Widows Support, Coaching for Widows

My husband was sick for ten years, so you would surely think that I was prepared to be a widow. But I was not. That sounds silly even to me, but as all widows learn, widowhood is not something for which one can prepare.

Especially one cannot prepare for the unremitting, all encompassing, physical, emotional and spiritual loneliness.

How I wanted to be touched. Touched in ways that would tell me that I still was still desirable, needed, lovable and above all, not alone.  I wanted someone to brush by me as we made dinner. I wanted someone’s leg to kick me in the middle of the night and I wanted someone’s thigh to touch mine as we sat in the movie theater.

I went for a massage, thinking that touch was touch. The first time I went, I cried. Tears leaked slowly and silently out of my eyes as my lovely massage therapist tried to make up for what I had lost. The second time I went, I just got irritated. Her hands annoyed me and I couldn’t wait for her to stop but I didn’t want to hurt her feelings so I let her finish. I learned that touch, for me, was not just any touch and I never went back.

Isolation compounds isolation. The more alone I felt, the more I remained alone, and so on. I was ashamed that  I was alone (what, doesn’t she even have any friends?)  and I was ashamed that I was lonely. I was ashamed that I watched Oprah every day and Frasier re-runs late at night, and that I watched QVC in the early hours of the morning and sometimes bought things that I invariably returned. Maybe I thought that a really good widow would just buck up and deal, eat well, sleep well and exercise.  I did none of that. Instead, I swam around in my loneliness until it seemed my new-forever way of life.

Surprisingly, other widows were quiet about this loneliness. At first I wondered why they weren’t talking, why they didn’t warn me that at ten o’clock at night I would get into bed, always hopeful for sleep and that I would lie there watching the clock until, if I was lucky, unconsciousness would descend between two and three AM. I decided that no one was talking because every night we all (all of us widows) expected that finally this would be the night that our sleeplessness and loneliness would end and we would once again wake up in the morning refreshed.

Or maybe there was just no point in talking about it.

I did not like being out in the world where life went on as usual. In the grocery store I would wonder “did they know?”, the guys stocking the freezer, “did they know that my husband had died?” Did they know that my life had been turned upside down? Did they care?

Of course they didn’t know. No doubt they would have cared, some, if they knew, but they didn’t know. But when the loneliness started to get scary – when I began to fear for my sanity – then I began to really talk  about my dead husband.

In the grocery store, near the tomatoes perhaps, I would strike up a conversation with an unsuspecting stranger. At some point, I would say “You know, my husband died.” I would just stick it in the conversation, whether it fit or not. This always brought a look of horror (which in some sick way gratified me), followed by “Oh I am SO sorry” and then I would say “Thank you, it’s OK” and the conversation would end. (It’s OK???)  I always felt deep embarrassment when I resorted to this behavior, but it didn’t stop me.

The coffee shop, the DMV, my dental hygienist, the LLBean customer service rep… I told anyone and everyone I ran into that Mike had died. It wasn’t like I thought this out, or even that I was choosing to tell. I had to tell. I was driven to tell. I hated watching others go about their business as if my life had not exploded. I was pretty sure that this was not right, what I was doing, but I needed to be in a world that knew that I was hurt. Because maybe then I would not feel so alone. I secretly wondered if I had crossed the line into mental illness.

And God. Where was he? Or she, or it? I thought that God was supposed to help me. Although I was pretty sure that God was not some sort of cruel puppeteer who had snatched my husband from me, I did expect that I would find comfort in my faith and that A Universal Intelligence would sooth my tired soul.

But instead of feeling soothed, I came to the realization that at the age of 47 I still held onto a child-like understanding of God that promised me safety and happiness as long as I was a good mother and a good wife and as long as I did my best to be a decent human being. Well, I had done all that, I thought, but Mike had still died. I grappled with God and what God was and was he even paying attention to me?

Eventually, my Dutch-New England ‘do it yourself’ heritage finally buckled under the weight of my loneliness and I reached out to professionals and friends. I began to talk, tiny bit by tiny bit. I put myself in the hands of people whom I could trust not to try to fix me.

They did not fix me. Instead, they cared for my broken spirit and took me as I was. Sometimes crying, sometimes grumpy, and always self-centered, as if I were the only grief stricken woman on the planet.

