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Twenty Something



At 22, I nearly gave into the void that seemed to consume my existence. Back then, choosing to live was a challenge. At the age of 23, I committed to not living in misery. I needed to gain more understanding of who I was. But I chose myself anyway. At the age of 25, I was acquainted with the grief that comes along with self-acceptance. Now, at 26, I am somehow still just a girl, learning to navigate this world as a woman, accompanied by her grief. 


I am not naive; I understand that to live includes being challenged by all of life’s unforeseeable circumstances. I just didn’t think that the experience of being twenty-something would be an unforeseeable circumstance. I thought my twenties would generally be full of excitement, adventure, and love. While I am loved and familiar with exciting adventures, I wish someone had warned me about how much I would have to grieve. Grief. I have had a tumultuous relationship with the concept of death and loss. I am no stranger to losing people that I love. But I never knew it was possible to grieve in the absence of death or the lack of death in the traditional sense. 


I used to think that grief was missing my granny, who passed away when I was in the 6th grade. I thought grief was just the confusion and anger I felt when Warren’s life was taken on December 16th, 2016. Now, just weeks after turning 26, I have experienced gratitude as an extension of grief, coping with the fact that my grandfather no longer exists in the same world as I do.


Grief. I'm so familiar with the experience, but no one told me that one day, I would grieve myself, too. I have spent many nights weeping about who I am and may never be. Realizing I no longer fit into my imagined life has been earth-shattering and isolating despite my love for myself and my anticipation for my future. Accepting that I would never be the Kyra I always envisioned myself being feels like a unique death that deserves to be witnessed. It’s a type of grief I cannot experience in silence. 


Grief. I can cope with involuntary loss, but navigating being torn apart by the right choices has left me confused. I did not know that doing what was right for me could sometimes feel wrong. As I grow more into myself and prioritize unmasking, I have simultaneously grown apart from the people I planned to do life with. I distanced myself from friends I once deeply connected with, and I don’t know if I will be better because of it. It’s been disheartening to realize that these amazing individuals may not be my people. And there’s no one to fault other than life. I rationalize my loss of friendships by reminding myself that we all deserve connections that hold adequate space for us. So, I can be sad about some of my close friends becoming acquaintances. And I can miss them and who I was with them. But this type of grief might be necessary for me. 


Grief makes me question the boundaries that I have in place, how much my presence means to people, and sometimes, whether life will ever be okay. It is genuinely something I struggle to understand. I am grieving who I thought I would be. I am grieving the loss of deep connections. And I am grieving the loss of people I love dearly. I have no solution for this grief; it is just something to experience.


Posting this will be a push because, at my core, I feel this is unrelatable. My grief is immense and, most of the time, inconvenient. It has made me president of the Sad Girls' Club, and for the sake of transparency, this grieving process has made me feel ashamed and weird. But I then remember the purpose of this blog. I know I am not the only one who feels this way. I know this experience is not just unique to Kyra.   


Grief is a specific type of yearning that will never be fulfilled. It’s an intense extension of adoration and love. And I am grateful to know that love does persist. 


That said, I am acutely aware that I am only 26. I just so happen to be a 26-year-old who is experiencing a lot of loss at one time. And while it might be life-defining, it is not the end. I have decades to rationalize life, companionship, and loss. Soon, things won’t feel so dire and heavy, and I’ll be a woman who is simply accompanied by her grief. 


 






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