Grief + Divorce

There’s a certain brand of loneliness that arrives after a divorce. A special kind of grief in having to allow yourself the time and space to mourn an entire life you had dreamt of. Though I guess that’s true of grief and losing someone to death as well…

I’ve been fortunate enough to have few people “close” to me die. So, grief is foreign to me. The way it ebbs and flows, nipping at my heels only on certain days… Your birthday. While I’m at a music festival. On a random Tuesday afternoon.

Grief invites a certain kind of sadness I had not yet experienced. Or had never given myself permission to fully feel for fear of it swallowing me whole.

Divorce - even when it’s completely your choice - conjures up memories of all the ways in which you both failed. How you both gave up trying and eventually the desire to make it work simply vanishes. 

Anger and resentment returns when you see all the ways your partner has changed for someone else, something else. The things you craved and needed suddenly do become important when the gravity of losing you hits them. 

Or maybe your worst fear is true after all. That they simply did not want to put in the effort for YOU. That it is, in fact, personal. 

Tender heartache emerges when you choose to confront your own shortcomings and the pain you caused. When you have to open your eyes to the ways in which you fell short.

Transitions are wildly challenging and I know I’m not alone. I hope my story touches someone who’s in the midst of divorce or maybe you’re in a season of grief for another reason.

There’s little resolution or advice here. Just a simple sharing of my own current experience. 

I do know that grief will shift and move and I must flow with it. So, I encourage you to do the same. 

Create a support system for the days where grief feels like too much. 

Know and trust that you can allow yourself to fully sit with any emotions that arise during your transition out of this relationship. 

And hey, I’m so incredibly proud of you for following your heart, dear one.

Release the Weight of Worries

To listen to this guided meditation, please click here. 

Take a few deep breaths and ground down.

I want to take you back in time.

Imagine you’re about 3 or 4 years old. What do you look like? What are you wearing? Where are you? Your childhood home? Your favorite hiding spot? At school? With your friends? Where?

I want you to imagine you’re wearing a backpack. It’s your favorite color and not yet filled with a single thing. It weighs almost nothing… You start to walk along the timeline of your own life. Still wearing the backpack. Passing ages 4, 5, 6… 

Now think about you at age 7 or 8. How have you changed? Has anything in life been difficult yet? Maybe there are obvious answers – family issues, loss of some sort, or death. Maybe you just don’t feel completely seen or understood at this age. Whatever it is, you place the weight of that worry or grief into your backpack. And you keep walking…

You meet your 12-year-old self. She or he is deep in that awkward stage. Glasses, bangs, braces, acne. You haven’t quite hit your stride yet. You feel shame for not being prettier, skinnier, smarter, more athletic. You throw the weight of that shame into the bag - you’ll deal with it later.

Now you pay a little more attention to the bag - you notice its weight more and more. 

Walking along, envision 17- or 18-year-old you. You’re finishing high school and maybe headed to college.  Lots of big shifts are on the horizon. A lot more responsibility is being placed on you + no one has really taught you how to deal with that. Take the weight of that + place it into your backpack. Now the bag is more noticeable – not yet unbearable. But carrying that around with you is exhausting + limiting.

You walk along…  think about being 21 or 22. Maybe you’re out on your own for the first time. You’re attempting to make something of your life + maybe trying to get your first job but you’re met with rejection after rejection. You start to think you just must not be good enough. So you add in a little more weight for the worry of what your future holds. The weight of shame for not measuring up to what has been expected of you. The weight of isolation of feeling lost + not enough but being unable to share that with others. 

The backpack gets heavier with each step. Your shoulders are tight—burdened by the weight of the pack filled with disappointments + fear + pain + loss. You continue walking… past mistakes + let downs + people you kept in your life for far too long. There’s a heaviness in the pack. Some of it doesn’t even feel like yours to carry. Your shoulders ache, you are tired from walking.

You carry on, collecting more fears + rage + confusion + isolation. Each emotion adds more weight to the bag.

Then you meet yourself at your current age. The pack so full, so nauseatingly substantial- you’re not sure it’s worth going on.

Pause. Take a few deep breaths. Close your eyes for a moment. 

