Even though I didn’t want to, I cried

Because I had transformed

BONUS CONTENT

A little break from the regular series. The thing about writing ‘A Writer’s Life’ is that I am trying to keep it real. Yes, I will share my journey including lessons I have learned, advice and encouragement I can offer; alongside my actual writing. My life as a writer is built upon life experiences I have had and inspiration I gather. Here is a piece I wrote and published on Medium on October 10th. No audio today but I still share a poem at the end especially for you, my newsletter community.

5 minute read

I keep spilling water today. Just a splash here or there although the top I’m currently wearing is wet from over enthusiastic washing up. Maybe I’m spilling water because I haven’t spilled enough water in the past; in the form of tears that is.

Photo by Stormseeker on Unsplash

I have many reasons to cry but mostly due to loss, bereavement and grief. I have a complicated relationship with October. Where I live in Nottingham, England we have an annual fair. And I mean a fair! It is one of the biggest travelling fairs in Europe and it has been going for hundreds of years. I loved going as a child and I have been every single year (apart from the last two pandemic years) since I was two. I lived in London for ten years and still came back for Goose Fair. But I realised that the past ten, twenty or so years, I was going not for the reasons I went in the past (atmosphere, rides, awesome food, pretty lights) but to try to reclaim my happiness.

Nottingham Goose Fair image from Google

For decades I have felt like the last time I was happy was when I went to the fair merely days before we received the news that my brother, my nephew and my two nieces had been killed: causes of death gunshot wound to the head. I won’t go into the details because this post is about the aftermath of loss and not necessarily the event itself.

This is the very first year I haven’t gone to the fair. There has been a shift in me. I always find October difficult because I have three days one after the other that are the anniversaries of losing people I love. My brother and the kids, my very good friend, and my dad: three days — six people. I fear October. I fear it because I wonder who else will leave my life. I fear it because I don’t know how I will react. Will I cry? Should I keep myself busy so I don’t think about it? Am I good for crying or not crying? Regardless, I think about October and start to dread it from August. I count down from the 1st and breathe a sigh of partial relief once the month is finally out.

Photo by Maddi Bazzocco on Unsplash

Breathe. A luxury. And not because I have severe asthma. The pain of losing someone you love, cherish and simply adore is actually physical. For me, it isn’t the lump in your throat when you want to cry; it’s the restriction in my chest. Like some giant hand has torn into my torso, grabbed my heart and squeezed. I can feel my heart getting smaller and tighter; compact, heavy. I stop breathing sometimes because I don’t want to feel. Sometimes I can’t feel. Numb. Like I never felt anything, ever.

This battle of emotions. They all come at you, sometimes one after the other or worse all at once. It leaves you spinning, disorientated and lost. So, you shut them off. Pull that huge power lever down and plunge yourself into darkness. Post a sentry at the door. The three headed Cerebrus.

But somehow, this year for the first time, I have felt a change in me, a transformation. It’s likely a combination of time passing, the work I have done on myself and this writing practice. I have summoned my hero within who has wielded a weapon of freedom. Destroyed the gatekeeper to my emotions, blown up the dam and allowed the emotions and tears to flood, uncensored, raw and totally honest. Just like this piece of writing I am sharing.

I have thought in the past about writing about my experience of grief but I couldn’t bring myself to relieve the losses that caused it. I have had so much bereavement. It has stalked me. For a long time. At one point in my life, it felt like I was only existing, just waiting for the next person to die. The next funeral to attend. The next eulogy to read.

I know that others have experienced loss, grief and bereavement. For me it is different every time. Every single time. I can’t predict it. People gravitate towards me because they think I have so much experience with it and I have been so strong. What I have actually been is, untrue. Not true to myself. I have hidden. I have fooled myself and not stepped up into the truth of who I am. Until today.

Today, I have cried tears of sadness and that is ok. Today I have written about how I feel when journalling in morning pages. Today I have decided to not go to the fair; because I can stop a tradition when I want to, especially when the reasons and motivations are not true to how I feel.

I do still feel like the last time I was really truly happy was when I had my whole family complete, before it happened. But I must acknowledge I have had happy times. Yes, I have experienced depression, anxiety and sadness but it hasn’t defined me. One reason I haven’t been happy is because I haven’t allowed myself to be me, to experience me and not who others want me to be. I have been scared to be me and that has stemmed from childhood experiences and experiences running rampant through my bloodline and DNA.

Today I introduce myself to you. This post is raw, unfiltered, unedited and it is me.

This is a side step from my series about becoming a writer and sharing my writing journey. It is still my journey though. Today feels significant. Maybe it is in the skies and the stars. Who knows. I sincerely hope that reading this helps someone who may have experienced loss in whatever form. I don’t have the answers or any special tricks or strategies. What I share with you is that there can be growth, transformation and as always, change. And you’re not alone.

I really would love to connect with you and hear from you. Please click reply even to let me know you’re out there! From the bottom of my scarred but strong, beating, open and ever growing heart, I thank you for reading.

So tired of loss
And angry
So sad of losing
My loved ones
So fed up
Of funerals, eulogies
Cemeteries, coffins and tears
So over being strong
Supporting everyone but
Me
I have lost so much
With no space to grieve
No time, no energy
It’s no wonder
I find it hard
To let go, release

Even when holding on
Is bad for me

Grasping at
Toxic, rotten, foul
Things
That bring me down
So scared of loss
The experience too hard
Too familiar
Too often
But I know and I am
Learning
To let go
To grieve
To make space

For the divine things
The good things
Peace, joy and love
My entitlement
My birthright

My being.

©2022 Sarah Elliott

Taken from my book Warrior Wisdom Sun - click to order 

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