My Nest Isn't Even Empty, but I'm Grieving Anyway

God, I hope this is one of those pre-grieving experiences.

If you're not familiar with pre-grief, let me tell you about it because I feel like I am an expert.

Pre-grieving is when you start getting emotional before the thing has even happened. I'm pretty used to the pre-grief process; I cry two weeks before my late husband's birthday and then I'm fine on the actual day. The anniversary of his death makes me shaky the month before, but I usually just bop through the day like there's nothing wrong.

It's weird and hard to explain to other people.

I feel like I'm in that process now. My oldest will be graduating from high school in the spring, but like any good pre-griever I'm crying a good 5 months before it's going to happen. I'm suddenly hyper-aware of how many "lasts" we're going through and how things are changing already.

This weekend she cleaned out her room (a miracle that any normal mom would be celebrating) and we talked about getting her a bigger desk.

"But maybe we shouldn't," she said as she looked at the bare corner of her room. "I only have a few months of studying here anyway."

I was thinking it, too, but I couldn't bear to say it out loud.

Now, keep in mind that it's not like I'll be alone. I still have two kids to go and another five years before it's completely quiet in my house. And I keep reminding myself that you never know what the future holds - by the time they've all gone to college, my oldest could be coming back to live at home (because what kid out of college can afford their own place these days???). And I know that just because kids grow up, that doesn't mean you ever stop being a parent.

I'm somewhat bi-polar about this whole process. One minute I'm crying about it and the next I've made peace with it (definitely in crying mode now). I've been the solo parent for 12 years and by the time my youngest is 18, I will have been doing this on my own for 17 years. So, by the time they're all off flying on their own, I'll be due a little downtime.

The problem is, I don't know if I want it.

My therapist (who I'm going to see right after I finish typing this) told me that she once had a patient who struggled for a year before her nest was empty.

"And then when it actually happened," she said, "she LOVED it."

Oh, I hope that's the case.

And the truth is, I know I would be feeling this way, widowed or not. As much as I've worked to create my own identity outside of my children, I consider myself a mom above everything else. My family is everything to me. And right now I can't bear to think about the changes to come.

If I'm being completely honest (heck. Why not?), sometimes I think it would have been just as hard if my husband was still alive. Back before I lost him, I realized we were one of those couples who had a hard time coming up with topics that didn't include the kids. So, I know this would have been a period of adjustment - just in a different way.

I have so many widow friends in the virtual community who have already gone through what I'm about to experience. And every time I've read a post over the years, I've cringed knowing that I was going to go through it, too.

It just seemed to happen so fast.

But tomorrow is another day and I might feel completely different.

Actually, there's a good chance my pre-grieving might stop today the moment they walk in the door from school arguing about who stole someone's phone charger and who gets to take the first shower.

Life is always changing.

From Potty Training to Driver's Ed: Parenting Ain't for the Weak

It just occurred to me at around midnight last night that I have to teach three kids how to drive.

This realization is coming a bit late. After all, I've already taught one. But the next one is now on the horizon and I had a wide-eyed "oh shit" moment as I was trying to go to sleep last night when I realized that, once again, I would be gripping the handle on the ceiling of the passenger side of my car as I taught a kid how to park within the lines without hitting a tree.

Actually, what Haley (my oldest) says I do is start backing away from the door of the car - as if those extra three inches are going to save my life in a teenager-induced crash.

The problem is that I'm a pretty bad passenger in general now; after 10 years of being the only driver in the family (and one year of surviving being the parent of a teenage driver), I'm just not comfortable in the passenger seat anymore. People either go too slow, too fast, come too close to the car next to them, or change lanes in a way that I don't find acceptable.

I don't care if you're a seasoned driver or just got your license - if I'm in the car with you, I'm probably thinking you shouldn't be on the road.

Anyway, I mentioned my epiphany to my son this morning as I was driving him to school.

"I just realized that I have to be the one to teach all of you guys how to drive," I said.

I got the grunt that has been his standard answer to everything since he turned 14.

"I don't know why I didn't realize it before," I said. "But it's kind of like right after your dad died and I realized that I was the one who was going to have to potty train Sarah all by myself. It's a lot of pressure."

Yes, making sure that your child can successfully use the toilet and/or drive him or herself the two miles to school and back by the time you unleash them on the world is a lot.

But that's widowhood for you.

~

I was watching an interview on the TODAY Show with Michelle Obama when they asked what she was up to.

"Well, getting my youngest ready for college," she said. "Senior year is intense."

PREACH.

Why didn't anyone tell me this before? Just as I was getting used the fact that my oldest was pretty independent and I wasn't needed quite as much, her senior year in high school hit and I'm busier than when she was a baby and I had to be up every two hours with her.

Essays, applications, financial aid, and all those damn forms for graduation. And then there's the "last everything" - the last varsity game she's involved in, the last concert, the last time she'll take a science class she'll never use. 

And the emotional fluctuation! Just as I've made peace with the fact that her leaving the nest is a natural thing, she's in my room crying because she just realized that she only has 105 choir concerts left of high school (all of which you somehow need to find time to attend AND create some sort of video montage of your kid, complete with heart-wrenching note about how much they've grown, how well they drive and how well they use the potty).

I'm actually not entirely sure how my other two kids are doing because I'm so focused on launching the oldest one. I'm assuming they're making it to school. I think their grades are okay, but I can't figure out how to log into that online parent thingy (I miss paper report cards). The only reason I know they're still around is because I occasionally take meaningful pictures of them, now knowing that in just a few years I will need to create an Oscar-worthy documentary about their lives for the last day of whatever after school activity they're in...otherwise we will be shamed by the other families.

It's exhausting.

