deep love/grief ocean

i'm swimming.  barely.  but finally i've been able to take a breath.

i still can't really admit to myself that tobias is dead. when i talk about him, i use confusing verbs so that it is not clear that his physical form is no longer walking around on this earth.  i say things like "he was living in london," "we've been dating for 3 years." my mouth just can't form the words that actively refer to him in the past tense. (and so, dear reader, please accept some occasional present tense verbs.) 

my metaphor for my grief is one of an ocean--the waves beating me down and holding me under for days at a time.  and then there's a moment where the waves subside and i swim up.  i breathe.  i feel the sun.  i even float for a moment, wondering how i could have forgotten that this was even possible for me.  and then, in a second, without warning, i'm slipping back under. or i'm pulled by an undertow, and, even though it's scary, by now it's familiar.  and something about that feels comforting as i am pulled back under.  i think "i knew it was too good to be true, that i could be coming out from under this overwhelm."  and, simultaneously i know that i don't actually want to come out from under it--some days i choose to dive into the depths of my grief.  because i don't want to forget tobias or his love in my life.  i don't want to be "all better" because that might mean that i can't feel his presence here with me any longer.  

in the days when i hadn't heard from him and hadn't heard confirmation of what had happened to him yet (i know, i know, vague language here), i felt him with me so strongly. and in the days following, i continued to feel him around me, especially when i was moving energy through dance. and my fear of losing that became so intense. i felt like if i acknowledged the reality of the situation, the feeling of him dancing and twirling around with me would dissolve. my therapist suggested that i could ask him if he was planning to leave. and when i asked him, he laughed, "babes! i know how strong your fear of abandonment is! i would never!" 

summer, 2019

and it's true. he wouldn't. we have a beautiful story. our first date at disney world; the cross-atlantic love that stayed alive over distance and pandemics; the concerts, museums, theme parks, and shows that we went to; our hours-long internet dates; our shared love for tragic american chain restaurants; how he listened to every episode of my podcast and then wanted to talk about them; and his amazing ability to support me objectively and compassionately at every turn. 

when i went to tobias in tears, i would ask "do you have capacity to listen to what's upsetting me right now?" which he had taught me, through modelling: his operationalization of consent was beautiful to learn from. and, somehow, he always was able to make room for me. whether he was with other partners or friends, or whether it was in the middle of the night for him, he would give me non-judgemental, inclusive, and gentle advice about a colleague or a partner or a friend. and i never wanted to defy his advice, because it was so honest, from the heart, and always in my best interest. i feel like i don't know how to live in the world without this; his love is the most un-selfish i've ever experienced.  

and so how do i move on without his support? how do i focus enough to accomplish anything efficiently --ever again? a colleague recently suggested that i focus on doing the work that he could help me with--that i could ask his energy/spirit to collaborate with me. and so, today, i asked him to help me write something.  to help support my processing, as he always would.

so i'm trusting tobias. i'm trusting my network. (i'm so grateful for all the people in my life who have supported and continue to support my grief.) and i keep searching for the help i know he is still offering me. i search, i ask, i cry, i wait. and occasionally the universe serves me little nuggets of magic.  a recent radiolab episode played tape of a man that lost his fiance at a young age; he was lamenting his lost future with his partner.  some words that he received that resonated with me were:

"...grief is a form of praise. you are praising the wonder of the person you lost. the great pain you are feeling means great love." 

and wow is my love/pain great. 

i have this text convo with him from when one of his close friends committed suicide in late 2018. he said to me: "I just realised that like any of us could die and people would be sad for a few days and then forget we even existed. And our friends would talk and phone for a few days and it would bring them together and then they would go back to normal life." i responded "your actions and words have ripples throughout the world. the world is forever changed because you're in it." and god. i just want tobias to know how untrue his words were.  

i am changed because of you, tobias. i am better because of your support and love. and that lives on in me: in my relationships, in my work, in my podcast, and obviously in my wardrobe of disney paraphernalia.  i promise to never forget you. 

and i promise to try to keep swimming, even on the days where diving under the water feels easier or safer.

