When I was called an ice queen two years ago, I was shocked – in that mock shock kind of way.
It was no surprise really.
At work, I was about work. Amongst friends, I was about the fun. But the really personal stuff – that was only revealed in my own home. And by my own home, I quite literally mean the one I share with my husband. Not even my parents knew the inner workings of my mind.
Someone once close to me said its time to start kicking the shit out of option B. While I’m not entirely sure I’m ready for that yet, I realise that I am ready to start talking about that. That option. Option B. And that which is done now.
They say there are 5 stages of grief. And while it may still be debatable whether you’d call this grief, I now know that I’ve been dealing with my grief over the past year. And while I may have oscillated between a few of the stages, and I really hate to jinx shit (which this may do) – I think that acceptance is around the corner.
I know this now, because – I’m no longer an ice queen. A year ago I started opening up. Slowly, I let people in. I also closed up (denial and isolation) and got really angry (err.. anger stage). There was bargaining, and quite clearly there was the darkness. But… I’m talking about it. (I’m writing this post aren’t I?) As lonely a journey as it is, and I’ll never tell anyone otherwise, I think its time to talk about it. So that everyone in my life can accept it too.
By accepting it, doesn’t mean I’m ok with it. It doesn’t mean I’m over it, or that I’m strong again. It doesn’t mean that I don’t want to cry anymore and it doesn’t mean its not something that I don’t still wish I had. It just means I’m trying desperately to accept and to just move on.