What it’s Really Like to Start Over (Some Hope from the Future)
Author’s Note: This is for anyone who is starting over, who is lost, grieving a life they were accustomed to, and grieving a future that’s never going to come.
Two years ago today, I started over. I left behind my life with a partner, a house, dogs, cats, and even a version of myself that I’d been living for the better half of a decade. It was heavy. I couldn't picture myself ever not being sad again. It felt like it was never going to get better. It will, though. So if you’re in that place, here’s my story to give you some hope.
FIRST DAY IN THE NEW PLACE [2020]
There’s no logical reason for why I felt so uneasy waking up this morning. I had an amazing day yesterday, full of connection and love and laughs, and was actually really excited as I went to bed last night. I didn’t have any wild dreams, no premonitions of the world ending, none of that.
So why, when I woke up, did I feel such a knot in my stomach? My heart was beating fast as if I was in imminent danger, with that sense that something was very wrong.
I didn't realize why until I grabbed my journal and started writing, as I do most days. Before I could write a word, I did what I always do—I wrote down the date: 1/19/22.
Only then did it all make sense: Oh yea, today is 2 years since I started my life over. I moved out of my house I’d shared with my ex for the better half of a decade. I left my other dog, my cats, and really, the whole life I knew. I left an outdated part of myself there, too.
When I first moved out, I’d count the days that it’d been since I started over to remind myself that time was indeed passing. But these days, life’s been so full with so many other wonderful things, and I lost count a long while ago.
Seeing that date on the page this morning, it all came back to me. It’s funny how we can not consciously be thinking about it, but as author Bessel van der Kolk would say, “The body keeps the score.” My body felt this morning just like I’d felt two years ago, even though none of it was actually happening today. That’s the power of the subconscious and the body’s trauma response. Wild, right?
Suddenly, I remembered what that’d been like back then: waking up with that dread and anxiety of how I was going to get through the next hour, nevermind the whole day. That feeling like being in a burning building, and just needing to get out. Wishing I could just sleep forever, and not have to actually feel this part.
As I always do to help me process, I started writing. I wrote a letter to my second cousin for her first birthday, “You and Me Both, Kiddo,” where I reflected on how in that moment, I felt like that one year old, knowing absolutely nothing about how to live. I didn’t have the slightest clue about how to walk through this new stage of life.
Anyway, I’ve done a fair amount of reflection today and managed to get my body to settle down and come back to the present moment, where my life truly is better than it’s ever been.
Reflecting back, I wanted to share some of my journey. I’m sure someone out there is starting over right now, someone for whom today felt unbearable, and somehow you’ve gotten through and have no idea how you’re going to do it again tomorrow.
If you can relate, then this is for you, friend. Here’s a glimmer of hope from what could be you a few years in the future. I’m not here to butter it up or downplay how hard it is, but let me spill some breadcrumbs that might help you find your way to the other side of the grief you’re in. Ready?
It’s Gonna Suck
Okay, first things first. As you may already be sensing, it’s going to suck for a while. It’s going to be absolutely miserable. You’re going to have days where you really don't know how you’re going to be able to do it.
You’ll have moments where someone asks you how you’re doing, like people have asked you about fifty million times before in your life, but now, you’re not going to be able to hold yourself back from absolutely breaking down right then and there–whether in person, or on Zoom. Trust me, I’ve done both. So keep a fresh stack of tissues nearby at all times.
You’re going to have moments where you catch yourself staring off into space because getting through each moment is just so heavy and time is moving so slow.
You might catch yourself in your car, parking at the grocery store, and just sitting there. And it’s not that you’re listening to music or thinking anything in particular, it’s just that you forget what your next step is. It’s like you’re in this blank void space in your mind and you eventually come back to being in your car in that parking lot, wondering why you’re even there anyway, because you can’t remember the last time you actually had an appetite.
You might find yourself sitting on the toilet and forgetting whether or not you already peed, because your mind is going back and forth between extreme pain and a blur of blankness that never seems like it will never go away.
A friend will probably remind you that your body processes deep emotional pain as if it’s physical pain. In these moments, your body literally cannot tell the difference between a broken heart and a broken leg.
It’s scary. Everything feels upside down. You don’t know what you’re doing anymore. Everything you thought you had figured out, now leaves you so confused. You had a future planned, and now, it’s just gone, a mirage, and you don’t know where you’re headed anymore. Nevermind where you’re going, you don’t even know who the “you” that’s going anywhere is anymore. You don’t know what your routines are anymore, or who the first person you call when something really good or really bad happens.
Standing in the ruins of what used to be
Yeah, that’s starting over. It’s standing there at the ruins of what used to be, and thinking about what skyscraper used to stand there. It’s sorting through all the rubble, all that’s left behind.
Right now, you probably don’t even have the energy to think about building anything new. You probably can’t imagine how there could be any more beautiful building than what was, so why try? Or you might feel like you don’t have a foundation to really build anything on.
