I was so excited for the opportunity to blog, which was shortly met with anxiety and “buyer’s remorse”. What did I commit to? Who really wants to hear my story. I wanted to quit before I began. I also wanted to quit being a widow. You see if I go through with telling my story, then I’m owning being a widow (is there a return policy I can review here? Do I have to wear black? I have questions). I wasn’t ready to own it and be raw. I can tell a version of my story without blinking now. But just the cliff notes…the world gets the cliff notes, and the world sees the easy part. The smiling face, the girl taking on the world. But, there are still moments I haven’t even talked about with the people closest to me. Even writing this makes me flashback, which is too sad, too real, too raw, too everything. So again, buyer’s remorse kicking in…. why did I sign up for this? (I like to wear pretty colors)
With everything lately, I have this yo-yo effect of excitement, then doom…I can’t commit to anything because I can’t even sort out my own emotions half the time. Ever since Marco passed away I am torn between keeping his legacy alive and living for myself. Torn between staying a Widow and emerging and growing on my own. But that’s the thing…. as I focus more on myself and do what makes me happy I realize that I don’t have to decide. I don’t have to put aside my widow hat to make decisions to better my own life. Living for me is not forgetting him.
I don’t have to wear black and be a part of the club (or live in the Temple of the Dosh Khaleen…for my Game of Thrones fanatics). I’m afraid that blogging about my life as a widow will pigeon hole me to only be a widow, and that’s it. I must forever be stamped a sad grieving widow and not be anything else… amirite? So wrong! I’m learning It’s OK to be sad about what has happened but be still hopeful for my future. It’s OK to burn the stereotype down like Khaleesi did with the temple of Dosh Khaleen (seriously I cannot wait for Game of Thrones, it’s the little things guys). It is not my responsibility to live up (or down) to societal expectations and to have the widow burden of keeping his memory alive smother my own flame. It’s OK to live my life for me.
If I continue to talk about it, does not mean I am owned by it. I am Lorah, I happen to also be a widow, but that’s not who I am. Which is a struggle every day. I am a living breathing oxymoron (but hey at least I am breathing) and it is what it is. I enjoy writing, but don’t read. I love fitness and fried foods. I want to stay up until the sunrise and get lots of sleep. I am stuck between YOLO and “everything can kill you” (widow probs). I am a happy, sad, hopeful, fearless, and fearful widow. Please don’t define me by my trauma, but also please bear with my emotions because I’ve been through a lot. I can be a masterpiece and a work in progress simultaneously and that’s OK. Whatever I do it’s OK, even when it’s not… it’s OK.
To answer my own question, why am I doing this? Because after writing this, I feel a tiny bit of weight off my shoulder (even if it is just an ounce, I will take it). The “I know exactly how you feel” moment that will come from others in the “widow club”. It is all therapeutic, as raw and vulnerable as it is, still therapy and I will take it. And if I want to wear black on Wednesday I will.