Hey there, grief warriors. Let's talk about that terrifying moment when you realize someone new is trying to sneak into your heart's VIP section – you know, that sacred squishy space you wrapped in caution tape and marked "CLOSED INDEFINITELY" after your person died.
First things first: it's okay if reading that sentence alone made you want to build an emotional pillow fort and hide in it forever. Been there, built that, added string lights and made it my main character energy for a solid year.
After my dad died, I turned my heart into the emotional equivalent of a private Instagram account. The walls were high, the security settings were maxed out, and there was definitely a moat filled with "nope" around it. Because here's the thing about losing someone to suicide – it doesn't just break your heart, it puts it through a psychological paper shredder and posts the aftermath without a trigger warning.
But here's what nobody tells you about emotional fortress-building: it gets pretty lonely in there. Like "watching-everyone-else's-happy-couple-TikToks-at-3am" lonely. And eventually, whether you like it or not, some adorable emotional terrorist is going to start sliding into your DMs with their stupid charm and their irritatingly genuine care for your well-being.
The audacity, right?
So there you are, watching this person somehow navigate your carefully constructed obstacle course of defense mechanisms like they're a contestant on "American Ninja Warrior: Trauma Edition," and your heart starts doing this weird thing. It's like it's remembering it can feel something other than grief. Terrifying? Absolutely. Natural? Also yes.
Let's break down this emotional security breach:
1. The Initial Panic
You know that moment when you realize you're starting to care about someone new? That "oh shit" moment when your heart does a little flip and your trauma response is like "ABSOLUTELY NOT, DEPLOY THE EMOTIONAL ROADBLOCKS!" Like when you accidentally like their Instagram post from 2019.
2. The Guilt Olympics
Cue the internal monologue: "But this space belongs to [loved one]! Am I replacing them? Is this emotional treason? Should I call the Relationship Police? Do we need to get HR involved in this heart situation?"
3. The Plot Twist
Here's the thing your grief-brain doesn't want you to know: your heart is actually like your iPhone storage. Just when you think it's full, you somehow find space for more photos of your dog. (Or in this case, more love.)
When I first felt myself developing feelings for someone new after Dad died, my immediate response was to grab my emotional suitcase and book it to Nopeville. Population: me and my trust issues watching true crime documentaries on Netflix. But here's what I learned about letting new people into that sacred squishy space:
1. It's not betrayal, it's growth. Your loved one didn't die so you could turn your heart into an abandoned theme park that even urban explorers won't touch.
2. Yes, it's scary as hell. But you know what's scarier? The thought of missing out on beautiful connections because grief convinced you to ghost every potential relationship like a bad Tinder date.
3. That new person isn't trying to replace your loved one. They're creating their own space, like adding a new highlight reel to your emotional Instagram Stories.
Here's the raw truth: vulnerability after suicide loss feels like going viral for all the wrong reasons. But maybe, just maybe, those new connections are actually the comment section you didn't know you needed. Plot twist!
Is there a guarantee this new person won't hurt you? Nope. But guess what? You've already survived the unsurvivable. You're basically an emotional superhero at this point. Your superpower? Loving through loss while maintaining elite-tier meme game.
So maybe it's time to lower the drawbridge of your emotional fortress. Just a little. Maybe switch your heart's settings from "private" to "close friends" instead of keeping it on lockdown like it's your finsta account. Baby steps.
Remember: letting new love in doesn't diminish the love you have for the person you lost. Your heart isn't a finite resource – it's more like your phone storage. There's always room for one more app, even if you have to delete some old emotional cache first.
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Love,
Aleksei and the team at Mourning Glory Club, a registered 501(c)3
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