Tag: Dating

Widowhood is like a walk in the park

Imagine of the last selfie of Emma and Stuart Charlesworth plus a recent picture of Emma Charlesworth

Tomorrow marks our fourth Fathers’ Day without Mr C. I’m not sure there will ever come a time that this feels right, our daughter only had 10 with him, how can she possibly have done four without him by the time she goes to bed tomorrow night? And tomorrow also marks three years since I made my first post in the Widowed and Young (WAY) Facebook group, introducing myself, sharing the last ever selfie of the two of us and telling a brief overview of our story. Looking back now I think it’s fair to say that I didn’t really know what it was going to be like living as a widow when I made this post. And more importantly, what it was going to be like living as a young widow. I think the t-shirt my sister bought me for Christmas sums it up. It’s like a walk in the park. Assuming that park is Jurassic Park.

I’ve written before about being a little bit of a control freak. I’ve struggled at the complete and utter lack of control in my life a lot over the last three years. Yes. I do try to find ways to bring elements of control into it, but the simple fact is that I’m not sure I’ll ever be 100% in control again. And that is quite a scary prospect. A couple of months ago, after a particularly difficult day, I was sat just before midnight, with a bottle of wine, sobbing ( otherwise known as a Widow Wail (phrase I learnt today while hosting a WAY New Member Zoom)) and needing to read all the Facebook posts made in the days after he died and watching his funeral simply to feel close to him. This came from nowhere. I didn’t wake up that morning expecting it to be a difficult day for us. I didn’t wake up that morning and think “I know what’ll make for a fun Saturday night. I’ll watch his funeral until the early hours.” But this is what I mean about the lack of control. I don’t have a choice as to how I feel on any given day, it just sneaks up and hits me. Looking back to the day I made that initial post in the WAY group, I’m not entirely sure what I envisaged my life would be like, but a tiny part of me wouldn’t have expected days like this to still be happening nearly three years in. Naivete, I guess. But I didn’t really know what to expect. Who does? Grief is the most individual thing to experience, no matter how many others around you are also experiencing it.

The untold pressure I feel is huge. The ramifications of everything I do constantly weigh on my mind. Shortly before we went on holiday recently, I had a day whereby I just completely and utterly felt like I had let my daughter down. That I wasn’t good enough. That the juggle of working full time, being a mother, grieving the loss of my husband, trying to sort out care for my nan and still make time for me simply meant I’d dropped some balls along the way. And this was going to, and will have, an impact on us over the next year. My sister, quite rightly, put me in my place and told me that in no way had I let my daughter down, but it didn’t stop the feeling. It didn’t stop the tears that fell. Because I’m all my daughter has now. If I mess up, if I’m not at the top of my game, if I drop some balls, then it has a knock-on effect on what I can do for her, what I can offer her and there’s no-one else to step in and take that pressure off. The rational side of me knows that I am good enough, all she really needs is to feel loved and I give her that in spades, but that irrational, grieving widow just sometimes forgets it. And I simply don’t get a choice as to which version of me takes over and leads the charge when it comes to my thoughts.

And that leads me nicely onto another learning over the past three years. Choice. Or rather the lack of it. I wasn’t given a choice about this situation. Because I can safely assure you that I would have said no had this been the case! It’s one of the reasons I struggled so much in the early days with everyone telling me how brave and strong I was, I just wanted to shout at them that I wasn’t. That I was simply trying to live with the hand that life had dealt me. About six months in, I think I was ready to punch the next person who called me brave or strong (for anyone who watched the Kelsey Parker, Life after Tom documentary, you would have actually seen me say this on National TV!) but it’s true. I’m now better at acknowledging that yes, I have been insanely strong to not only achieve all I have in the most surreal of circumstances, but to still be standing. I’m not sure I’ll ever willingly call myself brave, but I will admit strength. It’s a strength I simply didn’t know I had in me until I was put through the toughest test of my life.

