If I had to describe myself, I would say I'm a short, overweight, opinionated, sometimes angry introvert. What I think people want me to be is a slightly taller, slim, pleasant, soft-spoken, kind-hearted extrovert. I can pull off aspects of that persona for brief periods of time, but it is extremely tiring.
I know there are times in life when we all have to adopt certain personas to survive the current situation, but there is a part of me that resents it so much these days. Maybe it's all the digging, fighting, and struggling I have gone through over the past few years to try and unearth my real self. Maybe it's just getting older and being tired of expectations that are placed on me.
I played the dutiful daughter-in-law last week at my father-in-law's visitation and funeral. A lot of it was genuine and who I truly am. But there were times when I knew in my heart I was playing a role while racking my brain to come up with the right things to say. Smiling as people told stories about Pop, while I'm remembering the rest of the story in my head. Listening while the speakers at the funeral recounted episodes that showed one thing from their perspective, while making me think the complete opposite.
The thing that's bothered me the most through all of this experience (except for the obvious pain my husband and children are feeling in the loss) is my own inability to cry.
This man who died a week ago Saturday, who I had known since 1983, who had been my father-in-law and the grandfather to my children, and I can't summon up a single tear for him.
There was a brief shifting in my being when I walked into his home the day he had died. That realization that he wouldn't be there anymore. A dampness on my lashes as I said my own final farewell to him before they closed the casket. Realizing how much had been left unsaid. A momentary catch in my voice as I did a reading at his service. And that's all.
What kind of person knows another being for 30 years, yet can't shed a tear at his passing?
I talked with my husband about it. He's not bothered by it. His father and I had a rocky start to our relationship. He wasn't particularly impressed by me, and I thought he was arrogant and caustic. Plus he flat out scared me. Over time, we came to a detente, but it never really moved much beyond that.
I tried to fill the matriarcal shoes when my mother-in-law died, but I didn't have the wherewithal to stand up to my father-in-law. So we struggled for years with holidays and family traditions.
Over the past few months, as his health declined, I tried to take care of him by cooking for him, visiting, and doing laundry. He was not an easy man to help, and I often felt rebuffed. So I struggled along, trying to help him as best I could.
Maybe later on the tears will fall, inconsolably. Maybe I've just become too much of realist where relationships are concerned. Maybe I'm just different, and I need to embrace that.
So I'm working on loving myself through this time. Experiencing something new and unexpected. Something I really don't like about myself, but trying to be kind in that recognition. Because maybe it's not a bad thing. Maybe it's just who I am.
linking up with a love dare
I think we put too much pressure on ourselves for who and what we're "supposed" to be (do, act, say, etc). Love yourself anyway. Give yourself permission to be just who you are and love. yourself. anyway.
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