October 5, 2020 8:00 am Published by

It’s been hard to write lately. 

Grief shifts your focus in some profound ways, some, quite useful in that you prioritize people and relationships with greater weight. It also shifts productivity.  

I’ve been here before. I’m a doer, and I know what I need to be doing. I’m a list-maker, and I love my work. I’m keenly aware my identity is wrapped up in all I do. And grief, it paralyzes me. My productivity wanes, I don’t focus as well, I am challenged to do things which normally come with ease. It’s a struggle to start, though once I get started it’s as if I can’t stop – it’s a great escape for the vast feelings just under the surface and once deep into whatever it is I’m doing, I don’t want to stop. It’s as if another part of me knows once I stop I will feel again so I’d rather stay in this safe, focused place, devoid of those painful and tender feelings waiting for me. 

It’s a process only healed in time and though I’ve been here many times, I want to rush it, to hurry through the pain to find some semblance of equilibrium again. I want my mojo back and at times get concerned it’s gone for good. Though I know it’s not and I know there’s no healing rushing through this, I also believe knowing is a booby prize. 

So, I write, and I compartmentalize and slowly, I’ll heal. The control freak, doer and feeler in me will struggle my way through…it’s the only way.