Telling My Story

I fiddled around at the farm yesterday morning. I packed up my things to head home. I went down and looked at the hot water heater. We turned it off when we had trouble with the pump on the well last year and hadn’t gotten around to relighting it. I thought If I fired it up, it would keep the basement fairly warm should the electric go out for any length of time this winter. Unfortunately, when I started it up, I noticed the exhaust pipe wasn’t drawing…I could feel the air blowing back into the room. Something you definitely DON’T want. So, I turned it off and tried to check out the pipe to see if a bird had made a nest. I didn’t have a flashlight, and the one on my phone wasn’t powerful enough to get a deep enough look. I put it all back together and left it off till I can get Mr. FixIt out there with me to help. It entails getting up on a ladder and I didn’t want to climb too high without a spotter.

I fixed a cup of tea and took my knitting to the chair by the window. One of my dear friends is a widow of two years and change. We’ve been promising a phone call so yesterday was the day. I dialed her number, picked up my knitting, and kicked back for what is always a stimulating conversation. I love that I can be a sounding board for others coming up the path behind me. I reach back with my experience and my listening ears. I’ve learned not to dominate the conversation with my own stories because that’s not what a new widow necessarily needs. She needs to know she’s not crazy, that others have gone through the same or similar things, and that there is a path through this $***show of grief.

The other day, I shared a post with a quote by Susan David, PhD. I used it in the context of posts and comments on social media. “You may be right…but is your response serving you?” Like I said in the post, that can be used in a myriad of circumstances. I used it with my friend yesterday, substituting a couple of words.

You may be telling your story…but is your story serving you?

I read an article this week about “trauma dumping”…oversharing your experiences and pain with others without their consent, thus causing them pain and discomfort. We both decided we really don’t like it when people make up names for things because grieving is hard enough without piling on guilt and shame over your coping strategies. I remember when I first started this blog. I told you all what happened to Mr. Virgo and that I was going on a journey. I told you I would share what I was going through, that I would speak from my heart, and that sometimes it was going to be downright ugly and painful and you could follow along or not. Either way, this was something I needed to do…primarily for me, but also for those who shared this wretched journey with their own grief.

I know that I share a lot here. I am vulnerable and I let you in deep. That’s because I know you more than likely have experienced great grief in your life and can relate. And if you haven’t, you will. Either way, having someone tell you they’re going through some things that you are experiencing can be validating and comforting.

That being said, I’ve noticed something recently. When I meet someone who doesn’t know me, the topic always comes around to “What do you do?” When I tell them I am a writer and write a blog, the next question is usually…”What do you write about?” This is when I make a decision. My answer is either a complete rendition of the Mr. Virgo story complete with running into Mr. FixIt and getting married. Or, I tell them I write about grief and life and love and anything my little heart desires. I’m a storyteller.

You see, I’ve noticed in the last year when I tell the full story, I get a trigger…a trauma response…right in the pit of my stomach and I actually feel physically ill. I can tell bits and pieces of it fine. But the whole shebang doesn’t need to be rehashed all the time. It doesn’t serve me. If it doesn’t serve me, it’s not going to serve anyone else either because it won’t be authentic.

That doesn’t mean I won’t visit grief, or…more accurately…that it won’t visit me. It doesn’t mean I won’t write about it from time to time. It just means that it isn’t the center of who I am anymore. It’s a true testimony to this core truth…you don’t “get over” grief, you get “through” it.

My friend is doing an excellent job. She is taking a year off and finding herself…exactly what I did the third year. That was my year of tremendous personal growth….a real turning point in my journey. She and I will touch base again somewhere down the road and we’ll share how gobsmacked we are at how absolutely crazy this whole thing is.

That’s the kind of friends we are.