I’ve had to learn to adjust to the lack of choice about all aspects of my life. When I was growing up and imagining the marriage and the 2.4 children, at no point did I envisage being 42, on my own, solo parenting and having to ask my mum’s permission to go out! A prime example of this happened recently, I’d been in the office all day, my daughter was with my mum after school and some rather fabulous friends suggested meeting for a drink off the train. But I can’t just say yes anymore and tell Mr C what I’m doing, I had to ring my mum and ask if this was ok. When we then decided to stay out a teeny bit later, I again had to ring to ask if I could stay out later. 9pm was the agreed time that my stepdad would come and pick me up. 42 and on a curfew set by my mum, definitely living the dream here! But while I joke about this, the simple reality is that I couldn’t do anywhere near as much as I do without my mum and stepdad. From going to the office, to having nights out and the odd weekend away, I just couldn’t do it. I am forever indebted to them for all they do, and will continue to do for us. I don’t have the adequate words to express my gratitude, but it doesn’t mean I find it easy. To constantly have to check that they can help me out, and if they can’t, then have to ask friends or other family if they can. I absolutely 100% know that none of them mind in the slightest, and that people are happy to help, but it doesn’t mean it’s easy for me. While I might be Little Miss Organised and Little Miss Laminator, there are times when I wish spontaneity was a word that existed in my new life a little bit more.

It’s why I often do a bit of an eye roll when people ask me about dating again. Could you imagine what a catch I’d be? “I can offer you a Friday night in two months’ time once I’ve coordinated childcare, dog-care, work and around the other existing plans I’ve made months in advance because I have to get my life planned in order to do anything. Oh, and by the way, I also have an irrational love for Jason Donovan.” Who wouldn’t want me?! Again, the sarcastic, self-defensive side of me kicks in, because it’s just so, so hard to contemplate.

My daughter and I have recently had some very heated discussions about the prospect of me dating again. She inadvertently discovered the profile I’d created on a dating app, and it led to her feeling that I’d lied to her. But the simple truth, and as I told her, is I don’t think I want to date right now or go headlong into a relationship. I’m not actually sure where I’d find the time, but maybe that’s just because it’s not high on my list of priorities and if it was, I’d make time. But that doesn’t stop me feeling lonely. It doesn’t stop me wanting to have someone to care for. To have someone care for me. And have someone at the end of a long day send you a message asking how your day was.

It was the day after one of these discussions with her that I read an article by one of my LinkedIn connections, Alex Delaney, Co-Founder of Lemons.Life whereby she spoke about how she reacted after losing her husband. For the more easily offended among you, you might want to stop reading now! But I applaud Alex for being so honest about her experience and in particular about “Widows Fire.” Again. Another term that three years ago I hadn’t heard of. I can categorically tell you that this exists and is utterly real. There are days when you crave, long for and would do just about anything to have physical touch, to the point that it’s probably quite fortunate that our postman doesn’t have to ring the bell and can just leave parcels in the porch! Because it is that strong and overwhelming. It comes from nowhere. And there is no rhyme or reason for it.

But here’s the thing. Even if I wanted to go down the route that Alex chose to, it’s not that simple for me. We’re back to that choice and permission again. I very rarely go back to an empty house. Whoever is looking after my daughter always asks me where I’m going, who I’m going out with, and what time I’ll be home. Without question I’m exceptionally lucky to have so many people care for me, but could you imagine if I was to respond with “You wouldn’t know him Mum, I’m just off to have a casual night with someone I met on the internet.” I’m fairly sure that I know the response I’d get! And while there is a running joke amongst family and friends that I have 12 men on the go (I don’t, for the avoidance of doubt), I’m 42 now, I’m not sure where I’d get the energy from to do this! But if I’m being honest, there is a part of me that wonders what it must be like to be this age, to still want to feel desired, to act on those desires and not have to plan it weeks or possibly months in advance.

Yet, this is something my daughter cannot understand, because she simply doesn’t have the emotional maturity to. To her, it’s simple. I either love her dad or I love someone else. It’s not possible for me to do both. It’s not possible for me to love him but go out on dates. There is no just having a bit of fun. Even a friend with benefits would be out of the question if she had her way. Because in her eyes there is no grey. It’s black and white. And I completely understand that. I’m supportive of, and completely respect her views and do all I can do to reassure her that I’m not about to abandon her for a man. But it doesn’t mean that this is an easy situation for me to deal with. It doesn’t mean that I don’t want some affection, that I don’t think about it and wonder ‘what if?’ It doesn’t mean that I don’t get frustrated at what feels like a complete lack of choice or options.

