I wrote the poem “Date Night” because I wanted to honor the after-life of my experience with grief. My mother died ten years ago and, though much has changed, that loss continues to manifest in my daily life in unexpected ways. So, I’ve got a question for you: What part of your past has decided it’s not quite done with you? Maybe it’s a bit of advice a high school teacher gave you, which, amazingly, only becomes more powerful with time. Maybe you’re several jobs and a whole new career later, but you’re still processing what went down with that one awful boss. Maybe something happened in your community years ago and, in spite of yourself, you think about it all the time.
Let’s talk about it.
As always, I’ll be reading and responding to your comments in real-time for the next hour.
This was so timely. I still experience grief over a budding relationship (with "the one") that ended suddenly almost 20 years ago. I didn't realize for many years that I was experiencing grief, but I know now I was and am--I have long since moved past that time, started my own life, had a family, and yet. His face is ever-present in my mind; his absence has become a ghostly companion. I don't know if I'll just live with this feeling for the rest of my life, but I know I loved too honestly, too immaturely, and too openly without knowing myself enough, and I don't know if I'll ever get over it.
My mother adored her lipstick (she confided to me that she started 'borrowing' her mother's at age 9) and I cannot remember ever seeing her without it brightening her smile...even as she was in her last days. I was sitting with her bedside and she asked me to hand her little purse to her, from which she retrieved her lipstick. With the pocket mirror in one hand and the lipstick tube in the other and said, 'Look out lips, here it comes.' We both laughed and I admired her desire to do what she loved, even toward the 'end' of her time.
I lost my first child at birth 20 years ago this month. For me, the grief cycle was like this: I cried every day (sometimes several times) for the first 6 months or so, and then it slowly tapered off to crying a few times a week, and then a few times a month, and then a few times a year. I have wondered if I would reach a time when I would be able to get through the month of her birth and death without crying, but I have not reached that point yet. It comes suddenly and I am never sure exactly when it will hit, but it usually hits in a familiar way. I will be driving to work and then I will be crying and I will know exactly why I am crying even though moments before I was not thinking of my child. It's my body remembering, I am sure. It's a form of trauma, I am sure. Thank you for your poem. It spoke to me today.
I got pregnant after my first year of college and decided to keep the baby. No skills, no mate. The shame that rained down on me shaped me (and my parenting) for so long, I often forget I've got scars where I amputated possibilities I felt were now off limits.
My husband went into cancer surgery and came out without any memories of our life. His personality was gone too. This happened 18 years ago, but it remains the most defining moment of our lives. For the challenge of the ongoing experience of memory loss, as well as the grief that comes with losing a former lover and partner. Recently I made that former husband an ancestor, drawing him into rituals and ceremonies, giving myself permission to talk to him and about him. This has helped heal the otherwise painful ambiguous loss.
My grandmother passed away nine years ago. She was like a second mom and I think of her all the time. Her face comes to me whenever I am making a big decision, eating something delicious, walking down the street in hot summer air or crisp fall mornings, making homemade tomato sauce or fresh pasta. Anything she loved reminds me of her, the color pink, holiday decorations, really good molasses cookies, Christmas trees. I also smell her all the time and am convinced she passed by me in midtown a few years ago. I don't pray to God anymore, I just pray to her.
I attended a writer's conference a few years ago and sat for a seminar. The author leading it was trying to engage us about writer's block and tried to get everyone to open up and share their experiences... when I made the mistake of sharing that I have a hard time putting pen to paper every day, he seized the opportunity to bully me about my mental health. He made jokes about what he called, "diseased thinking" twice before I got up and walked out. Despite being humiliated, I managed to successfully pitch an amazing indie publisher at that conference, but ultimately turned down the deal because I stopped believing in myself. I'm not sure where to go from here. Sorry, no happy ending. Still working on this one.
My friends in high school were the worst. We became a friend group early during freshman year, then they decided I wasn’t good enough to be their friend. I was 14 at a new school, so I wanted friends so bad and I took the emotional abuse. By my senior year, that type of treatment from “friends” and deep feeling of loneliness exacerbated my anxiety. I put up these walls to protect myself from getting hurt in friendships and romantic relationships. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve made very good friends who show up for me and I’m so grateful. But this past year, I experienced something that brought me back to that feeling. My long-term and serious boyfriend and I had been long distance for a few months due to Covid. We finally were going to see each other for my birthday when he called me a week before to end the relationship without any warning or a sense of something being off. It made me feel a similar type of abandonment and loneliness that I felt in high school. I felt myself putting the walls up again, so I know I’m not over that feeling. But I am proud of myself for being more open and vulnerable with my loved ones about how I’m doing. That’s how I know that even though that feeling isn’t done, I’m growing.
I had a really great friendship with someone who completely ghosted me. I thought I'd finally found closure a few months ago, I'd even blocked her social media accounts so I wasn't tempted to go look and get sad. She popped up on my Twitter feed with a new account this morning. Losing this friendship doesn't feel like it will ever get easier. There are so many experiences and jokes that only the two of us know, so many times I won't be able to recreate. I'm trying to appreciate the times we had and move on, but it's so so hard.
