I've just been through the tough month. The month that feels like life is nothing more than a series of hard dates to get through, and then one more. I've been told a lot this month that I'm "doing well" or "coping amazingly". My boss' favorite when I tell her that a particular something has been hard that day is to tell me "yes but Sarah, six months ago, you wouldn't have even done that". Big whoop! Aren't I doing well? Aren't I coping amazingly! Well I don't want to any more. I don't want to do well and cope amazingly. Or rather, I don't want to have to.
I want more.
There has to be more to my life than this. There has to be more to come for me, surely? Can I really be destined for a life where my biggest achievement of the week is not crying when a colleague brings in her almost one year old, reminding me of just how long this road has been for me? Reminding me of the early days of grief watching her bump grow. Can I congratulate myself on how far I have come and be satisfied with that? Of course I can't. So why do people expect me to be pleased with my "achievement" of coping? Especially, when society's definition of coping is not crying, it seems. So, what we are basically saying is, "well done you for not crying, have a coconut!"
Forgive me for not feeling like the cat who got the cream. I'd rather have won the fish.