A Matter of Hope 2020 vs. A Matter of Hope 2021: A Reflection on My Personal Growth

What a month, friends. Last we spoke, I let you all know that Bryson, Chuck, and I are moving back to Baltimore! A week from today, we close on our house in Charm City and give Baltimore a second breath of Sgambato-life. Can’t get rid of us that easy! If you missed my announcement, make sure to check out my Baltimore blog post, where I go into a bit more detail on why I made this decision and all the factors contributing to this decision. As our close date swiftly approaches, and  A Matter of Hope-2021 wraps up, I’ve been doing some reflecting on what I’ve learned over this past year; how my story has evolved and where my headspace is now vs. where it was a year ago, following A Matter of Hope-2020. I sent out an email to my list earlier this week discussing this, and I want to dig a little deeper because it really goes beyond A Matter of Hope. I spent a lot of time this year “in it.” I spent more time in the grief, in the confusion, in the “aftermath.” I dug deeper than I ever have before, with the help of my coach, in really figuring out what I wanted for myself and for my family now that my life trajectory totally changed. Frankly, my world exploded, and I knew that I didn’t want the pieces to just lay there, stagnant. It was time to start picking up the pieces, rebuild, morph, and create something new. I entertained the idea that post-traumatic growth, and growth after loss, may be possible for me.

As epic as MoHope2020 was, when it came to an end, I felt anxious, overwhelmed, and scared. 

We started planning A Matter of Hope 2020 weeks after Matt died. Subconsciously, it evolved into my main coping mechanism. I spent almost every ounce of free time working on something for it. In one sense, it helped me “keep the fight alive,” a fight I had been so focused on for nearly the entire year before, and carry out a mission I felt so strongly about. In another sense, it was my way of keeping Matt top of mind, ensuring people remembered him as he was for the 34 years before a cancer diagnosis, and filling up my time as much as possible to buffer the pain. I allowed myself to attach to the event so much that as it came to a close, the fear festering below made an ugly appearance.

• I was afraid of feeling all the emotions that may come up (and they did) with more gaps in my schedule. 
• I was afraid people would forget about Matt; that as time wore on and the sting of his death became less sharp for some, his relevance would fade into an abyss of forgotten souls. 
• Above all, I feared that my own connection to Matt would fade; that I would lose him more than I already had. And that was terrifying. 

Knowing this, and all the came up for me, I hired a coach. I wanted more for myself; I wanted more for my relationship with Matt; I wanted more for this event, allowing it to be what we truly set out to create: a celebration of Matt’s legacy and a powerful force in the fight against Cholangiocarcinoma. I didn’t want it to be my lifeline and the only way I could cope and connect. 

As we wrap up A Matter of Hope 2021, I find myself in a totally different headspace.

I am so proud of all we’ve accomplished these past couple of years, and incredibly excited to see where we go. I’m also one-hundred percent ready for a break to focus on other areas of my life. A Matter of Hope in general is a whole bucket of mixed emotions: pride for all we’re accomplishing, happiness in sharing “Matt stories” that remind us of the Matt we all know and love, joy in celebrating with friends/family, AND sad that this is even in our sphere of consciousness. A Matter of Hope is a part of my life now, but it is not the only part. 

This year, none of the thoughts and emotions that came up are surprising, concerning, or scary to me. Here are a few concepts I’ve spent time coaching on and leaning into that really leave me feeling, and subsequently acting, different this year:

• Grief is not a problem even, especially, when it hurts. Leaning into the hurt, and really feeling it, has helped me process it. I spent a good portion of the early morning before A Matter of Hope crying as I read through my opening speech. I wondered how I would get through it, knowing the nerves and emotions were at an all time high. I had to coach myself through the sadness and recognize that it’s ok. It doesn’t make me weak. It makes me human; a human who loves and grieves deeply, and sometimes, the best thing to do is cry. You’re welcome nervous system.

• I will never control how other people act, react, think, and/or feel. It’s time and energy wasted. People will process, grieve, and move forward in their truest form. While I choose to share Matt stories all the time, I am not there to force others to do so as well. And, by no means, is any of this a reflection of Matt’s relevance in this world. People will remember Matt in the ways he most impacted them; his legacy stretches so much farther than his sickness and death. Those memories are sacred to the people who hold them and however that shows up for them, is perfect.

• I create and choose how strong my connection to Matt remains. While my relationship with him may be different now, I choose to keep him in my life in many conscious and subconscious ways. Matt is a part of my story now; he is part of my soul and the person I am today. I often find myself asking him questions and simply reminding him that I love him. I feel him in music, memories, tasks, and motions. A Matter of Hope is just one facet of my connection to Matt, but by no means the entire scope. Our connection manifests in the every day, as his story evolves alongside ours.

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All of this said, I find myself authentically showing up and, dare I say it, excited for this next chapter.

At one point in time, I felt guilty using terms like “growth,” “evolution,” and the “journey forward.” It was a little bit of idealist fluff, in my mind. In theory, it seemed like a necessary path but on the other side, it felt shameful and almost impossible. I’d be lying if I said those thoughts don’t still come to mind. Sometimes, when I think of my life evolving, of growing, I still feel a stab to the heart. Grief is complex and messy sometimes, with a slew of competing thoughts and emotions. I know I have more to give to this world; that Matt supports me 100%, and that I have an obligation to myself to not hold back; time waits for no one.

Note to my fellow grievers: the latter thoughts were almost inconceivable in the earliest days of grief. At that point, I focused solely on the here and now. What can I do today to get me to tomorrow? How can I show up for myself and be kind to myself now? Survival above all. There’s no timeline on any of this.

How is this showing up in my life now?

Our move to Baltimore is one of those decisions that came from a place of confidence and authenticity, not a place of scarcity, victimization, or anxiety. I finish up my coach certification in a matter of weeks, which is just insane to me. I find myself more confident in my ability to make decisions and take ownership of my future and it’s evolution. I feel committed to adding more love and value to this world through my relationships, professionally, and by giving back whole-heartedly to this world.

That all sounds great, right? I can already hear the “wow she’s really got her s*** figured out,” as I laugh on the other side of the screen. There is still a lot I’m working through and figuring out (which is why I’ll always have a coach). There are days that feel extra heavy; the price I’ve paid to get here is too steep. Not a moment goes by that I don’t miss Matt; that I don’t wish he were here in the flesh figuring all this out alongside me. I don’t think those thoughts will ever go away and honestly, I don’t want them to. I believe in myself enough to know that my evolution would have happened with Matt beside me, here, too. However, it is my decision, now, to freaking step up into life, take some wild chances, risk heartbreak, disappointment, and more sadness, all with my grief and love for Matt beside me. I’ll leave you with this. What if our goal in life isn’t to be happy all the time? What if it’s just to be human; to live into a full life experience and see where that takes us? Being a human is wild, friends. I’m here for it. 

Until next time,

Xtina