Category: discomfort

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On Grief :: Holidays, Anniversaries, & Other Triggers

So it’s true, when all is said and done, grief is the price we pay for love. 

~E.A. Bucchianeri, Brushstrokes of a Gadfly

It’s so curious: one can resist tears and ‘behave’ very well in the hardest hours of grief. But then someone makes you a friendly sign behind a window, or one notices that a flower that was in bud only yesterday has suddenly blossomed, or a letter slips from a drawer… and everything collapses.  

~Colette

The holiday season, we are told, is supposed to be time of joy, of laughter, of reverie. And while this can certainly part of our lived experience of this time of year, it is also true that this season can also carry with it grief, loss, and heartache.

For me this time of year is bittersweet.  There is much I love about the upcoming holiday season, and also, there is much that makes me acutely notice those who are not here, whether by death or personal choice, and the loss and grief that is associated with that.

It is a time of year when we are expected to put on our “happy face” no matter what we are feeling and experiencing inside.  It is a time of year to make light of everything, even our pain.  It is the time to make peace and be nice and get along.

To which I say, screw that.

Regardless of the time of year, we get to acknowledge our own experience.  And when we are in the season of holidays, when we are in theory gathering with loved ones, of course we notice those who are not gathered with us, those who will never gather with us again.

And we get to feel the sadness and grief and pain that comes with this.

Sometimes, we can anticipate when our grief will hit us hardest and so we can prepare ourselves in some way for the wave of emotions that is to come.  And other times, we are hit out of the blue by the wave and it takes away our breath as we lose our footing and connection to ground and the here and now.

Holidays and anniversaries (of the death, or our lost person’s birthday, or our own birthday, etc) are dates on the calendar that we can look to, that we can guess how we may be affected by the day. Sometimes though, we may not consciously remember a date, and yet our bodies will know and remind us in some small or large way.  This could look like feeling agitated, having a headache, being “moody” or easily irritated, being weepy, etc.

And then there are the triggers that sneak up on us.  Driving by a particular park or past a favorite restaurant or someone tells a joke that our loved one used to tell or a friend shares a story of our person that we hadn’t heard before (or had heard dozens of times before).  And our body and mind reacts and moves into deep grief, almost instantly.

Most of us know of the Kublar-Ross 5-Stages of Grief Model.  I invite us all to throw this model away.  Instead, I invite us to get to know Worden’s Tasks of Grief which are ::

1. Accept the reality of your loss

2. Work through the pain of grief

3. Adjust to an environment in which the deceased is missing

4. Find an enduring connection with the deceased while embarking on a new life

These tasks are not linear.  In many ways we are working through all four tasks at one time to varying degrees throughout of grief process.  I have found by looking at grief through this lens, that we have tasks to do and be in (instead of stages to accomplish), is incredibly helpful, particularly in getting through the holidays, anniversaries and other triggers that will appear throughout the months and years after our loved one has died.

I talk more about this in the 13 minute video below::

This essay is the third and final in a three part series I have written exploring grief and loss, how it affects us, and how our culture attempts to stifle it. Here are links to the others in the series ::

On Grief :: Loss is Loss

On Grief :: The Passage of Time

On Grief :: Holidays, Anniversaries, and Other Triggers (this essay)

 

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On Grief :: The passage of time

I was tired of well-meaning folks, telling me it was time I got over being heartbroke. When somebody tells you that, a little bell ought to ding in your mind. Some people don’t know grief from garlic grits. There’s somethings a body ain’t meant to get over. No I’m not suggesting you wallow in sorrow, or let it drag on; no I am just saying it never really goes away. (A death in the family) is like having a pile of rocks dumped in your front yard. Every day you walk out and see them rocks. They’re sharp and ugly and heavy. You just learn to live around them the best way you can. Some people plant moss or ivy; some leave it be. Some folks take the rocks one by one, and build a wall.

