Adventures in Grief and Starting Over from My Adult Chair®
It feels like two lifetimes have passed in the last three months since I shared The Most Beautiful, Gut-Wrenching, Extraordinary Honor of My Life.
Shortly after Christmas, I journeyed to Isle of Palms, SC, for The Adult Chair® 2023 Coaching Certification intensive, but this time as a Master Coach-in-training. Revisiting coach camp reflected how far I've come in the last twelve months, and I needed that. I usually don't give myself enough credit, especially during times of hardship. It was immensely comforting to reconnect with eight of my incredible classmates and inspiring to meet the new class of brave and vulnerable souls doing their inner work while learning how to hold that space for others.
That week contained the bonus adventure of a road trip with my dear friend and fellow Master Coach-in-training, Joshua. Listening to music, laughing, crying, and talking with him for hours in the bubble of the car was the best medicine for my grief. I hadn't felt that light since before we learned of mum's cancer.
Celebration of Life
A week after I returned from coach camp, Harv and I hosted mum's celebration of life gathering. Friends and family came from near and far to spend the entire day hanging out and honoring the Pegster. It was a beautiful, love-filled day and also a bit overwhelming for me. There was the self-inflicted pressure to be hostess-with-the-mostest combined with seeing my father and step-father in the same room for the first time in twenty years. There was no drama; it was just a lot for my system to absorb.
I felt compelled to honor mum's joy for hosting people by giving equal energy and conversation to everyone who walked through the door, but my heart just wanted to sit surrounded by the people I felt closest to, relaxing in my own little bubble. That was a hindsight realization once I processed my feelings about the day. During the party, it felt like a constant three-way tug of war on my system- my brain would clock how long I stayed in one place and nudge me along if I lingered while simultaneously scanning the room to make sure everyone was enjoying themselves at all times, all the while, an unseen force within me longed to stay near the energy of my friends and the family I hadn't seen in years.
As I wrote that last sentence, I had a massive epiphany through the lens of The Adult Chair® model- our Child Chair, or inner child, is the seat of our emotions, needs, and feelings. I was missing my mum and experiencing a buttload of massive emotions about the day, so my inner child wanted to be comforted- no wonder I felt such a strong pull to be surrounded by those I had grown up around!
Once the house was cleared, I went out for a change of scenery with my hometown friends with plans to get together with some of the relatives after that. As exhaustion swapped places with adrenaline, I questioned how I would make it through the third gathering. Tension rose in my chest. I wasn't even sure I'd make it through the outing I was in the thick of. Thoughts began to race. That overwhelm from earlier doubled back with my perfectionism and inner critic in tow, resulting in a near anxiety attack right at the table. The thought of going back on my word and being unable to give extra time to the people who drove hours to support me had my parts in quite a tizzy.
Thankfully, my Adult Chair came back online; I got clear on what I was feeling and needed, and I took action. As much as it hurt my heart, I let the fam know I needed to bail, and they were nothing but loving, understanding, and supportive. I still had a good cry at the discomfort of it all, but the escalating anxiety subsided within minutes, and I was able to soak up the love around me.
Starting Over
Three days later, I loaded my belongings into a Uhaul and moved to Orlando, and thankfully, I didn't have to do it alone. One of the hometown friends stayed after the party to be my moral support that week. It wasn't a big move, and I could've easily tackled it solo under normal circumstances, but the weight of the grief made it feel insurmountable. Even with a friend there to bolster me, I seriously struggled to stay grounded in my Adult Chair.
That was February 1st.
In the last six weeks, I've unpacked and settled into my new space, applied to countless jobs, gone on several interviews, started a new job, got fired from the new job, traveled to Nashville for the Master Coach weekend intensive, did more interviews upon my return and headed back to the airport for a week with my soon-to-be 93-year-old grandmother- my mum's mum. It's my first time seeing her since I was stuck in Australia during the pandemic. On the one hand, it's lifted a massive weight to finally get here and be with her. On the other hand, it's tapping into new pockets of grief and other big emotions about how to best support her without my mother's presence.
The firing, my first ever, was a huge blessing. After the first few training days, I began feeling massive waves of unease, doubt, heaviness, and anxiety. I felt it stemmed from the job, but instead of honoring the intensity of my feelings and getting curious about what they were trying to communicate, I downplayed them and justified them, one of my go-to unhealthy traits.
I told myself the job couldn't be that bad; the issue was probably me. I hadn't given it enough time. I wasn't my most positive self because of the grief. I couldn't decide the job wasn't a good fit after only a couple days. What kind of employee would that make me? I can't be seen as a quitter. Etc. Etc. One afternoon, this back-and-forth between my feelings and self-gaslighting resulted in a colossal grief meltdown. I started crying on the way home, couldn't collect myself, had to reschedule coaching sessions, and sobbed in bed for a few hours. That was fun. Though I did feel ten pounds lighter the next day, albeit with a very puffy face.