the necessity of trauma (and support)

we went camping to get me out of my head: to re-wire the tapes that had been on loop in my head for the past week. 

after setting up camp, sarah and i started into the woods with a good attitude, excited to hike up a mountain and feel the sun on our skin and the fresh air feeding our lungs and souls. 

half a mile up, the official trail disappeared and we started fighting our way through the forest, trying to stay as close as possible to the red line alltrails had on our gps and each putting one foot in front of the other, though we couldn’t see our feet most of the time. 

approximately 12 times we had to make the same decision: continue forward on a very difficult and uncomfortable path, or turn around (knowing we had already come so far through terrible landscape). each time we chose to continue forward, hopeful that what was around the next bend would be improved from the current condition. 

but each time it got worse: more brush, more mud, more stinging plants swishing at our legs, terribly steep descents with no holds, a river without a crossing (built or natural)… and each time we thought, “but, still, it can’t get worse than THIS!”

simultaneously we were in a competition with daylight, moving so slowly through the difficult terrain: each of us sure we could make it out, and each of us knowing we had to keep going if we wanted to beat the sun. so many times we would look at each other, nod, smile, make a joke, and keep going.  because we had to. 

each of us had a moment where we were just one shortened breath away from a panic attack: i felt mine coming on about 3/5 of the way through the hike as i realized how slowly we were making progress and felt the sunlight quickly fading.  i felt the panic so close to my heart and looked at sarah and just said “i’m taking some deep breaths.” i knew that i had to stay calm for both of us, so i focused on breathing deeply.  there was a point on a steep descent, (one of those decisions where we looked at each other, committed, and then kept going) where sarah paused and i could tell she was at the door of panic.  i paused where i was and calmly told her i was there, we were making progress, and that i had faith in us. 

we made it—it was a crazy hike, but we made it.  together. 

several times throughout the hike we joked (though seriously) that we were glad we were on this hike together and not with other people—we were both able to keep hope, positive spirits, and confidence in ourselves.

every experience is a mirror.  and these woods literally slapped us in the face with the metaphors of our lives. i felt the gravity of the situation and how important it was that every time we made a decision, we fully committed to it.  we didn’t re-think our options over and over, or question what path we took. because we couldn’t afford to.

and yet with hindsight, and more information, we would have made different choices. we would have turned around at several points, if we had known what it was that actually lied ahead. 

so is the lesson to turn back when things are very very hard? or just to make the best decision you can with the current information? maybe neither. maybe it’s just that we can do fucking hard things when we are well supported. 

as this frightening and yet still enjoyable (thank you, sarah!!) experience is settling in my body this afternoon, i listened to an episode of radio lab where the hosts reflected on the necessity of trauma, in relation to being born: “the deeply traumatic act of coming into existence… the severity and harshness of it force you to adapt in order to survive.” 

that seemed to help it all click for me. because no matter what choices we make, there will be things in life that are H-A-R-D —and we never really know what will happen in the other multiverse once we make a decision and splinter off into this one. so it is really our amazing ability as humans to continue to adapt that serves us. and i 100% believe that it is the support we build in our lives that helps us thrive through adapting after a trauma—whether the trauma is itty bitty or HUGE. 

so thank you sarah for taking me camping. we found our way through the woods together and we keep proving that we can def find our ways through this life.  

and thank you universe for both the trauma and the support so i can keep evolving. 

*OUCH!!*

i'm not sure where i learned to hide all of my hurt from the person who hurt me, but i'm going to go on record as saying that it is a highly maladaptive response. i'm pretty sure i've always done this; i can't remember a time where i fully expressed to someone how much their actions hurt me.  don't get me wrong; i don't totally avoid the topic: i tell people when i'm hurt.  but i don't share to what extent i am hurt nor later communicate to them that i'm still hurting. i was doing what i thought was healthy: i thought i was processing my part of it.

but i wasn't. and it wasn't ok.

which is generally how i operate: do things that i think are working until they are SO NOT WORKING that i cannot continue existing if i do not address them.

