Author: Brisa Pinho

Grieving a Loss That Feels Like a Death

“Grief is like the ocean; it comes on waves ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming. All we can do is learn to swim.” ~Vicki Harrison

Most grief books are written to help you mourn the death of a loved one and learn how to deal with their absence in this world.

Death is probably the most challenging thing a human can face. It breaks us down. It brings us to our knees. Some people are so significant in our lives that the mere thought of living without them feels incredibly overwhelming and incapacitating.

Losing someone we love is hard. Accepting loss is extremely challenging. So how do we cope with yearning and adapt to the emptiness following a divorce or huge breakup without feeling like a loser or the psycho who cant let go?

It’s an unfair misconception to think that those who have a hard time letting go or are taking longer than usual time to move on are somewhat weak.

Psychology agrees that when a major relationship or marriage ends, the person who was left may feel grief as painfully as someone who lost a loved one to death. Sometimes the pain can even be stronger.

Divorces and breakups can sometimes be worse than death, because the person who died to us is very much alive, haunting our every thought.

I remember how lost I felt right after Mr. Big broke things off with me for the 87^th time. I remember packing my car with all my belongings and driving from San Francisco back to Los Angeles with our eight-month-old son in the car crying the entire six hour drive.

I felt as if he had died. My whole world collapsed. I was terrified that I wouldn’t be able to support our son.

I wondered how he would turn out without his father in his life. Would he feel unloved? Would he wonder why his father cut him off his life? Would he blame himself or think he wasn’t good enough for his dad?

So many questions rushed through my mind while I drove through the vast freeway back home.

I felt humiliated. I felt alone. I felt a variety of feelings and emotions. But the one that I always remember is the feeling of loss. I had lost everything I ever thought I would eventually have. The family, the life and most importantly: the man. The man I had loved for five years had died.

His body was still there but his soul was gone. Everything I ever thought of him was gone. His words were gone. His spiritual presence was gone.

There is a lot more to life than a physical body. Millions of people have experienced the death of their loved ones without ever having to plan their funeral.

When I arrived home it was time to pick up the pieces and move on. At least that’s what everyone around me was telling me.

They expected me to shake everything off and move on with my life as if my son’s father didn’t exist. As if our story didn’t happen. But accepting the death of someone in our lives is a process.

I kept going back and forth between missing him and hating him for leaving. At times the mixed emotions felt like I was literally sinking into insanity. One moment I would cry and the next I would yell.

Nobody told me that grief does that to people, and because I didn’t know what I was feeling was normal, I felt even more alone.

I had never heard of the five stages of grief until I went to see a therapist, because the pain was so unbearable. It’s then I learned that a person goes through denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance after the death (or loss) of a loved one.

Unlike what I originally believed, there is no specific order to these feelings. You may feel as if you are on an emotional rollercoaster as you are jumping from stage to stage. Its important to know that this emotional ride is normal, and if you get the proper help you will get off of it alive and stronger.

I know what it feels like to not want to get out of bed. I know what it feels like to not want to take a shower, or brush my teeth or even eat.

I know what is like to lose twenty pounds in six weeks, to lose friends and to lose your dignity begging someone to take you back. I know the feeling that the world has ended and you were left behind alone and miserable.

I have been there, so believe me when I say that there is hope.

There is, in fact, a light in the end of the depression tunnel. But the only way to get to that light is to walk through it. There is no way of getting around the process, and the earlier you begin the journey of mourning and healing, the sooner you will reach peace.

The journey is long, but there is no race and no competition. It’s a journey with yourself. There will be days when you will feel stronger than ever and some days will bring you back to your knees.

Just remember: The rollercoaster is the journey. So even when you are down, feeling as if you’ve made no progress, remember that progress is being made every day you choose to be alive.

Progress is being made every day you choose to not call the one who left you.

Progress is being made every day you choose to take another breath.

You are alive. You are strong. You will survive.

December 8, 2015
How Emotional Pain Can Cause Us to Act “Crazy” in Relationships

“We all exist in our own personal reality of craziness.” ~Alejandro Jodorowsky

Most of us have heard stories of “crazy” women (and sometimes men) and psycho exes. They are our friends, boyfriends’ exes, family members, and sometimes they can even be us.

Often people (including ourselves) are quick to judge these people. We write them off as emotional wrecks. We label them. We shame them. It’s hard not to judge when we are not equipped with the tools to deal with behaviors we don’t understand.

It’s even harder to feel empathy when we experience suffocation and feel our boundaries are being violated.

But “crazy” behavior might not always be what we think. Sometimes crazy behavior is a symptom of trauma and pain. A lot of times crazy behavior hides deeper issues.

From the moment we are born we start to develop a sense of self and belonging. We start to develop an idea of whom we are, how others feel about us, and where we fit in the world.

Our first feelings and ideas of self come from the relationship we have with our parents.

Generally speaking, if children have healthy parents and feel loved and secure at home, they will grow up secure and will have secure adult relationships.

