I began dating around the second anniversary of Kris's passing. I was tired of being alone, and never getting out. I have always liked meeting new people, it is fun to me. Finding similarities, differences, learning to do and try new things because they like them. So I have met and experienced a ton of new people and things.
I keep telling myself that I am not ready for something serious. I don't want a serious relationship. I am just getting out and having fun. It's too soon. When a good friend asked me "Why?" So as I have been getting closer to someone I have been dating I ask myself why not give him a shot? Then I began to compare him to Kris. Why he is different from him, what similarities they share, and what of those may be deal breakers. Then it occurred to me.
There will never be anyone like Kris.
Since I have been dating I have known this. Since he passed, I have always known this. But it was only recently I acknowledged this and with it the limits I have placed on myself in dating. I need to be open to other men, and take chances. I think because I had to stop looking for someone to be Kris. No one will ever be him. It will always be different.
It has taken me several days to sort this out about dating. But once it happened and I realized it, I knew it applied to every aspect of my life. It will never be the same again. No matter how much I want it to, it can't be. It will be different. I have been struggling to get back into the routine I had when I was married, and had help from my spouse. But it won't be there again. My team is now me. Sometimes it includes my kids, and sometimes I must do it alone and be a parent. Either way it is different. I am learning. I am adapting. But I finally feel like I have at least accepted the fact that it will be different.
Tuesday, May 27, 2014
Saturday, May 24, 2014
Writing Mends
It has been 1,289 days since I became a widow. In that time I have had ups and downs, I have felt like I can do anything, and I have been so low I felt the only choice for me was to give up. I have experienced successes in work, school, and family. I have had to face failure in those as well.
I was sitting today feeling broken and at one of the lower points I have seen, and was trying to figure out what helped me get better when I have felt at the higher end of my journey. There are many different factors that have contributed from religion, family and friends, financial securities, and kids. But I have been on a low for quite some time now. I know that the main reason, and it is hard to admit, is some very poor choices I have made in the past year. But one thing I have not been doing in that time that helped was writing.
I looked at my blogs (I have several as I try to keep some things private.) and it has been a few months since I wrote anything. But even the last couple of posts were simply venting, complaining, whining. And while I think that writing is important and has its place, I stand by a statement I have made several times in writing classes - that writing helps us process what we are going through, and it teaches us about ourselves and gives us a script we can learn from and grow to improve our lives.
I have several mental battles going on inside my head at any given moment of the day or night distracting me from things that matter more. Looking back I know that when I have spent some time with a pen and paper, or at the computer even if it starts as nonsense, I eventually dig up some solution to a battle I had overlooked. It begins a healing process that I can look back on when I reach my low points.
I miss Kris and my mom daily. I still frequently have moments where for a fleeting thought I forget they are no longer a phone call away and grab my phone to rely something to one of them. When I first began the role as a widow rather than a wife, the thing that got me through were the memories I would write of Kris. Looking back at them, they are things I hope I will always remember, but now I have a place I can go to quickly relive them, and so can my children, It was the writing I needed at that time. Later on it was the glimpses of success I met on this path that pushed me to continue through the obstacles I now faced alone. Writing down my accomplishments (and my kids) gave me hope I would get through this.
But lately, I feel I am constantly avoiding writing, because it has become a place I only visit when so deep in despair it is a last resort. I have turned something I loved into something I avoid by only expressing the negative thoughts I am feeling. Part of this is because with school I had so much writing stacking up that I needed to do I choose to avoid it, all forms of it. And because of this I feel I have lost some much needed healing time.
I completed deep cleaning my bathroom (which was quite the feat) and was sitting admiring it, and feeling so alone. I miss the recognition and gratitude from Kris, or anyone for that matter. Since school is done I have found myself wasting time on silly games on my phone, and pulled out my phone to waste more time while I tried to motivate myself to tackle another room of my messy house, or at least shower for the day. (It is 7 o'clock at night.) As I went to the game, I saw my iBooks app, and thought I would see which books I had not yet read that I was waiting for school to end to engage in. I saw The Writing Life by Annie Dillard. I bought this 3 years ago when a favourite professor was always quoting it. I read the first chapter and was crying as I realized what I needed to do, and why it was missing in my life.
Now here I am. Writing. For me. To figure out where I am coming from, as well as where I want to go. I have been so overwhelmed with school, and whether or not I am cut out to be a teacher, and if I really want to teach English. I remember why I wanted to. Writing. Discovering who I am through gliding a pen across those stripped pages, feeling the keys give in to the weight of my tapping fingers as the squiggles that represent my thoughts slowly collide beginning to make sense. Reading. Realizing that I am not alone in how I feel or see something, and that there are so many different ways to see the same thing it makes the world a little smaller.
