Invisibility: The Hidden Side Effect of Widowhood

“All the being and the doing, expansive, glittering, vocal, evaporated; and one shrunk, with a sense of solemnity, to being oneself, a wedge-shaped core of darkness, something invisible to others.” 
Virginia Woolf, To the Lighthouse

A Keeping It Real Post

There is a community that exists within the Twitterverse that some of us refer to as Grief Twitter. Grief Twitter is a loving and supportive group, despite the fact most of us will never meet in real life. And we manage to connect in 280 characters or less. I find the anonymity and concise-ish nature of a tweet to be a safe place to muse on bereavement and life after loss.

Recently, I posted a short #LifeAfterLoss tweet about a powerful change in my grief journey. Based on the responses I received, I didn’t do the best job explaining within the character limitation that I was merely surprised, that I’d been wrestling with the reality of becoming visible for weeks. Although the concept of being invisible resonated with my fellow bereaved. So I decided to clarify it here, true confessions style.

Can You See Me?

So back to the moment in Twitter review. We were on Inis Meáin (Damn! I miss that island so much!) and my friend made a casual observation about my tendency to freckle instead of tanning. I almost fell off my chair. You know me, I had to analyze my extreme reaction to such an innocuous comment. And I figured it out: I’d forgotten what it felt like to BE SEEN. You see, until recently, I was invisible.

The Invisibility Cloak of Widowhood

But Lisa, you may be saying, you are very open about your grief journey. How could you be invisible? You have pink hair, how could people not notice you? Plus, you’re sort of loud. Are you sure?

Friends, I’m absolutely certain I’ve been invisible since D died. One of the side-effects of widowhood is that we become invisible. I often think it’s because people avert their eyes to our pain, and it just becomes a habit for them. Others can only see our grief, so that we the bereaved disappear, or at least become a dark silhouette of ourselves.

In my situation, I was convinced someone gave me an invisibility cloak without my knowing it. (Looking at you, Weasleys!) And I’m not talking figuratively here. People will walk right into me as if I wasn’t there. They talk over me as if I wasn’t speaking. I even once had someone try to sit in my chair, while I was in it. I’ve written short stories and poems about it because it happens so often. What I hadn’t realized was that I was so invisible, I couldn’t even see myself.

What Do You Mean I Hid Myself?

When I was in Glastonbury last month (I know, I’ve promised a blog post on the meditation retreat. I promise I’ll get to it!) I did a lot of healing and processing. Part of that was sitting with people more in touch with life and the universe and spirit than I am. They all made the same assessment in my readings: my invisibility  cloak needed to come off.

Um, excuse me? I took that off ages ago, when I took off my wedding ring and got rid of his stuff.

Wrongo Bongo. I was, in fact, invisible. But it was my fault. I was the one who put on that cloak. No one could see me because I DIDN’T WANT THEM TO. What the actual what? Once I picked my jaw up off the floor, I spent a lot of time meditating on what that meant. And damn it all if those women didn’t have it exactly right. It just took a while for me to figure out what that cloak was so I could get rid of it.

(I also thought, “Damn, Girl! You’re a wizard if you can make yourself invisible!” My Hogwarts letter must’ve gotten lost.)

It’s Made of What?

Here’s the uncomfortable part where I remind myself I committed to sharing my grief journey authentically. For my fellow bereaved, this is my story, and I’m not judging where you are or advising what your path should be. I ask for the same consideration.

Whew. Writing this is harder than I thought. My palms are sweating, and I may be hyperventilating a bit. I’m having some trouble wrapping my brain around this topic, but here goes. I quickly figured out what my cloak was made of and why it was still there. My invisibility cloak, the one that kept me hidden from sight, was woven with every memory of the hubs. I unconsciously projected D’s Widow to everyone I met, keeping them from ever seeing Just Lisa.

I know, I blog about widowhood and bereavement and my grief journey, all of which include him. He’s a necessary part of that story. What I hadn’t realized was how much Ghost Hubs had become a part of my daily life. As much as I’d fought the mantle of being his widow, that identity had become comfortable, and I wasn’t ready to let it go. That Widow’s Hood became my invisibility cloak. I didn’t know how much I used my memories of him as a shield against new people getting to see the real me. Maybe that was because I still hadn’t figured out what being Just Lisa meant yet. And maybe, just maybe, I was afraid of what our family and friends might think if I let his ghost go.

And The Walls Came Tumbling Down

Well, once I recognized it for what it was, I threw off that cloak like Beyoncé strutting down the runway. Acceptance is the first stage of recovery. Right? Next, I had to break those old habits. How did I do that? Lemme tell you, it’s a work in progress, but I’ve got a plan. The legacy tattoo (seemed like a good idea at the time) is slowly and painfully being removed. I deleted the Danny Boy playlist from my phone, the one I used to listen to when I was missing him. From now on, when I make reservations, it will be under my own name, and not Mrs. Bain. Going forward, new people will have to ask me about him for Ghost Hubs to make an appearance in a conversation. And I won’t be acknowledging holidays that don’t exist on the calendar anymore, like his birthday or our anniversary.

And I’m done jumping out of the way on the sidewalk like the Invisible Woman. Throwing off that cloak meant I could I finally see myself; it’s time others do, too. And it must have worked. Because there I was on the island, and there he was. And he saw me, freckles and all.

I’m Not Saying To Forget Them

You’ve heard me say that it’s essential to feel the feelings, to talk about the ones we’ve lost, and not to rush the process. All of that is true. For me, it wasn’t too long. It was just the right amount of long for me to get here. And I’ll still talk about D to anyone that asks. I’m just aware of how and when I use his name and memory.

Invisible No More

Just because I’ve been invisible doesn’t mean I didn’t feel alive or happy. I’m both of those, all the time. All it means is now other people can see it, too.

XOXO,
The Wandering Widow
Live Now. Dream Big. Love Fierce.

Post Soundtrack

Iris, Goo Goo Dolls

And I’d give up forever to touch you
‘Cause I know that you feel me somehow
You’re the closest to heaven that I’ll ever be
And I don’t want to go home right now
All I can taste is this moment
And all I can breathe is your life
Sooner or later it’s over
I just don’t wanna miss you tonight
And I don’t want the world to see me
‘Cause I don’t think that they’d understand
When everything’s meant to be broken
I just want you to know who I am

And you can’t fight the tears that ain’t coming
Or the moment of truth in your lies
When everything feels like the movies
Yeah you bleed just to know you’re alive
And I don’t want the world to see me
‘Cause I don’t think that they’d understand
When everything’s meant to be broken
I just want you to know who I am

And I don’t want the world to see me
‘Cause I don’t think that they’d understand
When everything’s meant to be broken
I just want you to know who I am
And I don’t want the world to see me
‘Cause I don’t think that they’d understand
When everything’s meant to be broken
I just want you to know who I am

Source: LyricFind
Songwriters: John T Rzeznik
Iris lyrics © BMG Rights Management