Just up ahead you see the edge of a cliff. You walk - still wearing the pack - to the ledge and pause. You see a sign nearby that simply reads “unload bags here”. You are hesitant. You’ve carried this bag with you for years… decades. Its heaviness has become a part of you. You even identify part of yourself as the pack. But then you ask yourself - what do I gain by holding onto this bag? Do I really need to hold onto the years of worry + fear + anger + suffering? What am I so afraid of happening if I release this worry + control?

You finally decide to empty the contents of the pack over the ledge. A lifetime of burdens lift from your shoulders. You stand taller. You breathe easier. You feel free from the worry + fear + sadness you’ve been carrying around. As you walk away from the cliff, you make a decision.

From here on out, you choose to fill the pack with positive moments + peace + ease + joy. Things that are much lighter + easier to carry with you along your journey. The fear + worry + pain – they’ll still show up in your life. But you learn to sit in those moments + just feel your feelings rather than adding the weight of them to the bag to deal with later. In those moments, you imagine the weight of the heavy + dark emotions simply falling off the ledge of the cliff.

 And so you forge ahead, backpack in hand – light as can be.

The Hidden Pain of Chronic Pain

This is hard to share but now feels like the right time.

September marks ten years of experiencing chronic pain. One decade of almost-daily widespread pain. No diagnosis, no cure, no treatment. In 2009, the pain started as an intense “injury” in my neck with no real cause. I chalked it up to starting grad school and a new job. Over the years, the pain would spread to my jaw and shoulder. Later my low back, opposite foot, then in 2016, my hip and entire leg. I’ve tried pain pills, physical therapy, numbing injections, chiropractic work, massages, Reiki, and everything in between. Over time, it became my new normal. To wake up in pain. To spend the entire day in some degree of pain. To fall asleep in pain. It was there constantly. Day and night, stressful times or otherwise. Nothing helped, but nothing made it tremendously worse. So I carried on.

Chronic pain is invisible and to the outside world, I look young, healthy, and happy. I didn’t talk about it for a very long time because I didn’t know how to really. I didn’t want people to judge me or treat me differently either. I still can’t quite put into words what it’s like to live being so consumed by pain. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally. All consuming.

My pain had never limited me, or so I thought, until my yoga teacher training in 2016. I cried every weekend (for 10 weeks); and for the first time in my life, I allowed myself to feel. Sad, overwhelmed, inadequate, like a failure. My pain held me back from doing things all the other students could. It was at this time that I realized how much of my life had been dictated by my pain. The kind of mood I’d be in, how I’d treat others, how active I could be, how kind I was to myself. I couldn’t sit still or stand for long periods of time. Hiking, climbing, yoga, or anything else active always took more effort than it should. There were days when simply walking felt like just too much. 

Having chronic pain has been extremely isolating. Until getting married, I never really had to share this part of my life with anyone. I know very few people who can relate to the toll it takes on a person. Sure, there’s the debilitating physical pain, lack of answers, sleep disturbances, and being unable to participate in life as fully as I’d like. But what is really hard to talk about is the horrible things I began to believe about myself and my abilities. That I either deserve this pain or would never be able to get rid of it. That I’m unable to be active, work full-time, or travel. That I’m not strong enough for so many things. That there would just be certain parts of life I would maybe never get to experience.

How exhausting it is day in and day out to dedicate so much brain capacity to worrying about the pain—why is it there? Is it something more serious? Can I fix it with this or that? What if I try x, y, or z this time? Is the pain my fault? Is it the way I move or work out or the food I eat or my emotional state? If I go hiking, will I be out of commission for the following two days? Can I handle a job where I stand for 6-8 hours a day? What if I hurt myself and can no longer teach (or dance or surf or walk)? What if? What if? What if?

I understand now that my physical pain is a warning sign – a cry for help from my own body. I become stressed easily and I often feel anxious. I am learning to be kind with myself, to fully feel my feelings, to ask for help when I need it. I like to think I carried my pain for so long so it could teach me to slow down, learn more, heal, and eventually help others. I have to consistently remind myself to listen to my body. Rest more. Grow stronger. Be vulnerable. Share my story but don’t play the victim forever. Release tension and stress. Move my body daily. Quiet my mind and just listen. Sit with the uncomfortable emotions that are inevitable in life—anger, sadness, grief, worry, low self-esteem, lack of self-worth, negative self-talk. Experience it all. Don’t shove it down or laugh it off. Release it all. Feel sad, lost, disempowered. But move on. Pick myself up again and never stop trying.