Milestones in Grief and Personal Growth

May 7th marked six months since the Pegster died. That milestone didn't register with me at the time, but for whatever reason, I recently got curious and counted it back.

Half of a year. It feels like too much and simultaneously barely the beginning of far too long without her.

This time last year, we didn't even know anything was wrong yet, and we were obliviously taking everything for granted while her insides silently marched her toward death. Yes, I was intentionally dramatic with that sentence because my adolescent chair wanted some attention and pity. Thank you for humoring me.

Speaking of the Chairs, when I tallied the months, two distinct thoughts and energies bubbled up:

The first one felt like curious, observant adult chair energy:

"Wow, look at me go- six months of finding my way through an earth-shattering loss while simultaneously building a new life in a new city, surfing the waves of big emotions, AND surviving. That's pretty cool."

The next thought felt young and vulnerable and scared, and I got the visual of a young girl stomping her feet and having a tanty:

"No! That's not cool. I don't want more time to go by without her. I don't want to get further away from her!"

In these last six-plus months, I had two significant grief firsts: my first birthday and Mother's Day without her.

Surprisingly, Mother's Day wasn't bad at all. We never put a lot of weight on holidays, especially the Hallmark ones, so it wasn't devasting as everyone assumed. I made my morning journal sesh a letter to her, cried a little bit as the tender emotions came up to the surface, and then donned her favorite elephant shirt and comfy pants and continued to have a beautiful Sunday puttering around the house. Though if I'm going to keep it real, I silently swore and had judgy thoughts about the excess of last-minute Mother's Day flower shoppers getting in my way during my usually peaceful Trader Joe's grocery run that morning.

My birthday itself was lovely. My good friend and fellow coach, Joshua, drove up from Ft. Lauderdale that morning to spend the day with me. We had initially planned for me to drive down there for a birthday adventure weekend, but a brewing swell of overwhelm made the road trip feel like too big an undertaking. That was huge for me- changing plans on someone last minute AND asking them to drive three hours to accommodate how I felt AND NOT going on a travel adventure?! Part of me was bummed that I wouldn't have a bragworthy weekend to share here, but my inner wisdom knew that wasn't what I needed.

After a day of lunch, wandering the Lake Eola district of Orlando, laughing at each other constantly, and sitting through the lengthy but impressive new John Wick movie, a mutual friend from ship life, Katia, joined us for dinner at my place. Like all adventures that stem from honoring our needs and going with the flow, she arrived just in time for us to watch the sunset on the lake, bringing with her a few ingredients that perfectly filled the gaps in what I had in my fridge.

Hosting the first-ever gathering at my little cottage, with an unplanned hodge-podge taco dinner, and staying up till almost midnight talking was precisely the birthday I didn't know I needed. I remember feeling so present, full of love, and bursting with awe and gratitude as we simultaneously cracked up laughing at something relatable in each other. My picture-loving brain went, "This is heaven! Get your phone to remember this!" But my inner wisdom said, "Nope, do not break from this feeling. Witness it, sit in it, and burn it into your being to carry with you forever."

Even though the birthday itself seemed untouched by grief, the days and weeks that followed were rough. It was the toughest and longest rough patch since Mum died. In hindsight, I don't think it was explicitly first-birthday-without-mum grief but a backlog of big feelings I'd been distracted from feeling while busy with starting over in a new city. After three months of putting intense pressure on myself to find work and be productive with the spare time unemployment provided, my birthday gift to myself was to do nothing but what felt good in the moment, relax and be intentionally "not productive" three days in a row.

I finally put my office together, rearranged my plant children for the 900th time, stayed up late watching cheesy movies, and slept in without alarms. I also went for a three-hour hike in a beautiful nature reserve, intentionally staying off my phone, not even taking a picture for myself. Correction, I took one photo of a peace sign scratched into the information board at the trailhead. A week prior, as one of my coach friends talked me through an anxiety attack at the Charlotte airport, I said the peace sign would be my reminder that I would be ok. How's that for a nod from the universe?!

