Feeling Disoriented

A common thread amongst writings and reflections concerning grief is the idea of the individual experience: everyone grieves differently, the emotions unique to the individual.

While that’s certainly true, here’s the part they don’t tell you, or at least the part with which I’ve been struggling since my wife passed: turns out I’ve internalized a hell of a lot of information about how I’m supposed to be feeling right now, narratives that have somehow seeped in through my experiences in the cultural milieu. Perhaps it’s movies, stories, news articles, or even novels that present a blue print for how someone is supposed to process the loss of a spouse.

This wasn’t a conscious thing: I had no idea these narratives were in my head until I started going through the grieving process.

And while I agree with those who tell me that I have the right to experience grief in my own way, I’m a human being, which means I’m a social creature who is constantly comparing my experiences to those of others. So yes, I agree that my emotions are my own, but my experiences haven’t matched these implicit expectations about grief. End result: I’m feeling incredibly disoriented.

That’s been a theme of the last two months: confusion and discomfort about my emotional reaction. Questions like ‘Is it okay for me to be feeling this way?’ in response to my emotions. Guilt. Uncertainty.

So what was the expectation? Chelsea was the best part of my life, and the implicit grief narrative I absorbed suggested that my grief should be in proportion to the strength of my relationship with Chelsea, meaning huge. But that’s not how it played out. Sure, I’ve been really sad in the last two months, but nowhere near as sad as I thought I would be. I’ve found a strength and a sense of joy in remembering the life that Chelsea and I had, so much so that the positive emotions have rivaled the negative emotions in both frequency and intensity.

There’s a part of me that feels like my reaction to this tragedy has been a parting gift from Chelsea: almost like she wrapped a warm blanket around me that shielded me from the bitter chill of loss. There’s another part of me that feels like the strength I’ve experienced is an incredible validation of our relationship: what if the implicit narratives about loss are wrong, and that a strong relationship actually aids you in the grieving process?

And yet the implicit narratives are dominant enough to make me question my reactions, that sense of disorientation robbing me of the opportunity to take some pride in my reaction. To be inside my head and heart right now is to be standing on a foundation of sand. I can’t quite get my footing, and it feels as if the ground is constantly shifting beneath my feet.