NOTE FROM DEBBIE: This is not an original piece. Rather, it is an article that was submitted to me by someone who I have the utmost respect for. This person wished to remain mostly anonymous, but thought her story may help people who are in great crisis to understand both that seasons change, and that help really is at hand when the going gets very - VERY - tough. After I read this post, I commented to the author how struck I was by the amount of work she had invested in her own healing... That, YES!, she sourced her healing modalities and healing people, but that SHE dug deep to grieve, grapple and grow. I'm inspired by what is ultimately a story of human spirit, courage and hope.

My husband of 8 years passed away in 1987, when he was just 29 and I was 27.  After his death, I didn’t quite know what to do with myself. I was in some kind of shock for a very long time. Each day I got
up, went to work, and came home to sort through his personal things. I sold the boat, the car, and eventually the house, all in a robotic daze. I thought about staying in the house, but it was too big for one person, and too expensive on my salary. Thank goodness I had a full time job and was getting some income.

Thank goodness my husband had good life insurance.

Thank goodness for my parents, who were there for me so much during that time.

Thank goodness also for his sister; I stayed at her house a lot the first month or so.  

Of course I missed him terribly, but I don’t think the reality or long-term consequences had sunk in. My dad helped me find a nice 2-bedroom condo, just the right size for me; it was brand new, and it was actually such a new experience for me, at age 27, to be single, on my own, and living alone in my own place. I had never had that before. I still live in that same condo, by the way!

My parents were concerned about me being alone, and I thought about moving back to my home town 2 hours away to be closer to them, but I had my full time job that I loved, and was also teaching part time by then, and I liked living in my bigger city. So I thought well, I can always give living alone a try, and move
later if I don’t like it. Living alone had its pros - I really enjoyed being “free” to do my own things. I had never experienced that before (I went right from my parents’ home to my husband’s home), so it was fun and felt very grown-up to be responsible for myself. However, as I soon realized, it had its cons, too.  Nights were horrible. I was lonely, afraid, nervous, anxious, and I spent many sleepless nights lying awake
crying desolately for my husband and my married life.

As time wore on and it became close to a year since his passing, things got harder for me instead of easier. Life on my own was too difficult, yet somehow I knew I had to get through this and not run back to mom and dad. I knew I had to learn how to be on my own. I was angry all the time. I had this anger inside of me that would just jump out over any little thing. I recognized this was not my natural personality, and yet I couldn’t stop myself from being angry! I had made my own friends by this time, and I placed inappropriate demands on them to be with me all the time, and when they couldn’t, I couldn’t rationalize that
they had their own lives and families to take care of. I felt abandoned.

Abandoned is the word. I felt abandoned by my husband. I would get angry at him for leaving me, and then I’d immediately feel guilty for being angry at him, because I loved him and he didn’t plan to get sick. He didn’t plan to leave me.

I was just mad that he was GONE. I was resentful that he went away and left me to deal with work, car problems, paying bills, organizing my life, and yes, even stupid little things like leaving me to take out the garbage. It took me a long time to cry after he first died, but the waterworks would not shut off now. I know I sound like a big baby, and I was. I admit it. I was ready to grow up, but I didn’t know how! I was extremely depressed and didn’t know it.

I am grateful I never liked alcohol or was never into drugs. If I had been, that would have been the time in my life when I would have turned to them for comfort. Instead, I started living a very free and single life. I found friends who liked to go clubbing, and we all went as a group two or three nights a week to go dancing. I didn’t drink anything but Diet Coke, but I found I really enjoyed the loud music, the crowds, the freedom of just letting yourself go and dancing to the heavy beat of the music. I wasn’t even into the guys there, but I loved being in an atmosphere where I could do whatever I want on the dance floor, no one would judge me, they don’t know my past, they don’t know me. That felt really good. But only for a few hours. Once I got home, I would crumble into a crying heap and beg my beloved husband to somehow come back to me and put my life back in order.

I was driving down to see my parents at least once a month or more. One weekend when I was there, things came to a head. I don’t even know what triggered it, but suddenly one night I couldn’t stop crying. I really worked myself up into a frenzy and got hysterical. I couldn’t calm down. I was in bed, and my parents
could not get me to stop screaming and crying. And boy, was I screaming!

