Confessions of a Grieving Momma: Part 2 Behind The Mask Of Grief

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Life is what you make of it. Some days, it just takes more strength to smile, more patience, more determination, faith, gratitude, more grace to let my light shine through all of the pain. Those are the good days. And then, there are those days, stretched so thin, I can’t escape it.

Everywhere I turn, a family grows, a baby walks, a blessing is snuffed out. What sadness and great loss that can be forever etched in someone’s soul at the hands of someone else. How one traumatic moment can steal

the peace that would otherwise come with so many joyous events throughout life. How do you regain that power? To know that there is so much life and joy out there and right here to be had, and take back the power to be happy again. Really happy.

Grief never goes away, I just wish it wasn’t so sneaky. I wish i didn’t feel guilty for the pain in my gut and the dagger in my heart every time I look at a situation that would otherwise be special, happy, joyous.


A young mother's short journaling of her struggle with mental illness. This story, titled "Behind the Mask Of Grief," she talks about how she wears a mask to hide her grief and depression during a routine day of errands and how she "lets it all go" when she is alone after she projects her emotions onto an unaware passerby.

Nearly everyday, I put on my mask and I get crap done. In the grocery store, I wave and nod to say “hi’ to the banker, I’m patient with old lady struggling with her cart on aisle 3 and I ask the stocker, politely, if they have more sugar.

I make small talk with the cashier. As I turn to pay, “she” walks in with two small children. And then a twisting in my gut and aching in my neck and shoulders nearly knock me down. All my preconceived idealizations and accusations begin swirling in my head.

There are screams in my mind, “That’s what “I” asked for!”  “Why didn’t I get THAT?” “What did I do wrong?” With a burn climbing in my throat I can feel my teeth beginning to clench and my chest is getting tighter.

Deep breath” I swoop up my things, pull my hat over my wet cheeks and walk as briskly as my short legs can briskly freaking walk.

*Door slams shut*

It’s quiet. “Deep breath.”

NOPE IT’S NOT WORKING!”  I can no longer hide behind the mask of grief.

It’s too late the emotions overwhelm me and I’m letting it out.

The anger…it lands on my thigh.

The pain lands on my arm. The loneliness runs down my cheek and is wiped away.

Bitterness might have been sucked back up my nose, it’s really kinda hard to keep up with at this point.

But the sorrow, I feel it and it lands onto my chest. The frustration, the exhaustion,  the regret, the envy, the anger, the grief, the disappointment, as much as I can without calling attention to myself, I let it all out.

“Deep Breath”

I wipe my swollen eyes and push back the tiny hairs stuck to my face. I turn the key and put it in drive.

As I turn to leave the parking lot, I see it there. In the passenger seat. I bite my tongue, mostly likely roll my eyes, but I reach for it anyway.

It’s weathered by now. Scratched and dented. It’s strap is beginning fray and there’s a rough spot on the left side from where I threw it on the concrete once, that seems to scratch me everytime I touch it.

We’ve spent a lot of time together lately, me and him. I have worn smooth spots onto his surface so he fits pretty well now. I’ve thrown him away once or twice, but I always finding him lying there, waiting for me when I turn back around. For now, there’s no getting rid of him, I guess. “Gonna Have to ride this hell train a bit longer.”

“Come on ‘ol friend. We’ve gotta run in another store.” 


Some days, I am strong enough. I’m strong enough let my faith prevail and provide a smile, an understanding glance, helping hand or hope to others. But I’m human, so on the others, on the days I couldn’t give a rats tit, I hide far far away and I pray.

Pray the dark cloud moves quickly. There’s been a few of those lately. Maybe someday I’ll be better at it.

Never be afraid to smile, send an understanding glance, you never know who might be on the other end when you look up.

These are my confessions


Catch up on the Confession Series Here

A young mother's journaling of her experience with grief and depression. In this serial post " Part 1, The Mind Confounded A Soul Consumed," she writes uninhibitedly, and with such ferocity about many of the emotions that must cope with while she manages to process through her grief.PP BLOG CON P3PP POST CON 4 GRIEF BLOWS IN

 

Publishing 12/8/2017!! 

Read the Latest in the Confessions Series

A young mother's short journaling of her struggle with mental illness. This story, titled "Tears Shed In Grace," she talks about how she struggles with grief from not feeling connected with her son. Due to his medical condition, he doesn't like to be held or touched, because of which, she felt it was difficult to bond with him.


 

 

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