The weight we sometimes lose is often not the version that stares back up at us unforgivably. It isn’t what we put into mouth versus the energy we expend during our next workout. Sometimes it is balled up and crumpled like a piece of paper in a heart beating us down and holding our hearts hostage. Sometimes it is more painful than any other sort of weight that we sweat from our pores.
As I scoured through my Facebook news feed today I came across a blog post. Most of the time I don’t reread shared blog posts on Facebook. But the person who shared it rarely shares something unless it is good. So I clicked it and I skimmed. I saw the words
Everything doesn’t happen the way it should
Let them go.
And I skimmed back up to the top and I dove in. Midway through the tears were flowing because the words pierced me. The last year as I have tackled my gravity mass on my body I recognized many of my issues with food were just that…issues. The fear of not having enough, the fear of being seen for who I was, the fear of being who I am meant to be and the bravery of letting it all hang out. The last few years have been incredibly frustrating for me as I tackled my own brain because I literally have surmounted the impossible. But the image in my mirror made me physically sick.
Admitting in February to myself out loud that I wanted to be fat hurt. It hurt because it was my truth. I realized then I didn’t know why or how but that no longer could I be my biggest critic. I spent the last two years of my life being shown grief and so many years before that building up to what I had become and I could not answer why? What made me become this way? Why did it get so out of hand? Why couldn’t it be conquered?
This set me on this path of looking at the hard things and hard parts of relationships that didn’t always work. That is never easy to face, but I knew to get to the other side of this part I had to. I have had some grief in my life and much of it lived out here on my blog. Some of it easier than others….but two years ago things drastically changed.
Some things in life cannot be fixed. They can only be carried.
These words come from my dear friend Megan Devine, one of the only writers in the field of loss and trauma I endorse. These words are so poignant because they aim right at the pathetic platitudes our culture has come to embody on a increasingly hopeless level. Losing a child cannot be fixed. Being diagnosed with a debilitating illness cannot be fixed. Facing the betrayal of your closest confidante cannot be fixed.
They can only be carried.
And much of that journey I have made was a solo one. I found myself not surrounded by those that loved me unconditionally or even in kind ways. Instead, I found those that loved me couldn’t love me in the way I needed it and instead of feeling like I was deficit something I needed to realize it was their deficit. Not mine. And honestly that is hard. It is hard especially when it is those who are supposed to love you. The ones that are “your” people.
So if anyone tells you some form of get over it, move on, or rise above, you can let them go.
If anyone avoids you amidst loss, or pretends like it didn’t happen, or disappears from your life, you can let them go.
If anyone tells you that all is not lost, that it happened for a reason, that you’ll become better as a result of your grief, you can let them go.
But your true people are the ones that stand in your silence and aren’t afraid by it, or demand more from you than you can physically give. It isn’t always about having the answers, sometimes it is just as simple as saying, “I don’t have the answers, but I have you.”