They say that losing a spouse is one of the most devastating losses a human can encounter, and the impacts on your health can be detrimental. The immense heartbreak alone can cause increased blood pressure, blood clotting, altering of the heart muscle so much so that it can cause "broken heart syndrome". Grief increases inflammation in the body and knocks your immune system. When both the physical and emotional stress start to overlap, this can cause chronic stress where your body lives in a state of constant adrenaline, a state of survival mode. When this happens over an extended period of time, your anxiety, your sleep, your appetite, your energy levels, your train of thought, the type of thoughts you experience and generally your overall health are all impacted. Grief can shake your body to it's core.
During my grieving journey over the last 18 months or so, I have gone through the motions. I've been absolutely fine, thinking that I have this all under control. And I have been brought to my knees sobbing, thinking how am I going to do this. How can I go on when my heart is physically aching and in a million pieces.
For the first 6 months, I missed Bernard. I missed him so much it hurt. I remember the day after his passing, my sister ran me a bubble bath and I lay there writing a tribute to him to let our world know he had gone to be with Jesus. It was so surreal. I wanted to honour him with what I wrote, but I was still in such disbelief that this had happened and this is what I was writing as I lay there. As I got dressed, my chest started to close and I couldn't breathe. I knew I was having a panic attack due to the short moment of realization that my husband was gone forever. Choosing a funeral parlour was one of the biggest and heaviest decisions I had to make in this process. It weighed so heavy on my heart. I wanted to choose the BEST funeral parlour, who would honour his body and the situation as a whole as I said goodbye to him. Answering all the questions brought me to tears every time. At the age of 36, I couldn't believe these were the conversations I was having to have. That this was the situation I never ever in my wildest dreams planned for. Fetching his ashes was just a moment that should only happen when you are old and grey, and your spouse had passed from old age. But your mind and heart protect you by not allowing you to realize the full extent and reality of what has happened all at once. The massive loss that has just taken place. It somehow only allows you to digest pieces of the truth slowly at a time. However, as reality did start to set in more and more, it was an overwhelming wave of emotions to try and process. I felt physically sick to my stomach, and so, the grief started to impact me slowly but surely health wise.
I read a post the other day that said "GRIEF can have the same impact on the brain as a brain injury. When you experience a profound loss your brain rewires itself - a process called neuroplasticity, in response to the trauma, which has profound effects on your brain, mind and body. Your body goes into fight, flight or freeze and releases hormones and chemicals. Each day, reminders of your loss triggers this stress response and ultimately changes your brains circuitry. The pathways you've known and relied on for most of your life take some massive detours and the brain shifts to prioritize primitive functions. The prefrontal cortex, responsible for decision making, takes a back seat, and the limbic system, where our survival instincts operate, hops in the drivers seat. In an attempt to manage overwhelming emotions while maintaining function, your brain acts like a super filter to keep memories and emotions in a tolerable zone. The result: increased anxiety and an inability to think straight. Grieving is a protective process. It's an evolutionary adaptation to help us survive in the face of emotional trauma. But with time and aligned action that supports growth and healing, you can overcome it.
A lot of people who haven't been through the journey of losing a spouse don't realize that your body (subconsciously or not), enters into survival mode. It is literally fighting to make it through one day at a time. Sometimes even an hour at a time. You go to bed and wake up the next day to face it all over again, and again, and again, and again. That in itself has been so mentally and emotionally exhausting in my experience.
On top of that, I still needed to work a full time job so I could pay my bills at the end of each month. I still had to do washing, get groceries, cook meals. All these "every day normal (privileged) chores/tasks" seemed like an enormous mountain to climb during this time. There was also the estate that I was trying to sort out with Lawyers and Accountants. There was counseling which, in itself working through heaps of emotions and thoughts, can definitely take it's toll. There were many days I wanted to give up. I prayed that God would just take me home to be with Him and be with Bernard again. Safe. Free of this pain. Free of this agony. There would be days where I would be driving somewhere, and thoughts would cross my mind of driving off the edge of the road so I could end my life. I would be sitting on the balcony of my apartment (3 floors up) and stare down to the ground wondering if I would survive jumping off. Battling the thoughts of "It was my fault. Was I a terrible wife that he just couldn't live with me? Did I fail him? Is there something wrong with me?". Grief is relentless. You don't get a break to stop the clock, take a breather and just try catch your breath and reboot. Life carries on and stops for no-one. I had to force myself to somehow slow down and try be kind to myself. If all I could do was wake up, wash my face and brush my teeth, do a decent day's work and order take out - let that be okay. If my washing basket was overflowing, but I didn't have the energy to put on a load and hang it up, tomorrow will be okay. If I couldn't respond to the messages I
had received, it's okay. As much as I was struggling physically, deep down, I always had this unexplainable peace that God was with me through it all and wouldn't ever let me go. Somehow, I still continued to put one foot in front of the other. I would go to bed, tears running down my face, wake up the next morning and face another day of trying to survive it all again.
