Battling Insecurity

I have finally put a name to what has been the hardest part of my grieving process. In a word, it is Insecurity.

A mother is often (and was in my case even more than I knew) the loudest voice that speaks the most truth to us about how valuable we are. There are of course exceptions of mothers who are, sadly, not a source of love, but even if a mother’s love isn’t verbal, even if her children don’t recognize it, chances are she is the one person who will ALWAYS take them back no matter how loudly they slammed the door on the way out.

For me the love was completely obvious, but I didn’t truly understand its depth until I was left with the void. The love stays with you in many ways, but oh how the space is felt. As Hope Edelman, author of Motherless Daughters, says, our mother represents comfort and security no matter what our age – losing her is losing your emotional caretaker. No matter how old you are, this so clearly marks the end of “growing up”. I am now on my own in a sense; though I’m surrounded by amazing maternal figures and wonderful women, I have to pick up on my own where she left off.

It is so scary.

Her lacking voice leaves me with lacking security. I find myself weak in purpose, in knowing my value, and in driving myself to be the most I can be. Partner that with a first year of marriage and it can get pretty confusing to recognize myself in the mix.

Edelman says, “Adulthood, marriage and motherhood are significantly different adult experiences for a woman with a maternal void and memory of a dramatic loss. You have to learn how to become a mother yourself. You have to become that person who says ‘don’t worry, you’re doing fine. You’re doing the best you can.’ …Hearing it from the person who taped up all your scraped knees, and consoled you… and watched you take every step and really knows you, that’s the one you count on. That’s the one you keep looking for.” (Motherless Daughters, pg. xxviii)

I do keep looking for her. I keep waiting for that phone call that tells me I’m okay. I keep catching myself about to send her my latest project at work. I keep forgetting who I am. I keep wondering how to be myself without her holding the mirror.

I don’t know how to do it without her yet. I have, however, put a name to the ever-stirring confusion inside myself. I begin my quest to fight Insecurity in all its forms; to listen to the still-small voice inside of me, reminding me of her words in days gone by.

I have a feeling this will always be the toughest fight.

I’ve shared this song other places before and here it is again. When I listen to it I hear her voice cheering me on from the sidelines.



I’ve had such a busy (amazing) holiday, without time to give my blog the attention it deserves, but I’ve been filled with love and look forward to what is next as 2012 rolls in. It is the first of new years that I truly look forward to without a pit of fear in my stomach. I sense the joy and new beginnings that will be had.

For those of you in the thick of the pain, I hold you dear to my heart. I know it is hard to imagine that one day the fear will dissipate. In time, it will.

For those of you feeling the taste of freedom slowly creep in, I celebrate for you. I hope you let it in; life is allowed to be good.

Thank you for the connection I’ve felt so deeply through your readership and words. I am encouraged. It has been the beginning of becoming “myself” again.

Here’s to living the life you imagine, no matter what you have encountered along the way. You are strong and courageous.

Hugs to all of you, and happy New Year!!

This is not a list… it is a brainstorm

Okay, if you haven’t figured it out, I don’t like lists. Well, that’s a lie… I live by lists in daily life. However I’m mostly allergic to “grief checklists”. That being said, I know that practicality is a huge help to many people and so I thought I would add a holiday post that errs on the practical side.

Help me in creating a collaboration of ideas about what you can do during the holidays to cope or remember. I will begin the brainstorm (it only looks like a list), and hope that you will help to grow it. Please leave your ideas and comments!

  •  Our first Christmas without mom, we put her stocking out with the rest of ours. It would have felt so off for one to be missing, I know I certainly wasn’t ready for that… We filled it with notes that we wrote to her during the day so it wasn’t empty.
  • On Thanksgiving, we set a plate for her and placed a candle on it – another way to fill the space that would otherwise be missing.
  • Our second Christmas we went to Hawaii. I personally found the change of pace extremely refreshing… It took away the direct reminders of how things had always been.

The Grief that Stole Christmas

I’ll admit I’m a wee bit hesitant to write a post about the holidays. I’ve read a lot of articles about the topic and they usually come in the form of really neat checklists you can hang on your fridge. But anything besides groceries that you can turn into a printable with a matching pen seems shady to me… so I will try to share some honest thoughts without intending to suggest a particular “to do” scenario.

