Why don’t I share openly about grief with my family? I feel like it’s something I’m doing in secret. The podcast I listen to only in my car alone, the social media comments/posts I do. It feels shameful or dark. Like I don’t want to drag anyone down with me, so distance is better. Just one more way, Satan is workin’ his magic!
We don’t talk much about Joshua, like barely at all. Zach is 8 and knows of someone named Josh died before he was born, but it’s not spoke about often. If I’m having a really hard day, I may mention something about it to my husband but really, the heaviness of this walk just causes me to be more short fused or temperamental with the exasperated annoyances of having small kids. I have to tell myself that this won’t last forever, and they’ll grow up so fast. And I’m actually able to reflect that in real time – I have an 18 year old!!! He works full time and I’ll be lucky to see him 30 minutes a day between our off schedules and he may eat dinner with us one to two nights a week. So the thrown food flung at the wall by the toddler in a highchair, won’t last forever. I know it deep down. But honestly, it doesn’t stop me wanting a fast forward button right now. And I do worry about how my kids mental health is being effected. I’m starting to think they kind of walk on egg shells around me. My “What” reply may have a tone of annoyance, or my “No” may come out stronger than intended because I’m irritated that I’m being interrupted for the 20th time about the same thing, when all I want to do is finish my podcast episode, a blog entry, or a deep thought I’m writing. This is me grieving in secret. I’m not open about grief or Josh’s death and how it effects me.
And then there is this whole other “Miss Independent” spirit I have. Showing any kind of emotion is a sign of weakness and I’ve been too strong for too long to start crumbling now. I don’t let my kids see my cry. I might as well have been raised in a military family, but I wasn’t. I’m just not sure why I’ve always had the need to put on a front in front of everyone all the time. I feel hard as stone, inside and out. A defense mechanism. But what am I defending? Why? What a mess!
Outnumbered Six to One 