Every week I wonder how we can logistically make everything happen. And apparently every week I hold out hope that the next week will be calmer.

"This week is a little crazy," I said to my mom recently. "But I think next week will be better."

"You say that every week," she finally pointed out six weeks into the school year and on my third day without a shower.

I'm trying to live in the moment. I know that I'm going to blink and the house will be empty and quiet. The car will wonder why it's not going back and forth to the school 20 times a day, even though I only have three kids. The kitchen table will sit there, quietly reminding me of family dinners. No one will come into my bedroom at 11:00 at night in tears because they forgot to start that 50 page essay that's due first period the next day. No more potty training. No more drivers ed.

Yes. Someday I'll just sit in a hot bath because three people didn't shower before I started the water and realized there wasn't a drop of warm water left, a wine glass in my hand, book resting on the side of the tub, thinking about all of the years before when that was impossible because someone needs something right now.

Wait. That actually sounds pretty good.

Oh, How Things Have Changed

Today is the 11th anniversary of my husband's passing. And while I've spent some of the last week engaging a little bit in the angry cry (and always at the WORST possible time), today I've actually been thinking more about what has changed in 11 years.

Yes, there's the obvious answer - the kids. As I go to workshop after workshop about college funding and wondering how I got into this mess of doing it all myself, the passage of time is staring me directly in the face (and taunting me).

But lately I've been thinking about the actual things that have changed in 11 years and that makes me sad, too, because I keep envisioning how Brad would have embraced (or shunned) them. And here's what I've come up with.

1. The Smart Phone

Oh, how he would have loved it. He died using a flip phone and just before texting was really a big deal - fate is truly cruel. Considering how much he HATED talking on the phone, non-verbal communication would have been his dream come true. And what about the endless apps he would have downloaded??? This would have helped any communication issues we might have because he'd probably be too occupied to communicate.

2. Anything at Best Buy

But mainly TVs. We had one of the HUGE 60" box TVs when he died which I immediately got rid of in favor of a flat screen (although my first one was embarrassingly small). I have a feeling right now we'd have one of those curved 3D 205" TVs with a sound system that would blast you through the back wall. And we would be taking advantage of a lot of 0% financing.

3. Cars

Now, this one I don't know if he would have liked as much. Since he loved working on cars and cars these days really can't be worked on, I'm not sure he would have liked it. But I'm sure he would have LOVED all of the gadgets we have now. Sirius XM radio, touch screens, USB outlets for every seat...

...of course what would really piss him off is that I still like driving a minivan.

4. Top Golf.

The kids and I went to Top Golf today. It's funny how when we celebrate "Daddy Days" that's where they want to go because Brad was a fairly horrible golfer. However, he would have loved the whole thing and the technology behind it. So, in a weird way it's entirely appropriate that we remember him there...even though he's never been.

5. Politics

Lots of change. Enough said.

6. Video Games

Every once in a while, I let my son buy a video game at just random times. He is very sweet and says it's not necessary to which I always reply, "Your sisters have bought at least $60 worth of hair products in the last couple of months. And if your dad were here you'd have a LOT more video games than you do now. Go for it."

7. Mattresses

I bought a king-sized Temperpedic a few years ago which weren't around in 2007 (I don't think). I truly think that that would have saved us a lot of marital stress if we'd had one when he was still with us. He used to tell me that I was like Sid the Sloth in Ice Age when I tried to go to sleep - I flop around for about 2 hours until I get comfortable. A mattress that doesn't bounce would have been his dream come true.

8. iPads 

Considering how much he ignored me as he played computer solitaire, I would have been completely on my own had he ever discovered Angry Birds.

9. Uber

No more pesky arguments about who the designated driver will be!

10. Roomba

I don't have one, but I'm betting if Brad were here, that would have been my Christmas gift years ago. And it probably would have been modified for flight or something.

11. Netflix and Bingewatching

There are MANY shows on TV that I don't watch because I'm squeamish and can't imagine watching them alone. AND I live with three teenagers, so my TV is usually tuned into an episode of Riverdale or one of the Twilight, Divergent, or Hunger Games series. If their father were here, there'd be a lot more Game of Thrones and a lot less ridiculous drama.

12. GPS Systems

This ties into the phone thing, but we actually had a SEPARATE HAND-HELD GPS SYSTEM for when we went camping. That's right. None of this Google Maps business or car navigation. We were old school. And often fought because I can't read a map.

13. Anything space related

Without my rocket scientist here, I'm completely out of the loop. But I did get teary with the final farewell to the Cassini project - a program he worked on at Cape Canaveral when we were first married. Bet he would have liked to have seen that.

14. Amazon

I think it's safe to say that Prime would have ruined my marriage.

15. Keurig

For such a manly man, my husband liked really frou-frou coffee. The fact that he could have chosen from 5,000 flavors would have been awesome for him. However, he was also incredibly frugal in some ways...so he might have resisted it.

I'm on the Verge

I'm writing this on my back porch. I'm trying to make myself feel better, so I've got a glass of wine, candle lit, a little classical music on...

See? Not too bad, right? Of course, I realized what I REALLY wanted was some nice cheese and a few crackers to go with this and I had that craving just as I was pulling out of the grocery store parking lot. So, now I have some American cheese left over from the kids and a mix of crackers in a ziploc bag that I think is from a party I gave about 5 months ago.

Let's expand that view.

That's how I roll these days.

That's because right now I'm trying to anything and everything I can to make myself feel better. And if it's Kraft singles and stale crackers...so be it.

This is such an ugly time of the year for me - and not just because I'm constantly sweaty and my hair is about twice its normal size. I'm in the middle of my month of anniversaries and this year, it's really sucking the life out of me.

