Not quite Stop & Shop strong

My Black Swan Narrative is ....

So many friends, family & colleagues have commented on my strength as an attribute that will usher me through this early phase of grief. I have always prided myself on my mental & physical toughness — generally expressed & needed in my professional life — so I understand where this confidence comes from,, and intellectually it makes enormous sense. But I’ve toyed with this idea for years that my “Farmer’s Wife” “Girl Scout Leader” etc … persona seemed almost antithetical to how I was perceived in my work life. I will often joke with personal friends & neighbors who glimpse my more generous, dare-I-say soft self to please not rat me out as having a heart, given I gave a lot of blood, sweat & tears to develop my tough-as-nails professional persona. And so part of what I am grappling with as I start a second month (counted by weeks) without Chuck and as a Black Swan is how I want this personal tragedy to impact my professional narrative.

It is funny how so much of the psychological & emotional grappling pulls me back 20 years ago to my time in public office. I suspect this is because it is such a big part of my professional narrative & identity that are being molded by my transition to Black Swanhood. I had three personal goals during some of the most painful & challenging times in office: 1. Don’t cry in public; 2. Don’t look stupid and 3. Do not become a pathetic joke. It is interesting that others in their kind sympathy notes and reflections have also reminded me of the strength I showed in those days as an indication that I will survive this. One particularly touching example was a card & note from a retired local journalist, Ruth Bass. She included an article she wrote on March 25th (I think 2002). One paragraph stands out to me now:

“Being ahead of your time gets you a lot of press. It also gets you heartache, and surely Jane Swift, behind that smile that stays put most of the time, has had enough of that.”

Thankfully Ruth was a columnist out in the Berkshires which obviously none of the Boston press, who largely saw me as arrogant, cocky, and yes - mean - (at least they liked to portray me that way), didn’t read Ruth’s columns. Ruth clearly saw through me. I don’t actually remember the column at the time - but I am sure I bristled at some of it (even though reading it two decades later it is lovely) - because it got a little too close for my defenses at the time to violating rules #2 & #3. Frankly, I was more comfortable with being portrayed as a bitch (ground-breaking & smart) than a pathetic victim.

In addition to all the other emotions bouncing around in my head - and a lot in my stomach, causing juvenile stomachaches to make an unwelcome and surprising return to my existence - I think one of my challenges right now is I don’t want to be violating those rules in either my personal or professional life. And I really don’t want to have people feel sad or pity when they think of me and the girls. Yet - how do I hit the ‘not pitiful, but appropriately Black Swan sad” notes and use my strength to emerge from this time of grieving without diminishing the importance of my relationship & mourning for Chuck?

Which gets me to Stop & Shop. I have decided #3 rule is in violation play at the 1 month marker if I continue to cry for no reason in public (don’t worry - I am cleansing tear ducts plenty in private). I have gotten pretty good on Zoom & work calls. And while my first go round at 10:30 Mass was a disaster that I had to flee, 10:30 Mass is pretty lightly attended during COVID and with the mask - appropriate, controlled weepiness seems acceptable. However, the uncontrolled grief can hit unexpectedly and not only lead to the stomachache eruption but also the potential to violate Rules 1 - 3 in a more public setting than my regular Mass. Stop & Shop is the top of the list it seems.

Again, everything old is new again. At the height of the most gender-focused criticism of me, I was embraced by an awesome group of highly successful working moms in Boston called the Xchange group. Besides providing great companionship and support, we also traded ideas & tips on parenting. This is going to sound so simplistic & dumb (Rule 2 ALERT!), but as a first time mother with a demanding schedule, one of the most insightful ideas shared was to set aside a night every week as ‘date night’ and to stick to it religiously. Chuck & I embraced this concept and Saturday night became our date night - which we held to just about every Saturday night for 20 plus years until COVID hit.

Now, Chuck and I had less than no money when I was in office. So, after paying for pizza & a babysitter (and one of the best outcomes of the ‘standing date night’ were the wonderful relationships we developed with a series of babysitters - some of the most awesome notes I received in the last 4 weeks came from these young women) there were many Saturdays that our budget didn’t allow for even an inexpensive restaurant. Sometimes we would just go to my parents’ house and watch sports or a movie uninterrupted. Or take a drive. But nearly every Saturday - even after we could afford to go to a nice restaurant - we would go to Stop & Shop to get the week’s groceries. It was practical (about the only free time to shop) and it was very aligned with Chuck’s desire to not get caught in unwelcome conversations - almost no one shopped on Saturday night at 9 pm. It became somewhat well-known in town that you could find me on Saturday nights at Stop & Shop. During the height of my ‘recognizable’ period, tourists or newbies who recognized me at the grocery store as “the Governor” were often taken aback to see me there (how did they think we fed ourselves & children I often wondered).

During COVID Chuck didn’t go to Stop & Shop. And frankly, we had not been on a Saturday night date since one glorious period last summer where we occasionally felt safe enough (and he felt well enough) to eat outside. But date nights at Stop & Shop were an early casualty of his illness. Which is why I was surprised when a quick, unscheduled trip knocked me right off my pins. Fellow travelers on the grief road probably could have (or have and I didn’t understand) told me that it is the ADLs - activities of daily living - that we did as a unit that are so difficult to tackle now. But on my 2 trips to Stop & Shop (inside - I can manage getting pre-orders brought to the car) I have been a hair’s breadth from weepy, pathetic widow (ALERT on 1 & 3).

There is obviously a solution (there always is if you stay calm - that is a Chuck-ism) which is to go to Big Y. That actually worked this week. But I struggle with the admonishments not to run from my grief. I really do not think I am - and I frankly can’t imagine what that even means as the grief is pretty constant.

So, if weepy & pathetic are off the table, how do I define my Black Swan narrative? I know what I don’t want it to be. But that doesn’t solve what I want it to be. Perhaps this new Black Swan phase is an opportunity to integrate my personal & professional narrative with my authentic self. I was pretty convinced that was a non-starter 20-30 years ago for women seeking to break down barriers and be taken seriously. Maybe my Black Swan moment is the opportunity to be, always, my authentic self. Warning: my authentic self might cry in aisle three.

Sunrise on the farm this week.