THE THREE WORDS I CAN’T WRITE

And the wound beneath the grief.

Last time I wrote something here, I was feeling good.

A new season was approaching. The sun was breaking through. I was finally unburdening myself of some of the weight I’d been carrying since my wife died nearly two years ago.

Cue the record scratch.

Just three short weeks later, I’m sitting in bed, pen in hand, frustrated tears welling in my eyes, unable to write three simple words.

The pressure has been building since my girls’ high school graduation. This nagging thought of WHAT’S NEXT??? constantly bouncing around my mind. But with so much to do, I never really got the chance to sit with it. So the thought has just stayed there, like a piece of stringy corn wedged between my teeth. Unable to dig it out. Unable to ignore it.

It got to the point where I began to feel really low. Lost. Almost whiplashed by how quickly I’d gone from feeling so good to feeling so bad.

Impatient with myself, I stumbled upon a self-help guide and decided to give it a whirl. In one part, you’re asked to write down all your fears and the things you don’t like about yourself. (That was a long list.) After that, it told me to write down three words:

I… LOVE… MYSELF.

I couldn’t do it. Not only did it feel doused in self-help goop. It didn’t feel, well… true.

I didn’t.
I really don’t.

I was entirely shocked by this revelation. I’ve worn my constant self-deprecating loathsomeness almost as a badge of honor.

But I was shocked by how vulnerable I felt when I couldn’t write those words down.

I began to wonder how I could ask anyone to love me ever again when I couldn’t even do it for myself. I reflected on my marriage and realized that I not only lost the person I loved. I lost the person who loved me.

Judy saw through all my faults and insecurities. She was the one who lifted me out of those dark spells I burrowed myself into. Reminding me I was a good father. A good person. A person worthy of love. Her love.

So when I lost her, I lost all that.

And I can feel myself overcompensating for it now. I’m constantly fishing for compliments. Beating myself up. Putting myself down so people will reassure me. Validate me. Love me.

Because I can’t do it for myself.

You don’t only grieve the person you lost… You grieve the person you were with them.

I’m realizing that more than ever now.

I know grief isn’t linear. It can come out of nowhere and drag you back down into its depths. But this feels different. As if I’ve finally turned over this huge rock that’s been there my entire life, only to discover this dark soil underneath, infested with all sorts of creepy, crawly things. Looks like it’s time to get my hands dirty.

I finally forced myself to write down those three easy but not simple words.

I didn’t suddenly believe them. I didn’t feel healed. But I wrote them. And strangely, I felt some of the pressure I’d been carrying begin to release.

Even writing them here doesn’t feel nearly as ridiculous as it did the first time.

So maybe that’s where I start.
Not by believing them.
Just by learning how to write it. To say it:

I LOVE MYSELF.

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