Last night I was just about to fall asleep when I realized that this anniversary equals the same amount of years we were married; after this anniversary, I will be without him longer than we were husband and wife.

I couldn't catch my breath.

As I was leaving the grocery store tonight (after buying Gatorade and saltines for the THIRD sick kid), I just felt so defeated. This isn't a new feeling, but it's FRUSTRATING me more than ever this year. I can't explain to people that I feel sad, exhausted, and full of anger and adrenaline all at the same time.

There just aren't words for it, are there? I mean, Brad died 11 years ago this month and I can't think of any other way to describe it other than grief - but that's just so inadequate. It's like trying to describe childbirth to someone by saying, "It hurts."

I'm yawning constantly, but can't sleep. I'm cranky, but still expect people to be understanding. I want someone to hold me and still give me space.

SERIOUSLY. What is that??????

~

So, back to the car and the grocery store. I sat there and just felt so pent up, you know? Like I could just explode out of my car if I had the energy. And I thought, "I'm on the verge of..." and I couldn't finish the sentence.

Crying? Collapsing? Quitting? Wailing? Screaming? WHAT?????

I still don't know because I just want to do it all at once.

Grief - and especially old grief that's been with you for a long time - does more than drain your body when it comes back full force. It does more than deplete your mental resources. It's an exhaustion of the spirit - like I wish I could give my very soul a vacation. My spirit is tired. It's been through 11 years of this and knows it has a lifetime to go. It's worked so hard to keep us going, so I wish I could give it a little all-expenses paid trip to the Bahamas while we work to get over this hump and get on with life.

My therapist asked me the other day what I could do to make myself feel better, how I could do more self-care. And, yes, I need a break from work and even a little quiet time away from the kids. But honestly...I just didn't have an answer for her.

I couldn't come up with one thing that would make me feel better right now.

I know that sounds a little like depression, but it's not. Believe me - I know what depression feels like. This is like just coming to terms with the fact that the next few weeks are going to truly suck and no amount of massages, pedicures, or outings with friends will really make that go away - even if I had the time to do it.

And chances are I'm going through the really hard part right now. My grief is so weird...I feel much worse the weeks leading up to a milestone than I do the actual day.

I know I've made it through the other side when I have my feet soaking and my ass in a vibrating chair.

There's More to Miss

This isn't going to be one of those really well thought-out posts. I'm just going to type as I think.

Scary, I know. You really don't want to be in my head.

I've been having kind of a hard time the last few days. I'm coming up on all of my hard dates, but there's been this voice inside of me that says, "It's been 11 years. Get over it already."

Yes. Even as we widows talk about how that's unacceptable from everyone else, I'm actually saying it to myself.

It's really ridiculous. I mean, if a friend of mine told me that she was still mourning her husband after 11 years, I would say, "Of course you are! Be kind to yourself." And yet, I'm so impatient when it comes to ME. I don't like it when I'm so raw and sad and feeling on the brink of a meltdown. I DON'T WANT IT TO HAPPEN. So, I fight it until I can't anymore.

I had a pretty heavy therapy session today. I didn't see it coming, but it's so funny how, when you're in a safe space, just having the right person ask, "How are you?" can send you into flooding tears. I actually walked in feeling pretty good. But then the second I sat down I realized I wasn't as good as I was letting myself believe.

I told my therapist that I was fighting my grief because people wouldn't understand it - and that's partly true. It's hard to explain how one year I can get through this next month and then the next I feel like there's more gravity - like life is literally pulling me closer to the ground.

But that's only partially true. Again, I think the main problem is that I don't have the patience for it. I should be better than this. I should have my shit together by now. And many other lies I tell myself.

As always, we tried to figure out what the real problem was, what's triggering all of this. Fear came up. Sadness. And milestones.

Finally she said something that I think we ALL need to understand.

"Of course you miss him more. As time goes on, there's more to miss."

I've always thought that as time goes on, I'll get distance from the loss. But that one statement...it changed everything for me.

I miss him at every choir concert, awards ceremony, and sporting event. My daughter will be graduating next year and he will miss it. Eventually my kids will get older and maybe have their own families...and I will MISS HIM being there. As time goes on and milestones happen, there will be more to miss...because he's missing all of it and I'm missing him.

This has completely changed how I think about time and loss. It's validated something in me that I was scared to acknowledge. It's made me realize that it's okay to grieve right now just as much as I did the day I lost him. No one will ever understand the things we're missing together.

And understanding that is allowing me the freedom and forgiveness to...well...miss him.

Strength & Struggle: Lessons in the Art of Growth

My 40s have hit me like a freight train. Actually, that’s probably not the right analogy. That implies I’ve been flattened by my 40s, which is the opposite of the truth. Or, if I was really going to stick with that comparison I should say, “My 40s have hit me like a freight train, but I’m like one of those inflatable pop-up clowns that you can’t knock down.”

But now I’m thinking about clowns.

Maybe I should start over.

I’m on the verge of turning 42 and, while I’ve never doubted Oprah, she was right when she said years ago that your 40s are the best. Or, to quote her more directly, that her 40s were “where I've come to know that becoming more of yourself is the only route to authentic, lasting power.”

Abso-freaking-lutely.

The words “boundaries” and “authenticity” have become part of my everyday vocabulary. I’ve realized that for the first 40 years of my life, I have basically been asking permission from others to live the way I want to, rather than seeking that approval from myself. I am who I am and if you don’t like it, I have a lovely front door with a cute little wreath on it that I bought for spring where you can exit.

And I’m happy.

Make no mistake, though; this happiness didn’t come without struggle. In fact, I’ve realized that it’s here because of it. I recently bought this postcard and have it hanging in my office:

 What do you REALLY want out of life?

