My therapist leaned forward in her chair. "What is your soul, your inner true self, want right now?"
Without hesitation, "Peace." I looked out the window; low grey clouds filled the glass panels. Heavy tears streaked down my cheeks. "I'm exhausted. My spirit, my nervous system, I just want quiet."
"It's time you listen, don't you think—no one else, all the outside chatter doesn't exist, and it doesn't matter."
I see my therapist weekly. If I have a flare-up, I reschedule for the following week; I'm grateful for her understanding and flexibility. This schedule began well before Dad passed away because I knew I needed a place to go to process and brain vomit. I was well aware his death would change me.
Gut me.
Emotionally electrocute me.
Leave me raw and exposed.
Vulnerable.
His absence hangs heavily from my ribcage, shifting and tightening through every molecule.
Dad's words echo in my mind. "You'll get through the first day and then the next and the next."
He was right.
But he didn't say it would be easy.
Because he knew it wouldn't be.
Dad wasn't one to blow sunshine and rainbows up my ass.
Whenever I was with him, he'd drop some dad wisdom, everything from daily antidotes to old man philosophy.
He worried about me; he'd tell me to stay home because he didn't want me to flare up, or when I did have one, he'd text every hour. I hated missing out on time with Dad; however, sometimes, I didn't have a choice. My body made it for me.
The greatest fear among those who care about me is my nervous system imploding again.
It's mine as well.
When the pain reaches alarming peaks, I feel powerless. I'm always in pain, but the flare-ups puncture my nervous system without mercy. It's tethered to my emotions and stress levels *Vagus Nerve raising her hand*
I've noticed when I vault my grief to appease others, my body suffers. I thought I was feeling it all, but I wasn't. The phrase season of grief came to mind; it's not a season at all. There isn't a timeline for grief. It won't magically cease to exist in six months. I will carry this grief with me because it's love.
I carry love.
Vaulting that love isn't fair to me and isn't fair to Dad.
When my grief coexists within, my nervous system is grateful.
There is peace.
Now, it's time to figure out how to preserve that peace.
