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You Have a Choice: Your Future Can Be Better Than Your Past

“Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this, too, was a gift.” ~Mary Oliver

On the January 17, 2000, I was in a car crash. I was living in France at the time. I don’t remember much about the crash. I know that we all walked out of the car relatively unscathed. Shocked, scared, and confused, yes. Injured, no.

I remember thinking that I should probably call my mum and dad back in England. Tell them what happened. What I didn’t know in that moment was that back in the UK, I didn’t have a mum to call anymore.

That same afternoon, on the 17th January 2000, was also the day my mum had decided to take her own life.

I found out about my mum’s death standing in the reception of the hotel we had walked into after the crash.

“Liz, she’s gone.”

That’s all I heard at the other end of the phone. It’s all I had to hear. I knew. It was my sister’s voice. She’d managed to track me down in the hotel.

It’s weird because I remember thinking in that moment, “Okay, my mum has just died and I now have to tell some people I don’t know that my mum has died, and I don’t want to put them out or get them all upset, so I’ll just be matter of fact and straight up and not cry.”

Matter of fact. Straight up. I won’t cry. And that’s how I chose to deal with the aftermath of my mum’s death.

While everyone fell apart around me, or grieved, I was the one who was totally okay. I was so together and dealing with it quietly, like I was totally fine.

I remember one day, standing at the checkout of a supermarket, I stood next to my dad as he fell apart while we were packing cans of baked beans into the carrier bag.

I looked at him, the giant pillar of a man I had always known—wracked with the most intense grief for his wife—and thought, “I am alone in this. I’ve got to be strong because no-one else will be.”

I returned to France three weeks after my mum’s death. I couldn’t wait. I spoke to no one of her death. People knew, of course, but death is weird, isn’t it? It shuts people down. Especially suicide.

“How did your mum die?”

“She killed herself.”

Oh. No more questions.

Back in France, I got drunk a lot. I was the first person at the party and the last one to leave. If there was something stupid to do, I was there, the life and soul, but if anyone got too close I’d push them away.

I was the master pretender. The chameleon. Always fun and happy and having the best time, yet on the inside it was ugly and dark and I was wracked with grief that was so painful, the only way I could cope with it was to numb it out. To not allow myself to feel anything.

I started developing strange behaviors about seven years after my mum died. The grief that had been locked in the box in my head for so long finally exploded, and it manifested itself not by crying and grieving, but in horrific anxiety and OCD and really weird thoughts that freaked me out.

I also started to wonder what it would be like to not be alive anymore. To not have to walk around and be the girl whose mum killed herself and deal with all the crap that came along with it.

I remember walking past a huge wall one day and wondering what it would be like to climb to the top and jump off it. I wondered whether the impact would kill me.

It was in that moment, staring up at that wall, that I actually felt something for the first time. And that feeling was relief. Relief that I had a choice. A choice of whether I lived or died. A choice in my future.

As numb and as twisted as I felt right there in that moment, I remember smiling. Because it was up to me what happened next. I chose to walk away from that wall. To start living again even if I didn’t know what that meant exactly at the time.

I decided to not let my mum’s death, which had dogged me for some many years, become a reason to end my life too.

And I don’t just mean end my life by suicide, but to end my life emotionally, to shut down, to numb out, to allow what happened to become my story—the story of someone who shirked away from her own life because her mum killed herself and the world now owed her something for taking her away.

But guess what? The world didn’t owe me anything, and the world doesn’t owe you anything either.

We are all victims of something that has happened in our lives. We ruminate and torture ourselves with things that were said or not said, and about what happened or didn’t happen or things that haven’t even happened yet.

We react to things like a tightly coiled spring, red raw from experiences and situations that lie well in the past. And yet most of us allow our past to build our future.

It’s the reason why you can’t commit to men, because your dad walked out when you were five, or you don’t make friends easily because of that one moment in the playground, aged eleven, when the popular girls made fun of your glasses.

It’s the reason you go to work to a job you hate every day, because you decided early on in life that you weren’t good enough and that you’d just settle for less than.

It’s the reason we make so much meaning out of things. You receive a text message and they don’t end it with a kiss, or someone signs off their email with “regards,” and your immediate thought is, “What did I do?”

You see your boss walking toward you in the corridor at work and you say hello to him, but he keeps his head down and doesn’t respond. “Oh my god, why did he not say hello? Maybe I’m one of the ones who’ll be made redundant?”

We attach so much meaning to everything, don’t we? And yet here’s the thing. There’s what happened and our story about what happened, and assuming the two things to be the same is the source of much pain and unnecessary self-suffering.