C.S. Lewis said “No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear.” Grief at Christmas can certainly take the form of fear. Why this day so much so compared to others? The obvious answer is that there are so many more memories attached to this day – we think about our loved one more and we miss them more. Looking deeper though, I think there are some other contributing factors.

The anticipation leading up to Christmas carries with it its own form of fear, I think because we are somewhat inclined to believe that Christmas is a supreme entity, deciding for us what joy or grief we will feel that day. We believe the day itself holds power. Ugh, Christmas is coming and it’s going to do terrible things to me… The reality is that Christmas itself cannot do anything to us – it is not predestining what events the day will consist of or the feelings that will be felt. The day is made of moments, like any other day of the year, which will be filled with the actions, emotions, choices, thoughts, and words that we will contribute to it. This has been a big realization; I’m learning to relieve myself of the thought that it should or will be hard just because it’s Christmas.

The second part of the fear is that, as much as we think Christmas controls us we, ironically, crave to control everything about Christmas (“Gasp, what!? But we ALWAYS have cinnamon buns in the morning. Who put out bagels??”). It’s the one day of the year that we can revert back to the comforts of our childhoods and bask in the familiarity of everything that is home to us. If you’ve experienced the melding of traditions in marriage, you have a bit of an idea of what it can feel like to fear the loss of this safe place; each spouse cautiously poking unfamiliar turkey around their plate and sceptically biting into foreign cookie recipes, not sure they’re ready to let something new in from “the other side”. Let’s face it, you never paid much attention to mom’s famous stuffing until your spouse plopped a new one in front of you – all of a sudden her stuffing means everything to you.

Grief is this in the extreme form. Things are changing outside of your control and you can end up grasping onto your traditions and memories even more tightly, perhaps afraid that they will be taken from you. The first year can feel especially desperate this way. I remember holding my breath, praying that everyone would carry on normally and try to make the best of it. I was open to changing outward traditions but held on tightly to the emotional traditions of feeling a certain way because it was Christmas. Please everyone make this a happy day. Can we dwell on what’s good? Appreciate each other? Not think about why it’s sad? These thoughts seem well and good, but they were a form of trying to control how the day went, without leaving room for everyone to be what they really were. Not everybody will be ready to try for normal, or even happy. Each person has their own idea of what needs to happen that day; each person has their fears and their hopes. It’s bound to be a bit confusing and chaotic until you learn how to fit it all together, and you may very well feel something similar to homesickness in the process. If I could go back to the first year, I would look myself in the eye and say let it be.

A huge lesson that came out of this was also how crucial communication is. In my experience, 90% of the grasping and fear stemmed from a lack of communication. As people can be a bit more… touchy on Christmas day, a sad heart might mistakenly be perceived as a grumpy one; a happy heart may be assumed an insensitive one…  Though it may seem un-Christmasy or awkward to do so, telling each other where you are at can create a new, different sort of safety net at Christmas. It may very well be all you can do to stay grounded in the chaos.

For me, year three of Christmas brings with it a very deep realization of love – I’m ready to exchange large amounts of it with my family and friends. It is perhaps the first year where this feeling is more predominant than the fear and aching. It’s still tempting to hang on to everything as it was when mom was here (what a painful battle) but I am seeing that this isn’t what will restore health and joy in the long run. Christmas is changed. It can be incredibly hard to cope with the feeling of loss that accompanies this thought, but I don’t want to give up Christmases full of joy in order to hang on to it either. It would be tragic to let grief steal this holiday from me forever. I strive to accept the change, grieve the loss, and make room for the new. I imagine it will take several more years of fumbling through Christmases to achieve this.

The good news is there is no such thing as “wasting” a Christmas if things don’t go as planned or if what you meant to accomplish wasn’t accomplished. The truth is that these first messy Christmases really just need to be had so that we can build on them to get to better ones. Unfortunately, we only get once a year to practice, but they do get better (if you want them to).

The last thing I’d like to say is that our fears of Christmas and other occasions can be made worse by the fact that they are the times we are expected to be the worst off. It may be hard to go against this assumption, but Christmas may not be the worst day for everyone. I’ve found it important to remain open to the possibility that Christmas may in fact be full of joyful moments – and each year, it really has been.

I send my love to all of you as you prepare for the holidays, whichever number this might be for you. I would also love to hear about your own experiences during this time. We have so much to learn from each other, so please feel free to share your thoughts here.

I will leave you with this little piece of Christmas, as sometimes remembering the simple things can bring the most joy: