Who else is afraid of their tears? I used to take calculated steps of avoidance to outpace my tears. Always staying in control.
Diving head first into my grief was the hardest thing. After my dad died when I was 4, I couldn’t talk about it. I could barely think about it without welcoming a distraction, ANY distraction. I remember sometimes I’d see a picture of my dad and feel guilty.
One day the switch flipped and I suddenly started incorporating him and his loss into my vocabulary and gave him mindshare and air time during table talk. It felt good to share my story, to have others bear witness.
I was done being numb.
I scheduled time on my calendar to grieve. Just like I’d slot for a dentist appointment or a haircut. It was refreshing to give myself the space and permission to feel the giant gaping hole in my heart. Space to cry, scream, bang on pillows, fall into a ball on the floor, often resembling a child’s temper tantrum. I let my body move whichever way it wanted.
I learned from Mama Gena that every great story starts with a rupture.
My rupture birthed my purpose.
Tell me, love, whats the gaping hole in your heart?