All the feelings I downplayed were instantly validated when they let me go on day nine, forty-eight hours after they told me they loved my personality at the desk, thought I was great on the phones, and doing well navigating a less-than-ideal training situation. That rapid turnaround was a blatant display of their values, actions, and communication not lining up, something my intuition was probably picking up on from the start. The weight lifted at that moment was everything I needed to know- I wasn't worried about judgment, and my perfectionism parts weren't activated in the slightest. I expressed to them tremendous gratitude for letting me go and practically skipped right out of there! The befuddled looks on their faces had me giggling the whole way home.
Master Coach Camp
A few days later, I flew to Nashville for the Master Coach weekend intensive at Evin's Mill Resort in Smithville, TN. The weekend intensive couldn't have fallen at a more perfect time. After the internal rollercoaster with that job adventure, a weekend surrounded by eleven compassionate humans with a deep dive into energy work and practicing and witnessing immense vulnerability was a beautiful reset for my whole system. But not without a big messy emotional release, of course.
The topic of cancer came up during a guest lecture at the end of a twelve-hour day. My guard was down from the energy drain, and poof! That's all it took. Joshua instinctively put his arm around me just before my body started to heave as if he sensed what was coming before I did. The floodgates unleashed, and I had to get up for tissues, which alerted the rest of my classmates to what was happening.
They all gave me the "I love you, how can I support you?" look. I shrugged them off like everything would be fine in a second and retreated to the corner of the room to collect myself, old conditioning of sparing others our messy emotions kicking in. Not accepting the shrug off, one of them came over (one of the mothers, naturally), asking if she could give me a hug. I liked that she challenged my aversion to vulnerability but still respected my boundaries by asking first. I made a mental note- *Cat, be that person for others in the future.*
As I let her embrace me, I could tell she wasn't going to budge until I did, so I released my defenses and let her hold me while I sobbed. Or, as the experts say, I leaned into the discomfort. And just like the experts also say, because I didn't resist what I was feeling, which allowed my emotions to fully move through me, I was down to sniffles and a wave of calm in about 90 seconds.
Last year, it was the coaching tools that allowed me to navigate Peg's end of life without losing my shit. This year, it's the growing bonds with my profoundly compassionate classmates that are helping me navigate the fallout from her unexpected death. Plus, I'm sure it's no coincidence that six of my Master Coach classmates are mothers. I feel a little bit of her in every hug they give me.
Nuances of Grief
I recently realized it's been over four months since the Pegster left this earthly plane. Sometimes I feel comforted by the time and space growing between me and that experience. But just as the gratitude begins to wash over me, there are parts of me that panic, realizing the time since I last held her hand will continue to accrue for the rest of my life. In those moments, I would easily give a limb in exchange for returning to those final heartbreaking days if I could hold her hand once more.
It's been a challenge to reach for the happy memories of her, not because there weren't enough, but because those final weeks were so full of presence and intense focus on her that those painful memories are the easiest way to feel her close to me. Don't worry, though. I've done some coaching around that, and it's improving. I don't want you to think I'm torturing myself with a continuous loop of distressing moments.
I find it's far too easy to get sucked into the undercurrent of society's "norms" where we put on a brave face, focus on the positives, and protect others from the messiness of grief. I've also noticed that the moments where the grief most easily blindsides me are when I'm actually the happiest. Pegster found so much joy in my joy that not having her to text or call in those moments of great pleasure is sometimes an immediate trapdoor to the sorrow.
As I figured it would be, finding the balance between allowing my grief to exist and not getting stuck in it will be a lifelong adventure. And like all of my vagabond adventures before, I can feel this experience softening me, bringing up old programming to be released, expanding my perspectives, and increasing my depth of compassion for my fellow humans. These things I'm moving through are universal truths. My grief is unique, but my circumstances are not.
Many people have told me that grief is something you live with for the rest of your life. It will get less all-consuming with time, but it will always be somewhere in the background, inevitably showing its face when I least expect it. I believe that to be true, but for me, grief isn't just an entity; it's also a separate world I need to make time to visit because this world isn't going to make those accommodations for me- at least not for 1,000 more years when humankind reaches a much higher level of emotional intelligence. I also believe one of the best things we can do to support our well-being, the well-being of our descendants, and the world's growth toward that enlightenment is to honor our grief and welcome it like an old friend so we can do the same for others crossing our paths.
Thank you for being here and sharing in my grief adventures.
If you're moving through your own unique grief or need support in any of your life's intersecting journeys, don't forget that I offer a free thirty-minute coaching session to anyone curious about what living from your Adult Chair can do for you. There is no pressure to purchase anything in exchange. My intention is to build this practice through word of mouth as more people experience the power of making time to go inward, be witnessed with compassion, and learn what it means to live from their Adult Chair®. And just like grief, what that looks like is unique to you.
With love and gratitude,
Cat