This morning I have been reflecting on how many times I have shared my story over the past sixteen years.
How important in the beginning it was to share my story and experience to help me process the pain, hurt and emotions. I shared my story in my journaling, friends, family, strangers and my therapist. It gave me a sense of clarity and freedom in sharing my vulnerability.
I knew the people in my life who I could share my story with. Not everyone is comfortable with death, and the expression of grief.
I then began sharing my story through volunteering with ALS families. With our shared experiences I could help them navigate their own experience. I didn’t realize then that every time I shared my story I was healing.
I remember when I was asked to share my experience of being a caregiver with residents at the hospital. I shared without tears, I could share from a healed heart. They learned to ask and trust the caregivers description of the patients symptoms because they are with them everyday.
I am still sharing my grief story in hopes to help others to understand that when we loose a loved one they will always be part of our story.
I no longer share my story from a place of loss. I share from a place of gratitude for the life shared and the growth within myself to continue on my life path.