Here Comes Goodbye

08 Jun 2013 8 Comments

by Shannon McDonough in Pain, Sadness Tags: , , , ,

Image source: music7seven.com

Image source: music7seven.com

I’ve been contemplating what I would write about next. I always have several ideas brewing, just waiting for the time to be right. As I poured over those ideas though, none of them incited that feeling of urgency. When a thought, belief or idea wants to be written about, it just won’t leave me alone. It nags at me, following me around like a toddler tugging at my shirttails. I had several options that were interesting (at least to me); things that have been mulling around in my brain. But none of them were begging for my attention, jumping up and down shouting, “Pick me! Pick me!”

Until now.

The weather has been beautiful here in the Pacific Northwest and I decided to go outside for a walk. Earlier this week I searched for, and finally found, my pink iPod Shuffle. I love how light and easy it is to just clip on and go, but I haven’t used it in quite a while. It was a gift from my previous boyfriend for our first (and only) anniversary on June 9, 2010. I had completely forgotten that date was significant until just this moment. If you’ve been following me at all, you know how devastating that breakup was.

I haven’t been using my iPod for a couple reasons. First, music touches me deeply and I know some of the songs on there are from when we were together. I was afraid to relive those memories and the emotions they might invoke. Second, it’s something tangible that he held in his hands and the music on it is from his collection; music he thought I would enjoy. So in some ways, even though it’s an inanimate object, after all this time it still feels like a link to him.

But I was ready to let go of that fear. After all, I just wanted to use the damn iPod! So I put in my earbuds and turned it on. And the first song that played was “Here Comes Goodbye” by Rascal Flatts.

I don’t think I’d ever heard this song before. I didn’t even know it was on there. But the moment I heard the words, “Here comes goodbye,” I felt that old, familiar sadness well up in my chest as tears filled my eyes.

“Here comes the last time
Here comes the start of every sleepless night
The first of every tear I’m gonna cry
Here comes the pain
Here comes me wishing things had never changed
And s[he] was right here in my arms tonight, but here comes goodbye”

My reaction was completely unexpected and I don’t think I could’ve stopped it if I tried. Before I knew it I was on my knees, my body heaving with sobs of pain I didn’t even know were waiting there. My heart felt heavy, as though it were made of lead, and the feeling of it rose in my chest until it almost choked me.

“Why does it have to go from good to gone?
Before the lights turn on, yeah and you’re left alone
All alone, but here comes goodbye”

I listened to the song twice and just let the pain wash over me. I didn’t resist it or make it wrong. And then, just as quickly as it had appeared, it moved through me and was gone. Surprised, I dried my tears, went for my walk and went about the rest of my day with unexpected relief.

In that moment I realized why most of us resist feeling our pain. We’re afraid if we let it in it will never go away. We believe that if we let it catch us, it will somehow get us in a strangle hold from which we won’t be able to escape. So we run from it, resist it, stuff it down, numb it out. But the truth is pain, like any other emotion, just wants to be felt; to be greeted with open arms so it can move through us. It’s only when we fight it that it gets stuck.

Many people have tried to tell me I just needed to get over it….I needed closure. And even some of those who didn’t say it out loud were thinking it. I could tell. But not wanting me to feel pain was more about them and less about me.

I don’t believe in closure and I wrote about that in a previous post here. Pain and sadness resulting from a devastating loss is not something to be gotten over or moved past. Grief is something to be felt and embraced…to live in harmony with. It will come and it will go…sometimes when you least expect it. But it’s nothing to be afraid of.

Perhaps that moment of pain is your loved one saying, “I’m here and I will always be a part of you.” And next time, instead of resisting it, you’ll pull it in close, wrap your arms around it, and hold it like a child until it’s ready to be on its way.

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I’d love to hear your comments below. If you liked this post, then please ‘Like’ it and share with your friends. And don’t forget to click ‘Follow’ to get email notifications whenever I post something new. But most of all…thank you for reading and being a part of my journey.

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Leaning Into Pain | Take 2

01 Oct 2012 Leave a comment

by Shannon McDonough in Pain Tags: , , , ,

This is one of the first things I wrote and posted publicly on Facebook in January 2011. I’ve been thinking alot about the lengths we’ll go to in order to avoid anything we perceive as negative. But pain is really not a negative. It’s just the other side of joy. And you can’t have one without the other. So I’m reposting this because I think it’s worth saying again. The pain will not kill you, even though it might seem that way at the time. If you let yourself feel it, really feel it, one day you will discover you had the capacity for it all along.

