*Art credit Sheri Howe
As the mother of an 18 year old daughter who just graduated from high school and is waiting for her visa so she can go to Portugal for a gap year, this bit from Brené Brown hits close to home.
I empathize with that- the embrace-release cycle. The cycle of holding on tight and then letting go.
It’s what every parent facing an empty nest faces- the excitement for your child, the anticipation of their journey into separateness, the enthusiasm for what’s next for them. And also your own mourning of watching someone who has lived with you for 18 years walk out the door, knowing that it will never be the same once they come home for visits, assuming they do come home for visits, which not all kids do once they’re grown and have the freedom to leave.
I’m doing a lot of letting go right now. I’ve been writing about it and remembering the guttural pain of childhood losses as I process some young parts that get activated when loss is in the room. I will share more soon, but right now, I’m just writing to heal, not quite ready to share. Soon, though.
On top of the embrace-release with my daughter, her father, who has lived next door and who I’ve seen pretty much every day for 20 years in spite of the fact that we divorced ten years ago, is also leaving the country and embracing digital nomad ex-pat life abroad. And one of my best friends just left the country and moved to a remote part of the globe this weekend.
So…my heart is definitely in the grieving part of letting go. I was crying last night with my friend who is leaving, and after he left and I continued crying, my partner Dr. Jeffrey Rediger asked me what grief felt like in my body. I said it felt like my heart was a uterus- seizing up like a contraction in my heart that left me kind of breathless and in tears, and then releasing and giving me a bit of a break. I had to use my Lamaze breathing to bear the contractions, and just like labor, after the worst of the contraction, my heart would start to relax again. I know from past grieving, like when I lost both my parents way too young, that over time, the contractions space out more and more- until you almost don’t notice them anymore, except on certain anniversaries or with certain flashes of memory or in special places that remind you of what you once had.
One former partner, who broke my heart, once asked me why I didn’t just flip off the switch in my heart when it was time to move on. I told him I didn’t have that ability, that it sounded sociopathic. Not only was it not possible for me; I wouldn’t want to be able to detach so effortlessly. Because attachments are healthy and normal and built into love.
He said he felt sorry for me, that I wasn’t able to just turn off a switch as easily as he could. I told him I don’t think someone really loves someone if they don’t have at least some pain in letting go. He thought I was weird.
All of it makes me think of this Jamie Anderson quote:
“Grief, I’ve learned, is really just love. It’s all the love you want to give, but cannot. All that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest. Grief is just love with no place to go.”
If you have a lot of love with no place to go right now, because of an empty nest, break up, relocation, or anything else that pings your attachment system, my heart goes out to you.
And if you happen to be a doctor, health care provider, or therapist going through a cycle of letting go, recovery, or other transition, please join us live in Mill Valley, California September 20-22 for Transitions & Transformation, a healing retreat to support gentling during times of change or loss.
Or come to Malta and “write to heal” with me for the Internal Family Systems & Memoir Writing retreat on the Maltese island of Gozo in November! You don’t have to be a health care provider or an experienced writer or an IFS therapist to attend. Just a desire to heal and a willingness to study the basics of IFS before attending is the only prerequisite. Apply to register here.
I know I’ll be taking advantage of the beauty and space to write in Malta to process some of these changes and losses, so whatever you’re processing will be welcome too.
Whether you retreat with me or not, I hope you’ll use your creative muses to write, make art, write music, dance, make a healing altar, or otherwise turn your embrace-release cycle into beauty, healing, and majesty.
(((((Air hug))))))
Lissa