I ran away from home in my early 20s and was essentially homeless for 3.5 years in nyc. I was running away from an abusive family and serious childhood traumas. Decades later, I learned to forgive them. They are in their 70s now and we get along ok. I'm in my 40s now.
When we first reunited, they asked me to forgive everything from the past (without specifically explaining what they wanted to be forgiven for). Parts of me is comforted that they have acted in a caring way for the first time in my life, but parts of me hasn't processed the abuse fully. I feel parts of me that are VERY angry and frustrated, with not enough of an outlet.
I've started Art therapy recently with a wonderful therapist, and we are working on things. Forgiveness in one's mind is not enough, and years of abuse just doesn't resolve itself without the work. I'm occasionally confused about what the right way to proceed is, but I'm slowly learning that if you don't deal with the past, it doesn't just disappear... unresolved, it can manifest itself in ways that are very unhealthy. I've always known this, but I have to keep teaching and reteaching myself... frankly, I'm exhausted by it all, but I know working on it is the right thing to do. Thank you for your writing, and wishing you well.
I've ended several friendships without telling the people exactly why I ended them. I'm not sorry we aren't friends, but I am sorry that I was too scared to be honest with the people. Usually I did this after long periods of time where I let the things that they said or did, which angered me or scared me, pass by without me saying what was upsetting to me. I still dream about several of those friends, and every time I do, I feel guilty and anxious.
A big moment that comes to mind is a relationship I had with a man who was 7 years older than me while I was in college. I was young (20 years old), naive, and a little self-destructive. He was older, experienced, and talented, or so I thought. Those close to me had concerns, but being a young adult, I shrugged it off, but looking back, they were totally right.
He was emotionally abusive, manipulative, etc. We were only together for 6 months and I was so sad when he broke up with me. I remember him telling me, "You know, in a few months, you won't be sad about this, you won't even think about me." I insisted he was wrong, but that following year, I grew into a whole different person, kind of an "I'll show YOU" mindset. I stopped hanging out with our mutual crowd, I moved to NYC for a period of time, stopped thinking about him, etc.
I think we both grew up in certain ways - I'm a writer for a company I love and I'm getting married next year. He was engaged a few years ago, but it fell through, and he's a dad now and with someone else...and I'm happy for him, but little moments of our relationship and the way he treated me will pop into my mind from time to time.
For me, it’s a past relationship where I was told time and time again that any disagreements we had were on me. That I was difficult, I was too much, I was hard to love. Years of therapy and positive self talk later, I’m in a much better place. But it’s not always easy to shake, and can sometimes manifest itself as guilt even now. I’m certainly a werk in progress too.
I had some childhood trauma that I managed to not think about for a long time, and/or pretended didn’t happen. Diagnosed with C-PTSD in 2014. Then my nieces were born. I woke up from a dream last night that had me sobbing uncontrollably for over an hour; I sounded like a wounded animal. I haven’t told anyone what I dreamt.
When I was a kid, I used to tell and write stories all the time. But then random eye rolls and jokes from friends and family about my stories got to me, and I just stopped. I have no burning desire to change careers and become a writer, but I regret not nurturing that talent as a skill. I think it would have served me well no matter what I chose to do. And I don't think I've ever stopped believing no one cares what I have to say.
My first teaching job was at a "no excuses" (ugh the worst phrase) charter school. My principal was so tyrannical and mercurial in how she treated her teachers. She was so obsessed with details that she would examine the angle of our staples on the bulletin board and make us redo it if it was not up to her standards. She used to walk around the halls and "pop in" to classrooms where she would proceed to glare at teachers and students if they weren't perfectly silent and with perfect posture. I still have almost weekly nightmares about my work there - it forever made me fearful that i would never be a good enough teacher and i so wish i could be rid of that feeling! thank you for generously listening to these comments - appreciate you!
I had a brutal boss at a startup company several years ago - he was narcissistic and racist and demeaning and on top of all that a truly terrible leader. Like you mention, I've had several jobs and moved across the country since, but I saw that he's started another (very similar) company and I am simply AGOG that some of my former colleagues went back to work for him again. I have a lot of bad work habits because of ways I tried to protect myself in that environment, and while I try not to think of it I am still really pissed about how I was treated. I didn't have any idea at the time how bad it was, I wish I could tell my younger self to just leave. It's wild the way our experiences live on with us. Thank you for sharing your poem - it was lovely.
I’ve lived with chronic illness for my whole adolescence and adulthood, but in 2017, my health took a bad turn which took me about 3 years to recover from. I’m still not fully recovered physically, and emotionally it completely changed me as a person. I can’t believe it’s almost been 5 years since I started going downhill. In some way it still feels so recent. In other ways, I’ve been able to move past it, with therapy and a lot of family and friend support. But I know suffering now, in a visceral way, and I’ll never forget the feeling of living on the edge.