I was really losing it. My mom threw water on me and I finally stopped screaming, but I sobbed for hours and said I wanted to die. This scared my mom to pieces, so she called me in sick to work and said I had to stay with them a bit longer. I didn’t protest. The next morning she made an appointment at a suicide clinic and took me there. I would never have actually committed suicide, I know that for sure, but some part of me didn’t mind dying if it was an accident.  I wouldn’t have minded being on a plane that crashed, for example. I didn’t put myself in any danger on purpose, but I also had this thought that it would be OK if it happened. By the time I got to talk to someone at that clinic, I was over my outburst of the
night before, but now I was drained and empty. I had no emotion left. I was quiet, reserved, and withdrawn. I didn’t feel like answering any of the counselor’s questions, I just sat there and nodded and shrugged. But I did reassure everyone that no, I’m not contemplating suicide.

Not long after that, I realized myself that my behavior is getting way out of control. I realized I was not the cheerful, optimistic girl I used to be. I had anger and resentment built up inside of me, like a volcano ready to erupt, and I was confused and scared about what to do with my life. My health insurance at work offered counseling services, so I called and made an appointment. I didn’t know what else to do. No one suggested it to me (except my mom that one time), but I figured it couldn’t hurt to go talk to someone about why I can’t feel normal. I started going to a professional counselor once a week.

I have to really thank that counselor. To be honest, it was so long ago now that I can’t even remember her name! But she was awesome. On my first few visits, all I did was sit and cry. I paid money to sit and cry for one solid hour, with a few sentences blubbered out about what a mess my life is. Eventually the whole
story came out and the counselor could finally get a grasp on what my issues might be. She gave me a lot of reading material about co-dependency, and lo and behold, it sounded just like me! Wow! I finally realized why I was so easily turned into a doormat, I was a people-pleaser, not a self-pleaser, I was lacking
self-esteem, and I never thought anything I did was good enough. I will never really know WHY I had these issues. It’s just the way I felt within, and now that I knew what my problems were, I could work on changing them. As for coping with the loss of my husband, that was an issue that tied into my co-dependency,
because my enabler was no longer here.

Once I was on a track towards helping myself, the counselor recommended more reading material on the loss of loved ones. Again, she was right on track because I could see that my range of emotions was normal...denial, grief, anger, resentment, and finally acceptance.

At least I knew I was normal, and now I was learning how to control my emotions more.

I spent two whole years going to that counselor once a week. That’s 104 sessions. I worked very hard on myself those two years. It was not an easy task. I would have good days and bad days. I’d have a bunch of good days and then slip back into depression. I kept a journal of my thoughts and emotions so I could recognize my behavior and try to change it. I read everything I could get my hands on about co-dependency and coping with loss. I did not take any medication for the depression. I was determined to do the work myself. I wanted to feel that sense of accomplishment on my own. Slowly but surely, the good
days outnumbered the bad days, until finally I realized during one of my counselor appointments that we were just having some general chit-chat, and actually might have been doing that for the past few sessions. I smiled and told the counselor, “Well, I believe this will be my last visit”. She smiled back and
said, “I’m glad to hear it!” And that was that!

I grew up a lot in those two years. I managed to change my outlook on life. I learned how to control my emotions and how to recognize my depression and what to do to get me out of it. I did a lot of self-evaluation. It took me a long time to be able to feel really good about myself and gain self-worth, self-respect, and self-esteem. One of the best secrets I learned is that others will perceive you based on the way you present yourself. Even if you don’t feel it inside, if you present yourself to the world as a confident, intelligent person, others will see you that way and expect it of you. If you pretend to be that way long enough, it just becomes natural to BE that way, and it takes less work to present yourself that way. That trick worked wonders for me.

I also took some helpful and fun non-credit evening classes at the community college.

I took an assertive training class, so I could learn to stand up for myself and my beliefs. I took a self-esteem class. I took creative writing and some language classes just for fun and to fill up my time. Since I had started the scary world of dating, I actually took a class called “Finding Mr. Right”, which was both entertaining and enlightening. I stopped being so needy for my friends all the time, and stopped going out to the clubs. I focused more on getting to know myself better. What hobbies did I like? What interests do I
have? What are my own values and beliefs? What is my short-term goal, what is my long-term goal? I discovered I am interested in traveling, so my mom and I went on two absolutely wonderful overseas vacations together, the memories of which I treasure forever.  By the end of 1990, I was a much happier and healthier person. Of course I still missed my husband, but I had worked through the phases of grief and could move on. I had become interested in dating, which I did with an almost analytical approach,
like a study of human nature. I was in no hurry to get married again, but I was having fun being my “new” self and exploring the world of dating.

It felt wonderful to finally be cheerful and outgoing again. I had finally found the “real me” and I was pleasantly surprised to find that I liked myself. What I learned during those two years of counselling has helped form who I am today. Sometimes I find myself applying things I learned back then to my life even now. There is nothing wrong with getting counseling to help figure things out. It is not a sign of weakness, but an encouraging sign that you are ready to deal with issues. I highly recommend it.