Grief Will No Longer Be My Crutch

We were graciously gifted a queen-sized bed from my parents (previously used, but still in excellent condition) that would replace the poor-quality full-sized bed in our guest room.

As this was the first queen sized bed we ever owned, I now had to come up with bedding.

Between a quick jaunt to Homegoods and snagging a nice comforter and two extras pillows from my mom...I now had a beautiful, neutral gray color scheme assembled....that didn't match my foggy blue walls.

Shit.

I was more in love with the bedding than I was the walls, so logically the only answer was to zip over to Ace, grab a gallon of paint, and spend the next three hours frantically painting, sipping Grapefruit Shandy's, and blasting Tom Petty.

And it was glorious.

This, my friends, is my mecca.
The windows were wide open, the warm wind swirling around the room.

It makes me happy to know I can create something beautiful with my own hands.
I have found more joy in minor home renovations during this season of grief than I ever imagined.

I feel glimpses of the real me during these times.
Happy, determined, unwavering, confident.

I want to move past this uncontrollable sadness and anger so bad I can't stand it.
I feel like I need to push myself past the anxiety and just. go. outside already.
I don't know why it's so different than when I would get ready to go to work...but it just is.

Did you know that it was nearly 80 degrees this entire weekend, and I didn't go outside once to enjoy it?
This is soooooo not like me. I live for warm weather.

I almost feel like I need to start forcing myself to say yes.
Just say yes.
Get to wherever I'm asked to be and see how I feel.
Right?

Mark shined up the new car all day Saturday, then asked me to go to dinner.
Such a nice gesture, right?

Well, apparently not for someone like me.
I huffed and puffed and cried and said I couldn't do it.

So instead, he went to the grocery store, bought lobster and wine, and made us dinner.

I mean...COME. ON. Who wouldn't be appreciative of that?

He is doing his part to accept his new crazy wife.
But shouldn't I be doing my part to be less crazy for him?

And then of course I felt guilty because he's so awesome and I'm so awful right now.

I'm so tired of feeling like this reclusive asshole.
I'm so tired of apologizing for my atrocious behavior.
I'm so tired of feeling like I'm using this crutch of grief to keep acting like a menace and just telling everyone they need to accept it.
I'm not me.

Right now I feel like I'm at that point in Kill Bill when she is buried in a wooden coffin, many feet below ground, where she has to literally punch her way out of the box and climb to the surface.

I'm past the point of running around scared and blaming grief.
I'm ready to punch through the fucking box and start climbing.

I know the fun, loud, laughing, sarcastic girl is in there somewhere.
I have been sitting around trying to wait for her to come back, but maybe I've been doing it wrong.
Maybe I have to resolve to go get her.
To force her back.
To get out my reclusive comfort zone and start living life again.

I keep watching warm, sunny days and people's laughter and gatherings from a distance.
I'm tired of watching everything as though it's a movie.

Grief will no longer be my crutch.
It will no longer define me.
I am so much more than infertility, and this loss, and this grief.

And I'll prove it.
Thanks for reading. XO