I’ve definitely entered into a new phase. I think I realized it one day when I was thinking to myself, “What is your one wish right now for your life?”

My old self would have said “happiness.” My new self said “growth.”

I’ve come to realize that happiness is fleeting…and it should be. To wish to remain in a constant state of happiness is nonsensical because to know that you’re happy, you have to know what it feels like to be unhappy or at least in a valley. It’s the moments when you are forced to sit still, evaluate, and then find a way to keep moving forward that actually serve you best.

I’ve very much been in a “seeking” stage; I’ve been digesting as many podcasts, books, and seminars as I can. Originally this was an attempt to silence all of the negative stuff that’s going on in the world (it’s a lot better to get your “news” when it comes with a good perspective, rather than shouted at you from CNN). But now I can't do without it. I'm addicted to self-discovery.

I’m back in therapy and when I made my first appointment in 3 years, I could hardly contain my excitement. I counted the days. And I must have been meant to be because during that break, my therapist wrote a book about boundaries that was EXACTLY what I needed to read.

Small Things that Lead to Big Changes

When this self-discovery phase started, I noticed an immediate shift within myself. To say that I felt better is an understatement. Reading or listening to other people’s stories and perspectives daily – even if was just for a few minutes while I ran the kids around or when I had my morning tea – gave me a peace I’d never known. I truly began to understand how insecure we all are in our own ways and how to not only overcome it, but to embrace it. How those people who have experienced the unthinkable have things to say rather than those who either haven’t or refuse to acknowledge it.

At the age of almost 42-years-old, I’ve discovered this well of strength and authenticity within myself that I didn’t even know I had. And knowing that I can dig into it at any time has made me surer of myself than I’ve ever been.

What’s been interesting about that is that it hasn’t just been the books or the podcasts that have changed me…it also has a lot to do with the people I spend time with now. Without knowing it, I’ve surrounded myself with strong women who have taught me that I no longer need to ask permission to be myself or create the life that I didn’t even know was possible.

Now I hunger for those friendships. I feel like my radar is on and I’m constantly seeking these strong women. I’m extremely vocal about what I’ve learned myself about strength and vulnerability. I can immediately see, when talking to someone about authenticity, if the lightbulb goes on. If it does, I know there’s a possible connection there.

The Concept that Changed Everything

Another part of this new connection has been church. I didn’t grow up in a religious family and, while my late husband was a dedicated Presbyterian, since he’s been gone our church attendance has been spotty at best.

But my oldest daughter wanted to go. She had some friends who attended a church nearby and so I started going with her. And while I still feel like I’m lagging in the faith department sometimes, I’ve truly enjoyed the message.

It was at one service when the pastor asked the congregation, “Do you know why trees get tall?”

That’s never something I’ve thought about, but I assumed it had something to do with water and light.

 

Nope.

He explained that years ago, scientists created the ideal growing situation for trees in a covered facility with the perfect light and just the right amount of water. Then one day the scientists walked in and the trees that had been growing so well were all laying down. They’d all fallen.

It turns out that what makes a tree grow tall…is wind.

Wind requires the tree to develop a strong root system that will keep it upright. It’s that tension against the elements – that struggle – that actually makes the tree flourish.

Now, I know that as we stand in our own windstorm it sometimes doesn’t feel like we’re flourishing; it feels like we’re dealing with an F5 tornado. But these days I usually find myself leaning into those windstorms rather than allowing them to knock me down.

And now I know more than ever that they’re essential to my growth.

Fearing Joy and Dress-Rehearsing Tragedy

I’ve written other posts about happiness – mainly dealing with the idea that I wasn’t sure I deserved it. After all, happiness isn’t owed to any of us. The older I get the more I realize that happiness many times requires a conscious effort on our part.

But it never occurred to me that happiness and joy were something to be feared. I mean, really? Isn’t that what we all want? What is there about joy to be scared of?

Well…it turns out…a lot.

Dress-Rehearsing Tragedy

I was listening to Oprah’s interview with Brené Brown on SuperSoul Sunday when she talked about how joy is the most terrifying feeling we could possibly have.

I used to stand over my two kids while they slept, and just as a profound sense of love and joy washed over me, I'd imagine horrible things happening to them: car crashes, tsunamis. "Do other mothers do this," I'd wonder, "or am I unhinged?" I now know from my research that 95 percent of parents can relate to my constant disaster planning. When we're overwhelmed by love, we feel vulnerable—so we dress-rehearse tragedy. 

I sat in my car completely stunned. That was me. Time spent with my parents has always been clouded in my mind with, “What if I lose one of them?” A new client acquired is immediately followed by, “But what if I mess up?” or “What if ALL of my clients suddenly abandon me at once and I have no income?”

Don’t even get me started about the fear I feel surrounding my kids, who are happy, healthy, and do their own laundry.

I’ve been “dress-rehearsing tragedy” my entire life.

Yeah, but...

Of course, this would be a lot less complicated if I’d never actually experienced tragedy. One might say that I’m justified in worrying about that mythical shoe dropping because it actually has before. And, if I’m being perfectly honest, there were times during my marriage when I fearfully thought, “What if something should happen to him?”

And then it did.

Here’s the problem. All of that worrying about what I would do, how I would feel, should something happen to my husband didn’t actually help or prepare me for when it really happened. I mean, it’s not like I left the hospital thinking, “Thank GOD I spent all that time worrying about this moment. It’s really going to cut back on my grieving time!”

The only thing all of that worrying did was take me out of moments that I should have been fully feeling. I should have been enjoying holding his hand as we took our kids for a walk instead of worrying about losing him. I should have loved creating a home with him rather than spending time worrying about what I would do if he died. I even should have stayed in the moment when he told me he’d never liked my chicken parmesan, rather than thinking, “REALLY? Then why don’t you just go?”