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I have been experiencing a fair amount of pain these days. Not that occasional out of sorts, down in the dumps kind of feeling. But a gut wrenching, tear your heart out and stomp on it kind of thing. I won’t pretend it’s been easy…it hasn’t. And there are days I don’t know how I’m going to keep moving forward. But I do; and this experience has helped me look at pain in a whole new way.

Up until now, I have had two ways of dealing with the inevitable pain that life throws at us from time to time. One way was to hurtle myself into a deep, dark depression. A place of hopelessness and despair where I feared I would never feel happy again. The other was trying to get rid of the pain by pushing it away, stuffing it down, numbing it, fighting it or running from it. I’ll be honest…neither of these were great options. Because I never allowed myself to feel the pain in a way that could ultimately heal my heart.

This time around I’ve discovered a whole new way of being with pain. Whenever those moments of overwhelming sadness start to wash over me like the waves of the ocean, I simply lean into it. That’s all…just lean in. I don’t try to figure out what its here to teach me; or what I’m supposed to be learning from all this. I don’t try to talk myself out of my pain. I simply move toward it. I lean in and rest my head on its shoulder like a long lost friend. I cry until the tears are gone and the wave moves through me.

This isn’t to say, it doesn’t hurt or it’s not difficult. It’s just a different way of relating to pain. I’m accepting these feelings as a natural part of grieving any kind of loss. And I’m allowing myself to feel what I feel and trying not to judge myself for it. As with everything, it’s a work in progress and is often two steps forward, one step back. As Stephanie St Claire so beautifully put it, ‎”Sometimes you have to take it on blind faith that your heart is healing. It may not feel like the pain is going away. You might still cry just as hard as ever. But strength, confidence, and wisdom grow invisibly and you must trust that it is there. Rock the world Steel Magnolias!”

I couldn’t have said it better myself!

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I’d love to hear your comments below. If you liked this post, then please ‘Like’ it and share with your friends. And don’t forget to click ‘Follow’ to get email notifications whenever I post something new. But most of all…thank you for reading and being a part of my journey.

It Had to Happen This Way

03 Sep 2012 6 Comments

by Shannon McDonough in September 2012, Uncategorized Tags: , , , , , , ,

Thank You (Photo credit: thoughtfulbeliever)

Recently I came across an old email from the man I once believed was the love my life…my soulmate. I wasn’t looking for it. I was searching for something else. I thought for a moment about not opening it. Just going on my way. But it had been a while. And I was curious. You know how that goes.

His words were so sweet. My heart softened as I read them. It was from the beginning of our relationship, a time so full of hope and promise. A time when we both believed we would be together forever. A time when we thought we had found that ever-elusive fairytale in our love for one another.

Some would argue (and have) that I should delete those emails so I won’t be reminded of the pain I felt when that relationship suddenly ended. I see their point. No one wants to feel bad. But I look at it differently. Just because the relationship ended doesn’t mean I have to close the door on those feelings. Love isn’t so black and white. And sometimes, when I’m feeling particularly low, it’s nice to be reminded that someone loved me that much. If only for a short time.

It’s been two years today since he broke my heart. I’m not focusing on it, but it’s there…lurking around in the back of my mind. The anniversaries of significant life events are hard to shake. Maybe you’re not supposed to. Daphne Rose Kingma wrote in her book, Coming Apart, “Next to the death of a loved one, the ending of a relationship is the single most emotionally painful experience that any of us ever goes through.” I can attest to that.

Sometimes I’m still angry with him. He handled it so poorly. But in his defense, there was really no way he could have ended things that I would’ve agreed with. I didn’t want it to end. And yet, there are moments now I feel I should thank him. When I lost the thing I thought was most important to me, when I no longer had someone to focus my attention on, I was forced to focus on me.

So much has changed in the last two years. I’ve taken risks and challenged myself in ways I previously hadn’t though possible. I’ve realized I have a calling as a writer. This blog is a direct result of experiencing something so painful I felt my whole world was falling apart. I am also completing a course to become a life coach. A course I had no idea when I signed up how I would pay for. I’m leaving my current job to find more fulfilling work. I’m still scared all the time, but now I don’t let that stop me. Life is short. What you think will last forever can be gone in an instant.

I still feel sadness from time to time. And I often miss having him in my life. It hasn’t been easy, but I know it had to happen this way. Though I would not have chosen this path, I am grateful for where it has led me–and for the person I continue to become.

