Feet on ground, facing forward.

It’s funny the way grief shows up. It never really seems to show any regard for my time or my peace and just pops in without any warning.

Kind of rude, actually.

See, we love to talk about the triumphs and success stories. We love a new beginning or a second chance tale.

In our romanticising we often overlook the fact that a new beginning implies the end of something else. It’s really difficult to start fresh if you’re weighed down, still carrying the heavy things from your past.

I am living the life I sought, doing the things I want to do, creating the home I want for my kids. This isn’t debatable.

I know I’m in the right place. I know I did the right thing.

I guess I (and everyone else) figured that would be it.

It’s not, though. Emotions don’t work like a light switch.

Things unfold as they do in a day. I go about getting things done as they need doing. Throw in a load of laundry, tidy up the dishes, write out a few Christmas cards and pause as I sign off with one less name.

It is neither overtly good nor bad, just a portal I step through to watch a highlight reel. I’m staring blankly at a cupboard in my kitchen as 20 years of Christmas flashes before my eyes.

Grief has arrived and it takes me right out of body. Grief has the wheel now and will take me down any road it sees fit.

It’s messy and uncomfortable and it hurts so intensely that it makes me want to disappear altogether.

I’ve taken my personal skeletons out of the closet and taught them choreography. I no longer want to live a life of half-truths and trying to be liked by people I shouldn’t.

I talk about the struggles I have faced and the struggles I am currently facing. I overshare on the regular and probably make a lot of people very uncomfortable.

What that means, though, is that my shortcomings and faults and mistakes are out on the table for all to see. My mistakes are the mistakes I investigate and write about, looking to find meaning or purpose in what I’ve messed up.

I don’t want to spend my time casting stones and blaming others. I can’t fix anyone but myself, anyway.

I didn’t anticipate that working on my mental health would lead me to end my marriage, uproot my kids and move even further from the city. I couldn’t have known what God had in store for us.

I do know what I’ve been through and I don’t intend to ever go through it again.