Okay, that last point was reaching a little. And I do make a good chicken parmesan, no matter what he said.

Loss and Joy

I think people who have experienced loss either really get this or they really don’t. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard from other widows about how they’ve possibly found a new love but are fearful of really investing in the relationship because they’re terrified of losing that person.

Dress-rehearsing tragedy.

I get it. When you’ve been brought to your knees by grief it’s hard to imagine risking your sanity again. It’s hard not to be scared, therefore, it’s hard to experience true moments of joy without fear. And we can’t help but visit that place in our minds sometimes – that’s a very real thing.

It’s just no place to live.

Okay. So now what?

Brené Brown’s recommendation is this:

The next time you're traumatized by "What ifs," say aloud, "I am feeling vulnerable." This sentence changed my life. It takes me out of my fear brain—i.e., off the crazy train—and puts me back on the platform, where I can make a conscious choice not to reboard. 

She also recommends finding a moment of gratitude in the midst of your panic. And that’s a good suggestion. Who am I to question a PhD who lands on an Oprah show?

But here’s my thought: As with so many things, I’ve realized that the root of my issues comes from not being in the moment. Fear, in many cases, is thinking about what might happen which means that I’m living in a future I can’t predict anyway. Recognizing that I’m having a moment of fearful joy means that I need to stop, shift gears, and completely focus on what’s happening right now.

After all, I now know that being fearful in a moment of joy doesn’t buy you any more time or peace of mind than just being present and enjoying it.

It just robs you of the moment.

Along for the Ride: Being the "extra" in a group of couples

I've written many a blog about being the third, fifth, seventh, or 21st wheel in a group of couples. 

Truth be told, it used to really bother me because I hated being single. A rectangular table on Thanksgiving where you're the only one who's sitting on one side is nothing short of excruciating when you're newly widowed.

But part of my journey into established singledom has been about coming to terms with it and - dare I say - actually being comfortable with it. I don't get anxious when I go out with another couple because I'm grateful they invited me. More often then not, I'm able to sit back and relax in a group of couples while at least two-thirds of them argue over petty little things and I'm able to just peacefully sip my wine. Seeing other couples around me no longer makes me feel uncomfortable and exposed.

I'm just me. And I kind of like that right now.

However, there is one area of single life that I think I'm not all that great at.

Standing up for myself.

Don't worry. I'm not being bullied or anything and, in most cases, I do speak up when I feel like I'm being screwed over (especially these days. I think I need to get my hormones checked). But a friend of mine recently brought to my attention that I might not be doing everything I can to act like the strong adult I believe I've become.

And that has me a in pickle.

I was raised in a no-conflict zone - at least for the most part. Yes, my parents had little squabbles when I was growing up and there were many times when I'd want to shave my older sister's head...but for the most part, I grew up in a pretty calm environment.

Sounds like hell, right?

But something that I've noticed about myself lately is that I've become kind of a doormat as an adult, particularly when I'm around other couples. The men speak up when they want something, their wives either agree or feel it's worth the fight, and I just sit there and wait to hear what's been decided.

And when it's something I don't agree with, I rarely say anything and now I'm questioning why. And I think it's this:

I don't want to rock the boat when I don't have someone else to rescue me.

Out to sea

There is no doubt in my mind that if Brad was here, I would be speaking up a lot more. It's true that there would be times when he would probably side with someone else, but for the most part I would feel a little more confident in speaking out. If anything, I would have that other adult I could go to and say, "Should I say something about this?" or who would take the brunt of my frustration and temper it a little before I went off on someone else.

The bottom line is that I would feel like I had some support.

So, while I've gotten more comfortable with most aspects of living on my own, this is one that has me feeling a little "out there" - like I'm just dangling on my own without any back-up. It's frustrating to feel like such a grown-up in most other areas and like a child when it comes to this ONE THING.

Here's the REAL problem

When I spoke to my friend about it, she did bring up something that I'm always concerned about: How does this behavior affect my kids when they witness it? Because no matter how frustrating the situation is, I AM participating in it by being so complacent...and many times, my kids are watching.

Have I confused the "maturity" of going with the flow with being somewhat bullied? In my effort to set the right example, have I actually done the wrong thing? Are they not learning effective communication skills...because I'm not communicating about it at all? And, worst of all, are they learning that what you should do in these situations is just shrink back when something happens that you don't agree with...and not do anything?

None of this is going to get solved right here, right now. I'm in the "awareness phase" of this new discovery. When I truly ask myself what my biggest fear about speaking my mind is, it's that I would be risking relationships that actually matter to me.

And that's no small thing when you don't have back-up.

Putting the "Illness" Back in Mental Illness

I consider my communication with my kids to be fairly open. I mean, I don't delude myself into thinking that they tell me everything...but I think our dialogue is pretty free. I often joke that my junior in high school might actually be a sophomore because I rarely check her grades.

"I don't have to," I'll joke with friends. "She'll walk in the door, cursing that she screwed up on a test. My kids tattle on themselves."

Communication isn't just something that I encourage only between us; I'll often tell them that if they don't feel comfortable talking to me that's okay - as long as they have someone to talk to. I'm open about the fact that I've been to counseling and they've groaned through enough podcasts with me to know that I'm constantly searching for inner peace. When their father died years ago, I immediately put them in group therapy...probably before they even really needed it.

The bottom line is: Communication is very important in our family.

That's why it's never really occurred to me that I should have a conversation about depression. I've always felt like they should just know if they're not feeling good and I'm maybe a little too confident that they'll come to me if something feels off.