There Might Always Be Days Like This

06 Jun 2012 4 Comments

by Shannon McDonough in Uncategorized Tags: , , , ,

You’ve heard the phrase before, “time heals all wounds.” I think it’s been said so long and so often by so many we don’t even question it. But is it really true? Does time really heal everything? Or is that just what people tell you when they’re uncomfortable with your pain?

I think what bothers me most about what this statement implies is that there will supposedly come a day when you will never feel that pain again. You’re healed! Hallelujah! And if after said magical period of time you haven’t ‘gotten over it’, well, there must be something wrong with you. But I just don’t think it works that way. No matter how much time has passed or how much work I’ve done, it seems there are still days when the pain comes flooding back. I’ll be doing my thing, minding my own business, and suddenly something sparks a memory. A good memory. And, like an unexpected storm on a sunny afternoon, I find myself in a torrential downpour of emotions.

Often the pain is accompanied by a chorus of thoughts such as, “what’s wrong with you?” And “you should be over this by now.” And for a split second I am tempted to swallow the tears and push on through my day. But I know resisting the pain won’t make it go away. Resisting only tightens its grip. Actually, the opposite is true. It’s when I give in to the sadness, the grief, the sorrow–when I lean into the pain–that it is able to move through me.

If you’re reading this and are concerned I’m wallowing, I’m not. I believe there’s a reason for everything. Even when we can’t see it or understand it. Even when it hurts us. And most days now I can see that dark cloud’s silver lining. Can I recognize the positive things that have happened since that day? Of course! Am I grateful for the many amazing people who’ve come into my life as a result of this new path? Absolutely! Does the pain still bring me to my knees from time to time? It does.

So does time really heal all? I guess it depends on how you define ‘healed’. It is my belief you will never be the same again. That experience will always be a part of the person you are. There are just some things in life that leave you forever changed. But that doesn’t mean you’ll never be happy again. I’ve discovered pain and happiness can coexist. Each weaving in and out of your life creating the tapestry of you. I don’t believe you get over anything…I believe you go through it, and feel it, and talk about it, and little by little you start to feel joy again. It doesn’t happen overnight, but it does happen. In its own time. Really.

What A Year Has Taught Me

05 Sep 2011 8 Comments

by Shannon McDonough in September 2011 Tags: , , , , , ,

The last photo of us together taken July 31, 2010

It has been a year since my life took an unexpected turn. Since the man I thought would love me forever said those words, ”I don’t want to be in a relationship.” I’ll never forget that moment. I didn’t believe him. Honestly, I still don’t. But he seemed pretty convinced. He took me to the airport, gave me a hug and never looked back. I walked away with my head held high. I was determined to be strong…I wouldn’t let him see me cry. But as soon as I went down the escalator to security, the tears started to flow. Other than two brief email exchanges, we haven’t spoken since. I have missed him every day.

I told myself I would give it six months. Six months to hurt and to heal. But six months came and went and still the pain persisted. Apparently you can’t put a time limit on moving on. You just have to live your life and follow where the pain leads you. A lot has happened in the last year. It struck me recently as I realized Labor Day weekend would mark the anniversary of that time in my life, that I have learned so much over the last 365 days. It has not been easy. But it hasn’t been all bad either.

I have often thought about what I would want him to know. What I would say if I had that opportunity. So here is what I would tell him; what the last year has taught me about life, love and being myself.

