeling again. Like the ocean, the Grief Pool’s waves are unpredictable and unrelenting. But people see you gliding along like the peaceful little duck. “You look like Elle. You talk like Elle. You act like Elle. You are the Elle I’ve always known, so that’s how I’ll treat you.” Except I’m not that Elle. I’ll never be that Elle again. I’ll try to be - I’ve spent the past year trying to be - and what I’ve learned is that I’m not doing anyone any favors, least of all myself.
“Who is Elle?”
Well, if that’s not the most loaded fucking question of my life…. I guess I’ll give it a stream-of-consciousness shot: independent, assertive, introverted-extrovert, confident, insecure, passionate, emotional, expressive, reserved, quiet, observant, opinionated, open to discussion, curious, inquisitive, strong, fiercely loyal, decisive, and um. Um. Um. I guess put my picture next to “dichotomy” in the dictionary? My Father-in-Law is an Episcopalian Priest. He gave a beautiful sermon about a recent accident, and how multiple people he didn’t know stopped their day to help. He said he didn’t expect it, but that it changed him. Not drastically, but enough that he can realize the basic good in humanity. (paraphrased) Grief changed me. Not drastically, but enough that I can recognize the basic pain in humanity. My grief has made me different. Not different bad. Not different good. Just different.
I am a deeply feeling, deeply connected, deeply empathetic, deeply imperfect Scorpio. I got clarity during the retreat. Many things opened me, and opened for me. My grief can visit anytime she wants - she just can’t stay. I can also now allow myself to look at my grief as love rather than - or maybe in conjunction with - pain. I don’t think the empty ache will ever go away, but I can be grateful that I loved my parents so much, and I know they loved me so much, that I can even wrap the empty ache with love.
The Grief Pool
Admission: $$$$$
Hours negotiable based on your schedule (NOT 24/7)
3’ DEEP - NO DIVING
Life rings available
Reservations requested but not expected - we realize you’ll show up whenever you want. You just can’t stay indefinitely.