Yesterday, I told my counselor I feel empty. Depleted. I have poured forth so much grief and sadness over the past several weeks, that I just feel drained.
And she told me that was okay. That it was okay to pour it all out. That now I’m in a place where I can refill.
Grieving, for me, is a dark, barren, sad place. I’ve used this analogy before, but I often equate grieving to wrapping myself in a heavy, scratchy blanket. And at some point, that damned blanket is just too much.
But I’ve never been one to just throw the blanket off. I peel back one corner and poke out my hand–praying that someone will be there to grab it. Push back a little more, and the whole arm is out.
And eventually, I push my face out into the light. And I blink in the sunlight. My eyes ache. Everything looks fuzzy. My head hurts.
But the sun. It feels so good on my face.
Seems like a season of change is ahead in so many ways. I think that’s why I love spring so much. Life is just about to bud and bloom, but we have to go through the dark and dreary winter to appreciate how much we love and are expectant of the spring.
This is beautiful, Brandy. I love the scratchy blanket analogy, so perfect.