I woke up early, unable to sleep as the grief moved through me, not in waves, but like a tsunami. I felt pummeled by the sadness that seemed to have no end in sight.
I’m not even sure if I actually slept. The tears rocked me to sleep and began again the moment I opened my eyes.
How could there still be more? Where were they coming from?
My body weak, I curled up on the living room chair. A heating pad on my back, a blanket wrapped around me. I felt dead inside. Or like I was slowly dying and this was the end. An emptying of my last breath of hope.
I hit it- rock bottom. I saw visions of the well being empty and I was at the bottom of it. The water was gone and there was nothing left but sludge from the small drops that once existed, mixed with the dirt that lived there. Dehydrated and malnourished, I could no longer climb my way out.
I would die there, I was sure of it.
As the sun rose, I couldn’t see it. The darkness stayed with me, unwilling to leave. It demanded my attention, my presence. I sat with it, unsure what to do, where to go, who to ask for help.
Why was I even here? What was the point of this life? I had worked so hard for years to be seen, to be considered, to be loved— and I felt none of that.
They all left me. Everyone I ever loved left me, didn’t check on me, didn’t notice me. Didn’t see the quiet, lonely ache that lived underneath all the effort I put into loving them. That’s what it felt like.
I was dying from sorrow and no one cared. They didn’t even know I was here. I sat in this devastation and cried even more.
Why didn’t they love me? Why wasn’t I good enough to be loved?
The darkness covered me in solace like a weighted blanket. That’s all I felt now.
Was this how it all ended?
And then I felt it— the realization. This must be how she felt. My mother. This must be what she experienced at the end before she took her own life.
The deep sorrow. The constant sharp pains of loneliness. The belief, the emptiness that no one cared. No one saw her. No one loved her.
There was nothing left to live for….
My heart wept at the thought of her emptiness. It felt so awful. So desperately awful. Praying for an end to the torture made sense.
I’m sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry I didn’t see you. I’m sorry we didn’t see you.
Despair. The deepest kind. My lifeless body looked out the window, and from the distance I heard a whisper…my therapist’s voice from the day before.
She told me a story of being at a retreat and feeling the pain of grief that she believed would overtake her. She couldn’t imagine feeling any worse and then was told— this is despair. After the despair, we rise again. It shifts.
It was hard to believe this feeling would ever shift. I had never felt so low and empty.I didn’t recognize myself. The girl who wanted to help everyone. Who did help everyone. She had nothing left to give.
I looked out the window again. The sunlight coming through now was even brighter.
“Go outside in the sunlight. The sun will guide you.” I heard the whisper say.
I didn’t know if I had it in me to move my body. After what felt like hours, but may have only been minutes, I got up to put on clothes to go outside and take a drive. The pull to be in the sunlight was stronger than the strength to sit in the despair. I began to drive, and the tears started to fall again.
Who was I with nothing left in me? I had nothing to give to anyone anymore. What will become of me?
I drove aimlessly for the next 45 minutes. With more sunlight coming in, I began to hear myself more clearly. I noticed the collapse of my nervous system, the need for food and water. The recognizable voice that guided me at every turn and every stoplight.
I found myself wanting to go to a coffee shop for nourishment and comfort but did not know where I was. I drove a little further and landed in a town I had never been in and noticed a cute coffee shop in the downtown area. I walked in, tired and ready to land.
The barista was lovely. A ball of light, she seemed to know everyone who came in. Locals, maybe. She was an equal opportunist in the way she treated them with consideration and kindness. I asked for advice on my order. She shared her favorites with delight.
While sitting at a small table in the sun with my tea and breakfast, I pulled out my notebook to journal. I isolated myself in the public space, afraid I would crack if anyone asked anything of me.
The café emptied quickly, and the barista made her way around the corner, cleaning up and organizing a bit. She asked me where I was from. I told her, and she shared that she had just moved back to the area after being away for years. She had some health issues which needed support, and home is where she felt the most secure to do so.
I found myself dialed in, asking questions about her symptoms, offering suggestions to help her support her diet and nervous system. It was clear to me that she had unprocessed trauma showing up in the symptoms her body was showing her.
She absorbed everything I offered. It poured out of me without my even realizing what I was saying. My body felt more energized, like blood was being pumped back into me.The more I helped her, the better I felt.
Not because I had to, because I wanted to. I guess I still had something to offer after all.
When I finished my tea and breakfast, I noticed I felt revitalized. Hopeful. Grateful. For all the learning and suffering I experience, I had something to offer this stranger, who now no longer felt like a stranger.
My pain led me to the medicine I needed, and one this woman needed as well.
With life breathed back into me, I felt ready to live the rest of my day. Tired, but nourished. Drained, but restored. Maybe despair was not the final resting place after all, but the rest stop before life begins again— changed.
In fact, it was. I slept hard that night. And the next. My energy slowly began to come back, as did my hope and sense of purpose.
The despair I dreaded, avoided, and deeply feared, became the experience I learned from, grew from, and now see as a signal my body wants to be held and nourished, not shamed and distracted.
Despair as the sacred resting ground to replenish, re-nourish, and receive comfort, right before the rebirth is experienced.
A cycle of life, not the end.
In a productivity driven culture, grief is avoided as it asks the body to rest and release its tension and allow for sorrow to move through it. Grief asks us to be vulnerable, to be soft, to lay down our swords and shields for a moment and be with necessary sadness we all experience.
The more we actively avoid it, the worse we feel. Anxious, angry, fearful and distraught. Our power is in our ability to rest and release. So we restore the strength and hope to live again with both courage and ease.
How do you respond to despair when it shows up in your life?
Lynn Reilly is a licensed professional counselor, master energy therapist, and author of the self-help book, 30 Days to Me and the children’s book, The Secret to Beating the Dragon. She is also a contributing author telling her story of hope and transformation in the book, Crappy to Happy.
Lynn is a lifelong counselor with an expertise in understanding human behavior and sharing this knowledge with others. Her passion is to inspire people of all ages how to support themselves while living a serendipitous life…a life filled with unexpected joy and passion…a life meant to be.
