Dear Diary, Story of My Life

Let me share something with you that not many know about me. It’s not even like I’ve tried to keep this a secret, but I feel that it doesn’t normally come up in conversation. I’m not embarrassed by it; however, I can tell people pass judgment when I divulge this information.

Ever since I was little, I have LOVED reading. Cliché since BookTok is all the rage now (and I must admit I love the recs), but legitimately I have been reading for as long as I can remember. My Nannie tells me that I really started reading books at 4 years old and I think I’ll have to give her the most credit for teaching me the basics. I remember reading Harry Potter in first grade, Little Women and The Adventures of Tom Sawyer in 2nd Grade, and Dante’s Inferno in 8th grade for shits and giggles. Aging myself with this statement, and not to brag, but I was always in the top 3 for AR (“Accelerated Reading”) points I had in both elementary schools that I was in.

Nothing brought me more joy growing up than spending weekends with my Nannie and Poppie. Outside of the time with them, helping Poppie in the garden, and eggs and grits for breakfast each morning, my memories revolve around our trips to the library. They’d wait patiently for me to sort through all the books that I deemed worthy of taking home for the week to read. Sometimes we’d read in their garden and sometimes in the living room. Hell, I remember some nights laying in my Nannie’s bed eating snacks and devouring our current reads.

Now, none of what I just explained to you is the fun fact I mentioned earlier. Nope. Those who know me best know I’m a book worm.

Here’s the fact not many know…I used to spend my summer volunteering at the library. Yep, from like 5th grade to 10th grade, I spent my summers volunteering at the Cayce/West Columbia Public Library. This was not in any way some sort of punishment from my parents; no one forced me to be there. I….AS A PRE-TEEN/TEENAGER….wanted to spend my summer days at the library. And to what comes as no shock to my parents/grandparents, I fucking loved it. Nothing made me happier than shelving books, cleaning the plastic coverings, and helping with children’s story time. I got to help organize items for Summer Reading events and check books back in. But like let’s be real…I got first dibs on every new book that entered the system. I truly only stopped because I got to the age where I wanted to work and make actual money. If this makes me a certified nerd, I’ll proudly wear that badge. My whole childhood I remember wanting to be a librarian so badly. I wanted to share my love of different authors and genres. I wanted others to feel excitement for what they were reading as much as I did.

Somedays I think to myself, “So why in the actual hell did I graduate with a degree in math?”, to which I have to say I have no clue. I don’t even need the degree I got for the job I have now anyways (LOL).

For me, the part I love most when reading is getting lost in the setting. It’s the way you get connected to characters. It’s the moment when you associate a moment in a book with a moment in your life.

When I first began my journey into widowhood, it should be no shock that I wanted to read. I wanted to read what other widows had to say. I wanted to know if the pain they felt was as tremendous as mine. I wanted to ensure that the thoughts I had didn’t make me crazy. I wanted to hear about how they healed (if they healed). I wanted to know how they rebuilt their life. I wanted to know if there was ever a time that they didn’t feel a hole in their heart. I wanted to know if they ever remarried or started dating again. I wanted to see if they lived in a constant state of fear and anxiety, worried about the next person they may lose. I wanted to hear about their faith; Were they mad at God? Did they feel at peace knowing he had a plan? How often did they pray? I wanted to know if they had support and if so, how much was too much to ask of someone. I wanted to discover if they were able to love again or if their heart was shut off. I had an endless list of questions about how to deal with trauma and loss and death and widowhood and unfortunately, not many resources to help me.

I get it. No one wants to write about sad shit. No one wants to peel back layers of their deepest emotions and insecurities. No one wants to write about the tough choices and circumstances they’ve faced. After all, we all want a happy ending, right?

This should come as no shock that I immediately felt called to write and share my story. Hear me say, I’m not an expert (although I'd love to be known as an expert in something). I just want my words to be a light to someone going through loss or trauma. I want others to feel connected to my hope and faith that has carried me through the last five years of my life. I want just one person to say “Damn, I needed to read that” to feel like this venture was worth it.

So, for those that have experienced trauma, loss, and pain let me share something that I pray resonates with you…

It gets better.

And I know if your wounds are fresh, you don’t believe me. I didn’t believe others at first either. But I promise with dedication to your mental health, practicing gratitude, leaning on your people, and feeling the roller coaster of emotions you’re experiencing, that it.gets.better.

The pain will always be there, but you become more mentally tough. You’re not crazy for thinking you heard your person’s voice, or for rolling over some mornings expecting to see their face, or for feeling happy for the first time in a long time. You’ll heal; It’s a long, hard battle but each day you get up and fight, you become an even better version of yourself. You’ll rebuild your life by starting new routines, focusing on time with your loved ones who are present, and by bettering yourself. There will always be a hole in your heart, to the point that if you think about them for a few seconds randomly one day, you’ll feel that deep heartache. You’ll start dating again if you’re up for it. It’ll be awkward. 90% of the dates will suck and it’ll make you question if it’s worth it. But then you’ll meet someone who brings you joy and accepts you for who you are, and I don’t want you to shy away from it. You’ll always be worried that you’ll lose someone else you love, but don’t dwell on that. Instead, look at it as a challenge to make the most of every second you have with family and friends. Your faith is going to be tested like NO other. Accept the challenge and fully trust that God doesn’t put his people through challenges (a) as a form of punishment and (b) to try and break them. Look at your circumstance as a lesson…what are you supposed to learn from it? Ask for the damn help. Learn that it’s okay to reach out to someone and ask if you can vent, cry, or talk about dumb shit to break up the chaos in your mind. People want to help you, and I urge you to accept it without fear of being able to repay them.

I pray you read that and have hope now. Hope that through your loss and grief, you will NOT lose yourself.  

I’m unsure if this blog will ever make it to a book (the pre-teen in me fangirls over that thought though) but even if it doesn’t, I hope the tribe of people I have who read these are inspired to live their best life because if you’re still breathing, you still have YOUR story to tell.

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Many are the plans in a person’s heart, but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails. Proverbs 19:21