~Michael Lee West, American Pie

Loss, and the accompanying grief, are not things we can simply “get over” or “move past.” When there is a death, it is a death.  The person who died is not coming back.  They will leave a hole in our hearts and lives for as long as we ourselves continue to breathe.  In time we learn to live with the hole.  In time the hole doesn’t ache as much or as often. In time, we find ways to work around and in and above the hole.  But that hole, it’s still there.

And even though our person will always be gone, and even though we will always grieve this truth, it is also true that in time and when we allow ourselves to process our grief, the grief does become… less intense, less raw, less constant.

This is not to say that even years later there aren’t moments or hours or days of intense grief, of deeply missing our person.  Those days will exist.  And they will be less common than in those early days and months of loss.

We live in a culture that would have us believing that grief shouldn’t last for very long.  Many companies offer three days of “bereavement pay”.  THREE DAYS.  Let me tell you from experience, that isn’t even enough time to plan the funeral or memorial service, let alone have space to actually grieve and cry and howl about our loss.

The DSM-5 (the holy bible of the psychology world) tells us that six months after our clients experience a loss, we need to evaluate them for complex grief disorder.  SIX MONTHS.

Yes, our culture, and my profession, has turned grief into a disorder. (Note there is much debate about this particular diagnosis/disorder within the psychology community and particularly those of us who work with grief and the grieving.)

There is also a timeline, a linear path, for us to follow when it comes to our grief.  Kublar-Ross gave us the Five Stages of Grief, and this has been interpreted for many to mean this is how we should be grieving and if we don’t follow this path in a timely manner, well then there is clearly something wrong with us.  (I much prefer Worden’s Tasks of Grief as way of looking at our grieving process.  I’ll write more about that in the third and final essay of this series).

These timelines are put upon us for a reason:: in our culture we do not like to experience discomfort, and will go to any lengths to avoid it.  This includes the discomfort that bubbles up when either we ourselves, or someone we care about, is experiencing and processing their own grief and loss.

Because let’s be honest, grief and loss are uncomfortable to say the least.  As the person experiencing it, it is a visceral experience, our whole body responds to the death of someone we love.  As the person who is there to be of support to the grieving, there is also discomfort, both physical in the sensing of the visceral experience of our loved one who is grieving, and also the existential discomfort of facing our own mortality and the mortality of those we love.

Because 100% of us will die at some point.  And 100% of us will also experience grief and loss, at least once, in our lives (for most of us, we will have this experience multiple times).

And frankly, most of us don’t want to sit with or in any of that.  And we were never shown how to sit in and with that discomfort.  It was never modeled for us how to stay in our bodies and allow the pain and agony of grief and loss to run through us. In my opinion, this is something we need to change for ourselves, and for future generations.  We need to learn how to acknowledge, allow, and sit with these uncomfortable and unpleasant sensations and emotions, otherwise they will continue to exist within us and create their own havoc upon our bodies and minds.

The reality is, that grief is a life-long process.  Yes, it comes in waves.  Yes it can become less intense with time and processing.  Yes, it won’t always feel as raw as in those first days and months and year.  And yes, even decades later, we will miss our person.

I talk more about this in the 14-minute video below ::

This essay is the second in a three part series I have written exploring grief and loss, how it affects us, and how our culture attempts to stifle it. Here are links to the others in the series ::

On Grief :: Loss is Loss

On Grief :: The Passage of Time (this essay)

On Grief :: Holidays, Anniversaries, and Other Triggers (link coming soon)

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On Grief :: Loss is loss

You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it. 

~J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

For three years I worked/interned/externed as a grief counselor for a local family grief support center.  The clients I worked with were as young as four and as old as in their 70s.  The losses ranged from parent loss to sibling loss to child loss to intimate partner loss.  The kinds of deaths our clients loved ones experienced were cancers and heart attacks, car accidents and random shootings, and all forms of suicide.

We mostly offered groups, for appropriate age ranges and types of loss.  One of our tenets for all the groups is: “We do not compare losses.”  Meaning that grief is grief.  Our person is gone and while the way they exited this life may have been dramatic or mundane, our hearts are broken all the same.

In all the groups I co-facilitated, this was never an issue.  We set the boundary up front and no one ever tried to play the “My grief is better/worse than yours” game.

