In life people come and people go, it’s just how things are.
However, for me with every loss I’ve suffered I have always seen this as a serious failure on my part. For every single time I have lost, I have blamed myself in one way or another and tried to analyse the break down, looking for improvements I can make within myself to make the pain of losing someone that little bit more comprehensible.
My first experience with loss was marked by a relentless pattern, where my parents continuously went through cycles of separating and getting back together. Whenever these breakups occurred, I would stay with mum because of an innate instinct to be with her whenever she needed me deeply ingrained within me. During months of separation, although on almost all occasions mum was the instigator of the decision, I often witnessed her heartbroken tears over losing my dad. I can vividly recall the profound anguish she endured; her pain would echo through the night, prompting me to hastily leave my lower bunk bed and crawl into her bed, holding her closely in an attempt to alleviate her suffering. In these moments I never did relieve her pain, because all she wanted was my dad and this often left me with intense feelings of guilt and led me to believe their relationship breakdown was completely my fault.
When they were close to reconciliation, I would experience heightened feelings of anxiety and pressure and attempt to improve my behaviour to control the outcome often thinking to myself, “Libby if you can be better behaved and make things easier at home they might stay together”.
I would take on more chores and answer back less because in my heart I just wanted my mum to be happy and for the family to stay together. The intensity of this feeling I describe is becoming increasingly more familiar as an adult, the suppression of my own thoughts and feelings building up just so people don’t leave is a cycle I have rinse and repeated through many of my relationships and friendships, over the years. Every-time this feeling arises I look for evidence to support the idea that the break down is all my fault and treat myself with a complete lack of empathy, so much so I abandon any of my own needs and feel guilty for expressing any feelings that may ever arise.
Another time in which I have placed extensive levels of pressure on myself was when I was faced with the loss of my two grandparents. During my upbringing, my grandparents held an incredibly special place in my heart. I would spend most weekends, after-school evenings, and even had my first holiday abroad with them. My Grandad bought me my first bike and my grandma taught me to read and write. Spending a considerable amount of my childhood with them, I felt extremely loved and was constantly encouraged to be my best self.
However as with most people, they had their habits. Both my grandparents were outlandish chain smokers, they would smoke in their house, in the car and even in their own bedroom. I remember my Grandparents bedroom like it was own childhood room, they had two single beds placed side by side, with ashtrays and a packet of Fisherman’s Friend serving as fixtures that seemed to be permanently in place. Certainly, as a child, I had no preconceived notions or judgments about their habit of smoking twenty cigarettes a day. However, as I matured and started interacting with peers, I began to dread going to school due to the comments I received about the lingering smell of smoke on my school uniform. These comments affected me so much so I grew distant from them, I would ask to be minded somewhere else and see them less and less. When I would visit, I would stay with them shorter periods to avoid the stench. Sadly, their habit of smoking was definitely their downfall; when I was around fourteen my Grandad suddenly dropped dead with a heart attack and when I was nineteen my grandma sadly passed away from lung cancer.
Whilst I didn’t blame myself directly for their deaths, as smoking was always their choice. I constantly made promises to myself to dedicate more time to them, which I never fulfilled. When I visited their home after my Grandads death, I vividly remember the sight of newspaper clippings of my sporting achievements, which he had proudly displayed on his kitchen wall; and after my grandma’s passing her sister would tell me about how proud she was of me for studying in London. Their abundance of love intensified my feelings of guilt, so much so that I struggle to acknowledge that I never really had much control over the situation to begin with as I was a child.
In my adult life I have experienced losses that are much less extreme, however the intensity of the pain remains unchanged when someone I care about decides to depart. Previously I would have held beliefs that when I choose you to be in my life, I expect you to stay. I would have abandoned myself to please you, to make you happy and compromised my dreams to avoid suffering.
Today I write from a new perspective. Throughout my life, I’ve generously extended grace to those in my circle, and now, I’m ready to grant myself the same measure of grace. I aspire to receive the same understanding I extend to others. If you find it difficult to do so and still choose to depart, all I request is that is when you think of me, think of the hour in which you loved me most, and I will and I will reciprocate with the same sentiment.
Goodbye and best wishes.
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