  • No matter how painful the loss, or how fearful you are of that pain, love is always worth the risk. ALWAYS. Even in my darkest hour, and there have been many, I never had regrets. Before our relationship, I had never experienced such a deep knowing, a sense that we were meant to be together. And that everything we’d experienced in our lives had led us to each other. As difficult as this has been, I would do it all over again, given the chance at that kind of love.
  • Loving you gave me a kind of courage I’d never known before. I’m not saying there wasn’t fear and trepidation. You know how many times I ‘pumped the brakes’. It’s just that loving and being loved so deeply, helped me push past my fear. The decision to move away from my friends, my family and the only life I’d every known was huge for me. But it paled in comparison to the thought of living without you. And as a result, I don’t have that same fear of moving now. In fact, the thought of it excites me more than anything. I look forward to the adventure someday.
  • I learned to step outside my comfort zone and take a new job even though I’d been with the same company for more than 11 years. After you broke up with me I kept thinking, “Why would you walk away? Don’t you realize life is short and you have to live it right now?” And then it hit me! I was doing the same thing with my job. Playing it safe. Doing something I really didn’t like, but not leaving because I was afraid it wouldn’t work out. So, I took a leap of faith, got a new job in a completely different industry, have met some terrific people and learned so much about myself in the process.
  • I realized I wasn’t spending my time doing the things I truly love and that make my heart sing. I had wanted to write a blog for a long time. I really enjoy writing. There’s just something about conveying my thoughts and feelings through words that amazes me even as I’m doing it. So I started blogging and have been jotting down ideas for a book. I am also working toward getting training to become a life coach. I look at my life and the choices I make now more in terms of how I really want to spend my time and what’s really important to me.
  • I’m stronger than I realized. When I left that day I had no idea we wouldn’t see each other or talk again. I really still thought it would all work out. Ever the optimist. But it hasn’t worked out the way I thought and dealing with that loss has been a day by day experience. I have felt the feelings as they come, but I don’t let them consume me. If I can get through the pain of losing you, and come out with more peace and clarity of purpose on the other side, I can get through anything.  There have definitely been some dark times. Some moments where I didn’t know if I could keep going. But I did. And I do.
  • I learned what it feels like to love deeply and truly…without limits. I loved you to the depths of my soul. Until you, I had never loved anyone that unconditionally other than my children. I had hoped it was possible, but I had never experienced it. Now I know that deep, “I will love you until the end of time” kind of love does exist for me. And it doesn’t go away just because you’re not with that person. Love that deep and true spans time, distance and circumstances. I would never settle for anything less again.
  • I learned I don’t have to try so hard; that I’m fine the way I am. I like that I’m introspective, love to read and figure things out. I’m not a morning person or a neat freak and that’s okay. Better than okay. It’s who I am and I wouldn’t change it. I’m neurotic, I worry too much, I wear my heart on my sleeve. I can’t take a hint or read between the lines. I think a lot and often over-analyze things. This is who I am…I make no excuses. There really is beauty in imperfection. I didn’t believe it at first, but I’ve come to realize it’s true.
  • I learned I needed to be alone, to not have someone to ‘take care of’ right now. Because it allowed me to see what I really want my life to look like. As painful as this has been, I needed to figure it out on my own. Oddly, I am grateful for the pain. It has been a doorway to finding my purpose in life. You gave me a great gift by walking away. And though it wasn’t what I would’ve chosen, and I still miss you so much, I don’t believe I would’ve discovered these things about myself in any other way.
  • I was reminded how much I enjoy cooking. Cooking feels like something I do for the people I love. It makes me feel like family. After 15 years of having to cook for someone who didn’t appreciate it when I was married, I had forgotten how much pleasure there is in cooking just for the joy of it. This last year I’ve spent more time in the kitchen, trying new recipes and spending time around the dinner table with friends and family. And you were right. Life really is easier with a good skillet. I am reminded of that every time I use the one you bought me.
  • I learned you can love someone even though their actions have caused you pain. It’s true you don’t have to feel things so acutely when you put up that wall of anger and blame and play the victim. But it doesn’t make things easier. The pain is still there. You can love someone for the person you know them to be; underneath their fear, shame and nagging sense of unworthiness. I understand those feelings. Because I fight my own battles with those very same things. It gives me compassion. You can love someone and not be with them.
  • I realized that life is good right here, right now. No matter what is going on I always have something to be grateful for. When I say something funny and Kyle actually laughs. When a friend calls for a spur of the moment barbeque. When I find myself in a great conversation or enjoying a lazy afternoon. When I make time for a walk outside in the middle of the work day. I’m living my life more in each moment than in the future or the past. I hope you know what that’s like.

Even though we’re not together, I am grateful for the time we had. I will always cherish those memories. Loving you has taught me so much about myself. I got to see the things that still need work, like communication and feeling not good enough. And the things I’m proud of, like how much I care about people and how deeply I am capable of loving. And all the things in between that are often less than perfect, but make up the incredible imperfect me. Loving you made me want to be a better person. Not just for you or for us, but for me.

I hope you have learned something this last year too…about yourself, about life, about love. That you realize with all your strengths and all your faults, you are worthy of love. You are sweet, kind, dorky, stubborn, opinionated, loving, funny, smart, messy, strong, fearful, open, withdrawn, introspective, protective, negative, handy, and so much more. You can be both the sweetest man and the biggest pain in the ass. But I hope you realize, as I have, that there’s nothing wrong with you. I still have my fears and insecurities…my feelings of not good enough. That’s just part of being human. But I learned, through this experience, I still deserve to be loved. I hope you learned that too.