Losing my dad very suddenly. Like you said, it manifests daily. I always worry that if I get too happy I am going to lose someone again. It also made me realize how much I have to lose and I feel like it has made me more vulnerable in a lot of ways. But also stronger in that I don’t tolerate behavior because life is too short. My dad also was an alcoholic and it’s really isolating to deal with at the time. But it affects my marriage, trusting people to do the right thing, and how I parent in different ways. Your book and poems about your mother are so moving and I feel seen when you write about grief.
When I was in high school, I decided to quit track. My coach came to my house and begged me to come back because he thought I was fast enough to make the Olympics at some point. That did nothing but freak me out even more so I said no. I have regretted that decision to this day. Since then, I never let fear of success stop me from doing anything. I take advantage of every opportunity I am given and it has made such a difference in my life.
I lost two very dear friends of mine suddenly. One, a friend since kindergarten, died in a car accident my junior year of college on her way to a concert. She had begged me to join her on the adventure. I declined that trip because it was Halloween weekend and in my away from home college coolness (ok but I've never been cool), had plans.
Five years later, a friend I met as a college freshman passed away either accidentally or purposefully due to some medicine mixing. We had grown apart in physical distance and emotionally, and I thought she was the happiest she ever had been. (But as I have learned more about mental illness, these feelings have shifted.) She also passed in the last week of October.
So every year, all these many years later (11 & 16 to be exact), I get a gentle or not so gentle reminder of loss, grief, and all the cocktail of emotions during the last week of October. But, as a fat person my whole life and one that's gone on a whole roller coaster of a relationship with my body and food, I was reminded this year: both of these friends were fat women. Strong, loud, audacious, fat women. And I don't think I realized they were blueprints for my future. How I grew into myself in my thirties is not without them or despite them, it is because of them.
I didn't plan on writing this much but thank you for inspiring me, Saeed. 💖
My 67 year old mother and her 80 year old sister grew up in Victorian village, on Michigan avenue, and to this day there is a sadness in their voice when they talk about what the neighborhood has become. There was a sense of community among the poor folks of the neighborhood, a shared commitment to struggle, that is long gone. I thought about this often up until I moved out of VV last year, and I still think about it when I return to the neighborhood.
The last man I loved told me, a decade ago, that I’m not worth being with because I don’t make enough money to buy a house in the real estate market we were living in. It sits on top of the memory of the relative who raised me telling me, as a child, that no man would want me if I remained fat. I know how utterly, wretchedly wrong those statements are but they’ve left an indelible mark on me.
A few years ago, I went into a deep depression for the first time after a break up with a man boy. Three weeks after that reached a critical peak, I was diagnosed with a spinal tumor. The surgery left me partially paralyzed and I worked my ass off to be able to walk and use my hands again. When I got back home after I was well enough to live alone, my friends were MIA. After confronting one of them about it, she wrote in an email that I was “suffering for too long.” That’s never left me. Especially as a black disabled woman living with a spinal cord injury, it was deeply damaging to feel like I was being punished for hurting or being weak. No matter the success I’m having in my life, I keep people even more at a distance so I don’t have to be seen as someone suffering. It’s a constant struggle to know when you can be safe to experience and express your full humanity - including the times when things are just trash!! But you know, we outchea.
So many things, but in my writing work, I keep coming back to an experience with an editor--my first "real" edit letter for a novel. The editor didn't love the book--the publisher did. The editor told me they knew I was an intelligent person and we had to make the best of this, but we certainly weren't going for a Pulitzer. The hurt at the time was unbelievable, but now every time I sit down to work, I tell myself "well we're not going for a Pulitzer," and that actually takes some pressure off and allows me to work. It's also become a phase between me and friends, like thank goodness you aren't going for a Pulitzer. (But some days, we ARE going for the Pulitzer. We are.)
I am haunted by past decisions that felt righteous when I made them, only to be revealed as misplaced loyalty to people I considered friends. How does one deal with delayed betrayal?
My best friend - someone I considered to be a soulmate - completely ghosted me a little over three years ago. He’s since gone on to be very successful in our chosen career path, and I’m still in the wilderness, struggling to make ends meet. I’ve reached out to him multiple times to try and get closure, but it’s always just radio silence. I constantly vacillate back and forth between near-crippling bitterness and resentment, but also a desire to put whatever came between us in the past and be happy that he’s happy - because that’s what a “healthy” person does, right? Also, in spite of everything, the love is still there. I do want him to be happy and successful. It just hurts that he won’t let me continue to be a part of his story.
Death of my cat, 8 years ago, suddenly-ish by stroke (?). We found him unconscious returning from a trip; our friend was feeding him but had not seen him the last time she was there a day before. Maybe he'd laid on the floor the whole time. He was so close to death that the vet was clear it would be kind to let him go.
A year later I finally ended the 15 year relationship that spanned the length of the cat's life plus a year. The trauma I can trigger by thinking about my cat absolutely has deep ties to the relationship itself which kept me in a dim form of myself for far too long.
