There are 4 reasons:

1.)  Because my widowhood mentors recommended it.

2.)  Because I didn’t trust myself to determine how I was really doing.

3.)  Because it’s not fair to friends and family to do it for me.

4.)  Because there’s some really dark stuff.

Let me elaborate.

Because my widowhood mentors recommended it.

When tragedy strikes, a “secret brigade” comes out.  The brigade you never knew existed, because you never needed to know they existed.  The brigade that has gone through it before.  In my case, other widows.

And since this is a path I had not traveled, but they had, I became a mentee for several who had already traveled the path before me.  Some adopted me, some just showed up, some I requested.

And if I’m being honest, all of them recommended going to see a grief counselor.  ALL.  The men, the women, the leaders, the strong ones, the weak ones, the ones I identified with, the ones I didn’t.  All of them said, “Get a grief counselor.  It helps.  A lot.  Trust me.”

Which is why we always need mentors in life.  They’ve walked the path before.  And because of that-because they’ve actually experienced our path-we can trust their judgement.

Because I didn’t trust myself to determine how I was really doing.

I know myself pretty well.  Better than anyone, really.  And I quickly checked Pinterest for a list of the stages of grief, approaching it just like a checklist.  “Yes, I experienced denial.  For a few hours.  I’m good there.  And anger, yeah that happened for a little bit.  Bargaining?  I think so…maybe.  Yes, I think I’m in depression.  What does it say about depression?  Yeah, that sounds like me.  Kind of.  What’s that last step?  Acceptance?  Well I’ve accepted it.  So I’m through the grief process!  All done!  Yay!”

That was an actual conversation.  After one week.

Yes, I cannot trust myself.

I needed a professional.

The grief process is no job for my incessant optimism.

The grief process can only be navigated by a professional.

Trust me.  I’ve been there.

Because it’s not fair to depend on friends and family to do it for me.

Friends and family, do not be offended on this one.  Because you are amazing.  So amazing.  So perfectly, extraordinarily amazing.  I don’t deserve you.  I love you more than all of the gelato in Italy.  More than all the corgi’s in England.  More than all the sweet tea at Bojangles’.

But you know me.

The problem with knowing me is you become subjective.  No matter your background, your training, your life experience, your knowledge level, you cannot un-know me.  And knowing someone shades your ability to give objective advice.

Even if my friends and family were trained counselors, it would still be a mistake to not get an objective opinion.  Because you are jaded by your knowledge of the other person.  Your objective opinion is affected by the aftermath – how it will change your relationship with the person, what you know about them personally, that time they didn’t listen to you, making an assumption that you think you know what they meant to say rather than what they actually said.

And my friends and family are grieving with me.  Most of them knew Chris.  And they are struggling with the loss too.  It’s not fair to their grief process to depend on them to get me through my grief process.  They are not emotionally equipped.  They are not professionally equipped.  They are not personally equipped.

They are equipped to be my forever supporters.  They are equipped to be my forever family.  They are equipped to be on speed dial when I hear a bump in the night.  Or when I need to know which shoes to wear.  Or when I need to just be with people.  They are already doing so much.

They are not equipped to get me through the stages of grief.  They do too much for me already to depend on them to do that too.

Because there’s some really dark stuff.

I know it seems like I post all the deep, dark, heavy stuff on here.  I don’t.  I post the stuff I’m willing to share with others.  I post the stuff that I can live with myself for sharing on the world wide web.

But there are things too dark.  There are emotions too heavy, too raw, too deep.  Those I cannot put on the world.  Those need to be dealt with by a professional.  Those need to be handed to a third party.

Imagine that you’ve worked on push lawnmowers your whole life.  You know the parts, the mechanics, the electrical system, and the glitches inside and out.  You are a lawnmower engine expert.

And then one day, someone brings you the engine for a Tesla, and says, “Hey, you’re good with engines.  My new Tesla won’t start.  Can you take a look at it?”

First of all, you need to return your brand new Tesla if it already won’t start.  But back to the lawnmower expert:  this engine is not one you’re accustomed to.  This engine is, honestly, out of your league.  You need to go to an expert.  You need to go to a mechanic who knows the Tesla engine like you know lawnmower engines.  It’s a completely different beast.  It doesn’t mean you’re not great at what you do.  It just means someone handed you something that you’re not an expert with yet, and you need to seek help from someone who is an expert.

That’s what I’m doing.  For the really deep, dark, heavy emotions, I’m going to a professional.  A professional who deals with the Tesla of emotions.  Someone whose specialty is grief.  Because I need my Tesla to start again someday.  To run.  To get me a little further than the driveway.  To get me back on the road of life.

I need a professional.  So that when I get back on the road, I know I’ve been cleared by a professional.  I didn’t check under the hood myself and just see that nothing was smoking, so I must be okay.  I didn’t just trust friends to see that all the caps were on tight, so I must be alright.  I didn’t just trust family to kick the tires, see they were inflated, and determine I must be ready to go.

I need to be cleared completely.  From bumper to bumper.  Every part.  By a specialist.

Because my mentors said so.

Because an objective opinion is a needed opinion.

Because my army does enough already.

Because this is too big to trust to myself.

And last week, my Tesla was cleared for the road of life.