Terrible, Always, Forever
The end of a chapter isn’t always the end of the story.
The Terrible, Thanks For Asking podcast has soothed and guided me for years now. The fact that it will soon end feels both tragic and triumphant.
I hate when the things I love conclude. I also love when other people acknowledge that the good things they create have run their course.
I am happy for Nora (we have never met) and sad for the void that will soon exist in my weekly podcast listening library. But I think the most beautiful thing a person can do in response to the end of a chapter is to let it live on through others in the next one.
TTFA talks about things most people don’t want to talk about. Loss.Struggle. Never getting over things long after everyone assumes we should have. It’s hopeful, too — somehow there is always life beyond the worst things that happen to us. Somehow, we go on. Somehow, we endure.
I don’t particularly love sad stories. But I am drawn to aftermaths. When the storm finally passes, what is life like now that everything has changed? Who are we now that we carry so much darkness inside of us? Who do we become once we begin to process our feelings — if we ever do?
I’m currently in a grief spiral. Terrible things keep happening to me and none of it is my fault (really — if I were to blame, I’d say so). I’ve never needed this podcast more than I need it now. It is ending. Oddly, it almost feels fitting. I am entering a new chapter in my life whether I asked for it or not — just as something else I love is saying goodbye. I am pained to see it go, yet excited by the legacy it will leave behind.
I want to keep it going — not the show itself (I am no one), but instead the message the show broadcasts. I want to talk about the things that make life hard. Perhaps that is all I will ever have the energy for again. Is that such a terrible thing?
I no longer say “fine” when someone asks me how I am. I don’t brush off my complaints as if they don’t matter. I’ve connected with so many people recently, unexpectedly, by honestly admitting I’m struggling. It turns out a lot of other people are struggling too. And when you acknowledge your pain, they sometimes feel safe enough to share their anguish too.
The worst things we endure are the hardest to talk about. Maybe they always will be. But it’s not because we don’t want to talk about them ourselves. It’s because we’re worried about the consequences of our honesty.
Will people think I’m attention-seeking? Unstable? Unemployable? Unattractive? Why does it matter? I’m sad. You’re sad. It’s not shameful. It’s the truth.
I’ve never been in this much physical and emotional pain simultaneously. I’ve lost so much. My grief is spread so incredibly thin. I do not have enough of it to properly process any individual pain point. And I do not know what that means for the immediate or distant future of my mental well-being. I am in control of so little. I cling so tightly to the elements I can maneuver that the only focus I can maintain is that of survival.
This is the case for so many people. So many of us are putting all we have into barely surviving — and there is, therefore, nothing left over.
Admitting this does not fix our problems. Talking about our suffering does not instantly bear solutions. But it does, marginally, temporarily, ease the pain sometimes. It makes us feel less alone.
It makes the unbearable things seem bearable for a little while.
The best thing we can do for ourselves, and each other, is to speak openly and honestly about the terrible things we are witnessing and enduring. How else will the awful things gradually become less awful? If we never acknowledge what hurts, it will never hurt less.
I am not fine. Neither are you. Every time I sense that the storm has finally passed, another one rolls in from the opposite direction before I’ve had a moment to recover from the aftermath of the one before it. I am certainly not the only one. It feels that way sometimes, though, because no one around me ever talks about their storms. I endure mine mostly alone. Others must too. But how would I know for sure?
TTFA may be coming to an end, but terrible things will continue to happen to us and around us. We cannot get through any of it on our own. The only way to get through our storms is to talk about them. To listen to others talk about them. Support each other. To remind each other that it’s okay not to be okay. That things will get better. That pain is not forever, even if it feels endless now.
We will get through this. Together. We have no other choice.
The end of a chapter isn’t always the end of the story. We can still tell each other our stories long after the show has released its final episode.
I will always be grateful for what we were given. I will carry what I’ve learned with me wherever I go. What a not-terrible thing, to have created something that will live beyond its original form for years to come.
Here’s to enduring everything terrible. Always. Forever.
