Post 5: I Didn't Collapse

People told me I was strong.

They meant it kindly, and I knew that. I smiled and thanked them, because what else do you say? But there was always a thought I didn't say:

You don't see me when I'm home alone.

Here is what they saw. When I was with people, I was present. I engaged. I laughed when something was funny. I talked about Rex. I seemed to be handling it well. And in those moments, I was. Being with people has always been where I come alive, and grief didn't change that.

What they didn't see was what happened when the door closed. The crying that wasn't quiet or composed. The kind that takes over your whole body. The words I said out loud, over and over:

I don't want this. I don't want this. I don't want this.

Both of those things were true at the same time. The woman who showed up, and the woman who fell apart when no one was watching. Neither one was performing. Neither one was fake. 

So when people told me I was strong, I didn't know what to do with it. It felt like a description of someone else — someone who wasn't hearing her own heart break in an empty house every night. Almost six years later, I can say something that feels more accurate.

I didn't collapse.

Not: I was strong. 

Not: I handled it well. 

Not: I kept it together.

Just — I didn't collapse. 

The structure held. The next thing got done. I knew where to turn when I needed help, and I turned there. If that is strength, then I was strong. 

I'm writing this for the widow who smiles when people are watching and falls apart when they aren't. The one who is tired of being told how strong she is, because that’s not how it feels on the inside.

You don’t have to be strong. 

Sometimes, surviving looks much quieter than that.

The next thing still gets done. The next step still happens. I didn’t wear mascara for almost the whole first year. I had a box of tissues in every room.

In those early weeks, someone close to me who understood grief kept reminding me, “You’re just learning to breathe.”

It was true.

And if you’re still here, still taking that next step — you are already doing it.