I’m okay with being.. “ok”

I’ve spent more time telling myself I don’t belong in places rather than just accepting it as a defense mechanism. I was projecting this to cover up the fact that I felt a sense of lack in certain situations. In May, on holiday, I decided to confront one of those projections by going to Disneyland.

You’re probably wondering.. ok? What about Disneyland is so special or defensive that this is important?

Well, I always had an excuse in the past as to why I never wanted to revisit the park as a grownup.

But what I really was saying to myself is… you don’t have children or a nuclear family so maybe you don’t want to be bombarded with the imagery in a place that can remind you of what you lack.

And truth be told, that’s only the tip of the iceberg. Ever since crawling out of the darkest throws of depression and experiencing some sentiment of continuous joy and peace of mind, I’ve been navigating my life and interactions with others as if I were in a field riddled with unseen and unknown landmines.

I keep most of my interactions light and superficial, I refuse to get too attached or close to people because the thought of experiencing profound grief is crippling. (I mean.. at the end of the day everyone gotta die.) I’m fearful of confronting myself by experiencing things that I know my mother would be happy to hear about or that I will sorely miss her presence.

Yes, I’m terrified of marriage because the thought of not having my mother or a father figure walking me down an aisle is so overwhelming. I’m afraid to make new friends because I don’t want to explain how navigating the compound emotions of grief and trauma results in me being extremely irritable, distant, and sometimes an empty shell of myself. I limit my interaction with people who have close-knit families because I don’t and the constant reminder sometimes sends me into a state of “on the run”, where I travel consistently to bombard my mind with feelings of happiness to drown out the consuming negative thoughts.

So that brings us to Disney.

When I planned my itinerary for Paris (which many have now learned is one of my favorite places on the planet) I stumbled across an archival photo of my mother and me. My only memory of Disney was from childhood when my family took us on a group trip. It was one of those memories I wanted to reserve for myself since I’ll never be able to recreate that moment again going forward. But for some reason, I wanted to challenge that notion & feeling, and create something new.

I’m entering a season where I hope to gain the confidence to continue to look at my trauma and grief head-on and go through it instead of finding ways to avoid or go around it and this was an opportunity to do so. I wanted to recreate this memory, in a place that has grown to be my place of solace and peace, Paris. And that’s just what I did.

So today, on the 15th anniversary of my mother’s passing, I share not only profound sadness, but I’m hosting space for peace and joy.

Just one minute without my mother is daunting, but to look up and see that fifteen years have gone by creates a different mixed emotion.

15 years of:

• tears.
• joy.
• creating new memories.
• forging a new path.
• figuring it the fuck out.
• breaking personal barriers.
• setting up life goals.
• navigating life in a deficit.
• enjoying life in abundance.
• trusting myself.
• caring for myself.
• tuning into the inner guidance constructed through longstanding memories.

On this day, PTSD affords me flashbacks of standing in that hospital room, holding hands and praying as she released back to the creator who loaned us her earthly being. But it also offers me in tandem, a new sense of understanding.

Understanding that in just 19 short years together she was able to instill so much within me. Things that I can still reflect on and recall In challenging moments and ones that are celebratory.

As I roamed my way through “the happiest place on earth” I could feel a sense of ease overcome my inner child. For years, I’ve felt anxious and overwhelmed as I think about how that little version of me had no idea the moments she’d be having would not only be memories, but ones she wouldn’t be able to replicate. I’ve felt confusion for her, trying to reconcile with the fact that if she only knew what would come later in life she would be a little more kind, gentle, and less bratty. I’ve also felt joy for her, to know that she was able to experience blissful support, and exploration and to remain uplifted — and that although she struggled with feelings about her father never being there, she never felt any sense of incompletion. And for that, and for her… I’m thankful.

Which brings us forward to the 34-year-old version of myself. The one who is actively holding space for all versions young, pre-teen, collegiate-aged, and now. The ruler of the vessel who is reconciling with all versions to say, you know what?

We really are ok.

In this moment, not only did I feel the joy of my inner child but I felt the joy of my present self. To be able to recreate a moment, so far away from home in a place that brings me so much joy is a blessing, but also a testament to how far and how good life has become.

I don’t look at this photo and see a woman who lacks. I look at this image and see a woman who is:

• brave.
• understanding.
• adventurous.
• capable of navigating the world and life.
• trusting of herself.

It has taken a VERY long time to get here, but to know the scenic route was indeed a sight to see is all the while more fulfilling. To be able to pause, take a step back, and know.. that it really is okay, to finally feel ok. To not be consumed by the grief, the reminders, and a sense of lack. But to now look through a new lens filled with gratitude, understanding, and appreciation for the journey that has led to and created the person I have the pleasure to be today.

As I type this, a piece of me says this may be the end. Not the end of grieving per se, but the end of anniversaries. Part of my heart aches as I think of that because so much of my being in the last 15 years has revolved around my grief and trauma because it felt so big, but other parts of me have also grown, shrinking those feelings of grief and trauma and making coping more bearable. Life has finally pushed me toward a new way of memorialization that doesn’t involve holding space for the feeling of lack but in turn setting on a new path of celebration, appreciation, and a way to still honor her spirit as the days go on.

I’m proud of that feeling, and the bravery and open-mindedness that will have to come forth as a result of this forcing me to forge a new path that lets me uncover not only who I am without the grief looming, but also what life can feel like without the thought of memorialized dates and “grief season”.

So for all that I say cheers, to a new season of discovery. A new chapter in the book of healing. To advancement in life’s journey. To a new, revised story to write. And a compartmentaize and closed chapter.