Five days ago my husband almost died. He had a complication from a surgery to extend his quality of life, after being diagnosed with stage 3 liver disease. I have been with him on the journey to a liver transplant, and it’s been quite the epic. Based how quickly the medical team in our city transferred him to the transplant hub 4 hours away, tells me all I need to know about that.
But this essay isn’t about him, really. It’s about how I lost myself through all this. It was only a short time ago that he was diagnosed, and in just a few months, I became an empty husk of my former self. Granted, before he got sick, I was already feeing like I was being hollowed out from the microaggressions I had toward myself. The times that I said yes, when I meant no. Times that I kept silent when I should have used my voice. Slowly shrinking to “keep the peace” in an increasingly inhospitable realm.
Anticipatory Grief
I only recently discovered there was a word for the feeling I have been carrying these last several months- Anticipatory Grief. The stage of grief before the actual grief event happens, where you expect the tragedy and prepare for it. This grief comes in waves of hope and tragedy. Highs and lows that can vacillate so wildly within seconds, if feels like a perpetual food processor. One second you are hopeful for an outcome that doesn’t result in the unspeakable. The next, you are in the depths of despair, preparing for your existence without them. As time has worn on and my patience worn thin, it has been increasingly difficult to wrap my head around the possibility that this wasn’t “the end”.
Winning or Losing
Around the new year, an author that I deeply respect who has a skool community I am a member of, posed a question regarding resolutions for the coming year. While I have never been one to do resolutions, my response was telling. I shared to the thread that I did not want to lose myself, and instead wanted to stay dedicated to the projects I had started long before diagnosis, no matter the outcome.
I had that thought before we came within a paper thin margin of life or death. I didn’t want to lose myself in the process of loving and supporting someone else. I remain steadfast in that goal right now, as I write these words. My own Soul Death is not worth the price.
How often do we shrink ourselves to love others? How often do we shame ourselves for living fully in our authenticity, so that others can be more comfortable? How often are we conditioned to hide the parts of ourselves that make us unique, brilliant, and strong? It is a genuine tragedy to the psyche. We hide, quiet, and even destroy the pieces that are the best parts of us, and for what?
Current State
As of this writing, my husband is on the path to gaining strength and stamina back, to ensure a successful transplant. I have resolved to keep my spine straight through whatever comes in the future for us. By doing that, I can be my whole self- the compassionate, kind, strong caretaker/mother/daughter/friend/wife that is my nature. One who will not shrink to fit the expectations of others, but instead will be the authentic, imperfect version I am and am becoming.
I owe it to myself, my children, and those around me. I owe it to my own inner child too. She worked very hard to keep me safe, to get me here. I owe it to her to be brave and make her proud of who we became.