As I entered the end of the first year of grieving, I think the overwhelming stress and emotional trauma was all too much for my body and, as mentioned in a previous post, I encountered what felt like a heart attack and landed up in hospital. I was terrified. But the cardiologist "diagnosed" me with broken heart syndrome. The months that followed were terrible. It felt like
every little thing triggered me. My nervous system was absolutely shot. I was anxious all the time, so teary over everything, I couldn't sleep and I had absolutely no appetite. I was exhausted and had reached my end. I was completely burnt out. I lost about 6 - 8 kgs in the last few months of 2022. I no longer wanted to face the world or the daily emotions of grieving. Everyone else's lives had moved forward, back into their daily/weekly routines. The check ins slowly stopped. Yet my world was still in pieces. All I wanted to do was stay in bed and sleep. But you see, this exhaustion is not something that sleep can make better. Your soul is tired. It's so very tired. It's a lonely journey, grief. Noone understands exactly what you are feeling. No one understands the deep loss you are experiencing, and no one could ever replace that space in my life that Bernard held. No one. And grief can't be fixed. Grief is something you have to hold space for it and process it. Losing Bernard, has been the hardest thing I have had to face and endure.
Over the last while, my blood pressure has been sitting at an incredibly dangerous level but my heart rate has been steady. My doctor has been so wonderful to sit with me and figure out what is going on with my body. The triggers of the grief, tying up of the estate, the financial debt Bernard left behind and a high pressurized job have all been things that have put my nervous system under extreme, chronic stress. He prescribed me medication that will help me slowly come out of survival mode and allow my nervous system to rest for awhile. Sixteen months into my grieving journey (April 2023), and I finally feel like I can breathe easier again. My blood pressure is down and I can feel my body is not constantly on edge. I've included some gym activity into my weekly routine as well over the last months and ordered ready packaged, healthy meals that I can cook here at home. As the fog slowly starts to lift, and I start to "settle" into this new life, I am beginning to have better days. I am learning to love myself again and person I'm growing into. The waves are still there, but are not as intense.
I called this post "In sickness and in health" because it struck me the other day, that as I've walked this journey of grief, I need to remind myself that as much as I vowed to Bernard on the day we got married that I would stand by him in sickness and in health, I need to do the same for myself now. As I am on the road of rediscovering myself again, I need to take care of my body and my health for the days and years to come. I need to allow it to process what it needs to process and then let that go. I need to ensure I am resting when I need to rest and I need to ensure I am nourishing my body well. I need to take the medication the doctor has prescribed to me in order to cope daily at the moment and not live in survival mode. My body is a temple of the Holy Spirit and I need to look after it. And I need to feed my soul, with God's word and peace. Grief is incredibly hard on our bodies, and it takes it's a big toll on us. However, our spirit is able to be restored. It won't be broken forever. God is a God of restoration, healing and love.
God doesn't promise us an easy life. John even writes, "God did not promise us a life without pain but our joy is that His strength is made perfect in our weaknesses," -John 16:1-2. And I can wholeheartedly testify to that. I have had many days where I am so weak, wanting to give up, but somehow I had the strength to carry on. That was God. I don't know how I managed last year when the fog was still so thick and I couldn't see a way out, but that was all God. He took my hand in my darkest valley and He guided me. He was my refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble - Psalm 46:1. "But they who wait for the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.” - Isiah 40:31. I have learnt what it means to COMPLETELY surrender everything to Him. When I had nothing left to give, didn't know which way to turn, didn't know how to navigate the storm and loss, I gave everything over to Him and He has been so faithful. I could never ever have done this on my own. He has been my strength, my peace, my anchor.
I have also learnt that reaching out for help is okay, it's healthy and not a sign of weakness. And so slowly I have been learning to ask for help. One of those ways (which has taken me a very long time to do as I struggled quite a bit with this one), is create a crowd funding page to help me with the debt Bernard left behind. It hasn't been an easy thing to do, a lot of pride had to be put down with this one. I'm slowly learning and growing as an individual again, and I can see lots of positive changes taking place within myself which I will take forward in life to be and do better. And ultimately, I believe I have such a strong testimony to share of how great God is. My lily in the valley.
Today is Suicide Awareness and Prevention day. I ask that you say a prayer for those around you that may be struggling with any mental health issues, self esteem issues, troubles or financial stress. A lot of people don't talk openly about what they may be fighting and so pray. Prayer is powerful. Our God is powerful and can move mountains for those who are in a dark place.
Forever and always babe, I will love you xxx
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