The Truth Is a Cave in the Black Mountains.. (and other things)

Disclosure: The title is misleading. This post has nothing to do with Neil Gaiman. Or what I'm sure is a fantastic book. 

The other day I had a proper deep and meaningful convo with the most amazing lady. We were discussing shared life experiences and I said (*cough* complained *cough*) that one of the biggest challenges in losing a spouse when you’re 25, is that people your age have no idea how to deal with that information. So you learn to never talk about it, not even by accident. I said to her – “I hate that my ‘truth’ makes people uncomfortable and that I’ve had to craft a new ‘truth’. Something a little less intense, a little more palatable and less “feeling-y”.” And she said to me, “You know Sheryll, you cannot expect others to be comfortable with your ‘truth’ until you are comfortable with it yourself."

I really, really did not like hearing that. Because face it, I f*cking hate my truth.

Six years ago, I clung to the hope that by 2017, I would be a strong, confident woman who is comfortable with herself and aware of her self-worth. Someone who has a trailblazing career because she’s not afraid to take risks. Someone who let herself fall in love again because that’s what the truly brave do. Someone who is fit and healthy because she knows how short life can be. Someone with real depth and maturity who does not shy away from messy emotions.

Lol.

My stand-out achievement in the past year was today, when finally at age 31, I got the barista to spell my name correctly. (I’ve been going there every weekday for the past 6 months. And I spell my name out every single time. One time, they thought my name was “Shart”. It was a whole thing.)

Running away from my feelings is literally the only cardio I ever do. I actively move away from any memory of Rajeev (notice how it took me 4 paragraphs to even mention his name? That’s mad skillz, brah.) I don’t have any pictures of him around the house. I have a badge from a hen’s party I went to in 2014 that has “Hoochie mama” emblazoned in pink glitter, but not a single photograph of my dead husband. I have a job that I love but definitely does not require a two year Masters’ degree. My one goal for 2016 was to go on ONE date. Let’s just say, I have had to relax my timelines a little bit.

So yeah, my truth right now is a bit of a bummer. It’s not all bad, of course. There are some positives. But today is 6 years since he died and honestly, it’s ok if my truth is a garbage bin on a hot day. The first step to fixing a problem is acknowledging that you have one, right?

Man, I hope Step 2 has cupcakes.

Oh Hai

Hello my pretties.

It’s been a while. I know. I wasn’t planning on coming back either. But then I met an old friend over Christmas. She told me her story and another story which changed my mind.  In the 5 and half years since Rajeev, I never ever thought my blog would have any impact on anyone. I wrote for purely selfish reasons. Because I was tired of the blogs I found online. Because it helped me deal. Because I could.  But to learn that my self-indulgent streams of consciousness helped someone else deal with their losses? Wow. That is an honour and something I am so very, very grateful to have been able to do.  

I know it sounds super pretentious, but hear me out.

I find it difficult to read anything about loss and grief. Because the way you feel that loss is so specific. I HATE it when people say they know how I feel. Sure, they may have lost a loved one too- a spouse, a child, a pet, a hairbrush. And I am sure it must hurt. A lot. But to say that they know how I feel? That’s rich. Really? Do you know how it feels to slowly forget how your husband smelled? Do you know how it feels to know that you cannot replicate that combination of soap, hair mousse, Chapstick, cologne and Bangalore pollution? That it is something that is lost forever? That this smell, like so much of your past life, added up to much more than the sum of its parts? It’s hard to relate to another person’s loss. Because like I said, the loss is so specific. But also, that specificity is what makes your relationship special.

So, considering all of that, to know that something I wrote was in some way relatable to someone who is dealing with something similar, is just astounding. Dear anonymous friend. I hope you realise how much I treasure this.

So what have I been up to in the past few years? Let’s see. I graduated business school. Got a job. Hated job. Left that job. Got a new one that I still love even 2 years later. I’m renting a flat with my best friend with whom I get Thai food every Sunday and hi-five whenever we let out a particularly resonant burp (we’re classy that way). I own furniture that I actually like- namely, a sofa that is as ugly as it is comfortable (i.e. VERY) and a standing mirror that I painted neon orange because #yolo. I lost 15 kilos and went on exactly 4 dates. None of which went past the extremely awkward conversation stage, which taught me a very important lesson – That just because you ‘look’ better, doesn’t necessarily mean that you ARE better (more on that later). I gained those 15 kilos plus a few more, and took up the ukulele (because why not). I’ve become more assertive and yet somehow even more emotionally stunted. I get very weird and unpredictable around March (Rajeev’s birth-month), June (the month we got married) and July (the month he died). I still don’t know what sets me off and what calms me down. In some ways, I’m doing better and in some ways, I’m worse, but hey it’s all about balance, right?

Until next time.

XOXO