6/29/2024

“I’m not feminine enough… broken enough”

“People have had worse”

“How could I have the life I have now if it was all true?”

She’s bubbling underneath the surface

I place my hand on my stomach to keep Her still

More importantly, to acknowledge what I’ve spent so many years denying Her

I allow Her to be present, to just be

She’s the strength that allows me to suspend time and space

She’s the wisdom I need to read between the lines

She’s the bravery I lend to my clients

People habitually state that grief is something you let go of

That your suffering is due to your inability to release it

I’m not so sure I believe in this perspective

I don’t think you can let go of grief

I think the suffering lies with your degree of resistance to the presence of that pain

Blaming someone’s suffering to their inability to let it go seems unjust

I could be wrong, but this is the instinct that pulls me

It’s the loudest thought the moment they begin to speak

The second, someone begins to describe the branded memories tormenting their soul…

I don’t think you can fix grief

I don’t think you can cure it away

It's like telling someone who’s having an appropriate response that they’re wrong for having it

And they only suffer because they can’t let it go

Just as I begin engaging with the intrusive thought, “Am I even helpful?”

She pauses at the door, takes a breath, and then a moment to mouth, “Thank you…”