The problem is that I'm not really sure that kids these days actually know what depression is - especially during the teenage years when they're surrounded by hundreds of kids who are all in a big hormonal flux. There's the usual drama during the day (many times exacerbated by social media) and it can be hard to determine whether a friend is truly depressed, just going through a hard time, or has a flare for the dramatic.

As open as I think we are with each other, I had what Oprah would classify as an "ah ha" moment about teens and depression recently. I was watching The TODAY Show as I was making breakfast for the kids when a story came on about pediatricians being more involved in the diagnosis of depression in teens.

With the new guidelines, pediatricians are being asked to more carefully screen their patients ages 12 and over during their annual checkups. It's the first update to the guidelines in a decade and comes amid a disturbing rise in suicide rates among adolescents,especially teen girls.

Ah HA!

I don't know why it took that story for me to get to this point, but I realized that even though we have what I would like to think of as a close-knit family, I haven't really been talking to my kids the right way about depression.

I haven't been talking to them about the disease that it is. 

That it can be hereditary. 

That, with our family history, it's something they should watch out for.

That night I briefly spoke to them about it. I didn't want to go into so much detail that they would think depression was inevitable for them - but I wanted to start the conversation and remove any shame they might have, should they start feeling like something wasn't right.

"Just as I would talk to you about a history of heart disease or cancer in our family, we need to talk about the history of depression," I said. "It's no different. I believe that your father had moments of depression that, unfortunately, went undiagnosed, and that other family members have struggled with it, too."

For my own history, my kids have had a ringside seat for my own issues with anxiety during the last few years - something that I have been honest with them about and feel that I've actually had since childhood. They watched as I tried to work through it organically - meditation, yoga, increased self-care - and then ultimately had to find help with medication.

"Doctors often say that anxiety and depression go hand-in-hand," I told them. "And I don't feel depressed, but I want you to be aware of that."

So, why did I feel like this was such a pivotal moment for us?

Because at the end of the conversation I was able to say to them, "Depression is the same as getting strep throat. If you're running a fever or you're truly sick, you wouldn't think twice about coming to me so that we could make a doctor's appointment. This is the same thing. The bottom line is that if you don't feel good, come tell me so that we can do what needs to be done to feel better."

I'm hoping that this is the start of even more open communication about our family history and a change in the way we view depression. While I DO think that the generation we're raising is more accepting of mental illness, I think that more emphasis needs to be put on the word ILLNESS and that sometimes these things can't be helped - the problem could be chemical and beyond their control. 

It's time to put the "illness" back in mental illness.

ALONE: The Peace and the Power

This is going to be a difficult post; I mean, difficult for me to write and say what I mean in a way that doesn't make us all want to run screaming out of whatever room we're in.

This has to do with being alone, finding peace with it, and finding the power within it. Because, ultimately (and this is where I don't want you to run screaming out of the room), we all are.

ALONE.

In Confessions of a Mediocre Widow I wrote, "There is a big difference between being alone and being lonely. Alone is something you choose. Loneliness is not." 

I remember the moment I wrote that; it was something that just popped up on the screen as I was feverishly typing away and I recall thinking, "Did I just think that??? My God. It's so true!"

I don't ever remember actually thinking that about loneliness before I wrote it and now that I look back...it's funny that I had that epiphany when I did. I was in what I thought was a stable relationship, so that really shouldn't have even been on my mind.

Believe me - you don't to venture into this labyrinth hidden under my highlights. It's a scary place to be.

Little did I know that being in a relationship has nothing to do with being alone. After all, it doesn't matter if you're in a rock-solid marriage...you're still alone. You alone interpret each moment of the day that happens to you and only you. Yes, I realize that being married or having an amazing support system means that you have people around you. But, again, only YOU are living with you.

You are alone.

Stick with me. Really. Because this isn't meant to be an "oh, woe is me, I'm all alone" moment. Coming to terms with your aloneness and truly embracing it is incredibly liberating. Why?

Because by realizing this, you'll know that you have 

all the tools you need to keep moving, regardless of outside influences.

My Podcast Addiction

My kids are really sick of this, but I have been on such a podcast kick lately. And I don't really

care what they think because I'm tired of listening to Ed Sheeran 24-hours a day (I would venture to say that he's probably pretty sick of himself as well). Anyway, I've been through professional podcasts, historical, how things are made, and podcasts that string a series of "mindful" words together that really don't make any sense, but the tone of the host lulls me into a stupor that makes me think that they do.

My favorite series has been Oprah's SuperSoul Sunday. (As an aside...don't you miss Oprah???? Ugh. I do.) She's picked fascinating people to interview and the exciting thing is that I'm years behind on the series, so right now I have a never-ending supply of podcasts cued up (much to the irritation of my children).

I recently listened to her discussion with Pema Chodron, a Buddhist nun I'm vaguely familiar with because she's quoted everywhere and every therapist I've seen (and I've seen my plenty) has shared her wisdom.

In the interview, I was shocked to hear that our young adult lives (in our 20s) were a little similar: She had gotten married as I had at the age of 20 - straight from her parents' house to her husband's house. Now, beyond that our stories deviate (she's been divorced twice), but she said something that truly struck a chord with me.

That until her second marriage failed she said she had never realized how "attached I was to having somebody else confirm me. In other words, it didn't come from inside me. It came from someone else's view of me." That from the time she was 20 until she was 35 she was "somebody else's person." And that now she doesn't have that "need to be confirmed by someone from the outside."

And that's where our stories come together again.

Being Alone Completely Changed Me

Now, I'm not a Buddhist nun (never say never), but that truly resonated with me. And the more they talked about being alone - but not in the way we've come to label it - I realized how truly empowering it is.