Some people just don’t like leaving kisses at the end of text messages, and your boss just found out his wife has cancer and didn’t notice you walking toward him in the corridor, and Barry in accounts doesn’t think that “regards” at the end of an email sounds rude because Barry is more interested in getting the email written and sent so he can leave at 5pm, and fifteen years ago my mum died.

You’re not five anymore. You’re not eleven and I am not the eighteen-year-old girl whose mum blew out the candle without saying goodbye.

You have a choice. Today, right here, right now, you have a choice in how you’re going to show up, not just while you’re reading this, but right here in your life.

You only have one life. And yet you always have lots of choices. About how you respond to what has happened to you in your life and what you do with it as a result.

We can become wrapped up in darkness and negativity, blaming everyone and everything, or we can take from what has happened and learn something about ourselves.

My favorite poet, Mary Oliver, wrote in her Thirst collection, “Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this, too, was a gift.”

And now, writing this, fifteen years after my mum’s death, I feel grateful, not that she died, but that amidst the heartache and the grief and the intense loss, I found out who I was.

And I did so because I made a choice. To show up. To live the life that I wanted to. To take responsibility. To rewrite my story. To not just be the girl whose mum killed herself. But to be the woman who chose to decide that my future is bigger and better than my past.

And I invite you to do the same.

Change image via Shutterstock

About Liz Goodchild

Liz Goodchild is a life coach. She helps people make their lives better. (Think: Getting unstuck, making decisions that feel good, and doing things they think they can't.) You can find Liz over on Facebook and her website.

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Annie Anne

Hi Liz, this is wonderful and came to me at the perfect time. I’m learning to move on. What you’re saying is that we don’t have to be what happened to us right? Thank you so much.

Liz Goodchild

Hey Annie Anne, that’s exactly what I’m saying. Sending you lots of love. Liz xo

Hi Liz, thanks for sharing your story. This reminded me of my struggle at one point of my life to feel vulnerability and express them in times of loss. I did not channel the hurt and heal. So some other parts of my life took a hit. I was binge eating a lot. It was up until a point when I looked myself in the mirror and said, this is enough. There is always a choice. Thanks!

Liz Goodchild

So good to hear from you, Jo! Thank you for your kind words. Liz xo

Sri Purna Widari

Liz, 17th of January is my birthday and for the last few years, shitty things happened. I broke up, I experienced sexual assault on this very day, I celebrated it alone and lonely but at least I had my dog and today is one of these day when I told myself, there is nothing that could possibly cheer me up. I was down and all I wanted to do is cry and I even have tears writing this, and your story made me feel that I am not alone and I appreciate it.

Terrific article! I plan to share. You make some great points and I related to a great deal of what you said in the post. Thanks for sharing!

Stephen Fraser

Thank you…I needed this today….I’ve been awake since 3:30 am….wanting to run away…all old stuff…so I needed to read this in a big big way…thank you again.

Liz Goodchild

Hey @stephenfraser:disqus, I’m glad it helped. Much love xo

Liz Goodchild

Thanks, @michellemarsenaultmima:disqus

Liz Goodchild

Hello. Sounds like the 17th January is a date that’s hard for us both. I am sorry that shitty things have happened to you. You are not alone, ever, there’s always people out there. When I lived in America, aged 21, my Dad told me, just before waving me off on the flight, “Liz, if you ever get homesick, look up at the sky and find the moon, because I can see the moon too, and you know I’m not far away.”

Emilie Pelletier

Beautiful, beautiful post. Touched my heart. Thank you Liz 🙂

Daniela

I really need a prayer or whatever you can offer up -at 45 I’m still reliving the abuse (physical) from adoptive parents…it was severe…just can’t get over it…daily it goes through my head at least 25x or so (since I was at least 12)…I still see them but my anger and sadness is just so raw…

Lauren Alvarado

Just beautiful. Thank you so much for these words of encouragement. Perfect in every way.

wendy brennan

Lovely, thank you for sharing that – very empowering. Is a nice reminder that can choose to make changes so don’t carry yesterday’s pain that only darkens the present.

Morgan Lee Smihula

This helped me out so much. Thank you.

Jyotika Varmani

Thank you

Liz Goodchild

You’re welcome, thank you, Jyotika xo

Liz Goodchild

I’m glad it did, thank you, Morgan xo

Liz Goodchild

Thank you for taking the time to comment, Wendy – I love your perspective xo

Liz Goodchild

Thank you, Lauren xo

Liz Goodchild

I’m sorry that you are having a really rough time, Daniela. Do you have access to therapy or someone experienced to talk to?