Time does heal, along with the love of friends, and my loving coach. I look back and can hardly believe that I was that woman. I wake up these days with a faith once again in A Supreme Intelligence. My reconciliation with God took years but one morning I woke up and realized we were partners again.

I am finally comfortable being alone, and most of the time I am no longer lonely. It was a very long haul and I am grateful for the patience of those who tended to me.

Please contact me for a sample coaching session. Help is a phone call away.

Click on ‘Contact’, or call 508-540-4421.

Mie Elmhirst CPCC, PPC  The Widows Coach

www.widowsbreathe.com

Help for widows

Last night it was cold and damp here on Cape Cod so I lit a fire in the fireplace and invited Anneke, my 15 year-old to join me. She had her laptop and I had mine. She did her homework and I did mine. It was quiet and lovely and I felt gratitude. I have come to a place of deep peace since my husband died. It took years and a lot of help.

But, every once in a while I forget that my daughter is 15, and I assume she grieves as I do. I forget how profoundly different it is to lose a father than it is to lose a husband.

When Mike died we lost our footing. Nothing made sense. I remember feeling as if I were caught up in a vortex and I wondered when we would fall and if we would land on our feet or if we would land, broken into little pieces.

Anneke grieved, because she was 7, in short, deep spurts, bereft one moment and playing happily with her friends the next. She was a child, and because children grieve so differently, she seemed to roll with it better than I did.

Although I could count on regular meltdowns from Anneke, especially after the rare occasion when I needed to resort to discipline, these meltdowns were brief.

I would go something like this…

Me, (after a minor transgression).  “Honey you need to go to your room for a little while and think about what you did (or said)…”
Anneke. “I waaaaant myyyyyy daaaaaddyyyyyy……”

It wasn’t simply that she was a manipulator and knew how to get me to soften.

We had been a three-person-household, instead of now two, and discipline from one parent always meant that Anneke had the other parent to lend support and balance.  I was the stricter of the two parents and Mike’s laid-back attitude was a wonderful stabilizing force for us. We relied on him for this. His absence was deeply felt by Anneke when she and I did not see eye-to-eye.

Now, eight years have come and gone since Mike died. Anneke and I see eye-to-eye more often than not. She has now known more years without him than she knew with him. Anneke has matured into a gorgeous, articulate, balanced young woman. I have no question that Mike continues to have a strong hand in her up bringing.

I want to put a period on this story. A period that goes something like this.

“I am in a good place, I am dating, I love my life (finally, due to some really good coaching), I am taking voice lessons, I have learned how to dance, I have a good job, I know that I will meet my special someone at some point and I have no big worries. Therefore, Anneke is fine also. Period.”

But that is not how it works. Yes, I am fine.

But last night, I got up from the fire and went to get ready for bed. After an hour or so, I called downstairs to say goodnight. Anneke’s response was a somewhat muffled “goodnight” so I knew something was up and I went downstairs to investigate.

Anneke’s grief continues in a way that mine does not. The man in her life who was supposed to tell her that she is a princess, that she is beautiful, that he is so proud of her musical performances that he might burst, and that she can do anything she wants to do, is gone. The man who was supposed to teach her about boys, to tell her that she is a desirable young woman and who was supposed to interrogate nervous young men as they came to pick her up for a date, is gone.

But her need for him continues. In fact, her need for him is greater now, perhaps, than when she was seven.

For teens, the missing of a parent seems in some ways to get harder. As the years pass, the events in their lives increase in significance and his absence becomes more profound.  But even as this is true, the world around these teens assumes they miss him less, that they are done with their grief.

My daughter, as many teens do, has a smile on her face most of the time. She would be described by anyone as happy, upbeat and positive.

But at night, when alone in front of the fireplace, she grieves. And there is nothing I can do. My job as a parent is NOT to hug those tears away, not to shove tissues in her face, not to make her feel better as I so want to do.

My job is to be with her if she wants me. To cry with her if I have to, but mostly to witness her. To witness and respect her need to grieve, even eight years later. And to let her know that this is just the process, that this will not be the last time she cries, that it will happen again, and that between tears she can and will live a full, remarkable life. My job is to teach her to not fear but rather accept her continued sadness.

