A Shot of Unexpected Grief with a Hormone Chaser

I have realized in the last few months that some people out there think that I'm somewhat of an expert on grief because I wrote a book about it.  I know this because I've received quite a few emails congratulating me on having it all figured out. And while there is part of me that appreciates it, the other has been thinking all of these months, "Well, at least I know what I can write a sequel about." 

I think I'll call it Eight Years Later and I Still Don't Know What the Hell I'm Doing.

Kind of long, but you get my drift.

I actually think that the title "grief expert" is either complete bullshit or there are millions of grief experts out there.  No one can be an overall expert on an experience that is so individual and personal.  BUT everyone can be their own grief expert.

Great.  Now I sound like an infomercial.

The problem is that sometimes I start to believe my own PR...and that's never a good thing.  Because I'm somewhat self-aware and have figured out how to write about it, I've had moments when I do think I have my shit together.

And then moments, like this morning, when I think I'm a complete moron for even entertaining that notion.

I couldn't sleep last night, which isn't anything new.  My mind was in overdrive and would Not.  Slow. Down.  It was like I'd had a four-pack of Red Bull with a double espresso chaser.  I can't even tell you what I was thinking about, my mind was racing so fast. And so this morning, I woke up (sort of) and felt completely disoriented.  I felt shaky and dizzy and in a complete fog and try as I might...I couldn't get myself out of it.

I dismissed it as a lot of things - I'm thinking about making some major changes in my life and while they aren't going to happen immediately, I always worry at least six months in advance.  Maybe I was just tired from the weekend.  Maybe I wasn't active enough this weekend.  Maybe, maybe, maybe.

And then I started to cry.

Which made me realize what it actually was.

Wednesday is our 8th annual Daddy Day.  Otherwise known as my husband's birthday.

And then I felt like an idiot.

For crying out loud (literally)...I have written for years about how my body reacts to grief I'm not recognizing!  Shaky, dizzy, fog...it's all right there in the handbook!  I have a whole section in my book called "Milestones:  I'd rather pass a kidney stone than a milestone" and I still didn't get it right away.

My slow down and self-forgiveness kicked in a little late this year, but I've got it now.  Today is my one day off and while I had planned to go to yoga, I decided I'm just too emotional for it and chose to meditate at home instead.  In a little while, I will try to get some sunshine but no matter what happens...I will not beat myself up for the next few days.  Whatever I can do, I will do.  Whatever I can't is just going to have to wait.

And because I have a PMS kicker going on right now, I'm a little bitter about this turn in my week.  So all I have to say about this is....

Happy 42nd Birthday, Brad.  You owe me a pedicure.