About three years ago, a guy joked around with me, but the joke in question awoke old traumas from my childhood I'd long since suppressed. I avoided him for a few months until one night at the local bar when I commented about a fuzzy green hat he was wearing the night before St. Patrick's Day two years ago.
He said, "Hey!" and then stormed across the room and confronted me. I didn't hear a word he said during the confrontation, partly because of the background noise, but also partly because I was like a deer caught in the headlights because he was PISSED OFF. In fact, the only other words I remember him saying to me were the last two words: "My man!"
I replayed that incident in my mind over and over again for weeks and months after it happened. I think I was able to piece together the context: He noticed I was avoiding him and he was angry about that. The fact he closed with "my man!" was a way of saying "Don't avoid me. We're friends!"
I realized after that incident that continuing to push away childhood traumas instead of sitting with them and actually dealing with them wasn't doing me any favors. The traumas of nearly 40 years ago came back to the surface through that confrontation of two and a half years ago, and I guess they aren't done with me just yet.
Abuse from my father. He's dead and gone but I often wonder who I'd be if my childhood had been kinder. If I had been allowed to be a carefree kid instead of spending my formative years in survival mode.
The anger comes and goes in waves sometimes lying dormant for months only to resurface, triggered by a sound, a memory, the taste of lemon cupcakes with chocolate frosting. I am who I am and I work hard every day to love and accept her but I think there will always be a little piece of me wondering what if?
Years ago after I published my first short story, someone I looked up to told me to stick to my day job because I wouldn’t make any real money as a writer. I didn’t realize then how it stuck to me.
A friend of mine borrowed a significant amount of money from me in Feb 2020, and swore he would pay me back within a week, the day I was scheduled to go on vacation. He said he was in trouble, and I didn't ask any questions and gave him the money (what a mistake). A week passed and I heard nothing from him. I texted him several times wondering when I would get paid back, and he never answered. My 4-week vacation was spent stressing out and dealing with this, while the pandemic was slowly starting to spread. I texted his girlfriend (who I was better friends with) and she promised she would get him to pay me back. But she didn't. They both dismissed my concerns and gaslit me. I didn't get that money until 8 weeks later - only after I told them my friend would call them out on social media about this, which told me all I needed to know - their reputation was more important to them than our friendship. I am not friends with either of them anymore. I don't hate them and don't wish them any ill will, because I learned some important lessons about trust and friendship. And I will never lend money to anyone again :) I must admit, though, I'm experiencing grief from this loss of a friendship. Some days I'm reminded how much they hurt me and dismissed my feelings, and I realize I'm not totally over it just yet. And the walls I put up around myself are just a little bit higher.
I discovered that someone I was dating was a pathological liar. Ever since, I've felt that anyone could be lying at any time. It's not a pleasant way to live.
Two of my three adult children have estranged themselves from me. I hurt them and their mother badly. Am I that person today? No. Do they know the whole story? No. But none of that changes their reality.
I hope someday they decide that they want me in their lives, but I'm trying to remember that they're doing what they think is best for them, and isn't that really what every parent wants?
<3 Whew, when I read your question, I was surprised that what came to mind was a comment my grandmother made to me about 6.5 years ago. She and my whole immediate and extended family had always encouraged me to be anything I wanted to be. I was a star athlete, a straight-A student, all-around an over achiever. I met my now husband through an academic scholarship program in undergrad and, in the months leading up to our wedding (and with my financial backing and support), he completed his PharmD. My grandmother asked me with sincerity, "Isn't that great? Now that he will earn good money as a pharmacist, aren't you excited to be able to stay at home with your kids?" A bit shocked, I told her kids were far off for us but when we did have kids, I'd continue to work because my career means something to me, that I want my kid(s) to see their mother as a model for how they can contribute to the world in their own small way, and that I felt I wouldn't be good at being a stay-at-home parent. To which she replied, "Maybe you shouldn't have kids at all then." Many years later, I have one lovely, curious, incredible, strong-willed child and still, though I'm proud of my career and of being his mom, I find that my grandmother's expectations have not quit festering in the back of my mind. And that small hateful voice sometimes asks me whether I'm giving him enough, whether the time I sacrifice working when I could be part of his becoming is doing him a disservice, whether she was right.
My mom, who died over 20 years ago, is never done with me, and yet there are always new revelations. New life goal: write a book that references her in no way whatsoever.
My undergraduate thesis defense in Physics. A tenured full professor attended my defense, interrupted me mid sentence over and over, asked the most fundamental questions about quantum mechanics that others didn't get, stayed afterwards to quiz me on the basics until I cried. He then gave me a half forced hug. I can never get over how violated I felt. I was just a budding scientist who happened to be an asian girl in a very white male field, who hadn't yet discovered the extent racism affected my life. I'm in a different field and I still can't get over it.
For me, I think it's trying to decipher how growing up as a child living in poverty still affects how I interact with the world and make decisions about my life today. A lot of my framing is from a scarcity mindset, and it's really difficult to get out of that.
