Acceptance

Nearly three years ago, I remember walking through the cemetery near Chris’s grave, glancing at headstones as I passed. I saw one from 2004 and thought “how am I going to do this for 10 years?” I was so tired, and the feeling so permanent. How does life move forward?

Yet somehow it does. 

Each day, week, month is filled with a multitude of lessons. Some lessons are powerful and hope-filled, as I become aware of my own resiliency. Others are more challenging.

Lately I have wrestling with acceptance. When I met Chris I found a place where I felt valued and accepted. Imperfections and all. Losing Chris meant losing that piece of safety. Grieving has meant having to wrestle with how to understand acceptance of myself—in all my fully flawed glory.

As someone who has always seen her value in this world as attached to an ability to give and perform, my inability to fully perform over the last few years has been challenging. I am not always the family member I hope to be. I could be a better friend in many ways. I could be a better parent to my dog. I could be a better therapist. And yet, I fail constantly in all of these areas. There is a deep humility in that failure.

I am slowly learning that my performance does not fully embody my ability to have worth.

I am still navigating what it means to have needs in this world without Chris. For someone who fears imposing on other people, expressing my needs feels like an act of vulnerability. I give people the power to reject or accept me. The rejection cuts deeply.

In the beginning it was easier not to need—to insulate myself and be self-sufficient. But that independence only heals so much. As creatures of this world, we are hard-wired for a sense of connection and belonging. We need to feel accepted. I need to feel accepted.

The rub is learning to accept the acceptance. To own my worthiness.

Over the past several months I have been willing to open myself up to connection. Establishing new friendships has been important, establishing a sense of community. Starting to date again has been a trial. I keep laying hope on the line, taking the chance to voice my needs, finding rejection. The process has been difficult to integrate into understanding how my needs might have a place.

Then I remember Chris, and all the times I told him what I needed. That I need reciprocity—someone who is willing to make an effort. Not leaving things unsaid. Being intentional in how we treated each other. Cultivating a friendship in a romance. I needed to feel like it was safe to be me.

The beauty of our relationship is that I was able to be a little messy, have emotions, and still be loved. I can look to my close friends and experience this same humbling acceptance as well.

I need to learn how to accept my messy self, to own my insecurities in the process, and not look to others to validate an acceptance I am unwilling to give myself. I can’t be perfect. I tried for years, and just ended up tired and hungry. I am left with a choice to either hold back that messy self and never feel seen, or face rejection in order to discover possibilities for connection and belonging.

Standing at that gravestone, I felt so alone and hopeless. Learning to open up to hope, inspite of all the rejection is a journey I am still stumbling through. The best I have is to try. I know that is something Chris would tell me.