Coming Back to Myself
Sometimes I feel as though my losses have matured me, maybe a bit too much.
Have they made me cynical? Or am I just seeing things differently because grief has tinted the way I view the world?
I can trace the moment everything changed; losing my dad forced me into adulthood overnight. Suddenly, I was responsible for two houses, two businesses, and every single item he left behind. It was heavy, unbearably so. Then came therapy, medication, moving out, going back to school only to fail because my mental health had bottomed out. Then moving back in with my alcoholic mother, trying to take care of her while barely holding myself together. Then moving out again, alone, because she couldn’t let me go - and watching our relationship crumble under the weight of grief and addiction.
And then came losing her.
Taking her to the hospital, over and over, alone. Hunting down doctors, begging for information. Becoming her power of attorney. Managing rehab programs and moving her from facility to facility while her health and clarity slipped away. Telling her she didn’t qualify for the transplant list, and watching her heart break in real time. Having to remind her of her prognosis again and again as her mind faded. Bringing her home for hospice. Changing her. Giving her morphine to ease the pain of her organs shutting down. Debating with her boyfriend about what was best for her. Listening to her death rattle for more than a full day. Picking a funeral card. A casket. Hugging strangers who said they knew her. Reliving every moment of losing a parent; only this time without her love, her light, her warmth beside me. Watching my sister live through it all too.
It makes sense that these things change a person.
Still, I miss who I used to be- the girl who could be silly, bubbly, light. Now, I often feel unsafe, like my body is permanently stuck in fight, flight, or freeze. I catch myself thinking of what to say in conversations and realizing I don’t actually speak at all.
That’s why I’ve decided to try, really try, to find my spark again. I won’t let the joyful, curious, fun-loving girl I used to be die because of what’s happened to me. I owe it to myself, and to my parents, to come back to her.
Because grief might have changed me, but it doesn't define me.
If You’re Reading This…
If you’ve ever felt like grief aged you too quickly or made you forget who you were before loss — you’re not alone. It takes courage to choose healing when pain feels like the safer home.
Here’s to both of us finding our way back.