A new blog. Sure it may be my addiction to writing, and lists, and organizing, but I have been trying to find a way to combine my various blogs and posts into one all encompassing one. I don't think that will ever happen, but here I can reinvent some posts I may want to share. Here I can start exploring what I want to do with my writing. Here I can continue to mend my life from the loss that once shattered it.
I have not been able to define this life I am leading. Some say it is new, but it isn't, it's different. But while it is different, there are many aspects that strive to remain the same. I will never feel completely healed. When you repair, or mend something, it is to the best of your abilities, some things better than others. When you are healing from an injury, while doctors may say an estimated length of time, it always varies, and often times is never the same, making it an ongoing process. This is how I feel I am... broken, but I am healing. My writing is going through the same process I am, trying to find the balance for what works best.
I was sitting today feeling broken and at one of the lower points I have seen, and was trying to figure out what helped me get better when I have felt at the higher end of my journey. There are many different factors that have contributed from religion, family and friends, financial securities, and kids. But I have been on a low for quite some time now. I know that the main reason, and it is hard to admit, is some very poor choices I have made in the past year. But one thing I have not been doing in that time that helped was writing.
I looked at my blogs (I have several as I try to keep some things private.) and it has been a few months since I wrote anything. But even the last couple of posts were simply venting, complaining, whining. And while I think that writing is important and has its place, I stand by a statement I have made several times in writing classes - that writing helps us process what we are going through, and it teaches us about ourselves and gives us a script we can learn from and grow to improve our lives.
I have several mental battles going on inside my head at any given moment of the day or night distracting me from things that matter more. Looking back I know that when I have spent some time with a pen and paper, or at the computer even if it starts as nonsense, I eventually dig up some solution to a battle I had overlooked. It begins a healing process that I can look back on when I reach my low points.
I miss Kris and my mom daily. I still frequently have moments where for a fleeting thought I forget they are no longer a phone call away and grab my phone to rely something to one of them. When I first began the role as a widow rather than a wife, the thing that got me through were the memories I would write of Kris. Looking back at them, they are things I hope I will always remember, but now I have a place I can go to quickly relive them, and so can my children, It was the writing I needed at that time. Later on it was the glimpses of success I met on this path that pushed me to continue through the obstacles I now faced alone. Writing down my accomplishments (and my kids) gave me hope I would get through this.
But lately, I feel I am constantly avoiding writing, because it has become a place I only visit when so deep in despair it is a last resort. I have turned something I loved into something I avoid by only expressing the negative thoughts I am feeling. Part of this is because with school I had so much writing stacking up that I needed to do I choose to avoid it, all forms of it. And because of this I feel I have lost some much needed healing time.
I completed deep cleaning my bathroom (which was quite the feat) and was sitting admiring it, and feeling so alone. I miss the recognition and gratitude from Kris, or anyone for that matter. Since school is done I have found myself wasting time on silly games on my phone, and pulled out my phone to waste more time while I tried to motivate myself to tackle another room of my messy house, or at least shower for the day. (It is 7 o'clock at night.) As I went to the game, I saw my iBooks app, and thought I would see which books I had not yet read that I was waiting for school to end to engage in. I saw The Writing Life by Annie Dillard. I bought this 3 years ago when a favourite professor was always quoting it. I read the first chapter and was crying as I realized what I needed to do, and why it was missing in my life.
Now here I am. Writing. For me. To figure out where I am coming from, as well as where I want to go. I have been so overwhelmed with school, and whether or not I am cut out to be a teacher, and if I really want to teach English. I remember why I wanted to. Writing. Discovering who I am through gliding a pen across those stripped pages, feeling the keys give in to the weight of my tapping fingers as the squiggles that represent my thoughts slowly collide beginning to make sense. Reading. Realizing that I am not alone in how I feel or see something, and that there are so many different ways to see the same thing it makes the world a little smaller.
A new blog. Sure it may be my addiction to writing, and lists, and organizing, but I have been trying to find a way to combine my various blogs and posts into one all encompassing one. I don't think that will ever happen, but here I can reinvent some posts I may want to share. Here I can start exploring what I want to do with my writing. Here I can continue to mend my life from the loss that once shattered it.
I have not been able to define this life I am leading. Some say it is new, but it isn't, it's different. But while it is different, there are many aspects that strive to remain the same. I will never feel completely healed. When you repair, or mend something, it is to the best of your abilities, some things better than others. When you are healing from an injury, while doctors may say an estimated length of time, it always varies, and often times is never the same, making it an ongoing process. This is how I feel I am... broken, but I am healing. My writing is going through the same process I am, trying to find the balance for what works best.
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