I’ve often thought I was quite done with my marriage not too long after my divorce. But the triggers are still there, and I have to work through them as they arise, especially in my current relationship. Though I do see it as an empowering reminder.
This was so timely. I still experience grief over a budding relationship (with "the one") that ended suddenly almost 20 years ago. I didn't realize for many years that I was experiencing grief, but I know now I was and am--I have long since moved past that time, started my own life, had a family, and yet. His face is ever-present in my mind; his absence has become a ghostly companion. I don't know if I'll just live with this feeling for the rest of my life, but I know I loved too honestly, too immaturely, and too openly without knowing myself enough, and I don't know if I'll ever get over it.
My mother adored her lipstick (she confided to me that she started 'borrowing' her mother's at age 9) and I cannot remember ever seeing her without it brightening her smile...even as she was in her last days. I was sitting with her bedside and she asked me to hand her little purse to her, from which she retrieved her lipstick. With the pocket mirror in one hand and the lipstick tube in the other and said, 'Look out lips, here it comes.' We both laughed and I admired her desire to do what she loved, even toward the 'end' of her time.
I lost my first child at birth 20 years ago this month. For me, the grief cycle was like this: I cried every day (sometimes several times) for the first 6 months or so, and then it slowly tapered off to crying a few times a week, and then a few times a month, and then a few times a year. I have wondered if I would reach a time when I would be able to get through the month of her birth and death without crying, but I have not reached that point yet. It comes suddenly and I am never sure exactly when it will hit, but it usually hits in a familiar way. I will be driving to work and then I will be crying and I will know exactly why I am crying even though moments before I was not thinking of my child. It's my body remembering, I am sure. It's a form of trauma, I am sure. Thank you for your poem. It spoke to me today.
I got pregnant after my first year of college and decided to keep the baby. No skills, no mate. The shame that rained down on me shaped me (and my parenting) for so long, I often forget I've got scars where I amputated possibilities I felt were now off limits.
My husband went into cancer surgery and came out without any memories of our life. His personality was gone too. This happened 18 years ago, but it remains the most defining moment of our lives. For the challenge of the ongoing experience of memory loss, as well as the grief that comes with losing a former lover and partner. Recently I made that former husband an ancestor, drawing him into rituals and ceremonies, giving myself permission to talk to him and about him. This has helped heal the otherwise painful ambiguous loss.
My grandmother passed away nine years ago. She was like a second mom and I think of her all the time. Her face comes to me whenever I am making a big decision, eating something delicious, walking down the street in hot summer air or crisp fall mornings, making homemade tomato sauce or fresh pasta. Anything she loved reminds me of her, the color pink, holiday decorations, really good molasses cookies, Christmas trees. I also smell her all the time and am convinced she passed by me in midtown a few years ago. I don't pray to God anymore, I just pray to her.
I attended a writer's conference a few years ago and sat for a seminar. The author leading it was trying to engage us about writer's block and tried to get everyone to open up and share their experiences... when I made the mistake of sharing that I have a hard time putting pen to paper every day, he seized the opportunity to bully me about my mental health. He made jokes about what he called, "diseased thinking" twice before I got up and walked out. Despite being humiliated, I managed to successfully pitch an amazing indie publisher at that conference, but ultimately turned down the deal because I stopped believing in myself. I'm not sure where to go from here. Sorry, no happy ending. Still working on this one.
My friends in high school were the worst. We became a friend group early during freshman year, then they decided I wasn’t good enough to be their friend. I was 14 at a new school, so I wanted friends so bad and I took the emotional abuse. By my senior year, that type of treatment from “friends” and deep feeling of loneliness exacerbated my anxiety. I put up these walls to protect myself from getting hurt in friendships and romantic relationships. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve made very good friends who show up for me and I’m so grateful. But this past year, I experienced something that brought me back to that feeling. My long-term and serious boyfriend and I had been long distance for a few months due to Covid. We finally were going to see each other for my birthday when he called me a week before to end the relationship without any warning or a sense of something being off. It made me feel a similar type of abandonment and loneliness that I felt in high school. I felt myself putting the walls up again, so I know I’m not over that feeling. But I am proud of myself for being more open and vulnerable with my loved ones about how I’m doing. That’s how I know that even though that feeling isn’t done, I’m growing.
I had a really great friendship with someone who completely ghosted me. I thought I'd finally found closure a few months ago, I'd even blocked her social media accounts so I wasn't tempted to go look and get sad. She popped up on my Twitter feed with a new account this morning. Losing this friendship doesn't feel like it will ever get easier. There are so many experiences and jokes that only the two of us know, so many times I won't be able to recreate. I'm trying to appreciate the times we had and move on, but it's so so hard.
I ran away from home in my early 20s and was essentially homeless for 3.5 years in nyc. I was running away from an abusive family and serious childhood traumas. Decades later, I learned to forgive them. They are in their 70s now and we get along ok. I'm in my 40s now.