I try hard not to be afraid of my daughter’s pain. Like all widowed parents, I don’t want her to have any. None. But he died, and she does have pain. My consolation is in knowing that at her tender age, she is learning a lesson that took me 47 years to learn; that no matter how hard she cries, she will laugh again.

Mie Elmhirst. The widow’s coach. Coaching, Support and Help for Widows.

Please visit www.widowsbreathe.com or click on ‘contact’ for more information about one-on-one coaching or call 508-540-4421.

Last night was the start of 4th Widows Dating Again Teleclass. We had fun, some really good belly laughs, and lots of stimulating conversation. I was struck again by how lucky I am to be able to work with this community of young widows.

Because online dating is so enormous, (it is the easiest way to meet like-minded men) I will share just a few tips on writing a really good, attention grabbing profile. For the full dose, and for more invaluable information on online dating, sign up for the next class scheduled for February 9th and 12th. Attendance is limited so let me know ASAP.)

(Note – If you are a brand new widow, take your time. Healing must be your primary occupation. Filling up the space with a man does not work. Take your time, love yourself, and know that the time will come when you will be ready for new love.)

So, for those of you who are ready, here is a list of some of the dos and don’ts.

• In writing a profile you are engaging the reader in a relationship. This is the first glimpse of you your future date will have. He will learn specifics tidbits about you from your profile.
• He will also learn about you from the energy of your profile. Be aware of how your energy comes through. If you are sad when you write – it will show.
• Make the headline interesting.
• In this era of online dating, you have only seconds to grab his eye – attention spans are short and the hand is quick to click on the next profile.
• Pay attention to the tone of the profile. (Serious, upbeat, witty.) Have the tone of the profile reflect the real you. If you are a serious type, let the profile reflect that. A chatty profile would misrepresent you and he would expect to meet a very different person.
• Tell the truth. But you don’t have to tell everything in a profile.
• Write and re-write. Ask your friends to critique. Remember – it is your introduction and you want it to reflect the best in you.
• Use spell check!
• Make your profile positive. Most Internet dating sites will say, at the beginning of your profile that you are widowed. Therefore you don’t need to talk about your late husband or the fact that you are a widow or the fact that you have been through a lot. That goes without saying. When we talk about loss in a profile it brings the profile down. A sad profile will attract a sad person… and who wants that? You want new relationships to stand on their own rather than to be about your experience of widowhood or his late (or ex) wife.
• Say what you like, not what you don’t like. Or, if you must say what you don’t like, make it work. I.e. classical rather than rock, the Ritz rather than camping! Jane Austin rather than Updike, white wine rather than bud. You get the picture. This way he gets to hear what you don’t like without you sounding negative.
• Or, if you still want to say what you don’t want, simply look for the opposite of what you don’t want (what you do want) and make it positive. I.e. I like a self-motivated man sounds better than I don’t want a beer drinking couch potato!
• Make sure there is some fun in your profile. Dating needs to be fun in order to be successful. Make a little joke that might put a smile on someone’s face.
• Stay away from the ordinary. “I love walks on the beach”, or “I love a glass of wine in front of the fireplace” are rather boring statements. Everyone likes those things. What is a little different about you?  What makes you stand out? So, rather than “I love to XXX,” tell the reader what it is about XXX that you love. I.e. Instead of  “I love hiking” let the reader know what it is about hiking that you love. “Being at the top of a mountain and hearing the wind howl reminds me of how much I treasure the planet”. OK, so maybe that is a little too touchy-feely…but you get the point.
• A sloppy profile will attract someone who doesn’t care about sloppy – and therefore may also be sloppy. If that doesn’t matter to you – fine. But most of us want a man who respects himself enough to be able to clean up with not too much effort.
• Be specific so that by the end of the profile he really knows a few things about you.

When you are done writing and your friends have done a thorough once-over for you, let it rest for a few days. When you go back to it, read it again and make sure that the real you and the best in you shines through. If it does, and you are happy with your profile…go ahead and sign up!

Remember, a profile is just the beginning. There is much to know about what to do when a gentleman, or a not so gentle-man writes you. Dating on the Internet requires a whole new skill set.

Please visit www.widowsbreathe.com or click on ‘contact’ for more information about one-on-one coaching or if you are interested in learning more about profile writing.
Mie Elmhirst,   The Widow’s Coach  Coaching for Widows,