Friends often tell me to be kind to myself. I do my best.
Being kind to myself has been easy and straight-forward. I indulge in all kinds of activities - or inactivities - that my heart desires. It's simplistically black and white.
As time progresses, kindness to myself becomes a little more gray; then a lot more gray. Counter-intuitive. I don't think it is always doing what my heart desires anymore. Sometimes it desires things that are counterproductive to my healing. Indulging in those is not self-kindness. They are by no means destructive - and that's the problem. They trot on the fine line. They mask themselves as kindness, and unnecessarily prolong my healing process.
One of the most, if not the most, pragmatic struggles I have is organizing Eric's belongings. I haven't started any of it. One of the famous phrases I carry around is this: "I am not ready. His toothbrush is still exactly where he left it." Well, maybe that's the problem. His toothbrush is still exactly where he left it! The fact is, I don't want to remove ANYTHING, EVER - but indulging in that sentiment is completely counterproductive - it holds life back. It prolongs the time to emerge. It delays my living a full life again. It is individual; it may work great for others who grieve, who take decades before closets are cleared. It cannot work like that for me. It must not.
I need to throw away Eric's toothbrush.No friend in the right mind will advise me the right moment to toss out a toothbrush. It's on me. I must act on courage. I can do that.
It is not about ridding the toothbrush. And it certainly is not the toothbrush itself. It's the familiarity that indulges short-term comfort. And that's alright, as long as I am aware of what that toothbrush is doing to me, and for me, exactly.
Being kind is being decidedly, IMPECCABLY self-aware.
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