November 12 came and went again. Nothing major. Just the anniversary of the ol’ hubby’s death. I spent half the weekend drunk and half the weekend drowning in anger and self pity. Totally healthy. Follow me for more tips on surviving widowhood. I usually write on the day of the dead Ash. But I couldn’t find the words this year. To be honest, what more words can I say that I haven’t already said. Grief is a monotonous little ditty that most get sick of hearing about. And honestly, there’s a part of me that feels as though I should be better than I am.

I’ve been to therapy thrice now. (Side note – not sure I used thrice correctly but it is one of my favorite words and will use any opportunity to throw it in a conversation – correctly or not.) And I am adoring my therapist. Today when I went in, I thought she was lighting a joint but alas it was just some kind of sage type thing (but not sage) to rid the room of bad juju or some such shit. I guess she’d just had a difficult session. She’s probably currently burning the whole place down after my jagged and half busted carnival ride session, full of carnies and all. I kid. I don’t think I’m that bad. Just, you know, full of trauma and harsh self judgment and feeling stuck in my own little comfort zone of discomfort. I came up with that. Today. My own little comfort zone of discomfort. And my therapist loved it. And gave me homework regarding said little comfort zone of discomfort. Should have kept my mouth shut. That’ll learn me.

To be honest, she’s given me homework after every session but I’ve yet to do it (failing therapy? Check.). Today’s felt like something I could handle though. She asked me to write about my “comfort zone of discomfort” and what it means to me. Ask me to write anything and I’m in. It’s the only way I can be fully honest with myself and my 4 readers (Hi, Mom! Thanks for reading!).

Here’s what I’ve learned so far in therapy, in case you were wondering: I’m not perfect. That one was pretty shocking but I’m working through it. I have lived and am surviving something very traumatic for not only me but also my 2 children. I do not let myself feel any kind of feelings for long. I will push them down, focus on something else and try to pretend like everything is fine. Which apparently leads to anger, resentment and unhealthy choices. Who knew? I lack directness and telling people what I want and/or need. I need some strong work at setting boundaries for myself and my children. I’m so used to feeling pain that I think it’s a normal feeling and I’m ok with it. Hence how I came to the conclusion that I’m living in my own little comfort zone of discomfort (*patent pending – just kidding! But can you patent a phrase because I do like that one and I’m claiming it as mine?)

I won’t drone on too long but if any of you out there are like me, maybe this will be helpful to you. Plus it was my homework and I’m trying to not fail therapy here and no one said anyone has to read this anyway. It is ok to not feel ok. It is ok, even 4 years later, to feel the pain of losing someone who was so important in your life. It is not ok to pretend like everything is ok. Here’s the cold hard truth, I am struggling. Which is not news. I wouldn’t be in therapy if I had my shit together and everything was just sunshine and rainbows (no rainbows without any rain so may as well enjoy the rain, too – deep, I know). But it is very important to let yourself feel whatever it is. I am always quick to say what’s bothering me but then either defend why it’s fine, that I’m fine or attempt to solve the problem immediately, which is doing an injustice to not only me, but those closest to me. When we don’t let ourselves feel something, it doesn’t go away. We just push it away but it will always rear its ugly head again, only in form of something that could potentially hurt ourselves, our loved ones or some stranger at a baseball game that tried to steal your seat. Believe me, I speak from loads of experience. Every time I tell my therapist how I’m feeling, she makes me stop in my pain, grief, anger, anxiety, whatever it is, I stop talking and she has me close my eyes and just feel what my thought is doing to my body. And every time my chest hurts, my legs and arms are crossed and everything feels tight (ironic with the amount of weight I could stand to lose but that’s a whole other can of worms). You’d be amazed at how poorly our bodies feel when we are harboring some really bad feelings.

It is also ok to be exactly where you are, regardless of what other’s think. Their opinion of you does not matter, nor is it any of your business. We hear it all the time, there are countless memes and things on the inter webs telling us all this cliché shit. The thing is, it’s not cliche shit. It’s a tough world out there, none of us are making it out alive and we can only do our best. Nobody else has to walk in your shoes, just as we are not walking in anybody else’s shoes. And it all sounds so simple. Maybe for some it is. But I only know what I know. I only feel how I feel. And I can only heal, move forward and start living the way that I know how. I endeavor to let myself feel all the things. Not just the happy moments. If I ever expect to move through all this pain, it’s high time I let it out. This is a complete 180 from Kellie circa 2020. I was full of light and positivity and focusing on all the good things in my life. But as time has gone on, nothing has gotten any easier. And I’m trudging through and putting on my bravest face, but behind closed doors, I am crumbling. I am exhausted. I am stuck in pain because I haven’t let myself properly feel everything that needs to be felt.

Just living my best life in my comfort zone of discomfort. The good news is, I don’t have to keep doing that. I can learn to feel. I can learn to ask for help when I need it. I can stop being so afraid of everything. It’s going to be a long and arduous road. There will probably be more rain than sunshine, but eventually, I truly believe that rainbow will start shining brightly and that sun will burn off the rain and I will be ok. I will learn how to live again, how to feel again, how to love again.

Jesus Christ. Who am I? That was sappy ass shit right there. Don’t worry, that sarcastic bitch will never leave. Because she is me. (Side note – my therapist says she’s not a sarcastic bitch but my biggest protector and that could not be more true). But there’s more to me than just sarcasm and dark humor. I just have to find her again.

Thank you for coming to my KellieTalk (*patent also not pending).