I think that anyone who has truly been through something catastrophic has had a sense of this, but most don't actually embrace it as they should. I came to this realization years after Brad died in the throes of a grief spell.

As I sat on my bed, sobbing so hard I could barely breathe, I mentally ran down the list of people I could call. I'm fortunate that my support system is wide and deep, but as I thought about all of those wonderful people...I realized that they couldn't help. No one else could work through this, but me.

That's not a defeatist attitude. Really think about it. Yes, we go to therapy (and we should. I LOVE THERAPY), but what that is is someone asking the right questions for us to come to terms with and work through our own personal solution. If we've had a physical injury, we have people around us who will help us with healing and physical therapy, but it's our own body that's doing the work.

What I'm trying to say is that, while we have countless means of support and help...we alone carry the tools to get through what we need to.

It is within us.

I was talking to a friend about this the other day. He was feeling helpless, trying to support another friend and not knowing what to do. I gave him suggestions - meals, listening, all the good stuff - and then ended with, "But really - he's going to have to just go through this. No one else can do it for him. Be there and be present. But understand that what needs to happen is beyond your control. It's his process."

There was a silence on the other end of the phone. "That's the smartest thing you've ever said," he replied. "You should write about that."

"Oh, for crying out loud," I said, rolling my eyes. "I wrote a whole book about it!"

The "I'm Sorry" Epidemic: Why women should stop apologizing for existing

Ladies.

I'm sorry, but we need to stop apologizing for everything.

I apologize for EVERYTHING and it's driving me nuts. It's like this ridiculous reflex; it just pops out of my mouth before I even have a chance to think about it. "I'm sorry" is constantly on the tip of my tongue, ready to dive out for the most inane reasons.

I've always known I've done this, but as I've gotten older it's gotten worse. I don't really remember apologizing a lot as a child. Yes, now that I think about it...I was a very unapologetic kid (my parents will attest to that).

But this apologetic nature began building at some point so that now I'm a 41-year-old woman who will probably say "I'm sorry" about the Kennedy assassination.

Well, I am sorry about that. It was a very sad thing. But it wasn't my fault.

Here's the thing: I'm a naturally apologetic person, but I'm also getting to be a cranky middle-aged woman who is more likely to say what I think and not care about the outcome. So, if you and I are playing chicken in the vegetable aisle at the grocery store and I'm the one who ends up moving...I'll probably say, "I'm sorry."

And then immediately feel pissed off about it and walk away before I ram your cart into the display of green beans.

So, I guess I'm getting aggressively apologetic.

I can certainly pinpoint where this comes from for me:

1. I hate conflict and will, for the most part, do anything I can do avoid it...even if it means taking the fall for something that wasn't my responsibility.
2. I have an insecure streak in me that I've been battling for a while, but am getting the upper-hand on. Ahhhhh...the joys of aging and caring less.
3. I cannot stand it when people feel bad (even if it's due to something that had nothing to do with me), so I will apologize, hoping it will make them feel better.

No. More.

Here's the awesome thing about where I am lately: I have found myself working within a group of incredibly strong women. I mean, we all have our weaknesses, but we call each other out on stuff that we're doing - such as apologizing - in a way that makes me more attentive to what I say, how I say it, and the impression that I'm giving professionally.

But, you know, in a good way. It's not like we all sit around and circle each other's fat or anything.

So, one of these women, who happens to be a client who's evolved into a friend, will actually yell at me when I do it. Like when some sort of technology fails us and I say, "I'm sorry" I will immediately hear, "What the hell are you apologizing for???"

And you know what I'll do then?

I'LL FREAKING APOLOGIZE FOR APOLOGIZING.

Seriously. It's a problem.

But I've figured out a solution!

I read this article recently where the author said that she and her friends came up with a phrase to replace "I'm sorry" so they don't say it anymore. They say something like "Sookie" which is all well and good if you're constantly apologizing in front of the friends who helped you come up with this code.

Say that to a potential client and they might think you're drinking on the job.

My solution is this: I don't say anything at all.

Yes! It's a conscious effort on my part to STOP those words from rolling out of my mouth and I've found that if I don't say anything and allow a pause to happen...it's truly a powerful thing.

First of all, people hate pauses like that. It makes them feel slightly uncomfortable. But it kind of gives you the upper hand. Rather than blurting out an "I'm sorry" you provide this interesting space in the conversation that will probably do one of two things:

1. It will make you come across as competent because you're not bumbling all over yourself before you speak your thought-provoking next sentence that hasn't been weakened by an apology.
2. If the other person is in the wrong...they might actually apologize to YOU.

The power of silence

I have learned that sometimes silence is the most powerful tool we have when interacting with other people. You learn more, using words economically makes people want to hear what you have to say, and, if you're in the middle of a heated argument, just sitting back and letting the other person rant usually defuses the situation quicker.

Then you go in there with your economical words and close the argument when they've run out of steam.

This pause before apologizing...it really does work. The result of it has been that I feel like Superwoman every time I get through a conversation or email without apologizing AND the other person gets to interact with the capable person I know is inside me somewhere.

So ladies - put on your big girl panties and get out there and unapologetically do what you're capable of.

Just know that if you run into me at the grocery store you better watch out. 'Cause from now on I ain't movin'.

I was nothing. And I needed to be someone.

It's funny how much things have changed over the years.

I used to love writing dating blogs because they would ALWAYS get the most discussion and traffic. So, note to you: If you're ever trying to build an audience, talk about your love life. Because people have a LOT of opinions.

But I challenge you with this one not to look at it as your typical blog about dating and relationships, even though it seems like that's what the subject is. The truth is, this blog is about ME and who I've become...and less about the men who have helped me get here.

