Trader Joe’s

“I'm what I am and I'm what I'm not

and I'm sure happy with what I've got I live to love and laugh a lot, and that's all I need” ~ Kenny Chesney

On a brisk fall day, I was standing behind my shopping cart contemplating which type of brie to purchase at Trader Joe’s. I was quietly humming a Lady Gaga song that was blaring within the store and observing a cheerful associate restocking some nearby shelves.

And then, it happened.

I paused and rested both of my hands on the handle of the shopping cart in an effort to ground myself. My mind raced for a moment, my breath stilled, and then I smiled. Right there in the dairy aisle, it occurred to me that for the first time in my recent memory, I was happy.

Not the type of happiness that I had experienced fleetingly in the days and months after my husband’s death. Sure, I had smiled, enjoyed the company of friends and family, and I had even laughed a bit during those dark days. That happiness had value, but it was akin to excitedly arriving at your local ice cream shop only to discover that they have sold out of your favorite flavor. The ice cream you decide on is still delicious, but in the back of your mind, something is missing.

The Trader Joe’s happiness was unlike the happy mixed with profound elements of sadness that I had been experiencing for several months. This was the pure unrestrained happiness that I had forgotten existed. I took a moment right there in between the camembert and chevre to appreciate this space of contentment.

I am uncertain what specifically had fueled this prodigious moment. The always-present analyst in me contemplated if my newfound joy had been triggered by a recent parenting victory or accolades that I had received for a professional presentation that week. I just couldn’t put my finger on the impetus. Ultimately, I decided that the trigger was inconsequential, and I decided to simply accept that I was getting stronger. My resilience had deepened, and the pure happiness I believed to be so tremendously obscure was there waiting for me to embrace it.

Let me be clear, this does not mean that I am “done” grieving. This does not mean that I don’t still have the now familiar punch-to-the-gut feeling that I have become accustomed to waking up with each morning. This in no way means I am over my loss, in fact, I have accepted and embraced the fact that I never will be. However, in that moment, amongst the commotion of a bustling grocery store on a bright autumn day, I whispered to myself, “Wow! Look how far you’ve come; just keep going!”

A Commitment to Reclaiming Joy

Poet Toi Derricotte powerfully reminds us that “Joy is an act of resistance.” During my grief journey I have discovered her sentiments to be exceedingly true. It would have been much easier to resign myself to the sadness, to stay in bed, and to succumb to the monumental pain that threatened to engulf me. Conversely, committing to reclaiming joy, immersing myself in gratitude, and becoming open to growth has been a great deal of work. I have decided to wake up every day and reaffirm the need to honor and feel my grief, but to also resist constant sadness and to make a concerted effort to embrace joy when it is present, and to look for it when it is elusive.

My immensely talented psychologist told me one of first times we met shortly after Chris’ death, “You have a right and a responsibility to live your life and seek happiness.” I asked her to repeat that statement, and I immediately wrote it down for future reflection. At first glance, I believe I connected with the statement because it gave me hope of brighter days ahead. In retrospect, I have come to realize my insightful therapist intended it as more of a call to action. She was imploring me to take responsibility for my happiness and to recognize that joy wasn’t something that could be externally granted. I had to be willing to do the work.

In fact, I have discovered that when I focus on the sadness, the sorrow becomes so prominent that it is difficult to see any joy. Instead, when I am able to shift my attention to gratitude, friendships, achievements and joyful living, I am able to begin to find that happiness is more pervasive than I might have guessed. Believe me, some days I have to dig deep to find the moments that lift me up, but I have determined that if I am willing to look for them, they are more present and far less obscure than I may have initially thought.

My grief journey has allowed me to recognize that reclaiming joy is an act of self-compassion. By investing in my happiness, I am treating myself with the love and kindness that I deserve. Furthermore, my incredible kids deserve a joyful and grateful mom, so even when it is hard, I am committed to showing up with positive and exultant energy. Additionally, I unequivocally believe that my resolve to happiness is one of the most unwavering and meaningful ways I can honor my husband and all that he stood for.

Whether you are reintroduced to pure uninhibited happiness all at once amongst the cool air of a refrigerated section filled with French cheeses, or you find that your happiness is more of a gradual journey, I hope that you embrace it. When we are willing to do the work, even when it is colossally grueling, we often discover that true joyfulness is not as elusive as we may have once presumed.

So many of you have written to me over the past several weeks to ask how I can enlist such optimism and gratitude in the face of tremendous adversity. I wish there was an easy answer or a step-by-step how-to guide. Unfortunately, resiliency is a muscle of sorts, and the more you exercise it the stronger you get. While I certainly do not have all of the answers, in my next post I will share some of my newly formulated playbook and the strategies that have served me most powerfully.

Love & Light,

The Unwavering Widow