I used to say that I didn’t have much of an ego.  I’ve never had much of a problem admitting when I screw something up.  I like to laugh at myself and self-denegrate.  It’s fun to poke fun at all of my foibles and quirks - there are so many!  So it’s weird, at 36, to realize that I really do have an ego, and it’s wrapped in a tight little package around my pride. 

Ego and pride are fine things to have.  They help make us secure or confident.  I don’t think anyone would argue that being those two things is bad.  However, right now, they are really getting in my way.  See, the problem is, I am grieving the loss of something very important to me. Actually, I am grieving the loss of a NUMBER of things that are very important to me.  Once I figured out (today, as a matter of fact) that I was grieving, it helped me get a handle on the process and the phases.  And maybe, just maybe, writing about it will help me get through the phases more quickly. 

Quoting from Elizabeth Kubler-Ross and from Wikipiedia:
The Five Stages of Grief
Denial: The initial stage: “It can’t be happening.”
Anger: “Why ME? It’s not fair!” (either referring to God, oneself, or anybody perceived, rightly or wrongly, as “responsible”)
Bargaining: “Just let me live to see my child(ren) graduate.”
Depression: “I’m so sad, why bother with anything?”
Acceptance: “It’s going to be OK.”

I’ve definitely finished with flying colors the “Denial” stage.  I hung out happily in Denial for quite awhile.  I also think I did Stage 3 before 2 - I kept trying to bargain with myself, my husband, and my internal understanding of what was really going on.  Now, however, after getting some sleep and being able to actually think coherently, I have definitely moved into the Anger stage.  And man, am I pissed.  What am I pissed about?  Well, I can’t get into specifics.  But I can say that I feel I have been a good, hard-working, ethical person, who has given 110% for a long, long time, and what is coming to me is Just. Not. Fair.  I think about some of the people in my professional life who have lied and cheated and used people to get where they are.  At the moment, they are sitting at the pinnacle of their careers.  Or it seems that way to me, down here.  The things that I have treasured about myself, many of which I have inherited from my father, seem to have failed me.  Persistence. Perserverance.  The ability to “just get it done”.  Hard work. Honesty.  Doing the right thing. 

Apparently, I also inherited my dad’s stubborn nature - and his pride, too.  Pride is a double-edged sword. It has made me strive to be the best I could possibly be.  Right now, though, it is preventing me from accepting what I must do - what has to be done - to survive.  And I am irritated and pissy with my pride.  I want to tell my pride to sod off and let me get on with Stages 4 and 5 of my grief.  I want to be okay again.  For the last year I have devoted just about every extra ounce of who I am to something.  And although I can say a million platitudes about how it didn’t really “fail” or “when a door closes, a window opens”, I am not there yet.

So please, let me have this opportunity to express, in as much detail as I can right now, that I am very, very sad.  I am also very angry at the moment.  I don’t understand everything yet - I’m not sure I will - but I do know, without anyone telling me, that “this too shall pass”.  I am, above all else, a survivor.  I look back at some of things I have survived in my life, not the least of all a very long, very disastrous unrequited love affair, starting a business with a newborn, getting Mike to fall in love with this disastrous girl who has dragged him through so much, and having - yes, having, a successful consulting pratice in the middle of the conservative male-dominated southeastern region of the US.  I have a lot of experience under my belt, in many ways.  I’ve worked for others, I’ve worked for myself.  And man, I am wicked-harsh to work for. 

Writing helps me.  Most don’t understand why I do it.  Or they fear that it is going to bite me in the butt later.  It might. I don’t really care.  I need to do whatever I can to move myself through the place I am, to get where I need to go. Yeah, yeah, life is all about the journey.  But I am dead-ass tired of the journey, and I need a break. I need some sleep, I need some rest, and my family needs a break.  My girls need a mommy and my husband needs a wife who isn’t a disaster. They deserve better.  They deserve the best of me . . . not the “end pieces” I’ve been doling out lately.