Tag Archives: feelings

Dear In-Laws: Meet My Boyfriend

Why it took 6 months to tell my in-laws I was in a relationship

I met and made friends with Ryan 14 months after my husband died. Ryan and I took our time getting to know one another: we both have kids, and our own custom-made emotional baggage. It wasn’t until late February of 2019 that we graduated beyond friendship to a “relationship.”

While I might never want to get married again, or even live with someone, I didn’t start this relationship casually. I was committed to seeing how long we could last. And yet: it took me six months to tell my husband’s parents that I was seeing someone.

They visited us for Easter, and I still couldn’t make myself say the words.

In fact, I didn’t tell them about my boyfriend until August, when Ryan and I were in my car with our sons, en route to my husband’s family’s annual reunion.

Four hours into the drive, even.

Good intentions, but …

I’d meant to tell them earlier. Ideally in person, but over the phone would suffice. I didn’t want them to find out from a stranger … and yet, part of me did want them to find out, without my having to tell them. Early in the summer, I told my brother-in-law and his wife about Ryan, half-hoping they’d pass the news along to his parents.

I wrote about my “friend” Ryan in a May Medium story, and mentioned my “boyfriend” in August. Subtle.

Why was it so hard?

I’m a fiercely independent, 39-year-old writer: I don’t usually have a problem telling friends/family/the internet what I’m up to. I was incredibly nervous about telling Brock’s parents I was in a new relationship, and simultaneously baffled by why I felt this way.

My in-laws are amazing people. Brock’s entire, very large family are all kind, generous, loving people. My reluctance had nothing to do with them.

Eventually, I realized I was projecting my own anxieties onto my in-laws.

A widow’s truth: nothing is for sure

When you’ve lost your life partner, it’s hard to believe that anything is permanent. I understood that this new relationship could end at any time: why would I bother to tell Brock’s family, and stir up any fresh grief, when there might be no boyfriend by our next visit?

Feelings are uncomfortable

At the same time, I was nervous about falling for someone new. Maybe because of Brock’s death, I’d walled up my feelings: I didn’t want to be vulnerable again. And, if I let myself feel anything for Ryan, and admit to others that I felt something for him, that might let other, less happy feelings creep out: my long-suppressed grief, helplessness and anger at Brock’s illness and death.

But I knew I had to tell Brock’s parents that I had a boyfriend. Maybe that was why I invited Ryan and his sons to join us at the family reunion: because it would force me to say the words when I introduced him to all those relatives.

My in-laws’ reaction

I could have also titled this: “How best to respond when your daughter-in-law tells you she’s dating someone new.”

My in-laws are wonderful people, and they proved it with how they reacted to my news during that terrifying phone call.

Immediately, my mom-in-law confessed that this had been their hope, that I’d find someone new. If anyone other than my in-laws said this to me, I’d be angry and upset. But coming from Brock’s parents, this was the best reaction.

They said they were excited to meet Ryan, and his kids.

And: they didn’t make me feel bad, for keeping this relationship from them for six (!) months.

Your reaction matters

To those of you reading this who know a widow: if they find someone new, please go easy on them. There are so many complicated feelings that come when we open our hearts to love again.

And, if you’re dealing with your own loss: go easy on yourself. I lost Brock 29 months ago, and I’m still recovering. You aren’t alone.

Me and Ryan, bravely taking the (polar bear) plunge in February 2020. In matching penguin undies, even.

(Originally published on Medium.com on March 13, 2020.)

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“What Am I Not Willing to Feel?”

I met with a counsellor last month, and one of the resonate-y pieces of wisdom she offered was for me to ask myself: “What am I not willing to feel?”

She meant this as a question for all of us to consider, at all times in our lives — it’s not just special wisdom for us widows.

I love this question. It echoed in my head throughout our session.

Epiphany: the five-year-old has feelings

We starting talking about my son at the end of our appointment, because I wanted him to meet with someone to help him with his hitting habit.

Oh, and also with any dad-grief thoughts he might be having at five years old.

My counsellor asked me how Isaac felt about his dad’s death.