And by "help," I mean broke me down to the point where I had to build myself back up again. However, I'm hoping that you'll see by the end of this blog that it really wasn't their fault.

Well, maybe it was a little bit.

My God. I should have NEVER started dating when I did. But I couldn't help it. I put on a brave face and told everyone I knew that it was no big deal, that I was just out to meet people and have fun.

I don't know if I was intentionally lying to them. I KNOW I was lying to myself.

Three kids at home under the age of 6, I was DESPERATE for adult interaction. But it was more than that. I'd never really been single before in my life. I ran through a string of boyfriends in high school, met my husband in college, wrapped my self-worth up in a package labeled "SECURE RELATIONSHIP," and went on my merry way.

By the time I was widowed at the age of 31, I'd never been alone.

My entire self was determined by who I was coupled with. I wasn't me - I was someone who was married to an astronautical engineer. Who was I if I didn't have that???

I was nothing. And I needed to be someone.

"Being someone" meant being in a relationship. So, for a while I bounced from one to the next, some lasting longer than others, but all making me feel like utter shit when they didn't work out. Sometimes it was my fault. Sometimes it wasn't. But every attempt left me feeling more and more broken.

Until two years ago when I'd finally had enough.

I seriously couldn't do it anymore. I was so tired. So defeated. So absolutely terrified that my worst fear was going to come true.

I was going to be alone for the rest of my life.

Now, we're going to fast forward a bit. I don't feel like that anymore. I really don't. I've made peace with myself, found myself, accepted myself, and, yes, sometimes hated myself. But I've become my own best company.

Every once in a while I think about getting back into dating because I don't think I've ever been in such a healthy place before. I am completely content with my life and who I am and I think, "Maybe I'm ready." So, I'll start paging through online dating sites and then...

...I'll pull up the local dog shelter. That's right. I think I'd rather just get a dog.

I've been trying to pinpoint what it is I really feel about dating. First of all, it's exhausting to think about. But if I had to choose ONE WORD that describes how I feel about dating it would be this:

USED.

I feel used up by all of those previous relationships. Sometimes I feel like I just don't have anything left to give; those guys took it all.

But here's the part that's my fault: I LET THEM.

You know that old Eleanor Roosevelt saying, "You can't make anyone feel inferior without their consent"? That's absolutely true. Because what happened at the beginning of my attempt at dating was that I let these people run all over me. I tried to make myself into the person they wanted and when it didn't work out, I thought I hadn't tried hard enough or there was something wrong with me.

All because I didn't know who "me" was.

I put myself in so many situations that I never would now, all because I didn't have a strong sense of self. Which makes sense because when you're newly widowed...how do you know who you are anyway?

And this isn't just about dating. This is true for friendships, family relationships, and work situations. When something has left me feel defeated again, I ask myself, "How did I allow that?"

It's hard to accept our own part in situations that seem so unfair. And, honestly, there are just times when we get screwed over, right?

But we have to grow from all of it, find our boundaries, and find ourselves. Because if we don't have a sense of self and stand up for who we are (judgments be damned)...

...we're the ones who have to live with the outcome.

Where I'm At

I'm sure all of you grammar police out there just rolled your eyes at that title. But I can't help it. This is where I'm at.

I was hanging out with a new friend of mine (yay!) who is newly widowed (ugh) a couple of weeks ago and we were talking about various things (as widows have a tendency to do). She had just finished Confessions of a Mediocre Widow and said to me, "But I want to know what happens next."

It was kind of funny coming from her because I know her and "what happens next" is unfolding right in front of her. But I could see what she meant. After all, the book came out a few years ago and it technically ended about a year and a half before that. So, I could see wanting to know what happens next.

After all...isn't that what we ALL want to know????

That it's going to be okay. Or if it's not, we want someone to warn us. We want to see ourselves in someone else who has successfully made it out the other side. Or if they didn't, we want to know why so we can avoid whatever it was that they did.

Totally get it.

But I feel like where I'm at (sorry, grammar police) isn't always part of my widow story. After over 10 years...it's just MY story. Yes, there are pieces of it that are tied to being a widow. But there are some moments that happen just because I'm a woman or a mom or a business owner or a daughter, sister...all of the things that make up who I am.

Then again...maybe there are some people out there who can relate to that, too. And so the story continues.

Something that I've realized just recently is that my story just might be a little different from some that are out there. After all, I didn't remarry. Heck, I'm not even dating. I did kind of leave you all up in the air at the end of my book. I seriously had to rewrite the ending because at the time it was being edited by my publisher, Mike and I broke up. So, I guess it would seem that I was a little adrift.

Actually, for a good long while there it seemed like I was completely lost at sea.

I don't want one remarried widow out there to think that I believe that by remarrying, you've turned in your grief card and you're done. I have enough widowed and remarried friends to know that that's just not the case; in fact, I feel like with some it can even be more complicated, grieving and being remarried. It's all about where we're at.

I did it again.

For a while now, I've been trying to figure out how to blog, what to write about, where my story went and where it's going. And then it occurred to me that the reason why it's been hard for me to find that "voice" is because I've entered into a different stage in my life and I didn't know who that voice was yet. That while I am widowed, that's not the first thing I identify with anymore.

But then maybe some of you who have stuck with me this far feel the same way.

I realized I need to continue my blog because not every widow book ends with a proposal and a romantic "Chapter 2" - but that doesn't mean there isn't a Chapter 2. The story continues. And I know from my own experience that sometimes you just need someone out there to say, "It's okay" and give you permission to live life on your own terms.

It just took me a while to figure that out.

So I'll continue my story because maybe it's like someone else's as well. After all, the reason I started writing in the first place was so that we'd all feel a little less alone.

And that's where I'm at.