I’ve been thinking about grief lately.
About those of us who weren’t given the childhood or upbringing we deserved; about what it is to grieve for something that never existed.
I find myself recognising the stages of grief more as they happen – the perpetual cycle of denial (this hasn’t affected me), anger (all I wanted was a normal childhood), bargaining (maybe something good can still come of this), depression (I will always be fucked up and unloveable), acceptance (it is what it is and I’m doing okay).
I keep getting stuck in anger. I see my lack of self-worth; the way it affects my relationships, my work, my belief that I am not just as capable as others, but also as DESERVING. I see myself sabotaging these things from the belief that I will never be enough. I obsess over who I could’ve been if I didn’t have a childhood of trauma and abuse; if I hadn’t left home so young to escape that. If I had been nurtured and loved and protected and raised without a shred of doubt that I. AM. WORTHY.
I’m reminded of my favourite quote on grief from Jamie Anderson: “Grief, I’ve learned, is really just love. It’s all the love you want to give, but cannot. Grief is just love with no place to go.”
I’m still learning to understand what it means to grieve for something I never had. How not to be jealous of those who have this. How to deal with the sadness and loss and longing that overwhelms me at times. How to let go of the anger and find acceptance.
But if I choose to believe that grief is love with no place to go, then so must I choose to build that grief a home. To not just love those in my life with abundance, but also love myself with the same measure.
So must I believe I am worthy to be that home; to believe I am worthy of a love that was never received, but always deserved.