My immediate response was: “He didn’t feel anything, He was too young.”

But of course that can’t be right. Even babies are affected by whether or not a caregiver answers their cries. We’re never too young to be scarred.

My brain knows Isaac must have experienced emotions while his dad had cancer, from ages one to four, and must have feelings now about the loss and lack of his dad. But I’ve never seen him cry or get upset when we talk about Brock, so I assumed Brock’s sickness and death were just more events in Isaac’s life. Like moving houses.

Yet … there’s the hitting, specifically of family members he loves and trusts. Those random explosions of bottled up fury, or sometimes even joy.

I realized I’ve never asked Isaac how he FEELS about his dad. In fact, I never ask Isaac how he feels about anything. We have a shelf stocked with books about feelings, and yet I’ve somehow failed in my role as emotional educator.

I assumed Isaac would be nervous about this ride, and told him we would go as slowly as he wanted. He kept saying: “faster, mom!” and finally just grabbed the control stick himself.

“What am I not willing to feel?”

I’m scared to discover that Isaac DOES have feelings about his dad’s cancer and death. I don’t want those three years to have damaged my kid. I don’t want to think that Brock and I made a wrong choice during those years, or that I did something wrong after Brock’s death.

I don’t want to have regrets.

And I’m nervous to discuss Isaac’s feelings about his dad, because I don’t want to poke at my own feelings.

Being a friend: “What Would Brock Do?”

One day, in 2016, I was feeling sad or frustrated about something, and Brock let me vent it all out. He was always a fantastic listener (after he died, many people commented on this Super Power of his in their cards and Facebook posts), and this particular time I felt incredible gratitude and catharsis after he let me talk.

He didn’t interrupt, he didn’t try to help, he didn’t try to broaden my perspective. He just listened.

Because I was free to talk out my thoughts, I was able to see my own limitations (eventually). I was able to broaden my own perspective. Just by listening, Brock helped me feel better.

It was a memorable experience. It felt like he’d given me a gift, just by listening and being present with me, and I thanked him. I wanted to be able to do that for my friends and family — to be that kind of listener.

And yet, the other night a friend called, with drama happening in his life and, instead of listening, I tried to help. Specifically, I pointed out the silver lining, I offered different perspectives, and I tried to come up with an action plan to “fix” things.

Ugh.

While this response might be helpful in some ways, I am NOT being the good friend and listener I want to be. I am not continuing Brock’s legacy. I am not growing as a person, and becoming a better friend.

I want to be a friend who can be present and listen. I want my friends to feel validated and heard.

“What am I not willing to feel?”

When a friend is sad, my first instinct is to make them happy again. I want to point out all the good things in their life, and help them “fix” their problem. Being present with negative feelings (sadness, anger) sounds stagnant to me — let’s move on.

This is how I got through three years of watching cancer kill my husband.

When I tried to distract my friend from his feelings, I was projecting my own need onto him: I assumed he didn’t want to FEEL his feelings, just as I try to avoid my own.

A fear of intimacy

I’ve written about this before — I have a hard time talking about my feelings, aside from on this website. My counsellor’s question, “What am I not willing to feel?,” helped me realize that I don’t like FEELING. I’m uncomfortable feeling anything other than happy or content.

And: I tend to assume my friends and family are like me, that they don’t want to FEEL things.

Regardless, I’m uncomfortable hearing about and feeling their feelings. Which is why I never ask my son how he’s feeling, and why I try to distract my loved ones from their emotions.

Somewhere along the way I put up an emotional wall: so that I could survive motherhood, so that I could survive watching Brock die over three years … or maybe before all of that. This wall stays up out of habit, and also to protect myself and this new life we’re creating.

Once again, I’m astonished and excited to realize I still have things to learn at age 39. I’m re-inspired to strive to listen like Brock could, to give my loved ones that gift of being heard. And I’m grateful to my counsellor for giving me this tool of self-reflection: “What am I not willing to feel?” is something to ask myself in every situation.

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I’d love to hear your thoughts. Are you a good listener? Are there feelings you prefer to avoid? Please post a comment, share this post online or read more posts on this website.

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