I didn’t think this would be so hard.
Writing is difficult. Writing on emotional topics is difficult for many people. I would hug, kiss, and tell my wife and kids I loved them but showed no other emotions to anyone. If showing emotions is hard, writing about them would be impossible but all of that changed when Caleb died.
I could suddenly communicate my emotions. My filter shattered, and I communicated all kinds of things. After a while, I could write about grief and emotions. I used to enjoy writing stories and poetry. When I learned of this group, I thought it would be great to get pushed to write on different aspects of grief.
This group is great, and it pushes me. What I had not counted on was how challenging this would be. Parent survivors of suicide fight daily battles of inadequacy, guilt, shame, and what-ifs besides the constant weight of losing a child. Also, I have to somehow pull myself through an eight-hour workday so I can provide basic housing and food for my family. So many topics get pushed to the surface when pushing my writing in new directions. My brain just shuts down.
Despite the difficulty, I love the push. I love exploring the new crevices of my soul and learning new things about myself. It surprised me some morbid craters I ventured near. They seem less new now and I no longer think something created them when Caleb left. It seems much more likely some are scars from miscarriages and other loss events.
I look forward to exploring deeper into the dark places. Maybe I will find myself huddled in a corner.
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