Releasing Control
I worked a white magic spell a few days ago. Nothing dramatic. No expectation that it would fix anything. Just an intention to release what I can not control and find peace in that knowing.
I didn’t expect much to come from it, especially this soon. But yesterday and today have been the most peaceful days I’ve had in the many weeks since Greg left.
That doesn’t mean I don’t miss him. I do, every day. I miss his presence. His energy. I miss my person and the home we were building together over the last three plus years. I miss the life I thought we still had time to grow into. That grief is still here. It hasn’t disappeared at all. It probably never will.
But something is different.
Solitude and Silence Reframed
I’m learning to embrace the solitude and the silence instead of fighting them. To welcome them as friends, not foes. And that feels strange to admit, because for a long time, silence terrified me. The trauma of Eric, the PTSD, the anxiety that followed. Being alone felt like a punishment. Something I was trying to outrun.
There was a time not long ago when I wanted this. When I wished for quiet. For independence. For space to breathe without managing someone else’s pain alongside my own. I didn’t choose how I got here, but here I am.
Eric is proud of me. I know that in my soul. He always believed in my strength more than I did. I am caring for myself and for Odin and Freija on my own. All while managing a life that feels impossibly heavy some days. And he would smile, quietly, the way he used to when he knew I was doing something hard and necessary.
I am surviving.
Independence Without Isolation
Not just existing. Surviving. I’m showing up for myself. I’m engaging with friends and family instead of disappearing, which I got so good at the first time around. I’m letting people check in. I’m allowing myself to be cared for without feeling like it erases my independence.
I still miss both of them. I always will. I miss being a “we.” I miss the shared moments, the inside jokes, the energy of another person in this space. But I’m also learning that I can hold that grief without it swallowing me whole.
There is pride here, too. Quiet pride. The kind that feels almost wrong to name, but deserves acknowledgement. I am doing this. Alone, but not abandoned. Independent, but not isolated.
The Truth
This peace may not last. I know that. Grief is not linear, and nights are still hard. But it exists right now, and that matters. I’m allowing myself to sit inside it without questioning how long it will stay.
For now, that is enough.
Thanks for reading –xxooC
Tell Me Something Good