During my journey to work this morning, at around 5:45am, I was listening to the playlist for my class when a lyric caught my breath.. its so simple, that without context, you will probably wonder why it resonated. Phantogram sung “Black out days, I don't recognise you anymore.”
It reminded me of the years I have spent mourning the person I was, before I was a survivor; before I had to be so strong and resilient. It reminded me of the years that I cannot clearly or at all recall, because they were filled with so much pain and I had disassociated.
I lost so much between the age of twenty-eight to thirty-eight, mourning the life that I was unwittingly thrown into at twenty-four. My mourning manifested in self improvement, aesthetics and escapism; I need to lose weight, I want my pre-baby body back. I need to cut my hair, it’s lost it vibrancy. I need to get to the gym, I used to be untouchable. I need to go to this party, I was so fun.. The truth was; two major toxic relationships left me a shell of the person I was and I wanted her back. Before these two men, I was on top of the world and had not a single care. I was confident, full of life, hopes and dreams. A social butterfly; always the life of the party. I was happy. I was joyful. I was trusting. A narcissist’s dream. I fell in love, I gave my love freely; we created a child and another and he betrayed the love that I gave to him and our family, and it left me for dead. After walking away, at 35 weeks pregnant with our second child, I was destroyed but without the luxury of the time, space or resources to rebuild. Two children under two, and doing it entirely solo, albeit a strong hand from my mum; it took me years to get myself back to “myself”.. sounds like the perfect time for another love to swoop me up, “rescue me” only to break me back down.
By 2017, I was bravely single, in a tiny two bedroom, contemplating how the fuck I was going to rebuild my life, looking in the mirror and saying “I don’t recognise you anymore” and frankly wondering what the point is. I was 36; my children was 9 and 11. I was deeply depressed and traumatised. I held guilt that I am still trying to process and release myself from. All I knew was how to grind and hustle and fight and hold on and survive. There was no softness. There was no grace. I was exhausted and in deep mourning for the life I had hoped to live and the woman I wanted to feel safe enough to be. I wanted her back. That 25 year old, before life broke her. For the next few years, my focus was on the survival of my family; attempting the impossible task of providing, presence and nurturing. While the pandemic hitting in 2020, was petrifying, it was the catalyst for the time and space I needed to heal and find acceptance for the woman I was then, and therefore the woman I am now.
The truth is; 24 year old Melissa, is gone. The beauty is, all that made her wonderful still lives within me. I truly believe that as we grow through life, we hold on to all those versions of ourselves, that carefree young women comes out when she feels truly safe. It might not be as often as before, but she exists. I see her in the garden and in nature. I see her sometimes in class, when the conditions are just right. I see her when she is with the right people, who allow her to be her goofy, silly self. She’s here, she just lives with someone who has felt deep pain, carry’s a lot on her shoulders and so, sometimes finds it tough to let go, hard to be vulnerable and terrifying to trust and ask for help. 43 year old Melissa, is all of the things.
What is the message? I am not sure. I guess it is to say that, if you can, let them go. That person you were. Release them because here you are. Ten toes in the ground, standing tall in your complicated and beautiful power. You are here, you survived a lot to get here and I’ll be damned if that is not enough.
xoxox
A touching read, Mel. A few of the emotions I could almost certainly resonate with. Last year was the toughest of my life so far and I ended up not just mourning my old self, but regretting SO many things in my life. Regretted many choices! But what’s the point in that? You can’t change the past. I’ve moved on, I’m making changes and I’m far wiser and more resilient in my forties than I have been before in my life.x