Daryl Wood's Blog

I’ve read two books in the last week and found learning and revelations in both. The first was Clara Hughes “Learning to Breathe” and the second by Dr. Jillian Horton called “We are all perfectly fine”. They have left their mark on me.

What has emerged is reflecting on the decades of coping and keeping up and covering up. I’ve done so well with the challenges of moving A LOT in my 20s and 30s, my mother’s four year avoidance, marital dysfunction (1st marriage), family upsets, job/career/business difficulties, divorce, loss of both parents and much loved friends/family, etc. I coped. I kept up. I covered up when I felt I had to. I met Doug and made big changes that required more resilience and determination. And I coped. I kept up. And I covered up. And when after 18 years of finding our groove, Doug was diagnosed with throat cancer and the hardships began to mount … again. A year into his diagnosis, he had to start depending on a feeding tube and heroically managed five more years with optimism and courage. And as best we could, we managed our pain and suffering. And then he developed leukemia and within two months, he died. And I collapsed.

November 12, 2023 was the beginning of The Broken Years. I stopped hiding my feelings, my anxiety, my deep agonizing grief. It wasn’t intentional. I was just done, defeated, worn down. I showed up as I was – heartbroken, desperately sad, confused, brain fogged, afraid, uncertain, vulnerable, and so lonely for my best friend and the love of my life. I stopped pretending I was okay and everyone who knew me saw the burden I carried. And everywhere I went I was raw and real. I had been holding things together all my life not wanting to disappoint people and always trying to be good enough. And during those six years of treatment and maintenance I could never fully exhale because there were appointments, assessments, medications, adjustments and an endless string of unpredictable events that required emergency room visits or hospital overnights. After holding my breath for so long I was broken open.

I’ve struggled with the shame of trying to recover ‘faster, better’ for the sake of those who love me and want me to be happy again. People who really care and even myself. But reading these books I began to realize that even though I was more prone to expressing my feelings than a lot of people, I had still held close to my heart, the really painful truths about my life. I carried so many old wounds and my inner critic had plenty of examples of my failure as a mother, a daughter, a sister and a friend. I’d coped. I’d kept up. I covered up. And even with 30+ years of therapy, personal growth work, consciousness studies, teachings from spiritual masters, workshops, retreats, training and more, I was still unprepared for the chasm that erupted when Doug died. I could not have predicted the flood of darkness that would take over my life. And so began and has continued The Broken Years.

And here I am on the day he decided he’d had enough. And in 72 hours it would all be over for him. The inhumane suffering that he endured to protect me would finally end. Any relief was buried under the weight of loss and to some degree that continues today and I suspect will always be part of my life. You may have heard that to grieve deeply is to have loved deeply. I loved deeply and I was loved deeply.

And now, after reading these books and realizing that I have been coping and keeping up and covering up so much more there is a window of opportunity. It’s only open a crack but there is a recognition and acceptance of my willingness these past three long years to feel what I’m feeling and show up in the world in the most authentic way I can. Some days I’m full of laughter and stories and jokes in my community or with my friends or family. Other times my face is streaked with wet tears in the produce aisle at the grocery store. Both are the most real I have ever been and maybe, just maybe that’s what healing looks like even in The Broken Years.