When Will I Get Over This?

A familiar sensation of tightness gripped my throat as my heart pounded in my chest and the knots in my solar-plexus twisted into familiar shapes. I sheepishly gazed downward, tears streaming down my face, mumbling to Paloma, “I should have this figured out by now. Helping people improve their mental health is what I do for a living. Why does this keep coming up for me?” Paloma’s tone was soft with compassion as she gently reminded me that my experiences of living in a body that does not fit society’s standards of “normal” are not just in the past, they continue each day.

I trusted her words, knowing that she is an experienced therapist with a multitude of academic training; possessing a deep understanding of what it means to heal from identity-related grief and trauma. I understood all of this on a cognitive level, but my body felt flooded with shame at having this sudden temporary upsurge of grief (STUG). The term “STUG” was coined by Dr. Therese Rando over 3 decades ago to describe intense, unexpected surges in emotions for those who have experienced past grief or loss. While Dr. Rando used this term in the framework of loss of a loved one, I am taking the liberty of applying it to my grief related to identity/disability.

It seemed like it had been ages since my thoughts and emotions related to experiences of ableism were this intense. So why now? Hadn’t I put enough time and energy into moving through all the stages of grief? I recalled many years of reading books and articles, journaling and blogging, and processing with Joy and my close friends. Shouldn’t that have resulted in a complete healing process?

While I’ve gained deeper knowledge and language around grief related to ableism and healthy coping techniques, I have yet to reach the destination I thought I would when I set out on this journey. I had somewhat naively perceived my journey as linear, with a clear start and finish.

The concept of “radical acceptance” and healthy coping techniques I incorporate into both my own life and my work with clients support my healing journey, and yet the pain remains. It often ebbs and flows depending on my current life circumstances, but it’s not the “fully healed” experience I had anticipated reaching when Joy and I created this blog over a decade ago.

There is a brokenness that lives inside me that may never heal. I cringe as I write these words because I fear they sound melodramatic or fatalistic. But they are my truth at this moment in time.

I find myself curiously examining this new place in my healing journey. The place where I’m learning to embrace the many twists and turns of grief, noticing it show up in my body like a clenched fist against my throat or a deep searing sensation in my gut. I’m watching as my awareness and reaction to lingering shame unfolds in real time. This healing journey feels just as vulnerable yet more fluid than it did years ago. There are moments when I feel like I have reached full acceptance, and there are other moments, like the session with Paloma, in which the rawness of my emotions feels almost startling. These moments remind me that I’m human. They also urge me to ask more interesting questions than “when will I get over this?”  Questions such as, “What do I need in this moment to move through this?” and “Who can I connect with as I sit with this discomfort?” When I ask these new questions, I feel my fists unclench, my heart rate slow, and my breath deepen. I feel my body giving me permission to not “get over it”.