I started typing a text to one of my best friends, and then deleted it.
A few minutes later, after thinking about how we've been confidantes for twenty years now, never judging one another or finding fault in our life lessons or mistakes, I started another text to her.
Then, after rereading my words and overthinking it all, I hit delete once again.
I chose to text her because I knew I could share how I was feeling, unconcerned that she’d see anything other than my honest sincerity. However, I never followed through with my open-hearted admissions and went about the day, keeping my emotions to myself, hidden from seeing another’s phone or being shared with anyone but me, myself, and I.
To be honest, I can’t tell you how many times over the years I’ve held back from sharing all that I’ve had to go through. The feelings never go away and in fact, they constantly linger. Still I find myself needing to hold back, for reasons that were once out of doubt, fear, and insecurity but now held more confidently with patience, trust, and intuition.
But why couldn’t I open up to one of my best friends, someone who stood next to me during my first real heartbreak let alone remained supportive over this unforeseen chapter of my life?
Maybe it’s because I’ve come to find it’s impossible to put into words what it’s all really been like and I’ve simply come to see that no one else can really understand the day-to-day hardships, no matter how much I do share.
I’ve also come to find that the pain is more real when honest thoughts are said or written, and I have found myself questioning if it's okay to feel these feelings- especially the negative ones- in the first place. Truthfully, I think that there has always been this unmentionable guilt for feeling the way I do- the sadness, frustrations, loneliness, a strong sense of feeling stuck in life- and admitting it all to myself is just as hard as opening up to another.
Saying this makes me so much more aware just how many people struggle in silence, left in the cold, heavy darkness of our thoughts, feelings, worries, fears, and emotions.
Being quiet may come across as I’m okay, when in fact, it tends to be the opposite. After all, people tend to be most quiet when they are hurting, unsure of how to express their feelings and who to open up to. After all, how many people post photos on social media on the nights we feel sad, anxious, or lonely?
Or if they do, are they hiding behind filters for the sake of trying to blend in with everyone else to hide their true self?
I can say this because I am guilty of doing so, maybe more times than anyone would ever know. I post pictures of my dog and daughter, or quotes that resonate with me, choosing to share in case anyone else feels connected to them too.
Over the years, especially these last few, life has become constant stress, loss, and unknowns, and honestly, I don’t really know how to share that without feeling worse than it already does. I’ll also admit to keeping my emotions very close to myself on certain days- and leading up to them- probably because I really don’t know what to think or how to feel, let alone say.
For instance, August 16th, 2024, would be the ten-year anniversary of our wedding. For many weeks leading up to it, I thought about it on-and-on, and even more as the days got closer. As the day went on, I only mentioned it to a few coworkers, all of them who have only known me these last ten months and are still trying to piece together this story of mine.
(In a lot of ways, so am I.)
I didn’t text any of my friends about it, even though I knew I could. And when my mom called to check on me, I responded the only way I felt was appropriate: It’s all just so sad.
I won’t post that on social media, or even in a text to my closest confidantes. Heck, I’m not even sure if I’d write it in my diary if I had one. But when my mom called to see how I was doing today, I told her the truth. I felt like I owed it to myself to.
Thinking about everything that has happened these last ten years, it just makes me feel sad for both of us. Two people who truly deserved a happily-ever-after love story, but instead were forced to face life’s unexpected obstacles. Over and over again. We have both felt a lot of pain, in separate ways with different roles and perspectives. He will never know what it’s like to been in my shoes, and as empathetic as I’ve consciously tried to be, I’ll never know what it’s been like for him.
My heart hurts knowing what we’ve been through, and how his illness has impacted our lives, our marriage, and our once-upon-a-time happiness. I also struggle knowing that no one really knows exactly what the everyday has been like for us these past ten years, and just how impossible it became to be his caregiver and his wife.
As any other dementia spouse knows, there comes a point where you can no longer truly be both. Even if the legality of marriage remains, it’s no longer what it used to be. Simply put, it can’t be. Their changing brain changed everything else too.
The man I married on August 16, 2014 will now never be able to understand that, nor his family, but those in similar situations know it to be true. When you become your spouse’s advocate and caregiver, you slowly lose the once- chosen identity of being their wife or husband.
Your days are no longer about dates nights, vacations, anniversaries, and shared dreams. Your weekend plans are none other than focusing on their needs and resting to replenish your energy and hopeless mind as you manage work, family, and health. Your only plans are keeping them safe- physically, mentally, and emotionally- and trying to relieve their pain.
You get used to the onset of symptoms, knowing that sooner or later they’ll flare again. It’s really the only thing that I’ve come to know.
They may seem fine to a friend who visits or a family member who calls, but it’s always short-lasting. The fatigue and pain sets in, and no one else knows it, besides the few close friends who have come to recognize his own silence.
Because when he’s struggling, he doesn’t admit to it either.
Instead, he’s silent.
Sometimes it’s a conscious thought, as he chooses not to be open about his ongoing symptoms, changes, and pains; while other times, it’s because he’s actually not even that aware of them. And because of that, everyone else think to means he much be okay, when in fact, he’s sometimes far from it.
I don’t post that on social media, because none of this has ever been about likes, sympathy or pity. Sure, I’d absolutely love to have more support from his family and friends, but I’ve come to respect his wishes to keep it all more private.
Instead, I sit in silence.
Breathing in, then breathing out, trying to calm my own mind. Telling myself, this too shall pass and trusting that one day I’ll understand the purpose of all this pain.
Every now and then, when it gets to me and I need to let someone else in, I’ll text or call a friend, sharing my true feelings about this decade-long story that has changed every aspect of my soul. But most of the time, I don’t. Instead, I mindlessly scroll Instagram, take a nap, work out, drink a glass or two (or three) of wine, or curl up in bed and call it a night. Why? Because sometimes it's easier, or at least less emotionally draining, than having to find the words to explain all that my life has become.
But this past week, I was once again reminded that those who know me, have come to see that my silence doesn’t mean everything is okay. They understand as much as they can and know things never got better, even if they are at times different. They also know that there’s not always words to properly explain what it’s actually like or express the depth of emotions that have become my unfortunate norm. They don’t need my texts, but instead have come to recognize just how life is for me.
They hear my silent suffering and know how hard my quiet heart has fought and loved.
And because of this, they have helped me know that I’m not actually alone. They get it. They are with me, even if we are separated by too many miles. They have always been there, and they always will be.
Even in my lonely and silent struggles, I know they are there if I need them to be.
So many miles separate me from many of my closest friends, which is something that has been hard over the years as I've wished they were around for coffee dates, nights out, family hangouts, and those sometimes-needed hugs. This weekend, I remembered how so many of them traveled to Chicago for my wedding and celebrated alongside us. Sadly, it was the last time that so many of us were in the same room, let alone saw each other.
But somehow, despite the distance, time, and so many life changes, I swear these friendships of mine have only become closer. Between us, we've experienced some of life's most challenging obstacles, but yet have only grown as we've aged.
And while we may not share every detail of our lives through texts, phone calls or the occasional too short of visits, I really do know that they'll last a lifetime.
So, to my friends, I truly thank you for always being on the other end of a text, whether or not I choose to send it. It's because of you that I've felt less alone through this (no word to accurately describe it), and I hope you always feel the same about me.
I know I haven’t been able to be the friend I used to be because of this, but that you know I’m always a phone call or text away if you ever need someone to hear your struggles or just know you aren’t as okay as it may appear.
Comments