The Death of Me, The Birth of Me
Last year in October was the beginning of my divorce and the ending of my marriage. Endings and beginnings are inextricably connected. Life seems to be a cycle of many deaths and rebirths.
It was time for Jill as I knew her to die. Divorce is like death. Death of a partner and loved one, but also death of the self who was with that partner. Death of hopes and dreams, plans, and futures.
My body even seemed to go through a death. I began to look in the mirror and not recognize who I was anymore. I didn’t sleep for weeks. I couldn’t eat; size XS clothes began to sag on my frail almost lifeless body. The hollows of my cheeks sunk and darkened. Even my hair was shedding profusely in symbolism of this death.
Now, Thirteen months later I sit and look at these pictures (for my business profile)… feeling hopeful. Am I starting to see new life? Do I see Jill in my reflection again?
Finally, I think I’m starting to recognize that person on the other side of the camera. Though I’m not the same and never will be again, perhaps the slow painful decay of death is over and something new is ready to be born.
New hair is growing in replacement of the old ones. New, healthy fat has begun to pad my bony body. New hopes and dreams have begun to sprout forth in my heart. And old false ideas about myself have been replaced with new empowering ones.
I’m thankful for an amazing family and friends who helped nurture me back to life, who witnessed the painful death and decay of what had to die; who mourned and cried with me.
I’m grateful also for the support and encouragement I received to rise from the pile of my own ashes, and find the strength to replace the stony heart with a bigger, more beautiful one.
“To love someone long term is to attend a thousand funerals of the people they used to be…to travel with them between each version and to honour what emerges along the way…” -Heidi Priebe