hiding in plain sight

You know what’s amazing? Standing in a group of people who have no idea about the pain in your life. It’s like floating in water. I know it sounds unhealthy, like I'm out of touch or avoiding the truth of my life. Yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing. Not forever, just for now.

During times of intense grief, anonymity gave me time to breathe. It was as though an air pocket had formed in my capsized boat. I was acutely aware that my situation was dire, but it gave me a chance to settle into my new normal.

Pretending to be someone else while surrounded by strangers can be terrifying for most people, but for those who are so saturated with grief that their skin hurts, it's utopia. We’re creating a new aspect of our identity from the ruins of a profound loss. Navigating this is very difficult; give yourself permission to wear a mask for a little while.

If anonymity feels safe and almost enjoyable, please don’t think you’re nuts or a bad person. You’re drifting until you find your footing on the survival track. You can’t stay here, but you know that. What you need is validation, and I’m here to give it to you. I pretended to be the gal that that bad thing didn’t happen to around people who didn’t know better. I felt light and free for a moment. Anonymity was my Ibuprofen, temporary relief.

I eventually got my footing, found therapy, and grew inch by inch from there. After years of healing and asking for help, I didn’t need anonymity anymore. Now, I speak freely about my losses and have started writing my first book. This phase will pass; it’s just a stop along the way. I also understand the guilt you feel when you exchange your loved one’s existence for anonymity. I’ll talk about that next week. For now, know that you’re normal; you just need a break from pain.