We all need reminding sometimes.
It is very easy to forget that we're not defined by our grief. I often took the reactions of others very to heart. If I went out with friends, and I cried or got upset, I would worry that they'd be bored of the "Moaning Mrytle" that I'd become.
It hurt to know that people didn't want to spend time with me, or support me, and knowing that they felt I was just a mood hoover, well, that would be enough to hurt anyone.
PS: I had been called both a mood hoover and Moaning Myrtle too.
I was afraid that it's what people would remember me for, just being sad.
Yes, I was sad, my husband had died, and it was heartbreaking, but that person was not me, that person was a result of the tragedy that had landed on my lap, far sooner than I'd ever thought. A thirty something year old man, he should have had decades left to live. I gave myself permission to feel sad, but many friends didn't like that.
I was not the sadness. The sadness was only there because he died. If he'd been alive, he'd have been the one at the centre of the dancefloor, challenging strangers to a shot downing match, I'd have been sipping cocktails, rolling my eyes at him, secretly laughing inside.
The sadness was there in those times when I couldn't see that I'd ever feel better, or that it would ever feel better than it did at that time.
Things do get easier, I promise. Just be kind to ourself and give yourself permission to cry. Crying is therapy in itself.
I really hope you're not reading this thinking "what on earth is she rambling about?" That is always the concern I've had about writing my inner most thoughts out there on the internet for all to see. What if people read and think I've lost the plot? I guess if nothing else, my words make sense in my head, and writing them down, in my usual tangly and rambling way, brings comfort to me, if nothing else.