I just want the old you back

I am so afraid that I will never be who I once was. And I am also afraid that I will be. I wrote this singular thought in my journal with no other comment. And there it sat for months, although, often playing on a reel in my head.

I read this in a blog by a local pastor that I follow on Facebook. She is worth a peek if you like your religion edgy.  In this particular post, she was musing, both with humor and fear, about life one year into the pandemic.*

I think, if we are lucky, we don’t stay the same, year after year. Life provides the opportunity for us to learn, grow and evolve. This is offered to us in innumerable ways, some obvious, some hidden, some joyful, and some dark. Nonetheless, we get them. And with it comes some form of change. These are the moments that provide us with the gifts we are in need of when we don’t even know it. I dare say that every single one of us has had at least a few opportunities in the past year to face the lesson behind the disguise.

I think we change when a personal experience has a thundering impact. Or there may be times when we change just because we are finally ready to. This happens because the pain of staying the same is much greater than the fear of the unknown. We rarely change just because someone wants us to or tries with all their might to make it so. Man, who hasn’t beat their head up against that wall?

Do you ever pause and think about the old you? I do. There are many, many iterations of me. One version that I can easily look back on through the haze is the “me” before the “moment that shook me.” Even if you didn’t know me then, all you have to do is read the previous 48 blogs that I have written to understand that I have been morphing. I’ve been given several opportunities to do so these past few years.

In a recent conversation with my grief group, we were discussing some of the struggles related to identity. Most of us have experienced some difficulty with an existing relationship after losing our partners. It may be because we are trying to figure out who we are. But I also believe that others in our lives are also trying to figure us out. There seem to be two consistent scenarios.

• First, there are people who knew us, not as an individual, but as part of a couple. They may have spent little to no time with us outside of that duo. And now, they don’t know what to do with us. This includes friends and, maybe especially, family of our partners.

• Second, there are people who knew us before our grief. People who liked that version of us.  We were like-minded and on similar paths. And now, they have witnessed our life take a turn. They see us grieving. They don’t and can’t understand the complexities of it. You can almost hear them say, “I just want the old you back.”

I want to be fair and empathetic to anyone who falls into either of these two groups. Because you have your own grief for this loss. Greif is complex, and there are all kinds of losses. Most of us, thank goodness, don’t lose a partner particularly in early or mid-life. So, most people don’t really know how this goes and hopefully never will. So, if you are struggling to connect with or understand a grieving friend or family member, it doesn’t make you a bad person. This may be your own opportunity to learn. I think you will actually grow, at least in some small way, from your experience of the other persons’ grief.

I will only speak for myself, not for the incredible women in my grief group. If you can’t get comfortable with the person that I am without my partner, I have to put that one on you. And I am also going to say, it’s okay. I am going to be okay with that. I am responsible for me and who I become, and that is enough right now. I am not responsible for you. I hope the new version of me is a really great one. But, it might not be one that that you want. It’s okay.

Because in truth, I am so afraid that I will never be who I once was, and I am also afraid that I will be.

* The Corners by Nadia Bolz-Weber