so my world crumbled. which was partially my fault, because someone didn't know that they were continuing to hurt me so much. and then, after i was sitting in the rubble, i realized that not communicating the hurt i had been trying to process alone hadn't been working out for me.

with nothing to lose, i decided to tell this person about all of the hurt i had been harboring for so long. and, to be honest, i still don't really know how that landed.  but that isn't the important part of this story, because the future is not something i can control.

what is important is what happened to me after i fully expressed myself (even the things that i thought i would be judged for saying, even the things i thought were so utterly ridiculous to say out loud).  i don't want to exaggerate or anything, but EVERYTHING IN MY LIFE SHIFTED FOR THE BETTER.  it's been four days and the rewards are not yet diminishing.

i feel fully centered; i feel fully in my power.  i have since communicated other difficult things i had been avoiding; i sent emails and checked messages i hadn't wanted to deal with; i haven't gotten annoyed by people on the train; i have been able to be fully present without that hurt constantly running the background story of my mind; i have had several truly genuine and authentic connections with others.

and i had to think to myself: why on earth did i think i couldn't share this hurt with this person? what the hell did i think i was controlling? because, looking back over my adult life, i know that trying to control and protect myself from life's unwanted outcomes has never worked. and, post every earthquake, there is new space for something beautiful and unexpected to grow.

my divorce created room for me to heal from years of eating disorders, a rape created the space for me to abandon alcohol and the depression it fostered, and the continuing trauma of revenge porn has built resilience and given me the ability to stand up for others who are not able to do so for themselves.

so thank god i can't control the outcomes. and thank god i can learn and evolve and grow.  i'm here, watching new greenery sprouting through the cracked foundation, vowing to stay true to my full expression of myself.  the endless worries i had about what cascade of consequences would come after communicating my hurts seem silly now.

earlier tonight the following line was said on the new season of sex education: "you have to let the people you love know that you love them, even if it causes you a great deal of pain." and i heard, "you have to let the people who have caused you pain know that they have caused you pain, because that will allow you to really feel love." otherwise you're just pretending: at life and love.

moving toward clarity

there is an overused quote that i find completely ridiculous: "the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results."  because guess what--this isn't even possible.  the context is ALWAYS different.  as if we could repeat something exactly as it was done before, in any sense.

however, one of my favorite quotes is: "repetition is the key to clarity."  it was something another yoga teacher heard in a workshop and passed on in a yoga class i was attending.  now, that's a quote to learn something from.

in yoga, we do the same poses, the same vinyasa, the same mantras, and the same breathwork over and over.  and, if we're paying attention, each time we learn something new; we grow. 

we move toward clarity.

we begin to understand our physical selves better, our metaphorical edges, and how we inhabit our bodies.

repetition as a tool for learning in our lives is an interesting concept.  responding the same way to every argument with a friend or partner, for example, teaches us something, whether our response is effective or not.  if we observe, maybe we learn that our response is something we utilize in order to protect ourselves; maybe we learn that in differing times of stress, the response is accepted differently.  to really move forward, though, we have to be able to absorb as much information as possible at each time point.

it's that observation and awareness that we consistently try to develop through our yoga and meditation practices.  the more we burn through, the closer we get to that internal point of stillness that allows us to see our lives and relationships with clarity.

and that's the real reason i practice yoga and meditation.  because woah. that clarity, in the bits and pieces i keep finding it, is the balm to life's insanity.

beats, heart

being alone is better with you.  I fit next to you. you fit into me.

we lay.  we dream.  when the sun comes up, you’re looking at me.

your eyes; my eyes.  your smile; my smile.  like spring.

beats.

what the fuck do you think love is?  you don’t know.

suppose I never met you.  freedom.

freedom?  freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose.

wake up.  WAKE UP.

beats.

would you have listened to you? you were crazy. 

I cry because I know.

the worst part is, there’s no one else to blame.

but still, I don’t want you to leave.

will you hold my hand?

beats.beats.

glasses of champagne on the dance floor.

beats.beats.

it fills my head up and gets louder.

beats.

nothing ever stays wrong that long.                              I look up.