Yet I’d be lying if I said widowhood had been all doom and gloom. It hasn’t. I have smiled, laughed, have had some brilliant adventures and am looking healthy again with a sparkle in my eyes. That’s not to say I wouldn’t give anything to have Mr C back, but I do find that you have to look for the things to be thankful for. For a start, I’d never have got away with the new flooring I chose in my kitchen and conservatory, decorating our utility room to be insanely pink or putting up numerous photos of Jason around the house. But more than anything widowhood has taught me so much about myself and what I’m capable of. It’s brought some rather brilliant and amazing people into my life who I’m fortunate to call friends. Again, I didn’t envisage that when I made that first post and while I hate what’s brought us together, I feel very lucky to have found them. None of us want to be in this situation, but that common ground is something that along with a dark sense of humour keeps us all going. It creates a bond. And without question shows that there is a WAY forward and that it is possible to keep living. Even on those very dark days.

It’s been a long time

Various images of Emma with quote from Young, Widowed and Dating

Oh how I’ve debated writing this one. I’ve debated publishing this one. I’ve debated whether this is a part of my story that I want to share. I’ve debated whether it’s a sensible one to write. But the trouble is. This has been whirling around in my head. And when that happens, I know I need to write. And I also doubt that I’m the only one that has gone through, or will go through this…

A while back, I decided to join a dating app. I didn’t really know why at that time. But it felt like something I needed to try. I didn’t even know what I really wanted to come out of it. I wasn’t entirely certain I wanted a relationship. I wasn’t really sure anyone would want me and all my baggage. Let’s face it, I come with a lot! And around the same time I randomly heard a Bruce Springsteen song (Secret Garden) that I hadn’t heard for years. There’s a couple of lines in it that resonated:

“She’ll let you into the parts of herself

That’ll bring you down.

She’ll let you in her heart

If you got a hammer and a vice.”

Yup. That was my worry. Admit to the dead husband and I’d bring anyone that was interested in me down. And the fear of being hurt and losing someone again makes me feel as though my heart is impenetrable without serious trying on their part. God help anyone that made the mistake of liking me! But most importantly, whatever was to come of this, I didn’t want anything that would throw me and my daughter off kilter. I knew that if anything was to come of this, it would need to be handled exceptionally carefully. But something inside of me said I needed to experiment and try a dating app.

I barely told anyone. I didn’t want any judgement. I didn’t want any pressure. I didn’t want people asking how it was going. I didn’t want any expectations. I didn’t want my mum rushing out and buying a hat! This was, quite simply, something I needed to do for me. For the first time in a very long time, I was 100% selfish. I did something that was completely and utterly for me. It was, in essence, my secret and a gift to myself.

I’m not going to lie. It felt absolutely alien to me. Choose your best photos. Sell yourself in a paragraph. Give people a brief overview of yourself by answering some questions. I had never had to do this before. I’d known Mr C for nearly three years before we started dating. I didn’t have to sell myself to him in a paragraph, a natural connection formed over time. And ultimately, that’s why I was sceptical about being on an app. I just didn’t think you could feel an attraction or form a connection with someone without actually knowing them. How on earth could that happen?

But more than that. I didn’t really like the person that I was turning into from being on it. I felt I was becoming such a shallow, ruthless person. I’d reject people based on looks, their height, whether they were vaccinated, if they said that COVID-19 was a hoax, if they were called Charlie or Stuart, if they said they wanted no drama, poor grammar (yes, honestly!), fetish requirements (opened my eyes a little though!) and acronyms that I didn’t understand (you know you’ve been out of the dating scene for a long time when you’re having to Google what people are putting in their profile because you haven’t got a clue what they’re saying).

However. I did send some messages to people that passed the ruthless test. The majority of them didn’t respond however. Which, of course, does wonders for your self esteem. A couple did. Some were literally laughable with how forward they were. Definite eye rolls from me at some of the messages. There were a few nice chats but that was it. “Ok,” I thought, “I’m capable of doing this, I’m capable of having a message conversation with someone I’ve never met. Get me.” But the first time someone asked if he could ring me, I made up an excuse. Shut that down straight away. Because, as I’ve said, I didn’t really think this was what I wanted. I didn’t know what I wanted to come of this.

