Today in therapy, we talked about my growth in grief.
Even now, almost 4 years later, I still sometimes have that millisecond of disbelief where my brain thinks, Mom's not really gone… she’s just far away somewhere.
But here’s what’s different: when I remember, I can choose. I don’t have to dive into the full depth of the pain. I don’t have to relive the images of her intubated and dying in the hospital... those images used to hit me like a brick wall. I can set those feelings aside for later, and that’s okay.
My therapist pointed this out as growth. Not that I’m shoving down my feelings. Not that I’m avoiding them. But that I actually get to decide when and how I feel them.
I used to have zero autonomy over that. My grief used to hijack me. It would come roaring in, and I had no choice but to let it wash over me. I couldn’t pause it. I couldn’t step back.
Now? I have control. My grief doesn’t hijack me anymore. And I loved that analogy.
It doesn’t mean it’s gone. It doesn’t mean it won’t hit me later. But it means I can sit with it, or step away, or breathe through it. I get to hold the steering wheel, and that is huge.
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