When we first reunited, they asked me to forgive everything from the past (without specifically explaining what they wanted to be forgiven for). Parts of me is comforted that they have acted in a caring way for the first time in my life, but parts of me hasn't processed the abuse fully. I feel parts of me that are VERY angry and frustrated, with not enough of an outlet.
I've started Art therapy recently with a wonderful therapist, and we are working on things. Forgiveness in one's mind is not enough, and years of abuse just doesn't resolve itself without the work. I'm occasionally confused about what the right way to proceed is, but I'm slowly learning that if you don't deal with the past, it doesn't just disappear... unresolved, it can manifest itself in ways that are very unhealthy. I've always known this, but I have to keep teaching and reteaching myself... frankly, I'm exhausted by it all, but I know working on it is the right thing to do. Thank you for your writing, and wishing you well.
I've ended several friendships without telling the people exactly why I ended them. I'm not sorry we aren't friends, but I am sorry that I was too scared to be honest with the people. Usually I did this after long periods of time where I let the things that they said or did, which angered me or scared me, pass by without me saying what was upsetting to me. I still dream about several of those friends, and every time I do, I feel guilty and anxious.
A big moment that comes to mind is a relationship I had with a man who was 7 years older than me while I was in college. I was young (20 years old), naive, and a little self-destructive. He was older, experienced, and talented, or so I thought. Those close to me had concerns, but being a young adult, I shrugged it off, but looking back, they were totally right.
He was emotionally abusive, manipulative, etc. We were only together for 6 months and I was so sad when he broke up with me. I remember him telling me, "You know, in a few months, you won't be sad about this, you won't even think about me." I insisted he was wrong, but that following year, I grew into a whole different person, kind of an "I'll show YOU" mindset. I stopped hanging out with our mutual crowd, I moved to NYC for a period of time, stopped thinking about him, etc.
I think we both grew up in certain ways - I'm a writer for a company I love and I'm getting married next year. He was engaged a few years ago, but it fell through, and he's a dad now and with someone else...and I'm happy for him, but little moments of our relationship and the way he treated me will pop into my mind from time to time.
For me, it’s a past relationship where I was told time and time again that any disagreements we had were on me. That I was difficult, I was too much, I was hard to love. Years of therapy and positive self talk later, I’m in a much better place. But it’s not always easy to shake, and can sometimes manifest itself as guilt even now. I’m certainly a werk in progress too.
I had some childhood trauma that I managed to not think about for a long time, and/or pretended didn’t happen. Diagnosed with C-PTSD in 2014. Then my nieces were born. I woke up from a dream last night that had me sobbing uncontrollably for over an hour; I sounded like a wounded animal. I haven’t told anyone what I dreamt.
When I was a kid, I used to tell and write stories all the time. But then random eye rolls and jokes from friends and family about my stories got to me, and I just stopped. I have no burning desire to change careers and become a writer, but I regret not nurturing that talent as a skill. I think it would have served me well no matter what I chose to do. And I don't think I've ever stopped believing no one cares what I have to say.
My first teaching job was at a "no excuses" (ugh the worst phrase) charter school. My principal was so tyrannical and mercurial in how she treated her teachers. She was so obsessed with details that she would examine the angle of our staples on the bulletin board and make us redo it if it was not up to her standards. She used to walk around the halls and "pop in" to classrooms where she would proceed to glare at teachers and students if they weren't perfectly silent and with perfect posture. I still have almost weekly nightmares about my work there - it forever made me fearful that i would never be a good enough teacher and i so wish i could be rid of that feeling! thank you for generously listening to these comments - appreciate you!
I had a brutal boss at a startup company several years ago - he was narcissistic and racist and demeaning and on top of all that a truly terrible leader. Like you mention, I've had several jobs and moved across the country since, but I saw that he's started another (very similar) company and I am simply AGOG that some of my former colleagues went back to work for him again. I have a lot of bad work habits because of ways I tried to protect myself in that environment, and while I try not to think of it I am still really pissed about how I was treated. I didn't have any idea at the time how bad it was, I wish I could tell my younger self to just leave. It's wild the way our experiences live on with us. Thank you for sharing your poem - it was lovely.
I’ve lived with chronic illness for my whole adolescence and adulthood, but in 2017, my health took a bad turn which took me about 3 years to recover from. I’m still not fully recovered physically, and emotionally it completely changed me as a person. I can’t believe it’s almost been 5 years since I started going downhill. In some way it still feels so recent. In other ways, I’ve been able to move past it, with therapy and a lot of family and friend support. But I know suffering now, in a visceral way, and I’ll never forget the feeling of living on the edge.
Losing my dad very suddenly. Like you said, it manifests daily. I always worry that if I get too happy I am going to lose someone again. It also made me realize how much I have to lose and I feel like it has made me more vulnerable in a lot of ways. But also stronger in that I don’t tolerate behavior because life is too short. My dad also was an alcoholic and it’s really isolating to deal with at the time. But it affects my marriage, trusting people to do the right thing, and how I parent in different ways. Your book and poems about your mother are so moving and I feel seen when you write about grief.