And then. A guy responded to one of my messages. He seemed “normal.” We started messaging. Just a few a day to start with, but then they gradually started to increase. Hmmmm. This wasn’t meant to happen. He was completely and utterly on my wavelength. We seemed to have a huge amount in common. We discussed anything and everything. He made me smile, he made me laugh and I found myself looking forward to the little notification that I had a message. Seriously. What was happening? This wasn’t on the plan (probably because I didn’t laminate it). I wasn’t meant to like someone. This didn’t happen on dating apps. He ended up invariably being the last person I messaged before I went to sleep and the first person I messaged when I woke up. Hmmmm.

The very few people who knew about this encouraged me to ask him to meet for coffee. Nope. I batted them away whenever they suggested it. To do that would make this real. To do that would mean I’d have to deal with it in real life. Hiding behind messages was just fine for me. I could be who I wanted to be. I could be Emma. I wasn’t a widow, a mother, a colleague or a friend. I was, quite simply, Emma. It was refreshing. I didn’t want to have to address any elephants in the room about why I was on the app. I just wanted to be me. Not meeting him allowed me to do that.

The messaging went on for just over a month. We didn’t exchange numbers. He didn’t put pressure on me to meet. He was sweet. He seemed genuine. What on earth was the catch? He seemed too good to be too true. And then. One Sunday evening, when I went to send a message, I made a discovery. He’d deleted his profile and vanished. Just like that. It was over. Whatever “it” was.

My stomach dropped. I felt the tears start to come. I felt sick. I’d let my guard down. I’d trusted someone enough to have all these messages covering a wide range of topics. And then, in the blink of an eye, I’d felt like I’d been played for a fool. Of course no-one would seriously be interested in me. How on earth could I have been so stupid?

But. The one emotion that I didn’t feel was anger. I didn’t want to yell about the injustice of it all. I didn’t want to shout at anyone. After the initial feeling of stupidity, I just sort of accepted it. That confused me. And oddly enough, I felt relief. Not hurt. But relief. Again. What was happening? Why wasn’t I feeling what I “should” be feeling? What on earth was going on in my head and my heart now?

I sat and gave it some serious thought. And that’s when it hit me. This was actually the perfect outcome for my first foray into dating again. Because at this point, it just helped crystallise that I probably wasn’t ready for a relationship and all the quagmire that comes with it. The relief was that it wasn’t going anywhere. I wouldn’t have to deal with the where is this going question. All that had happened, was that I’d reached a point in my life where I wanted and needed some flirting, banter, chat and to be made to feel good about myself. I got that from doing this. But why? Why had I needed that?

Again. Serious thought time. When I’d first subscribed to the app and said to my sister I didn’t know why I was doing it, she told me the answer to that was simple. “To prove you can.” And that’s really what this whole experience came down to. I needed to prove something to myself. Rightly or wrongly. For over 20 years, I’d had someone on hand to pay me compliments (admittedly they’d sometimes be backhanded ones, but still), I’d had someone to message on my way home from work, I’d had someone to make me smile, I’d had someone who could make me feel good about myself on those down days. And that person went just as I was approaching my 40s…

Now. I’m not saying I stressed about turning 40. I’m not saying I need validation from a man. Far, far from it. I instil this in my daughter on a very regular basis. “You are enough. You simply need validation from yourself.” But. Let’s be honest. Who doesn’t like to receive compliments? Who doesn’t like being flattered? Who doesn’t enjoy having someone to talk to who you’ve got a connection with? Who doesn’t enjoy a bit of intimacy? Yet, all of a sudden I found myself alone in my 40s, knowing that I had more grey hair, knowing that I had more wrinkles, knowing that I was carrying more weight than I used to and being way too self critical of myself. I was trying to navigate the world alone at a time in my life I should never have been.

