What's worse than being sad?

A friend of mine who is a yoga teacher recently posted about how she hadn’t done yoga in a couple weeks. At the time I thought nothing of it…but today I was realizing that for several weeks (I honestly can’t even remember how long…) I haven’t picked up a pen to write/journal/blog. Nothing. Not a big deal you say…we all take breaks from healthy habits at times. And yes, this is true. And yes, I teach online journaling classes and laud the benefits of journaling all the time. Hypocrisy? Yes, perhaps a little…but I think the bigger issue for me these days is avoidance.

Avoidance of what you may ask… Avoidance of sadness. The sadness that I know is lurking very very closely behind the veil of my eye lids. The sadness that threatens to flow out just with me typing these not so sad lines. The grief of letting go…the grief of change…the grief of having both of my “babies” in college.

It is not a horrible grief. No one has died, no one has left me forever. My kids will visit me, they will even text and call me. But grief is grief is grief. Grief is something we all experience. Today I read this:

“We are never finished with grief. It is part of the fabric of living. It is always waiting to happen. Love makes memories and life precious; the grief that comes to us is proportionate to that love and is inescapable.” V.S. Naipaul

The love and memories of the years of being a parent to my formerly young children is huge. So the grief of them moving on is proportionately huge. I am not grieving their leaving per se - lord knows it’s time for them to go (I say that very lovingly) and lord knows they are ready and lord knows that they are going to rock this next phase of their life…I grieve the change. Not seeing them every morning, not asking them about their days at school over dinner on the back porch. I grieve the carpooling and the sweaty teenage boys not being in my car laughing over practice or some video game or discussing the ins and outs of the NFL season. I grieve the role of mom…knowing that it isn’t over, but also knowing that it is changing significantly. I know many will say, “this next phase is great…you’re going to love it” and yes - I do think I eventually will.

But right now I am sad. And my silly mind is telling me writing will make it worse.

But it doesn’t. My OG writers as I call them (an amazing group of humans who have been willing to take 8 classes with me - we have learned so much with and from each other) would probably say back to me something I have said 800 million times in our hours of zoom classes. “You have to feel both the good and the hard emotions. This is what makes us human.” Avoidance just makes the sadness stronger.

ARGGGHHHHH…being human is hard.

Being sad is hard for me.

Change is hard for me.

Writing is not hard for me. Yet when I am really struggling, I often resist it. I went on vacation to Mexico City last week (awesome city btw…) and brought all my fun pens and…didn’t bring a single piece of paper. I got home, and the busy-ness of getting two kids ready to go to college in another country became my excuse.

Yet today I am writing.

And you know what - I don’t feel completely better…but I do feel slightly less bad.

This is the power of writing for me. It helps me move the feelings from my brain/heart/wherever they are currently stored…to the paper.

Ted Lasso says in the end of the last episode of the 1st season of his awesome show…”There is something worse out there than being said…and that is being alone and being sad.”

I am thankful that I am not alone. I have my awesome husband, who is also sad. I have my friends - so many amazing friends. Some of whom have been through this empty nest process before and their empathy gives me strength. Others who are watching me do it first…and I know they will be there for me too.

And - I have my community of journaling friends. We have been through so many things together and writing has helped us all. They will continue to be with me in this too. Writing, too, is a companion to me and makes me feel less alone.

Expressive writing makes me feel connected. When I am struggling, my tendency is to move towards disconnection. This is clearly not a great idea.

Writing heals me.

Writing comforts me.

Writing helps me feel the sadness in a way that isn’t too scary.

Thanks, writing, for being a tool that is always there when I need it (even when I resist).

If you're feeling like you want to connect with the strength of the tools writing gives us and also with a community of journalers - join us in a class. We're here - ready to be with each other at any time.