The Shape We Take

I think when we talk about grief we each have a place we go. Our mind and heart drift to the person we lost. Maybe the beloved pet. Or possibly, this time of year especially, it could be a child leaving home. But there is usually a moment we can point to. We know where the loss occurred. We know what we’re grieving. 

Recently, I’ve noticed a different kind of grief. There’s no distinct moment I can point to, just a recognition of loss. 

In therapy lately, I’ve been discussing patterns. The ways that I used to move in the world and with my people. I can’t find her. 

I can see how patterns have shifted but I can’t pinpoint when it started.

This curiosity has prompted several conversations recently with women who, like me, are experiencing a similar recognition.

What we’ve noticed is that we make tiny changes in response to what we're experiencing. Usually they aren't deliberate enough to even register as decisions.

We stop asking. We expect a little less. We don't initiate quite as often.We become less spontaneous. We share less of ourselves. We stop making things special that once mattered to us.

Not all at once. And rarely with the thought that, I'm changing who I am.

We're simply responding to our environment.

We have spent our life accommodating people, circumstances and seasons. We bend a little here, make some room there. We adjust our expectations to protect something tender.

One adjustment on its own doesn't seem significant. But years of tiny adjustments can change us.

Maybe we don’t notice ourselves changing because it happens one small accommodation at a time.

For me, it was my curiosity and determination to dig that helped me uncover this pattern. As I looked back, I finally see it. What surprised me is that I’ve been on an intentional personal growth journey for many years. I knew there were specific areas where I wanted to grow. So this feeling of grief was unexpected and brought up a lot of feelings for me to explore.

They sounded like:

Sadness: I miss her.

Anger: Why did this have to change?

Regret: Why didn't I recognize it sooner?

Confusion: Is this who I am now?

Longing: Could I ever feel that way again?

And possibly compassion: Oh. Now I understand why.

So, like in other areas, I recognized that two things can be true at once.

I miss who I was.

I understand why I changed and how I got here.

Neither one cancels the other.

Now that I recognize the patterns, it’s time to sit with them long enough to discover what I was trying to protect. I’ve established what's working and what’s not. I can have compassion for the version of me that adapted. She wasn’t weak or foolish.

She was flexible.

She responded with the tools and information that was available at the time. Maybe becoming less vulnerable protected my feelings from being hurt. Maybe lowering an expectation prevented repeated disappointment. Maybe becoming more structured created stability during an unpredictable season.

Those adaptations may no longer serve me, or you, but that doesn't mean they never did.

When I’m trying to understand something I can’t quite make sense of yet, I often turn to journaling. It gives me a place to get everything out of my head and onto paper. I start with what I know, then write down the questions that are still lingering.

Thoughts like:

What parts of the former me would I like to carry forward?

In what ways have I changed that no longer feel helpful or authentic?

What parts of myself would I like to explore or rediscover?

• Playfulness.

• Tenderness.

• Curiosity.

• Affection.

• Spontaneity.

• Hope.

• Vulnerability.

• Creativity.

(I've added this image for you. Save it and use it for your own journaling.)

We don't need to become our former selves. We've lived too much for that. And I don’t want that either…

But perhaps we can choose which pieces deserve a place in who we're becoming. And maybe recognizing this in ourselves helps us see the women around us a little differently too. We don’t always know what someone has had to accommodate, what she’s learned to protect, or what parts of herself she might be quietly trying to find again. Perhaps there’s room for a little more grace, for her and for ourselves.

So, maybe before we try to reclaim who we once were, we simply take some time to miss her.

Perhaps the goal isn't to return to the shape we once were. Maybe it's to notice the shape we've taken, understand how we got here, and decide, with compassion and intention, the shape we want to take next.

Much love,

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