You can’t fix me

Sometimes I want to scream at people: “You Can’t Fix Me”.

because sometimes, I get so sick of hearing that I need to “look after myself” or “do something for myself” or “make it happen” or “chin up” or “forge ahead”.

Sometimes it’s just too much when friends and colleagues minimise my grief in their misguided belief that they would know how to grieve properly if our positions were reversed.

(The same people that go to pieces if they have a sniffle and won’t make it to the gym that day.)

No, they’d grieve properly, have it together within a year and make rational decisions to take their lives onwards and upwards.

They’d “go to counselling” and “get the help they need” to get on with their lives.

Maybe a tasteful shrine with a few candles on the mantle to remember their love.
A weekly visit to the cemetery: fresh flowers on the grave.

They’d get themselves that new job that fits in with their altered lifestyle.

They wouldn’t suffer the grief fog, the loss of short-term memory, the sudden tears, the incapacitating sadness that saps all energy yet prevents you from sleep.

They quote some random bereaved person their aunty’s girlfriend’s hairdresser’s mother knows who has “coped admirably” with grief…. and cite it as “if they can do it, you can too”.  Never realising that the person they speak of most likely is showing them the brave face  and not the face screwed up in the agony which is widowhood.

NO, not for them this incorrect grief….

I am tired of explaining that life doesn’t work that way.

That “The Secret” isn’t based on scientific fact.  You can’t just wish you woes away anymore than you can make your beloved rise from the dead.

…and I hate that they overlook the incredible feat of strength and endurance I go through on a daily basis Just To Get Through The Day.

I wish they could see the progress I’ve made.

I wish they could know how hard this is without me having to spell it out.

Yes I am helping myself.

Yes I am doing everything in my power to move forward.

…and I am doing a bloody good job of it.

But I wish they’d stop thinking that they know how to fix me.

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8 thoughts on “You can’t fix me

  1. Lynda M O says:

    Would that others could fix us; we’d all be feeling like someone else… to what end I am not sure.

  2. jayne13 says:

    Screw ’em.
    You fix yourself as you know best.
    Not that you need ‘fixing’….just time and life.
    xxxxxxxxxxxxx

  3. Rhu says:

    I wish I knew what to say. Words are trite and I do not ever want to sound condesending. Hugs from us x

  4. Yes you are. A BLOODY good job. I see enormous strides from way back here in the nosebleed seats. And you might not hear it, but I am cheering each and every day.

    I hope those have said these things which upset you, do so only from a place of ‘not knowing what else to say’. Thinking they are helping… as Rhu said, it’s hard to find the right words sometimes. Sending you hugs and a standing ovation.

    BB

  5. corymbia says:

    Just to be clear honey – NOBODY here has said anything to upset me – you are all so supportive and I can’t tell you how much that means to me. BB – you have been so lovely to me this whole time – I can never thank you enough!
    Love youse all (that last sentence brought to you by cold medication).

  6. I’d love to fix things up so you weren’t in pain, but I know that’s impossible 😦

    And single parenting is hard, even with a supportive family (I’ve been the kid). There is a LOT more planning involved even for things like school events, school holidays, or when a child is sick.

    I am reminded of a friend who found herself teaching a lot of Bright Young Things a pastoral care course at a theological college. Most of them seemed to think you could do a kind of Three Steps Out of Grief and hey presto, people would be “better”!! But if we worked like that, we wouldn’t be people, would we?

  7. Love to you. xx That is all I can say, Oh and just keep swimming.

  8. Veronica says:

    Lots of years ago, widows would wear black and cut their hair, so that people could see that they were grieving. People expected the grief and I can’t help but think it was a better system, than this one, where you’re expected to get better, so quickly.

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