What Not Writing Means

On my drive back from Homecoming weekend at USC, I realized that I haven't written a post in four days. Although this may not seem like a big deal, it's the longest I've gone without writing since I started my blog at the end of June. As I drove, I began thinking about what this four day gap meant. I ping ponged between believing it was a good sign and a bad one:

Maybe I was finally embracing normal life?

Maybe I wasn't respecting my grief? 

Maybe I was just busy?

Maybe I was just bottling things up?

Back and forth,

back and forth. 

I was doing it again: over analyzing my way into a corner. Instead of trying to pick apart everything I did or didn't do, said or didn't say, I finally switched my focus onto how I felt. How did these last four days without writing feel for me?

Calm.

During my drive home I was so focused on what not writing said about me and my grieving process that I blocked myself from a very simple answer. Maybe I didn't write because I didn't need to. Once I identified that I felt calm this whole weekend, it made perfect sense to me why I didn't feel the need to write any blog entries. 

In the future, I know there will be days when I'll need to write. On those difficult days I might detach, continuously creating poems and prose inside of my head. But today reminded me that there will also be days when I'm so caught up with life that I'll only have time to share private moments inside of my heart with Blake. Neither type of day is better. Neither means I'm any less respectful to Blake or less respectful to myself and moving forward.

At this point, I know I'm the best judge of what I need and what I don't. The more I trust in my ability to cope with Blake's death, the more confidence I'll have in the decisions I make for myself. If I can build that internal confidence and trust, I'm going to be ok. I don't know when or how, but I'm positive that I will be.