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Lifting

As a writer, you have to portray every kind of emotion, from the darkest hate to the brightest joy. And just like anything else, the more you do it the better you get, learning through experience. But there’s another process that happens at the same time. Using a muscle over and over doesn’t just build a skill, it builds the muscle itself. You don’t just become better, you become stronger. I realized, not too long ago, that I can use this principle in my own life. Specifically, in dealing with grief. I’ve lost a lot in the last three years. And the weight of that loss, when I think about it, is crushing. So I do what we all do—I try not to think about it. I distract myself with writing, reading, watching Netflix, socializing with friends. But you can’t do that forever; sooner or later it’s just you and your thoughts. And sometimes those thoughts seem intent on kicking the crap out of you. I’m not talking about the negative, self-destructive ones that whisper about how you’re not good enough and you’re going to die alone. That’s a whole different fight. No, I’m talking about the ones that can’t be fought, because they’re true. They’re simple, undeniable facts: Your father is dead. Your marriage is over. You are no longer a young man. These thoughts don’t attack; they just sit on your chest and make it hard to breathe. But here’s the thing. You take a heavy weight and let it rest on your chest, and at first it just hurts. But you do that day after day—on purpose—and you let that weight sit there a little longer each time, and slowly you get used to it. The pain doesn’t lessen, but how you deal with it does. So that’s what I’m doing. Emotional weightlifting. Deliberately letting myself feel that pain instead of avoiding it. Just a bit at a time, whenever I have the strength. Because while grieving is always painful, that pain can be managed. And hopefully, in the end, it’ll make me stronger.
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