I remember a time when I didn’t have language for losing my dad beyond this auto-response sentence “My dad died when I was 4 and then my mom remarried to a man who was also widowed and I got a new dad and gained a sister.” I’d been using this response for years to describe what happened to my family. It was easier to language the fairytale ending I was blessed to have than the numbness I concurrently felt.

It wasn’t just that I couldn’t talk about my dad’s death, I could barely think about it without welcoming a distraction, ANY distraction. I remember sometimes I’d see a picture of my birth dad and feel so far removed and then I’d feel guilty for those thoughts. That was my cycle. And I was doing my best.

Truth is, I was afraid to rupture the solid foundation of avoidance and numbness I had built for myself. I was afraid what was on the other side of unfurling. I was afraid my grief was going to consume my world and I’d get stuck in a bottomless pit of tears. I know I’m not alone in this… whether it’s grieving the loss of a loved one, a job, a move, a relationship.

It’s easy to bypass our emotions, to find a million and one distractions so we don’t have to address the thing that causes us the most pain… but little do we know that same thing is the ticket to our bliss.

I scheduled time on my calendar to grieve. Just like I’d slot for a doctors appointment or a haircut. It was refreshing to give myself the permission to feel the giant gaping hole in my heart. Space to cry, scream, punch on pillows, fall into a ball on the floor, often resembling a child’s temper tantrum. I let my body move whichever way she wanted.

November 2018 was a turning point in my journey. At a women’s retreat, I was witnessed by thousands of women in my darkness - my rage, my grief, my fear. I discovered how much pleasure could be found in my body.

After this day the switch flipped and I suddenly started incorporating my dad and his loss into my vocabulary and gave him share of mind and air time during table talk. I remember testing the waters by bringing up his death with friends and family. I let the floodgates that had been closed 25+ years burst open, and it wasn’t as bad as I expected. I felt more me. I felt more empowered. And with the tools I’d learned from my teachers, I felt more alive and turned on than I could remember.