When I was in high school, I decided to quit track. My coach came to my house and begged me to come back because he thought I was fast enough to make the Olympics at some point. That did nothing but freak me out even more so I said no. I have regretted that decision to this day. Since then, I never let fear of success stop me from doing anything. I take advantage of every opportunity I am given and it has made such a difference in my life.
I lost two very dear friends of mine suddenly. One, a friend since kindergarten, died in a car accident my junior year of college on her way to a concert. She had begged me to join her on the adventure. I declined that trip because it was Halloween weekend and in my away from home college coolness (ok but I've never been cool), had plans.
Five years later, a friend I met as a college freshman passed away either accidentally or purposefully due to some medicine mixing. We had grown apart in physical distance and emotionally, and I thought she was the happiest she ever had been. (But as I have learned more about mental illness, these feelings have shifted.) She also passed in the last week of October.
So every year, all these many years later (11 & 16 to be exact), I get a gentle or not so gentle reminder of loss, grief, and all the cocktail of emotions during the last week of October. But, as a fat person my whole life and one that's gone on a whole roller coaster of a relationship with my body and food, I was reminded this year: both of these friends were fat women. Strong, loud, audacious, fat women. And I don't think I realized they were blueprints for my future. How I grew into myself in my thirties is not without them or despite them, it is because of them.
I didn't plan on writing this much but thank you for inspiring me, Saeed. 💖
My 67 year old mother and her 80 year old sister grew up in Victorian village, on Michigan avenue, and to this day there is a sadness in their voice when they talk about what the neighborhood has become. There was a sense of community among the poor folks of the neighborhood, a shared commitment to struggle, that is long gone. I thought about this often up until I moved out of VV last year, and I still think about it when I return to the neighborhood.
The last man I loved told me, a decade ago, that I’m not worth being with because I don’t make enough money to buy a house in the real estate market we were living in. It sits on top of the memory of the relative who raised me telling me, as a child, that no man would want me if I remained fat. I know how utterly, wretchedly wrong those statements are but they’ve left an indelible mark on me.
A few years ago, I went into a deep depression for the first time after a break up with a man boy. Three weeks after that reached a critical peak, I was diagnosed with a spinal tumor. The surgery left me partially paralyzed and I worked my ass off to be able to walk and use my hands again. When I got back home after I was well enough to live alone, my friends were MIA. After confronting one of them about it, she wrote in an email that I was “suffering for too long.” That’s never left me. Especially as a black disabled woman living with a spinal cord injury, it was deeply damaging to feel like I was being punished for hurting or being weak. No matter the success I’m having in my life, I keep people even more at a distance so I don’t have to be seen as someone suffering. It’s a constant struggle to know when you can be safe to experience and express your full humanity - including the times when things are just trash!! But you know, we outchea.
So many things, but in my writing work, I keep coming back to an experience with an editor--my first "real" edit letter for a novel. The editor didn't love the book--the publisher did. The editor told me they knew I was an intelligent person and we had to make the best of this, but we certainly weren't going for a Pulitzer. The hurt at the time was unbelievable, but now every time I sit down to work, I tell myself "well we're not going for a Pulitzer," and that actually takes some pressure off and allows me to work. It's also become a phase between me and friends, like thank goodness you aren't going for a Pulitzer. (But some days, we ARE going for the Pulitzer. We are.)
I am haunted by past decisions that felt righteous when I made them, only to be revealed as misplaced loyalty to people I considered friends. How does one deal with delayed betrayal?
My best friend - someone I considered to be a soulmate - completely ghosted me a little over three years ago. He’s since gone on to be very successful in our chosen career path, and I’m still in the wilderness, struggling to make ends meet. I’ve reached out to him multiple times to try and get closure, but it’s always just radio silence. I constantly vacillate back and forth between near-crippling bitterness and resentment, but also a desire to put whatever came between us in the past and be happy that he’s happy - because that’s what a “healthy” person does, right? Also, in spite of everything, the love is still there. I do want him to be happy and successful. It just hurts that he won’t let me continue to be a part of his story.
Death of my cat, 8 years ago, suddenly-ish by stroke (?). We found him unconscious returning from a trip; our friend was feeding him but had not seen him the last time she was there a day before. Maybe he'd laid on the floor the whole time. He was so close to death that the vet was clear it would be kind to let him go.
A year later I finally ended the 15 year relationship that spanned the length of the cat's life plus a year. The trauma I can trigger by thinking about my cat absolutely has deep ties to the relationship itself which kept me in a dim form of myself for far too long.
Thank you for this space.
About three years ago, a guy joked around with me, but the joke in question awoke old traumas from my childhood I'd long since suppressed. I avoided him for a few months until one night at the local bar when I commented about a fuzzy green hat he was wearing the night before St. Patrick's Day two years ago.
