It has been a few months since I posted a blog—not because I didn't want to, but because life had other plans for me.
It feels like this has become my phrase lately. Like this is what I am living by:
Life had other plans.
Since the death of my sister, Sam, I have moved into a new home, returned to work, left Ponca, started seeing private practice clients, and slowly returned to social media. I have also continued walking through difficult seasons with my family involving both mental and physical health concerns.
Life didn't stop when my sister died.
In fact, sometimes it felt like it sped up.
But these past few months have taught me more than I could have imagined. I've learned a lot about myself, but I've also learned a lot about grief.
In the beginning, there were so many feelings. The tears wouldn't stop.
But then life kept going.
And eventually, I felt like I had to stop too.
I had to tell my grief to wait.
Wait until my family heals from medical and mental health issues.
Wait until I leave Ponca.
Wait until Leo gets into a new daycare.
Wait until things calm down.
Wait. Wait. Wait.
Somewhere along the way, I think I convinced myself that once everything else had a solution, then I could grieve.
But I have learned that grief can't always wait.
And it certainly doesn't wait until you're ready.
Over the past few weeks, my grief has started coming out in ways I haven't always wanted it to.
It has been there in the mornings when I don't want to get out of bed and start another day knowing life is different.
Sometimes it looks like isolating myself without even realizing I'm doing it.
It is the tears that suddenly appear when I hear a song or watch a movie.
Sometimes it shows itself through anger or frustration toward the people I love.
And sometimes it comes out in big, ugly sobs the moment I walk into my own therapy appointment.
But honestly?
I can't blame the grief.
It has been pushing at me for weeks, trying to find somewhere to go, while I have continued telling it:
Not yet.
One of the hardest things I have learned is that life doesn't stop for you to heal.
There will still be appointments.
There will still be responsibilities.
There will still be people who need you.
There will still be problems that need solutions.
There will still be work, parenting, relationships, celebrations, decisions, and everyday life.
And sometimes all of that happens while a part of you is quietly hurting underneath it.
But I have also learned something else:
Grief will find a way to get out.
Maybe that's why I've started thinking about grief like water.
I can't control the waves.
Some days the water is calm. I can talk about Sam. I can remember something funny. I can look at a picture and smile.
Other days, a wave comes out of nowhere and knocks me over.
And sometimes I'm so tired from everything else happening around me that I don't feel like I have the energy to swim at all.
I'm learning that I don't have to fight the water every time.
Sometimes I can just float.
Learning to Make Room for Grief
So, as I learn how to swim through grief, I've realized I also need to intentionally make time for it.
I need to sit and give myself permission to cry.
I need to write about the pain instead of constantly pushing it away.
I need to talk about Sam and share stories about her.
I need to allow myself to miss her.
And I need to stop being afraid of falling apart.
Because grief is normal.
It is okay to cry.
It is okay to be angry.
It is okay to be quiet.
It is okay to laugh at a memory and feel happy for a moment.
It is okay to have a good day.
And it is okay when another wave comes tomorrow.
There is no proper way to grieve.
There is no timeline telling me when I should be okay.
And I don't have to wait until every other problem in my life has been solved before I'm allowed to feel what I feel.
Life may not stop for us to heal.
But maybe healing doesn't require life to stop.
Maybe I just must learn how to make room for grief while life continues around me.
To cry when I need to cry.
To float when I'm too tired to swim.
To accept a hand when I need help staying above the water.
And to enjoy the calm days without feeling guilty that, for a moment, the waves aren't quite as strong.
I'm still learning how to swim through all of this.
Some days I'm better at it than others.
But I'm finally learning that I don't have to keep telling my grief:
Not yet.
I can let it come.
