Leah Stirewalt

Out of Deep Waters

Performance Living

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Going through the motions. That’s what I’m doing these days. The motions…of simply living, that is.

I wake. I perform my morning routine.
I arrive at work. I perform my workday routine.
I return home. I perform my evening routine.

Sometimes, I just sit…performing my “nothingness routine”.

As I pondered this last night, I began to think that, for me, going through the motions really means “performance living”.

I’ve entered a new unfamiliar stage of this grief journey. Nearly 8 months into this, I find lots of discomfort in this new territory. I’ve experienced small fragments of time like this previously since my husband’s death, but nothing this consistent. I just don’t have the energy for true, purposeful living right now. Yes, I’m living day by day, obviously. But, I’ve discovered I’m really doing more “performing”. I’m like an actress, performing the role of Leah, the widow. There are certain tasks that must be performed everyday. I do them, but that’s it. That’s the extent of it.

I don’t like this role, at all. I want to be cast in a new role…one with more pizzazz, more excitement, more joy! I have so much I want to share…so much I want to give back…so much life to live! But, I have no energy right now, so my desires translate into very little.

I’m a fixer, a doer, a Type A perfectionist (yes, I admit it). But, right now, I feel lazy, unproductive, and somewhat “fake”. I feel like I see the shell of a woman I don’t recognize anymore. And, that translates into many areas of my life. I spent the first 5 months of 2011 losing weight in a healthy manner. After Chris died, I lost even more (just due to grieving). But, by August…food became my comfort again. Not good. At all. I don’t recognize me anymore and am sickened by what I see in the mirror every single day.

So, I’m struggling right now…with grief, with purpose, with self-esteem, and with trying to regain focus. I simply can’t stand this.

Jesus came for more than this. “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I came that they may have life, and have it abundantly.” John 10:10 NASB

Lord, I beg you. Show me how to live that abundant life. Give me renewed strength and energy. I want more than this performance living. I want all that You gave up for me on that cross over 2000 years ago. Help me, Lord!

The Grief Marathon

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Sometimes I think running a marathon would be easier.

Before setting out on the 26.2 mile race, one hopefully trains extensively…body and mind. The big day comes, and if well-trained, the race is no doubt difficult, but possible! Just when you think you can’t run another step, you see the sign along the path that says 14 miles! You’ve done it…you’ve run over half the journey! You’re in the last part now. You can do this!

Somewhere around mile 22, your body wants to cave again. You begin the self-talk, “You’re almost there. Four more miles.” But, even with every optimistic word you share with yourself, your body wants to cave…until…

You pass a crowd of cheering onlookers. Strangers…urging you on, clapping loudly, screaming shouts of encouragement. It’s just what you needed, you press forward and four miles later…you collapse with tears of joy! You did it! You completed the 26.2 mile race! It may have been the hardest, most grueling thing your body’s ever endured, but you did it! It’s over! Let the celebration begin!

And such is my grief “race” on many levels.

I’m racing through each grief mile…some quite successfully…others find me barely hanging on. And…then I see the “signpost” showing me how far I’ve come, and I start to think “I can do this…I can do this…”.

I continue to run; even walk sometimes. The grief miles become even more difficult this time. My body is so exhausted from the long endurance of this “race”. Suddenly, a crowd of onlookers start to cheer me on. I hear the applause, the words of encouragement, the whistles, and the shouts of praise. It’s just enough to get me through the next set of miles.

And yet, there are two distinct differences I’ve discovered on my grief marathon that don’t exist in a regular race. In my case, there was no preparation…no training of mind or body. I just suddenly found myself on the racetrack, and the whistle suddenly blew, signaling the start…whether I was ready or not.

But, the biggest difference? It doesn’t have a definitive end. There aren’t just 26.2 miles of grief to endure. There is no celebratory finish line. Will it get easier? Yes – I trust that it will, in time. But, as for ending…I’m not sure that will ever happen. So, for me, I have to adjust…to learn how to cope on this lengthy race that I was not prepared for even remotely. But, right now…I’m just soooo tired.