Closure…It’s Not What You Think It Is

16 Aug 2011 Leave a comment

by Shannon McDonough in August 2011 Tags: , , , , , ,

Clo·sure Webster’s dictionary defines closure as : an often comforting or satisfying sense of finality <victims needing closure>; also : something (as a satisfying ending) that provides such a sense. Dictionary.com describes it as a bringing to an end; conclusion. But I call bullshit! This has not been my experience. When you lose someone you love; due to death, divorce, a break up, there’s nothing satisfying about it. And there’s certainly no conclusion. Maybe the hope of getting closure someday keeps us going when we might otherwise give up. I suppose that’s a good thing. But I don’t think closure exists…at least not the way most of us look at it.

I’ve been thinking about closure alot these last months. Ever since the man I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with walked away and my heart was broken beyond words. The ‘solution’ I am often presented with is closure. Well-meaning friends and family members often say, “You just need closure.” Or, they’ll tell me something negative about him saying, “Maybe this will help you get closure.” Apparently, no matter what the circumstance or how deep the pain, all you need to do is get closure and that matter will be behind you forever. They make it sound so easy. It’s not.

Most days come and go without tears, but not without thoughts of him. I get up, I go to work, I live my life. But then something out of the blue sparks a memory. I hear a song, or a line in a movie and the pain comes flooding back. Before I know it I am consumed by the longing to see him again, to hear his voice, to touch his sweet face. Often those journeys into darkness are completely unexpected. The other day I picked up a book off my shelf thinking I’d sit down and read for a while. Inside the front cover was a folded piece of paper. I opened to it find a print out of an email from him professing he would love and adore me forever. He didn’t. And just reading those words all these months later brought back the pain of him leaving as if it were yesterday.

There are also times when it’s a funny memory. I was at the grocery store recently and suddenly felt the urge to start drumming. You can imagine my confusion since I am not, nor have I ever been, a drummer. It took a minute, but then I realized the song playing ovehead was also on the video game Rock Band. We used to play that game until the wee hours of the morning. We had our own ‘band’ and we were on ‘tour’. He was the guitarist, of course, and I was the drummer. I wasn’t very good at it, but we had alot fun! It was our thing…something we did together nearly every time I visited. I laughed out loud in the aisle when it hit me.

And then there are the times when I wonder if the Universe is messing with me. Has that ever happened to you? I was driving through Eatonville the other day. This is the town where we met…were we went to high school together. I have to drive through town on my way to my parent’s house. He was already on my mind as he often is when I drive past the high school. As I was sitting at the four-way stop in the middle of town, I looked up and realized the car in front of me had Virginia license plates. That is where he lives and where I was going to move. Virginia is where we were going to build a life together. I just looked up to the sky and sighed. Really? There are 49 other states; why Virginia plates? What does that mean? Or is it just a random coincidence? I still don’t know what it means, but don’t believe in coincidences.

To be honest I was starting to think something was wrong with me that I couldn’t get to that ever-illusive state of closure. I felt like people wanted me to get over it already and move on. Maybe I wasn’t trying hard enough. Then my mom loaned me Jerry Sittser’s book, “A Grace Disguised.” It’s the story of a man who lost his mother, his wife, and his daughter in one fateful car crash. He talks about loss in such an honest, real way. And reading his story reminded me that while my life goes on, and so does yours, it will never be the same. You can’t go back. Losing someone you love leaves a hole in your heart that nothing else can fill. That’s not to say you won’t be happy again. But you’ll never stop missing them; they will always be a part of you.

I have to admit I still get angry sometimes when people tell me I need closure. As if that’s the magic pill that will make my heart stop hurting; the memories stop flooding back at the slightest provocation; the longing to see him again fade away. I just don’t think closure is the right word. I think the word we’re looking for is acceptance. You can accept the fact your loved one is gone. But that doesn’t mean you forget them. And I don’t think you should. The memories will always be there; some sad, some happy, some just downright weird. But I think acceptance brings peace…a little at a time.

So here’s my advice on loss. You can take it or leave it. It’s your choice. Let yourself feel the pain. Remember that person as often as you want and cry or smile or both. Don’t fight those feelings because you think you shouldn’t have them. This is not about wallowing or feeling sorry for yourself; though you may feel that way at times. This is about being real. The experiences of your life are as much a part of you as your fingers and toes. The pain will come and go. There is no closure; no magic moment; no satisfy ending; no conclusion. The person you love will always be with you; in your thoughts, your mind, your heart. Life is a story that goes on and on. And they will always be a part of it.

“Even the saddest things can become, once we have made peace with them, a source of wisdom and strength for the journey that still lies ahead.” ~Frederick Buechner