Sorry, I digress, but you know I have to spread the serendipitous universal magic.

I reckon those three days of slowing down, being fully present, and listening to my body, complete with a long nervous system recalibration in nature, created pathways for the "yucky" stuff to bubble up. I had three full-blown grief meltdowns in seven days and went so far down the rabbit hole of overwhelm that I even emailed my coaching program asking to drop out temporarily and resume next year.

Thankfully, my Adult Chair clawed its way to the surface.

Instead of making a rash decision from a mind of turmoil, it said, "Ok, sweetheart, if you really need to drop this program because you need more time to nurture your grief, that's cool, but let's do a trial run. Take a month to settle into the new job, do the bare minimum for the program (IE, remove the pressure from yourself to be a perfect overachiever), have fun with your self-care routine, then see how you feel about everything."

And what do you know?! Within days of giving myself that grace, the despair dissolved, and I could breathe easier again. Speaking of personal growth and honoring my needs, I want to circle back to the birthday celebration for a moment.

A second challenging decision was made regarding the festivities. I left someone out and hurt their feelings to care for my own. Another good friend lives about 90 minutes away. She's the kind of friend that would drop everything to make you feel loved and supported—a good egg, as my Mates would say. I knew an invitation would've meant the world to her, but my mental state made one extra person feel like a massive overload, and I chose to honor that, as hard as it was. My adolescent chair, people-pleasing, codependent parts, wanted to cave, but my adult chair said, "No. If that feels like too much right now, listen to your body. It's not your job to manage other people's feelings, and you can handle whatever unfolds from this decision."

As my intuition predicted, her feelings were hurt when she learned of the mini gathering, but here's where the beauty of choosing that uncomfortable path led. She eventually reached out to share her feelings, and we had a vulnerable, heartfelt conversation about what we were both going through. I was deeply inspired by her bravery to be vulnerable with her hurt feelings, something I don't know I would've been brave enough to do had the roles been reversed. Instead of being fake to please and then resenting her for not honoring my own needs, I wound up with a more authentic connection and now feel empowered to be more vocal about my feelings moving forward, thanks to her example.

Since the last blog post, I finally started working again! While beginning a new job doesn't seem like it would be the most significant of grief firsts, it's the setting that makes it a big deal. The day spa and wellness center I work at is inside a hospital. I often pass people in wheelchairs and on gurneys en route to the garden, where I take my lunch break. I sit amongst visiting families, nurses, and doctors while eating dinner in the cafe. Having spent a lot of time in and out of the hospital during Mum's whiplash enducing three-month cancer decline, just being at work has me constantly dancing with the memories of last year's heartbreak.

Though you'd think I'd be a wreck surrounded by continuous grief-release potential, I'm pleased to report I feel a little more "me" each day. Little nuggets of all my work experience are wrapped up in this one position so the role fits me perfectly. I get to bounce back and forth between performing treatments with my favorite skincare line in the entire world, handling the schedule, befriending clients, and other administrative duties. There's also plenty of new stuff to learn by being part of a hospital, and my supervisors just gave me free rein to completely rearrange and organize all the displays and products however I see fit. Talk about a nerdgasm.

Coming up in two weeks is an event that will surely test and stretch my grief comfort zone. I will be providing skin care consultations and advice to a group of twenty-plus people- all recuperating from or in the throes of cancer treatment. It wasn't until a week or two after they brought me on board that the gravity of the situation hit me. For two hours, this event will have me surrounded by and personally connecting with a bunch of people who are where Mum was ten months ago. I'm excited to do it and care for them as I did my mother, but rightfully nervous that my emotional volcano will start spewing uncontrollably.

I hope these reflections and shares help you look at your own stuff with curiosity, relieves some of the pressure you unknowingly put on yourself, and helps you be a bit more present with your loved ones. If you're moving through your own grief, any other kind of shit tornado or think you might be carrying around some old stuff that never got processed, don't forget that I offer a complementary coaching session for anyone that is curious.

Hugs,

Cat