#70 Take a writing course

I love writing but the same thing that happened with my reading, occurred in the writing aspirations: life got in the way. And then I came across this course called 'Writing your Grief'. It's run by a psychologist from Seattle who lost her husband six years ago. She sends you daily prompts from which you can start your writing. Some days it was a poem, other days a simple question like 'How are you kind to yourself'. If you wanted to, you could share your writing with the private Facebook group of other writers. I'll be honest, it was tough. Most days, I felt broken, battered and bruised after these moments of self-reflection. But at the same time, it was good. I knew I needed this. It allowed me to face my grief head on, to look at it from different perspectives, to give it some space rather than push it away. So for 30 days I wrote, every single day. And I shared. And I read the writings of others. That was a big part of this too. Feeling less alone in this, finding words that resonated with me but that I myself could not write down. It has been a kaleidoscopic experience, for lack of a better word. Every day my grief was still there, but every day it was a little different.

My writings are not meant for everyone, but in the spirit of not being afraid to be vulnerable I would like to share this one. It is one of the few ones that actually made me smile more than it made me cry. The prompt asked you to explore how new people who have never met the one you lost can still see his being within you, how he has changed you, how they get to know him through knowing you. This is what I came up with.

Because you love me, I eat pancakes and bacon every Sunday morning, without worrying about weighing myself the next day. I enjoy the occasional beef jerky, add brocolli to every meal and only eat the top of my lemon poppyseed muffin, saving the bottom half for you. Because you love me, I have notepads lying around all over the house, I check the oil in my car regularly and never let the gas tank run under less than a quarter full.

Because you love me, I feel kindness and warmth for the people around me. I respect people's choices, even if they hurt me. I let go off things, even if I think I should react. Because you love me, I try to be better than I was yesterday. I try to believe in my dreams again. I am not afraid to try new things, like surfing and snowboarding. Because you love me, I smile every morning when I see the sun rise over the mountains. I feel a calmness when I listen to the waves crashing on the beach.

Because you love me, I am soft and kind to myself. I run a bath when my body is aching, I stretch after my runs. Because you love me, I listen to your voice and I give myself time. Because you love me, I keep going. Fighting to survive, to change from 'existing' to 'living' to 'laughing' and 'loving' again. Because you love me, I am not afraid. I have hope that one day I will be okay. Because you love me, I am firmly planting my feet, more than ever before.

Because you love me, there is a sparkle hidden, somewhere deep inside me, waiting for it to be safe enough to come out again. Because you love me, I am who I am today and I see the beauty that you saw in me. I am more determined (read: stubborn) than I ever was before. You could never outstubborn me again, because I carry both of our stubbornesses inside me now. Because you love me, I am confident, confident to be who you loved: the most incredible person you have ever met (your words, not mine). Because you love me, I love me.