7 stages of getting back to awesome

Yesterday I alluded to dealing with grief. Yes, that’s true. Chad and I broke up. He gets credit for being the dumper. So I mourn a three-month relationship I thought would be a lot longer. Thank you to the friends who called and texted after reading that post. I didn’t mean to be so alarmist, still your words meant a lot. I love and appreciate you all.

I’m going to write about grief again today, but I want you to know I’m doing alright. I’m onto the acceptance stage and looking positively at my future. Yes there’s still a void, but I have hope (and friends and projects and swimsuit shape to get into).

Anyway, I find the human mind fascinating. Sometimes I think I should have finished that psychology degree. Maybe someday. Definitely not today. But one thing I find so interesting is how the brain protects us. When we deal with loss, we go through the seven step grief process. It allows us to process the news in bite-size chunks we can handle. If we dealt it with it all at once it would be all-consuming and we’d crumble.








I also find it fascinating that we go through these steps after the death of a relationship. Of course it’s more consolidated after a three-month relationship than the death of a spouse.

I think I combined shock and denial into the first couple of days. Of course he doesn’t mean it, I reasoned. We were talking about having babies just last week. He’ll be back, calling tonight. (Nope.)

Then I got a little angry. My friends helped me get mad. “How dare he treat you like that,” they demanded when I defended him.

I’m not so sure about the bargaining. I’ll trade you your slippers for my keys? I did think of that, but I didn’t actually say it.

Guilt. I guess I did think for a fleeting second, “maybe if I hadn’t asked that question … .” Wait! No, I needed to ask that question. And I needed to push for an answer.

Yeah, depression set in this weekend. Hence the ice cream, beer and brie in my fridge/freezer.

Acceptance. I think now I’m wavering between depression and acceptance. Give me one more day to be certain.

Published by Candace

I’m a journalist, nutritionist, doting auntie, one-time bobsledder, and wannabe health nut (who loves chocolate and pizza too much to fully commit). I don't want you to think my life is perfect. It's not.

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