But if children come from homes where there is any type of trauma, abuse, or abandonment, where they don’t learn to build a secure sense of self, then they will grow up anxious and insecure and will have difficulty trusting others and themselves.

Most of the time, people who act “crazy” are subconsciously playing out their childhood wounds. These wounds need to be worked through; otherwise, they continue to manifest over and over again with every new relationship.

Craziness is simply pain turned outward.

For as long as I can remember I have felt pain and fear of being alone. My father’s abandonment made every relationship a search for a part of me I felt was missing, but I didn’t quite know what it was.

I have always had long and fulfilling friendships with both women and men, but for as long as I can remember I have a hard time with romantic relationships. Don’t get me wrong. I absolutely love men. I just didn’t know how to relate to them until recently.

My romantic relationships have always been somewhat like this:

“Hi. I am Brisa. I think I love you. Please complete me and fulfill every part of my life that is in need of fulfillment. Allow me to focus obsessively on your life to subconsciously avoid fixing all that is wrong with mine. And let me suffocate you with my love because I don’t think I am worthy of yours, and because I am terrified of you leaving.”

Not surprisingly, men kept leaving.

And when they left, my crazy behavior kicked in full force. I couldn’t handle the abandonment. I would chase and beg and humiliate myself in every city and every country we would be in. I didn’t care.

The thought of being alone again, abandoned by yet another male, would consume every rational thought in my brain, and before I knew it only the irrational ones were left.

The ones that kept screaming “Go to his house! Show up half naked and with flowers. I am sure that’s exactly what he wants right now!” Didn’t work? “Go to his work. Show up uninvited and beg him to take you back!”

If you can think of any crazy behavior, I have probably done it. And I have probably done it more than once. I threw away my dignity and destroyed my reputation. All fueled by fear and pain, and in the name of love.

I knew my behavior was unhealthy, but I couldn’t stop. It felt as if I was trapped inside my own body and had no control over my actions. I could see what I was doing. I could even despise my actions. But I couldn’t stop.

The pain and fear of being alone was so intense that it would overpower my desire to overcome my destructive patterns.

It’s hard to see clearly when we are caught up in the cycle of unhealthy relationships and denial.

Many of us choose partners that will play the specific role we want them to play so that we can continue to relive our past with the hope of having a different outcome, thereby healing our old wounds. But subconsciously, we all know that’s not possible.

Some of us just choose to continue to act in the same ways because we know that if we were in a healthy relationship and in drama-free life, we would have no other option but to spend our time actually dealing with our pain and wounds.

Wounded people keep creating drama to keep avoiding themselves.

It took years, countless tears, and major loss for me to realize there was something in me that needed to change. It took to years to accept my wounds and my need to look deeper into myself.

I could no longer live with the reality I had carelessly (but repetitively) crafted for myself.

I couldn’t stand others thinking I was crazy.

I couldn’t stand that to his friends (and everyone he met) I was the crazy ex girlfriend he couldn’t get rid of.

I couldn’t stand who I had become, even though I knew that’s not who I was.

And most importantly, I was tired of playing victim. I knew I could no longer let the ghost of my father ruin my future relationships.

When we spend years thinking of ourselves as victims of a sad childhood, bad people, and bad luck, it becomes part of our identity. I had to learn to take responsibilities for my actions and had to learn to rewire my brain into accepting my role in every circumstance of my life.

Maybe some of the people we date are self-absorbed narcissists not worthy of our love, but that does not make them responsible for the way we act and the way we choose to live our lives.

It’s possible that, like us, they are just less than perfect souls with their own traumas and wounds to heal. They are not responsible for our crazy behavior. And they are definitely not responsible for saving or “fixing” us.

At some point we have to accept our past, our less than perfect childhoods, and we need to seek help so we can heal the wounds that haunt our adult lives.

For me, that help came through friendships, meditation, and writing.

My friends helped me through the nights I couldn’t bear spending alone, while meditation helped me during the times when all I wanted was to be alone but didn’t know how. And writing helped me organize my thoughts and all the erratic emotions that consumed my daily life.

I was never taught how to be alone. The thought of having to sit with myself and work on what was really hurting me was terrifying. But once I took that first step toward healing, the journey became addicting.

As I learned to control my impulses and erratic behavior, I felt my inner strength for the first time.

I could literally feel my muscles getting stronger each time I overpowered my urge to text, to call, or to get involved with other unhealthy men just to fill the void, and to continue the emotional roller coaster I was so used to riding.

Waking up is hard. It requires us to look deep into ourselves and confront our darkness.

Coming to terms with our shortcomings and flaws is brutal. But to some, like myself, the realization that we can’t go on as usual doesn’t come until we are drowning in our own self-created problems and we have no other option but to dig ourselves out before it kills us.

And I am glad I did.

The disruptive storm I created for myself throughout the years ultimately propelled me out of the dark and crazy hole of fear, and into the sane, consciously aware world of self-acceptance and self-love.