I look

  forward.

your shadow            recedes.

I glow.

I reflect. 

I wish you love. 

you have to believe we are magic.

beats.

beats.

exposed//rebuild

i will never again hear the word "exposed"
without cringing
without feeling a sense of dread
without sensing my defense mechanism kick in


i run to relieve stress
i listen to loud music on my iphone
i run far past the rock sculptures
i keep going


i will never again approve message requests from strangers
without fear of being called a stupid cunt
without expecting to see my own nudes
accompanied by strangers telling me how i helped them cum


i run to escape
i leave my phone behind
it has become a device of torture
i stop when i see two rock sculptures that look like a couple


i will never again wonder whether i can cry for 8 hours straight
my privacy no longer exists
i've been repeatedly assaulted
by someone who loved me; by strangers


i run to move through my emotions
i look forward to the rock couple
they give me hope                            but
all of the rock sculptures have been dismantled by a vandal


i will never again doubt my resilience
my strength
my power
my ability to move forward


i run to prove my strength and determination
to myself
i run by the rock sculpture creator
he is rebuilding--the morning after destruction


he has not missed a beat
as i press play on a new playlist

otg (off the grid)

I’ve been off the grid for 5 days.  (I like to chant “OTG! OTG!”) I was a little afraid my life would fall apart while I was “gone,” and maybe it did a little bit: my gmail is apparently full and refusing emails, and who knows what else. I admit that makes me anxious; I’m not sure who might not try to re-contact me once I purge my email inbox.  But, I suppose I can look at the bright side: that also means I have a few less emails to wade through upon re-entry.

Before this experiment, I tried smaller ones: in the past couple of months I have regularly been doing two hours without my phone while going for a run and then stopping by the grocery store on the way home.  Not relying on my phone for entertainment while running and to remind me of my shopping list give me a sense of independence I didn’t know I missed.  And, when I get back from these little excursions, I often am not overly excited to look at my phone.

So, when I turned my phone off for the past several days, I expected to enjoy the freedom.  But I also thought I would miss the ease my phone offers: both emotionally and logistically. And I think I did at first.

In the first day or so, there were moments when I was waiting in line, or for a menu, where I instinctively wanted to grab my phone and scroll Instagram.  There were times when I got back to my room and automatically thought “oh I need to check and see who has texted since I was last with my phone.” There were instances when I wanted to know the answer to something quickly and wanted to immediately turn to Google.  And then sometimes I’d almost reach to carry my phone with me “just in case.”

After a day, though, these urges began to fade.  It was a relief to not have to carry my phone, or to have to check on its charge. The autonomy I had felt on my two-hour trial periods increased exponentially: I didn’t need my phone.  And, more notably, I didn’t want it.

I connected more deeply both with my best friend I was spending time with and the strangers I encountered each day; I listened to them more because I was never phone-distracted or even pre-phone-distracted (when I’m wondering what might be happening on my phone).  I noticed more things around me in the world because I was never ever looking down at a screen. And, when I wasn’t engaged with other people, I found myself meditating, which, over a few days, gave me a deeper sense of peace then I’ve been able to maintain for the past couple of months.  

I never felt bored.  I never felt lonely. 

As the end of the five days approached, I started to dread re-connecting. I tried not to waste any energy thinking about my worries, but I did brainstorm ways to stay as disconnected as possible once I returned. When I first started dating the man I married, in 2007, he used to leave his mobile phone at home during the day: he said it "lived" there.  I remember being angry at him; wanting to be able to text him to arrange things mid-day.  But now, in a totally different world, I see the appeal and plan to leave my phone at home as often as possible.  And so, now, as I am moments away from turning my phone back on, I find myself only slightly terrified of the other side. 

**24 hours later**

Turns out there was a disaster waiting for me.  But, like one of my best friends said, wasn't it better to have the space away for a few days, since the disaster would've been their either way?  (Yes.)  I'm pretty sure I was much better equipped to deal with it after my time away anyway.  

Oh, and you can email me again.  JIC you're one of those emails I missed! 😂