Moving Out, Not Moving On
This week, I’ve been thinking a lot about moving.
It’s not just that I am moving from one apartment to another (technically moving neighborhoods, but literally only moving a block and a half) - even though that’s been taking up a lot of time and attention, I’ve also been thinking a lot about moving on.
I’ve noticed that, when I see someone who is grieving, they tend to receive feedback a few weeks into the process that they’re doing it too slowly and need to move on with their lives. I’ve also read about it in “It’s OK That You’re Not OK,” a surprisingly helpful grief book - people don’t know what to say or how to help, so they encourage (or urge) people to move on.
My therapist came back this week after her trip, and one of the questions I asked her was when I was supposed to move on. I know the grief process looks different for everyone, but as someone whose thoughts have always been extremely cyclical, I wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to enter some kind of indefinite cycle of negative thoughts that would just go on forever.
She told me that a deep grief like this is not something you ever fully move on from. It’s something to be lived with, not some goal to check off a to-do list. And while it’s important to keep my OCD in mind, it doesn’t mean I need to be nervous that I’m thinking about Nana a lot and missing her a ton.
In some ways, I am starting to get back to normal - or whatever “normal” will look like. I managed to organize everything for my upcoming move; I’ve joined a new board games club; I’ve been going to work and all of my usual activities even if my heart isn’t in it. I’ve even been able to give my default answer of “good, how are you?” when someone asks me how I am, rather than figuring out a polite way of saying that I’m not okay.
The move has been the biggest thing to propel me back toward the real world. After all, just because I’m sad doesn’t mean the apartment building I’m living in now won’t kick me out because my lease is up. My things won’t pack themselves, nor will my special items from New Zealand and Nana’s home carry themselves to the new apartment.
And so, I’m moving, at least in this way. I’m even getting excited about some parts of the move, like the nicer apartment and cheaper rent - but there are other things that make me not want to move, like the fact that I can’t show Nana pictures of my new apartment or get a letter from her in my new mailbox. These just remind me that, although I have a lifetime of happy memories of Nana, she won’t ever get to experience anything new I do, whether it’s getting married, publishing a book, or even something small and simple that I just want to share with her. Moving means I’m leaving the last apartment where I talked to her when she was herself, and also the place where I was when I found out that she died.
My therapist told me it’s useful to think of the grief process as moving forward, not moving on. I’m never going to be able to move on from the loss entirely, but I can move forward in a way that’s not quite so black and white, that enables me to get what I need to get done while still taking the time for reflection and self-care.
It can be tricky to find a balance like this, but the fact that I have to literally move apartments catapulted me head-first into the process. I know it won’t be smooth, but I try to think about the fact that even after Nana was not cognitively well anymore, she still remembered that I was moving and asked my mom about it every single day she could still talk. She still cared about me and loved me even when she was barely functioning, and the best way I can honor her is learning how to move forward - even in such a small thing as moving from one apartment to another.
Michelle Cohen, a writer in the Chicago area, was diagnosed with OCD at age 3. She hopes to educate others about her condition and end the stigma against mental illness.