It was the worst winter of my life. Dad had fallen ill in the fall and as my family and I drove down the long Alberta highway to head to his funeral service in late October, I couldn’t help but think to myself how fitting it was, that the cold snow falling from the gray bleak sky, pelting the windshield, matched my every emotion. I struggled to hold back tears, finally letting the hot tears spill from my eyes, sliding quickly down my cheeks. My throat felt hot and lumpy. I stared out the window through the snow storm, watching the trees whiz by. The branches of the trees were fitting, too. Every leaf had fallen. Even they knew my dad had died. Sadness loomed all around.
In the months that followed, in retrospect, I recognized myself to have been in a state of depression. I no longer found interest or joy in daily routines. Playing the piano, a usual emotional outlet for me, had become less of one. No amount of playing could help me with my emotional angst. I lost interest in all TV shows and movies, preferring to scroll through the internet, sometimes Facebook, or - write. I had always enjoyed writing, but for some reason, following my dad’s passing emerged a compelling need to write in depth, in a reflective style, and always from the heart. I found myself wanting to leave no stone unturned within my writing. Every thought, feeling or emotion I had was explored in the months that followed. I even wrote a story that spoke to me. The characters in it came alive to me, in the sense that I could understand the main character. She longed for a sense of control over her chaotic life. She wanted to take charge and change things up. Not just for herself but to be there for others as well. She wanted to be somebody. As I further explored the character, I began to notice that she was like me. As I wrote about her various characteristics and traits and as the story developed, I noticed something. She wasn’t like me, she was me. What I discovered about ‘her’, AKA me, is that she felt lost. She wanted to find herself. It was an enlightening discovery, to realize as I had been writing it had been about me the entire time. I felt like Dorothy in ‘The Wizard of Oz’ with the red shoes. I had known all along who I was. It just didn’t emerge until I was ready. I don’t know the precise moment I lost myself. I don’t even know the year, to be honest. But I have been on an ongoing search for the past 6 mos. and am discovering more each time I write. I began to recognize that over the years, I became less me and more, someone who was associated with being attached to a title of those in my family. It may not have been that way at all to others! But to myself, I felt as though I were mother and wife, after having left my much-loved career when my daughter was young. I found that I no longer knew who ‘I’ was, anymore. I also realized that who I am today is an entirely different person from who I once was. There are many mothers who stay at home without losing their sense of identity but for some reason, I fell down and got lost along the way. Did having kids change me up? Or aging through the years? Or my life experiences such as my father’s passing? Clearly, a combination of elements that hit me throughout life {and some of them packing a helluva punch} were all factors in making me who I am today. By re-discovering myself, I’ve noted so many things. For example, I profess to be shy, but often am not. Friends have pointed that out to me. Meeting people is still difficult, but I can do it. Stepping into a role at work where I must be outgoing, brings me out of my shell. For too many years I had been at home, focusing on family but doing so while living in my shell, while really needing to be out of my shell in order to be happy and efficient. It’s never comfortable stretching our level of comfort, finding out who we are. I found it helpful though, to recognize some things about myself. I think I am becoming easier to live with for others, as I ‘take care of myself’ and make sure to get out on a regular basis, to work, go out with friends, and chat more often online with friends. Another discovery about myself is that I am an empath and as a result, I tend to heavily guard and protect myself from whatever pain I can. Usually this is by way of keeping to myself and vastly limiting letting others in. I find it’s of no use though; not only do I feel my own pain, I feel others as well. What I did discover though, is that I can write about it in a reflective blog. Journaling has been around for centuries and there is good reason for it. It is truly cathartic for the soul. I am also now less inclined to be as hesitant in a situation. I’m more confident and basically have begun to realize that if I don’t seize life by it’s horns, then it will rear it’s (sometimes) ugly head at me and knock me down. I want to take charge of my own life and not just take a ‘wait and see’ approach. I want to make shit happen, basically, and I intend to do that. I’m gonna’ shake up this thing called life. As Prince once sang “Electric words, life - it means forever and that’s a mighty long time.’ It is. But we don’t know when that time comes to a change in our present physical body, one that ends life as we know it. So as I often mention, I am going to Be Here Now and enjoy every moment I have. I AM going to get that tattoo, ‘Be Here Now’, on my forearm, as a reminder to do just that.
0 Comments
|
AuthorErin Flanagan Stashko Archives
December 2018
Categories |