Fighting couple image via Shutterstock

June 23, 2015
You Can’t Make Someone Love or Commit to You

“It hurts to let go, but sometimes it hurts more to hold on.” ~Unknown

When we’re deep into something it’s hard to see clearly and to hear advice from others. It’s hard to focus on a solution when we are consumed with the problem.

It’s the difference between playing and watching a game of chess. It’s so much easier to see checkmate when you’re not the one playing the game.

That’s what happened to me for the last five years.

I spent every breathing moment consumed with a man, unable to listen to those who watched me struggle. I spent five years doing everything I could to try to force a man to love me, and in the process I forgot how to love myself.

For five years I chased. I begged. I cried. Nothing seemed to work. He would come around when he wanted sex but would push me away when he got his fix. It was a never-ending cycle of depression and humiliation.

I destroyed my reputation and slaughtered my dignity with my crazy behavior, and I still couldn’t understand why he would treat me with such little care. But how could he not? I treated myself with so little love and respect, why would he treat me any different?

Still, I couldn’t stop. I was afraid that if I did he would forget me. For five years I lived in fear of losing someone I deeply loved but never really had in the first place.

And then I got pregnant, in the midst of the chaos and passion that was our on-and-off relationship.

Everyone around me pressured me to have an abortion. I knew they were worried about me, but it just wasn’t for me. I don’t know if it was because I was carrying a child from a man I had loved for so long or if it was guilt, but I just knew I had to keep our son.

And even though my ex’s only consistency in life was his pattern of not raising his children, I blindly believed he would raise our child. While everyone told me he was going to bail again, I vouched for him. I broke off friendships and I fought with those who dared to accuse his character.

I was wrong.

From the moment I told him, he made it clear that he wasn’t going to come through for me. He hurt me during the most vulnerable time in my life. Then months later he told me he loved me.

We did this back and forth game throughout my entire pregnancy. It felt like an eternal emotional tug of war. It was draining. It was humiliating. It was hurtful. But every time he left I chased him because it was the only thing I knew how to do.

I chased him out of fear.

I chased him for me.

I chased him for our son.

I chased him for the home and family I had built in my mind for so many years.

I chased him out of embarrassment for how others would see me. The possibility that people would think I wasn’t worthy enough for him after I got pregnant was more than I could handle.

And most importantly: I chased him because I was emotionally sick.

Although I was able to pull him in a couple more times after my son was born, only to be pushed away weeks later, I still held on to hope that one day he was going to wake up and realize he loved me. And the three of us would finally be a family.

That never happened, of course. My son and I never got that family. And I now know we never will.

I think the hardest part of this five-year ordeal was accepting that my perspective of reality was just a fantasy I had created in my mind.

For the longest time I held on to this idea of love and my ex. I put him and our connection on a pedestal. I idolized and worshiped every part of him.

But when he blocked me from his life, leaving our son fatherless, that pedestal came crashing down, smashing every dream and every good feeling I had for him.

It was hard to walk up to my friends and say, “You were right.” It was even harder to come to terms with the reality that he is less than perfect.

Part of me hates myself for holding on for so long. I could have saved myself years of heartache and gallons of tears if I had just accepted that I couldn’t make him love me. Instead, I spent years questioning over and over why he couldn’t.

I spent another year trying to force him to be a dad.

If only I had tried harder. If only I had been nicer. If only. If only. It took me years to accept that his actions had nothing to do with me. Just like my uncontrollable behavior and emotional instability was beyond him, his actions were about him and him only.

He had his first two children in his early twenties. He then had his third child with another woman in his late twenties, and then he had our son in his mid thirties. Four children. Three different women. Three different sets of circumstances and times in his life. All the same result.

It was never about my son and me. There is nothing I could have done. There is nothing I could have been. The result would’ve been the same: him out the door. Or more precisely, him kicking us out the door.

He is now in love with someone else. As expected, a baby-free someone else. And he is committed to her—which proves that when a man wants to commit, he will commit. There is no need for us to beg and chase him.

If a man is not committing to you, or your child, he just doesn’t love you.

It might sound harsh, but that’s just the way life is.

Loving someone who doesn’t love us back, or even worse, someone who loves someone else, is the most painful thing in the world. But the most important thing we can do for ourselves is accept that certain things are beyond our control and take responsibility for the things that are.

We need to listen to that inner voice that tells us we deserve to be loved. And we need to accept that some people will never love us, no matter what we do.

The grief and the pain will eventually pass. And this will open the door for us to find someone else who will truly love us and give us everything we wanted with our ex.

But first we have to give up hope. It will never be the way we want it to be. That person you’re waiting on won’t wake up one day and realize they loved you all along.

Giving up hope is the hardest part of moving on, but it’s the most important.

We can’t complain about someone hurting our feelings if we keep letting them. We can’t complain about someone mistreating us if we keep coming back. And we can’t complain about wasted time if we keep walking in circles.

If I had spent the last five years putting the same amount of effort into myself as I did chasing, controlling, and trying to get my ex to love me, I would have been president of the United States by now.

I will never get the last five years back. It was a lot of wasted time and it was a lot of wasted effort.

Wasted time is wasted life.

June 2, 2015