He said, "Hey!" and then stormed across the room and confronted me. I didn't hear a word he said during the confrontation, partly because of the background noise, but also partly because I was like a deer caught in the headlights because he was PISSED OFF. In fact, the only other words I remember him saying to me were the last two words: "My man!"
I replayed that incident in my mind over and over again for weeks and months after it happened. I think I was able to piece together the context: He noticed I was avoiding him and he was angry about that. The fact he closed with "my man!" was a way of saying "Don't avoid me. We're friends!"
I realized after that incident that continuing to push away childhood traumas instead of sitting with them and actually dealing with them wasn't doing me any favors. The traumas of nearly 40 years ago came back to the surface through that confrontation of two and a half years ago, and I guess they aren't done with me just yet.
Abuse from my father. He's dead and gone but I often wonder who I'd be if my childhood had been kinder. If I had been allowed to be a carefree kid instead of spending my formative years in survival mode.
The anger comes and goes in waves sometimes lying dormant for months only to resurface, triggered by a sound, a memory, the taste of lemon cupcakes with chocolate frosting. I am who I am and I work hard every day to love and accept her but I think there will always be a little piece of me wondering what if?
Years ago after I published my first short story, someone I looked up to told me to stick to my day job because I wouldn’t make any real money as a writer. I didn’t realize then how it stuck to me.
A friend of mine borrowed a significant amount of money from me in Feb 2020, and swore he would pay me back within a week, the day I was scheduled to go on vacation. He said he was in trouble, and I didn't ask any questions and gave him the money (what a mistake). A week passed and I heard nothing from him. I texted him several times wondering when I would get paid back, and he never answered. My 4-week vacation was spent stressing out and dealing with this, while the pandemic was slowly starting to spread. I texted his girlfriend (who I was better friends with) and she promised she would get him to pay me back. But she didn't. They both dismissed my concerns and gaslit me. I didn't get that money until 8 weeks later - only after I told them my friend would call them out on social media about this, which told me all I needed to know - their reputation was more important to them than our friendship. I am not friends with either of them anymore. I don't hate them and don't wish them any ill will, because I learned some important lessons about trust and friendship. And I will never lend money to anyone again :) I must admit, though, I'm experiencing grief from this loss of a friendship. Some days I'm reminded how much they hurt me and dismissed my feelings, and I realize I'm not totally over it just yet. And the walls I put up around myself are just a little bit higher.
I discovered that someone I was dating was a pathological liar. Ever since, I've felt that anyone could be lying at any time. It's not a pleasant way to live.
Two of my three adult children have estranged themselves from me. I hurt them and their mother badly. Am I that person today? No. Do they know the whole story? No. But none of that changes their reality.
I hope someday they decide that they want me in their lives, but I'm trying to remember that they're doing what they think is best for them, and isn't that really what every parent wants?
Oh boy. Always some version of nothing that comes easily to me has value and nothing difficult is achievable.
<3 Whew, when I read your question, I was surprised that what came to mind was a comment my grandmother made to me about 6.5 years ago. She and my whole immediate and extended family had always encouraged me to be anything I wanted to be. I was a star athlete, a straight-A student, all-around an over achiever. I met my now husband through an academic scholarship program in undergrad and, in the months leading up to our wedding (and with my financial backing and support), he completed his PharmD. My grandmother asked me with sincerity, "Isn't that great? Now that he will earn good money as a pharmacist, aren't you excited to be able to stay at home with your kids?" A bit shocked, I told her kids were far off for us but when we did have kids, I'd continue to work because my career means something to me, that I want my kid(s) to see their mother as a model for how they can contribute to the world in their own small way, and that I felt I wouldn't be good at being a stay-at-home parent. To which she replied, "Maybe you shouldn't have kids at all then." Many years later, I have one lovely, curious, incredible, strong-willed child and still, though I'm proud of my career and of being his mom, I find that my grandmother's expectations have not quit festering in the back of my mind. And that small hateful voice sometimes asks me whether I'm giving him enough, whether the time I sacrifice working when I could be part of his becoming is doing him a disservice, whether she was right.
My mom, who died over 20 years ago, is never done with me, and yet there are always new revelations. New life goal: write a book that references her in no way whatsoever.
DO YOU HAVE A BOYFRIEND OR A GIRLFRIEND!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1
My undergraduate thesis defense in Physics. A tenured full professor attended my defense, interrupted me mid sentence over and over, asked the most fundamental questions about quantum mechanics that others didn't get, stayed afterwards to quiz me on the basics until I cried. He then gave me a half forced hug. I can never get over how violated I felt. I was just a budding scientist who happened to be an asian girl in a very white male field, who hadn't yet discovered the extent racism affected my life. I'm in a different field and I still can't get over it.
For me, I think it's trying to decipher how growing up as a child living in poverty still affects how I interact with the world and make decisions about my life today. A lot of my framing is from a scarcity mindset, and it's really difficult to get out of that.
I’ve often thought I was quite done with my marriage not too long after my divorce. But the triggers are still there, and I have to work through them as they arise, especially in my current relationship. Though I do see it as an empowering reminder.