grief and guilt
As I’m writing this, tomorrow will be five months since Libby died. Five months. That seems so surreal to me.
There are moments when five months feels like a lifetime, and moments when five months seems like yesterday. I’ve learned there is absolutely nothing predictable about how I might feel on any given day.
I’ve held my shit together during moments that I thought I would be a blubbering mess, and I’ve completely lost it over the tiniest little things that I had no idea would trigger me.
This is the ride of grief.
I feel like I’ve experienced a heightened version of every emotion that exists. Today, though — I’m going to talk about the one that’s hitting me the hardest in this month: GUILT.
Having been a people-pleaser my entire life, I’m absolutely no stranger to guilt, so it’s not really surprising to me that I’m feeling it now. And, actually, I just had a wonderful evening with two of my life-long best friends (who know me better than 99% of the population), and THEY weren’t surprised that I was feeling it, either. I guess I’m pretty predictable.
So why am I feeling guilty? I’m glad you asked. (I’m assuming you asked?)
Luckily, I coped pretty well with the earliest months in the guilt department. I know that I was not responsible for the accident that killed Libby. I didn’t have any guilt or regrets about the last things I said to her (I had said “I love you” and “Have a good night” and we blew each other a kiss as she walked into dance class). I had some mild regrets about some of my parenting moments for a hot second, but then realized how dumb I was being because I am 100% positive that my daughter and I loved each other with a fierceness and closeness that most mothers would envy.
So what guilt is creeping in now? Survivor’s guilt.
I feel guilty that I am here, and she isn’t. I feel guilty that I can have moments where I’m laughing and smiling, and she can’t. A lot of my guilt right now is coming from my professional life, because my writing is getting noticed and people are asking me for more of it, and for help, and I’m actually enjoying what I’m doing. And it feels, somehow, like I’m doing something wrong.
I have been a writer my whole life. I started this blog as an outlet to share my raw thoughts. My hope was to eventually turn my thoughts into a book. Everyone who knows me well knows that I have wanted to write a book FOREVER. I’ve had people telling me to write a book looooooong before Libby died. I’ve just always 1) been too busy, and 2) had confidence issues because I didn’t think I was “expert” enough at anything to write about.
Welp, even before this year I would’ve said I’d encountered more than my fair share of grief… But AFTER this year? I can confidently say that I am a fucking expert at grief.
The problem, as I explained to my friends, is that I feel guilt that the only reason I am getting to do these things is because my daughter died. My worst fear is that people will think that I’m trying to somehow capitalize on her death. (Is there a “People Pleasers Anonymous”? And if not, can someone get on that?)
My friends listened politely while I ran through all of my thoughts, and then told me — in ways that only best friends can —to shut that shit down. My friend Bianca asked me one simple question — “If you became a successful writer and made a lot of money, would you give it all back if it meant you could see Libby again?”
I actually laughed, and so did she. Because we both knew that I would trade my entire existence without even HAVING to SEE Libby again if it meant SHE could have more time in this world.
My friends, who have known me since we were 12 and been there through every up and the many, many downs in my life, know that everything I do is in Libby’s honor, and every article that gets published, promotional ad I run to get more of an audience, book I eventually write, and YouTube video I make has the goal of helping other people through their problems, because that is what I do.
I help, I teach, I learn, I grow. And as my friends pointed out, Libby would be so fucking proud of her mama. She’d want to be right next to me in those IG stories and videos if she could. So there won’t be a week that goes by that I don’t put her picture in one. ❤️
So thank you, to my besties, and to all of you who continually reach out and tell me that you appreciate and enjoy my writing, and over-sharing, and honesty. I am working on having my feelings catch up with your sentiments.
