Throughout my adult life, I have had the bad habit of overcommitting myself. I am a people-pleaser by nature, and I like to feel needed, so I have difficulty saying no. On occasion, I’ll commit to doing more in a day (or a week) than is physically, mentally, or emotionally possible, and end up either overwhelming myself or letting my friends and colleagues down (usually both). In the eight months since Sami’s passing, my tendency to overcommit has intensified; this week, I finally hit a wall.
Over the last month or two, as I’ve realized time moves me further away from the events of Sami’s illness and passing, I’ve found myself interacting with people who are not aware of my grief (which is entirely natural). I’ve also realized that while I’m still working through what happened last year, others have moved forward (as is natural). But the result of these realizations has been an urge to talk about what happened to us, to tell the uninformed, “hey, my wife died from a horrible disease just eight months ago - it was really awful.” This is not a great conversation starter, to say the least. The rational side of my brain reminds me that this was a personal experience, that perfect strangers have no way of knowing that I’m still grieving (and reliving the experience). The emotional side of my brain wonders, “how can they act so normally?!” I also know that my friends are concerned and willing to talk - I’m just not sure I’m ready to unload everything that happened quite yet (or that I ever will be).
Because of this, several weeks ago I decided to write a chronology of my experience, from late January 2023, when we first realized Sami’s symptoms, through August 13, when Sami passed. I decided to write it without consulting my notes, my journal entries, or my blog posts from that stretch of time - I wanted to see what I remembered now. I found the process helpful, for the most part. I felt like I was able to tell the story of what happened (even if no one else will ever read this account). I found that my memory is an interesting thing - I would often have to loop back chronologically when I remembered some detail from earlier in the narrative. I also found that there were things I didn’t entirely process as they were happening last year. And finally, I realized that while I was fortunate to be able to take time off from work to care for Sami, I jumped right back into work in late August. I didn’t really take time off for myself.
This week, I realized that since Sami’s first surgery 62 weeks ago, I have organized workshops or given prepared talks every ten days (on average) (41 times since late January 2023). Until very recently, I haven’t said no to any invitations to speak or help out with someone else’s workshop. I’ve also committed to helping with a number of events and other activities.
Today, this feels like I’ve been pushing a heavy load (of work and commitment) uphill since August. If the load goes away, I feel like my “forward” momentum will cause me to fall. If it goes away, I’ll be forced to reflect on how difficult last year was. I’m realizing (slowly, for sure) that I need to just do that (writing the chronology was part of that reflection). I need to take a breath and grieve. I need to let the external load go, even if only for a short while.
As an aside, some of the reading I’ve done recently has caused me to think about what grief is. After his wife passed, C.S. Lewis wrote that he had come to think about bereavement as simply another natural (and very necessary) stage in his relationship with his wife (along with courtship and marriage). I want to spend some time with that thought. I also want to spend some time with the idea that my grief includes both sorrow for what I don’t have any more (Sami’s companionship and partnership, to name a few) and sorrow for what Sami went through. I’m grieving that my daughters won’t be able to talk to their mother again. Sometimes my grief feels very selfish. Sometimes I find that I can no longer see Sami’s face or hear her voice clearly in my imagination - I hope that those memories will return as I move forward with this reflection.
Going away, for work or for fun, is also more complicated than it used to be. Much of this complication has to do with my animals - Sami was always the one who arranged for the mules, dogs, and chickens to be fed when we left town; I was responsible for the sheep (and until last year, I always had a business partner who could take care of them while I was gone). I’ve been very fortunate to have help with all of this since August, but I still struggle with leaving the animals in someone else’s care (or to be more accurate, I struggle with asking for help).
And so I come (finally) to my reason for writing this. I know that my tendency to overcommit is stressful for me; I also realize my failure to live up to my commitments is stressful for my friends and colleagues. I hate being a flake; ironically, one way to avoid being a flake is to say “no” in the first place! Intellectually, I know that others are understanding when I need to say no (probably more so now than ever); emotionally, I also know that saying no feels like I’m letting them down. In reality, I’m learning that saying “no” now is better than saying yes and then being unable to fulfill my commitments. To those of you I’ve let down, I apologize - thank you for understanding.
Next week, I’ll turn 57. I’ve decided to take the week off from work and simply be at home (mostly). I want to do some woodworking and to chip away at the clean up I’ll need to do to sell our place. I want to hang out with my dogs (plural - I’m also going to pick up a puppy next week!). I want to read and cook and do yard work. I want to simply “be” for a week - with no schedule and no place to be. I know that some down time will be beneficial for my immediate well-being; I hope it will also help me to recalibrate my approach to work (and life in general). I’ve made commitments for workshops and research over the summer; I’ve also decided that I want to be camped near the ocean in early August to celebrate our 34th anniversary. I want to see Lara and Emma. And I’ll be moving to a new job and a new home next fall. Consequently, I will also be saying no more often (and I will probably need help remembering this). Thank you for understanding!
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