But grief is messy, and survival is complex, and I was not on my own healing journey; I was on a journey that was sold to me. I felt pressured to conform to a speedy and clean recovery that required no true vulnerability, grief, or ugliness. I did not allow myself tears or solitude, and soon I began to control and dismiss myself in the very same ways that he did. Because he was no longer around to police my feelings and actions, I sat in as a substitute and policed myself. I did not realize that the tears I needed to cry were not for him. They were for me.