Liz Goodchild

Thank you, Emilie!

Dee

A wonderful article with an amazing message. Very wise words. I have never commented on a post before, but felt I needed to here.

Liz Goodchild

Thank you so much, Dee, so lovely of you to say so xo

Adil Ahmed

Your article touched me a lot…Thanks for sharing..:)

Susan Mary Malone

What a beautifully written piece, Liz. You hit the spike on the head: “We can become so wrapped up in darkness and negativity, blaming everyone and everything, or we can take from what has happened and learn something about ourselves.” That’s the crux of life, no?
Thank you for this.

lacy.escalan
Sri Purna Widari

I am sorry for what you have been through. It must have been very painful for you.
I was physically and emotionally abused too as a child and I still have deep anger towards how I was treated. Have you considered writing them down and share them?

liz

this was beautiful!

Liz Goodchild

Thank you, Liz!

Liz Goodchild

It sure is, I believe. Thanks for your feedback, Susan!

Liz Goodchild

You’re welcome, thanks Adil!

Jeevan/Mirthu/Gupt

“I started developing strange behaviors about seven years after my mum died. The grief that had been locked in the box in my head for so long finally exploded, and it manifested itself not by crying and grieving, but in horrific anxiety and OCD and really weird thoughts that freaked me out.” While my struggle(s) wasn’t losing someone close to me; rather going through some constant traumatic experiences for about 7 years straight…then, everything sort of spiraling out of control in a similar manner like yours; even though my actual reality had gotten much better since then. Though, I still struggle with coming to terms with a lot of the things that happened in the past, I like to think that I’m slowly learning to cope with things better… Your story is quite touching & a bit of a TOUGH LOVE for me..lol. Thank you for sharing your story. If you don’t mind me asking; did you ever found out what caused your mom’s passing?

Diana

Hi Liz,
Many thanks for such a story, you might not realize how much such a sharing can do to a person. Its just ‘funny’ to read also that many comments, how much are people around the world suffering from different situations, but with the same or similar results.
My mum is psychically ill. She’s got paranoic schizophrenia since I was 13 (at least at that moment things started to fall). I am blaming everything in the world for ehat I am experiencing now in my life and of course pretending all my problems dont exist. The funny thing is, I want everything in the world- travel, make my future children happy etc etc. But I can’t start to firstly deal with problems, from inside. As you said, pretending is such a ‘great’ thing. Until it completely overwhelms you and you start to feel like bipolaric. Everything is great and then nothing is. Litteraly.
However, I will fight with this, I wish all the people the same, to be strong and to try not to be scared and most of all to thank you for such an inspirational article. Thank you, wish you all the best! 🙂

Raj Karan Singh

What an inspiring and heart touching story. Great that you found yourself. Thanks for sharing.

Jules

Liz such a touching story, i’m so glad you have found your light…it’s really inspired me to think differently. I’m sorry for others on here that have suffered too.

Tao Burp

Here I am reading your posting and shedding tears and choking up with your insightful words and your life and its circumstances. I feel your words so much as I have endure a divorce, two job losses, and wondering if my life was ever meant to be a happy one and if I would ever have the capability to trust my perception and judgement of people and situations ever again or even make the effort to do so. Like you in a sense I feel the blade goes deep but your story has given hope–hope that my life can still turn out better in the future and I can go on. I am grateful for you for making me determined to seek a better future. Equally important you give strong evidence to remain alive and do good for yourself and for others. For that there is no end but a beginning to get beyond the suffering. You are a blessing and I thank you for your sharing.

Scott Fuller

Wow. I’m bawling my eyes out. What a powerful story. Thank you so much for sharing it, and congratulations for overcoming such a huge grief.

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Terese Wolfe

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Oopyboopy88

Thank you. Sometimes we lose sight of just what it means to be alive, becoming wrapped up with people who don’t care, they say the devil is in the details…I agree with regards to thinking too much. The choice is often painful but quite a simple one. You are the master of your life and that is a very empowering message. Just what I needed!

Patsy Nagle

i Get 85 dollars hourly workìng online from home, my good buddy ìs makíng ten thousand dollars every month by working this job although í never belìeved that it was real and she showed me how – get extra informatìon by looking at lìnk on my profíle

destinykid

hiii Liz …i feel it everyday! d pain not understanding why i feel so hollow anc blacked out what has happened was not good but i always fear of what will happen next.sometimes i cry badly ..i am unable to fix certain important situations in my life.plz tell me what shoould i do?