An angry woman is a grieving woman. A running away, shut-down woman is a grieving woman. A scattered woman is a grieving woman. A needy woman, a hurt woman, a drinking-too-much woman, is a grieving woman.
A woman who runs away from her life is a grieving woman. A woman who travels, who leaves her children, who has her children taken from her, is a grieving woman.
A woman who is spontaneously rejected by a man who can’t stay when things get real. A woman who is rejected by a man who can’t stay when he is asked to contribute. A woman who is rejected by a man who can’t stay while she is insisting she be treated like a human. A woman who is rejected by a man who can’t stay if he must have the same level of integrity she does, who can’t listen, who can’t see her as a person.
This woman, too, is a grieving woman.
A woman who fucks too many unworthy men, who cries a lot, who seeks the shelter of a mountain or a cave is a grieving woman.
We create a grieving woman when, as sisters, we betray her trust in us to understand the ways of woman, the ways of intuition and intimate knowing, the ways of making mistakes out loud and having compassion, the ways of taking care and safely nurturing, the ways of quiet power and life-death-life cycling.
We create a grieving woman when we judge her for her pain, for her calls to you and to the world to DO something about this madness, these acts of violence, these terrible injustices.
Yet what do we tell a grieving woman?
We tell her to let go. Just let go and you will feel free.
Let go of what? My grieving over things that literally cry through the cells of my body to be expressed? When I grieve, I AM letting go!
We tell her to take a break. Just sit in my box for awhile. It’s safer there. Don’t put yourself in places where you will be triggered.
Safe from what? Myself? My feelings? My wishes for my life? It is not safe from your judgment of me. Take a break from what? I have a perpetrator who is invested in harassing me STILL after YEARS. I can’t take a break, even if I try, because HE won’t take a break from his abuse.
We tell her to listen to us, to understand that we know best.
But we don’t listen to her, and how she needs to heal is different from what you think. We label her slut, whore, cunt. We disdain her sexual desire and her ability to get her needs met. Her freedom to heal makes some uncomfortable.
We watch her dances with the hardened eyes of the critic and not the soft eyes of the heart.
I say, grieving woman, dance here. You have plenty to grieve, to darken your heart, to try to liberate within you. Liberation comes with love, compassion, and acceptance, not with finger-wagging shaming.
I see you even when you don’t see yourself, and I love you even when you don’t see your worth.