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Grief Screams in the Silence

Therefore, I Hide in the Darkness


It has been a while since I last wrote anything. I've been trying to motivate myself, but I am a master procrastinator. I usually leave everything until the last minute, but haven't accomplished much lately.


I have been travelling again. I recently ended up in a place where I know few people, don’t speak the language, and my only friends are two cats named Cielo and Merlin. They are great cuddlers and keep me somewhat sane.


When I was a child, being in isolation felt like a safe space. However, now as an adult, the voices in my head have become louder and more challenging to ignore.


I have developed a skill for binge-watching any show or movie that I come across. My safe space as a child was a laundry basket in front of the TV, where I could create a barrier between myself and the world. I craved being alone, and I found comfort in getting lost in the shows. It's no wonder that binge-watching still feels like a source of comfort.


I can see myself slowly wandering into a place I do not like. A place where I disconnect from the world, the people around me, and even myself. This place enables me to avoid being present in the moment. I fear it, but lately, I have been visiting more frequently than I'd like to admit.


I have experienced a lot of loss, which keeps sneaking up on me, disrupting any normalcy I think I have gained.


It's unfortunate that I don't have my husband or parents anymore. I am an orphan, as one friend uninvitedly pointed out. My children have established a protective boundary around themselves—quite tall, broad, and clearly defined as a line not to cross.


I am responsible for caring for myself, which I have been capable of doing for many years. It occurs to me that my mother had represented an ever-present nurturing figure, even if that wasn't entirely true. With her passing, the concept of having such a presence in my life has come to an end.


What I had envisioned for this point of my life has vanished.


I find myself alone—and in need of rewriting my story. I feel lost and unsure about what my future holds. I have been travelling for the past two years, and I am very good at going with the flow, allowing the universe to guide me. It has been a liberating and beautiful experience. However, that free-spirited woman got lost upon her return to Canada in May. She went back to the life I had left behind—a life of traditional rules and restrictions.


I recently returned to Mexico and told myself that I am free once again. Yet my thoughts are occupied with obligations, expectations, and the overwhelming sense of grief that persists no matter where I go. Even if I try to ignore it, it always resurfaces during moments of silence.


These are the moments when I retreat and fall into a place of darkness. Thankfully, I am able to keep one foot in the light, but the dark can be very alluring. It offers a sanctuary of emptiness where I can escape my reality. Unless you have walked down this path yourself, it is hard to comprehend the despair of this feeling or paint an accurate picture.


Society doesn't like to acknowledge or discuss the dark, telling us instead to put on a smile, engage with others, and pretend everything is okay, even when it is not.


I am here to tell you it is okay to visit the darkness. There is nothing wrong with you; being in constant pain can be too much. It is important to be kind, understanding, and compassionate towards yourself. I would like to suggest that you consider seeking support, whatever that may look like for you, when you find yourself in this space. Personally, I receive the help I need from my therapist.


When you experience a significant loss, you may find that childhood wounds resurface unexpectedly. Even if you are actively working to improve your patterns and behaviours, deeper layers of grief often reveal themselves in ways you didn't anticipate. Uncovering layers of pain and hurt that you didn't even know existed can be surprising and destabilizing.


It may not feel good, and it may feel eternal, but we do eventually take tiny steps back into the light. Sometimes, it may only last for a moment, an hour, or a day, but we know that the darkness is there if we need it.


Through my journey, I have learned that grief can be my greatest gift for growth. In moments of darkness and grief, I also experience glimpses of hope, which encourage me to step back into the light and live again. One day, I believe I will feel gratitude for the lessons I learned on this journey.


Healing happens when we confront these wounds head-on, forgiving ourselves for what we could not control and what we did not know then

AND

Allowing ourselves to celebrate where we are now.


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