The weeks leading up to Christmas for me are hard, it's been almost three years since Cindy passed, and Christmas was her holiday. I feel like somewhat of an imposter trying to enjoy it. Life has gotten better, with friends and family and involvement in the community, but something about this time of year is still tough.
I wrote in my journal Christmas Eve morning ...
"It has been almost three years, and this last week, this morning it feels like it was only yesterday. No matter how fast I try to run from it, the past seems to run faster. All I'm doing is eating up the future by trying to outrun the sorrow. Like everything else in life, pe rhaps I should take this time to stop; let the past with its grief, regrets, mistakes, pain; let it catch up with me and finally sit with me at the table."
Then on Christmas Day morning I wrote ...
"This has been a difficult week, yesterday was a difficult day. At Church last night I felt myself on the edge of tears for the entire service. I feel the same today, this morning. What I wrote yesterday about "running" from my past was not quite right. "Insulating" might be more accurate. Protecting myself from how I felt last night, how I feel today. Metaphorically, I'm not running from my past, I'm distancing myself, "insulating" myself from my emotions. To the point, I'm running (insulating) from painful emotions in favor of pleasant ones."
And maybe that is what I need to sit at the table and break bread with. Don't categorize emotions as either "good" or "bad." Rather than avoid them, take the time to sit with them and understand them, live with them a while, seeking neither surrender nor victory. Just a better understanding.
“But what we know now is that when we deny our emotion, it owns us. When we own our emotion, we can rebuild and find our way through the pain.”
― Brené Brown ―
No, my emotions no longer "own" me, not even close. But sometimes it's like my mind is an Airbnb for them. They rent me for a while, mess the place up, and then write me a crappy review.
Such, I guess, is life.