I just hope that this writing will save someone tonight, as this process has helped me to save my life, too.
Like billions of people, we love someone. Then, somehow and somewhen, we separate for whatever reasons. And just like billions of people, we experience grief and broken heart.
In 2019, my father passed away because of his sickness. I followed him from the sickbed to the cemetery. And it crushed me so bad because he’s one of those persons who genuinely believed in me. At the moment, I felt nothing. It felt like you’re alone in an empty space with no roads and no sign. In 2021, I broke up with my boyfriend whom I was about to marry after five+ years of relationship. It’s bloody painful. If I could illustrate it, it feels like you’re falling from a very high cliff, and you hit the solid rock bottom — you broke into pieces but you, apparently, didn’t die. After that crazy hit, you didn’t die. But you feel the pain. A serious, serious injury, leaving you with a big wound, wide open.
The thing that grief (of death) and a broken heart shared is there’s this gap of realization that one needs to go through — I called it Dozing Period (guess you won’t find this phrase if you google it, I just made this up — but please hear the explanation). Dozing Period is the moment a person needs to actually realize that the other person has gone. Really gone, and probably won’t come back. Even though I watched my father buried with my own eyes, I needed some time to finally wake up and realize that he’s no longer here. He’s dead. Facts won’t change because of my fantasy. This too happened when I broke up with my ex. I heard the sentences, clearly. We even made sure that we’re on the same page. But my oh my, it also took some time for me to acknowledge that things are no longer the same. We’re not like we used to be — and this is the fact. This is the hard pills that I need to swallow. In the Dozing Period, the expectation is still there. I called it dozing because it feels like we’re half asleep, like we’re having a nightmare, and none of the madness was real. We thought because it’s just a dream, this experience can’t hurt us.
No.
When we finally wake up, truly wake up and face the reality, we’ll realize two points that we’ve been thinking in a wrong way. First, this is not a dream. Second, this hurts. Damn hurts. When we wake up, we remember that we’re just falling from the cliff and hit the solid rock. It hurts so bad.
Wound + dozing period make us questions a lot of things. It seems like we need more and more explanations to comprehend things while we know no words can bring any satisfaction for us. Because we know we don’t need more explanation. We’re frustrated, lost, angry, scared, anxious — that’s a hell lot of things, enough to make us question everything while we need no explanation. We, crazily enough, (((just))) need to experience.
I thought I was done, but I found something. I can’t run from the wound because… the wound is there, in me. How can I run from myself? That’s why as opposed to lie to myself, I choose to face it and acknowledge that it’s there. Rumi said that the cure of the pain is in the pain. My moment of realization comes from… the wound. A physical one. Let’s take a look at how physical wound heals.
There are four phase of physical wound healing: (1) hemostasis, (2) inflammation, (3) proliferation, and (4) maturation.
The first phase: Hemostasis. I think hemostasis is the body’s first aid. In this phase, the blood vessel works to clog or reduce the blood flow. When I reflected to my process for the past month, I’ve been searching for ways to stop my “blood” to flow. I’m taking a therapy, I talked to the priest, I stay close to my mom, I re-connect to my friends, I keep speaking in sessions. I want the blood to stop flowing. And so far, these people and activities have helped me A LOT to reduce this blood flow. I’m forever thankful for their presence.
But I was frustrated, if the blood flows less, why do I still feel the pain? I was supposed to feel better. I thought this way because I didn’t know back then that this is the first step. The first. The second phase is an imp.
The second phase: Inflammation. Localized swelling. Heat. Stings. Redness. They all sound like a pain for me! How could I know that this is a phase where the wound is actually… starting to heal. The body is pushing dangerous bacteria, pathogens, or dead cells from the wound. This is an internal protection — an attempt to cleanse. This is exactly what I’m feeling. I feel like I’m not progressing. I’ve observed inside myself, increased my awareness towards my emotion, identified my needs, I’ve done everything I could but I still feel the pain. However, it is… making sense. Who says that facing your emotion is going to be easy? Who says that accepting the facts will be easy? It’s dreadful. But when we’re able to do it, we’re actually making a step forward. Repeat after me, it’s a step forward. Our body won’t be able to protect us if it doesn’t acknowledge the danger. And, after a period of time, there comes the third phase.
The third phase: Proliferative. It’s a reconstruction phase. A new network of blood vessels and a new tissue appear. They’re connected with the existing tissues. I can’t write much about this phase as I have no idea how it’s going to look like on me. I’m aware that I’m still in the inflammation phase and I don’t know how long it’s going to be. Actually, no one knows. So, on the third and fourth phases, I could only put my hope and guess. Probably, I rebuild new definitions about many things — some of them are fundamentals. Perhaps I redefine who I am, what it means to love and be loved, what it means to be in a relationship and not in a relationship, what matters the most for me, what I want in life, etc. And by this process, probably I will reconstruct myself and my life, too. Until I reach the fourth phase one day.
The fourth phase: Maturation. The wound is fully closed. The unused cells are removed. The phase where a person knows that it’s okay, now.
It’s important to note that the wound healing is a fragile process. It takes a certain terms and conditions, a safe and proper environment, a sufficient support, where the body can do its job. The stages of wound healing, although linear, can regress for several factors, too, and create more troubles (for example: infection). That’s why we handle our wound with care.
I think that’s the same case with the wound that comes from a broken heart or grief. We need to handle it with care. We don’t bark to our skin if it is wounded and let it take the time it needs to recover. So why do we push ourselves to recover as fast as possible?
I haven’t reached the third phase, let alone the fourth. I guess I’m at the second but who knows that I’m actually still standing at the first phase. Nonetheless, I learned one important thing: that it will be okay. It takes time, it’s a violent process, a cruel road we need to walk on. It could feel like it’s endless, but it won’t be forever.
In The Letters of Vincent van Gogh page 63–64, van Gogh wrote:
“Many people would undoubtedly consider it foolish and superstitious to go on believing in a change for the better. It is sometimes so bitterly cold in the winter that one says “The cold is too awful for me to care whether summer is coming or not; the harm outdoes the good.” But with or without our approval, the severe weather does come to an end eventually and one fine morning the wind changes and there is thaw. When I compare the state of the weather to our state of mind and our circumstances, subject to change and fluctuation like the weather, then I still have some hope that things may get better.”
We don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. But that’s the point. Tomorrow is full with possibilities, including that things will make sense at the end and that we’ve overcome it. We’ve reached a new place — which also full of possibilities.
And in that possibilities, we rise up again each morning and walk.