Yes, Mr C and I had had those random conversations about if something happened to either of us and us wanting the other to be happy, meet someone else etc… But, when I said “til death do us part” at the age of 24, I didn’t really expect to be facing this dilemma. I expected us to grow old together. I expected to have someone there to pick me up on my down days. To make me feel good about myself when I needed it. I didn’t anticipate what would happen. I didn’t anticipate being a single person and basically being surrounded by couples and happy families. It’s bloody hard work. Seeing people in the throes of new love. Seeing people loved up. Seeing people compliment their partners. Seeing lives move forward as people celebrate their anniversaries and share all the things they love about their other halves. No matter how happy you are for others, that jealous pang hits. You find yourself withdrawing. Because it’s easier to do that than feel alone.

And that’s ultimately why I did this. That’s why I joined the app. My sister was 100% right. Annoyingly. It was, quite simply, to prove that I could. That if I really wanted to, I could sell myself. I could find someone to connect with. I could find someone who would appreciate me. Who would make me feel wanted and desired. Who would make me feel flattered and complimented. But this was also something I was doing as me. As Emma. People weren’t liking me and responding to messages because I was a widow, a mother, a colleague or a crazy Jason fan because I didn’t share any of that in my profile. They were liking Emma. I said when I launched this blog that I was trying to figure out where I was going next. Answering who Emma is the $64 million question. This experience has helped me on that quest and to answer that question.

After that Sunday discovery, I did keep looking at the app. I did send some more messages. But my heart was never really in it. It hadn’t been from the off if I’m perfectly honest. It really wasn’t for me. It wasn’t what I wanted to be doing with my life. I let the paid subscription run out. I didn’t renew it. However, I can’t say I’ll never subscribe again. I can’t say I won’t consider dating. After all, as my daughter forges her own life and becomes more independent of me, I’m going to need someone to talk to. As wonderful as my dog is, he’s not the best at conversation or compliments! And as I know all too well, you never know what life is going to throw at you. Someone could come into my life at any point. I could get swept off my feet tomorrow. And maybe at some point I’d actually be ready to brave that coffee. Or brave being taken out for dinner. I mean, let’s face it, I’m never going to turn down a free meal! And as Rachel, a fellow widow wrote in a brilliant Twitter thread about her requirements, once a month would be enough, (I could literally have written this thread myself).

But for now, I’m content. I’ve done what I needed to do in this new world I’m navigating. I’ve got what I needed. I like the new found confidence and glint in my eye. Yes. Most of that has come from me and all the work and effort I’ve put into me through counselling and looking after myself, but some of it, without a shadow of a doubt, has come from my app man.

And how do I feel about him and the whole episode now? He shockingly hasn’t put me off men for life. I’ll never regret those messages or any of the time I spent in conversation with him. The thought of it still makes me smile. I suspect it always will. I’ll forever be thankful to him. He reminded me how to accept and say thank you for a compliment about me. Not about how brave or strong I am, not about how I’ve coped with what’s happened to me, not about how I’m raising my daughter. But about me. We come back to why I did this, I just needed to be selfish for a bit. But more than that. I’ve said before about believing people come into your lives for a reason. I wholeheartedly believe that this is the case with him.

And the reason? To give me back something I didn’t realise I’d lost. To give me a bit of a confidence boost. To help me realise what I needed and was looking for. To help me appreciate myself again. To help me look at myself through different eyes. Not the eyes of a grieving widow. Not the eyes of a devoted mother. Not the eyes of someone trying to hold down a full time job while also juggling her life.

But through the eyes of someone who can appreciate all she has to offer. Who can appreciate that she deserves more than she gives herself credit for. Who can appreciate all she’s been through and realise she’s right to be proud of herself. Who can realise that the wrinkles and the extra weight are part of her story. They’re something to be proud of. Because they reflect her life. They reflect the fact that she’s still standing and still keeping going despite everything that life has thrown at her. It hit me one day when I took a selfie to send to him. Because I looked at it and didn’t criticise it. I’ve started taking more selfies. I’m less critical of myself now. I can see and like the sparkle in my eyes again. I can look at pictures of me, like them and appreciate myself for the person I am. The person I’m evolving into. The person who is, without question, enough. And ultimately, that’s an incredible gift for him to have given me.