That’s okay. Once the dust settles (and it might take several months), you’ll start to see glimmers of the sky through the haze. And then, slowly, you’ll get to decide what you want to build, and what type of builder you want to be.
There’s no shortcut to grief
The key thing here is that there’s no shortcut to grief. You can’t Pass Go and skip through those months of “suck.” It’s necessary.
It’s like the story of the man who saw a butterfly hatching from a cocoon. When he saw how much the little one was struggling to make its way out of a small slit, he decided to help and used his scissors to cut a bigger opening for it to more easily get through.
The only thing is, that butterfly came out of the cocoon and was all shriveled up, and couldn’t fly. You see, fighting its way out of the cocoon is nature’s process of getting blood circulating throughout its wings so it can fly. Without that struggle, the man shortcutted the butterfly’s ability to develop the way it needed to for long-term growth. It might seem like the easier solution in the short term, but there’s no shortcuts with these things.
Grief is the same way. It takes as long as it takes. There’s no timeline. You’re actually much better off if you don’t put pressure on yourself to feel better “by now” or to not be as messed up as you are about it.
Let it flow. The more you embrace the struggle and let the feelings flow through you, the faster it’ll be out of your system and you’ll find yourself at the other side.
The other side: So much will change, and so much will stay the same
Ah, making it to the other side. I can’t tell you exactly when it’ll happen for you, except that it definitely won’t be as soon as you want it to.
And it doesn’t all happen at once, either. But one day, you’ll be getting ready for bed at night and realize you haven't thought about them. You’ll realize it’s a new month, and for once, you lost track and you’re no longer counting how many days ago it all happened. It’ll dawn on you that, yes, you were totally re-discovering and inventing yourself, but at the same time, there’s lots that hasn’t changed about you, too. You might still like country music, you might still be the one who leaves all the lights on around the house, or the one who likes playing the same song on repeat.
So much of you will change, but so much of you will stay the same, too.
You’ll start to see the people in your life that are really there for you for no reason other than that they love you. They don’t need you to perform or to be anything. They don’t expect anything from you because they love you for who you are, even if right now who you are is a crying mess, all the time.
Believe me, those people are out there. They’re amazing. For every jerk that you’re feeling like is taking away your ability to trust, there are at least 10 really kind people out there that will restore your faith in humanity.
Then, you’ll wake up a few years later, like I did this morning, and realize you totally forgot today was the day that a couple years ago, you thought your world was ending. Only now, you realize that it was just beginning. I know that sounds cheesy, but it’s true. The thing that II thought was the worst thing to ever happen to me, you’ll be able to look back on how it’s changed you, and how you wouldn’t trade it because of how you turned it into something good.
Time isn’t what gets you there: it’s what you do with that time
Okay, so none of us wants to be in the sucky part, and we all wish we could fast forward to the other side part. The thing is, people will tell you that it’s time that stands in between those two things.
I disagree. Time is a component, yes. But it’s more about what you do in that time. You can spend all the time you want, but if you’re just trying to bury all the feelings, you probably won’t actually get that far from them. On the other hand, you can choose to use the time in a way that’ll help you grieve and process the feelings so they don’t have their magnetic charge anymore, so you can talk about it without worrying about it stirring up all those old feelings.
What helped me during that in between time
So based on my experience, here’s my advice for getting between those two sides of grief: Feel it. Grieve, cry. Keep talking about it, even though you’re sick of hearing yourself talk about it. Listen to those sad songs on repeat if you need to. Find a therapist. Find some people who really love and support you, and take them up on their offers of kindness. Breakfast, coffee, texting them instead of that other person, when they ask how you’re doing, all of it. Do the heavy soul searching of what really happened back there at the crime scene.
Take an honest inventory–what was your part, what was theirs, what will you take away from this, what will you learn, what are the gifts, the lessons, who will you become as a result?
No matter how bad it ended, no matter how messed up, grim, or as a friend once put it, “rabid” the person or situation was, there are gifts to be learned from this. As Rumi said, “The wound is the place where the Light enters you.” I’d add, the deeper the cut, the more the light is let in. (This song helped me a lot: Ron Sexsmith - Gold In Them Hills.)
You don’t have to do this alone
One thing I’m incredibly grateful for in my journey is all the people that helped me along the way, especially those really dark times. The beautiful thing is that now, on the other side of all that, the day serves as a day to celebrate the love and kindness so many others shared with me to help me get to the other side. I definitely couldn’t have done it alone.
So listen, it’s scary to be vulnerable and let other people in, but I know for a fact that I wouldn’t be where I’m at today if I tried to go at this alone. What’s great about being on the other side of this as well is that you feel the joy of being able to support someone else who is where you were at.
So if you’re struggling, you’re not a burden. Let the people in your life who really care about you show up and show you love. It makes a world of difference. And hopefully you feel some of that love just from this piece. See you on the other side, you’re going to be okay. More than okay.