I’ve seen that game played out in life outside the center though.  Hell, I’ve even played that game.

When we are hurting, when we are in the rawness of our grief, the immediate, and traumatic, impact of it, it can be hard to notice how others may be hurting, may have experienced similar loss, may be grieving right along side you with your loss.

Those early days and weeks and months of grief have us self-focused.  Because our pain is so intense.  And even if we need to function and care for others as we are feeling our own pain, the hurt, the what feels to be all consuming hurt, is ours and through this lens we look at the world.

So, it makes sense in those early days and weeks and months that we may deeply believe that our own pain is greater than another’s.  That no one has ever suffered in this kind of rawness as we are.  The no one could possibly understand what we are experiencing.

And as is often the case with the stories we tell ourselves in our heads, none of this is necessarily true.

It is true that no one has experienced the exact form of grief, in the exact way, that we each have.  We are each individuals, with similar, yet vastly unique experiences.

And.

Grief is part of being human.  Loss is part of our lived experience.

And no matter what the loss is, it is uncomfortable at best, excruciatingly painful at worst.  No matter the loss, grief comes and goes in waves that sometimes we feel we will drown in and others we are able to surf.

Yes, our personal experiences are unique, and they are also universal.

I talk more about this in the 12 minute video below.

This essay is the first in a three part series I have written exploring grief and loss, how it affects us, and how our culture attempts to stifle it. Here are links to the others in the series ::

On Grief :: Loss is Loss (this essay)

On Grief :: The Passage of Time

On Grief :: Holidays, Anniversaries, and Other Triggers (link coming soon)

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Grief, trauma and anger

Each week in the Survivors of Suicide group that I co-facilitate, we have new members. More people whose partners have completed suicide, leaving behind confusion, anger, pain, and of course, grief.

Grief. It is such an uncomfortable emotion. I witness people trying to rush through their grief, trying to stuff it down, trying to push it aside. I am asked over and over when the grief will end.

The truth is, it doesn’t. When someone we love, someone who matters to us, dies or a significant relationship ends, we grieve for the rest of our lives. It isn’t always as raw or overwhelming as it is in the beginning, those early months, that first year. And yet, there can still be moments of overwhelming grief, even years later.

Anger is part of our grief process. Not every time, but more times than not we become furious with the person who died “on us” or who left us. There is no logic to this anger, no reason. It just is. It’s an important part of our grieving. It gives us agency. It protects us from the overwhelm of sadness and pain. It motivates us to do something.

Grief, of course, isn’t the only time we tap into our anger. Our anger rushes forward to both protect and motivate us in a million different ways every day. We know our anger is protecting us from deeper pain when we are focusing that anger directly onto another person, for what they did or didn’t do or say. The anger is whispering to us “I know this hurts too much right now, so let me take care of you.”

Anger gives us motivation to act. It wants us to act. To do. Anger is not a being emotion. It has agency and does not want us sitting in it, stagnant. It wants to flow.

Anger is uncomfortable. It represents the dissonance in us. Our very fibers vibrate when we are angry (ever been so mad you literally shook?). It wants resolution. It demands to be heard.  To be witnessed. For us to take action.

The discomfort of anger, or grief, or sadness or any pain, is something we aren’t so good at allowing. Our culture tells us over and over how we must be happy and comfortable at any cost.

So we stuff. We push aside. We tie down. We ignore. We pursue happiness, ever seeking outside and trying to pretend that the turmoil we feel within does not exist.

This stuffing down can work for awhile. Hell, it can work for a lifetime, quite frankly, at some levels, to some degree. Even so, it causes its own dis-ease and discomfort. We wear a mask and so no one sees us, not even our Self, and we are lonely and distrusting of others. Distrusting because we know we are wearing a mask, because we know we aren’t being honest with others or our Self, so how could anyone else be honest and true?

A few months ago, as I lead a Parenting While Grieving group, I told the two fathers there—one whose wife had died of cancer within the last year, the other whose daughter had died in a bizarre accident a little over a year ago—that their very cores and beings were altered by the deaths of their loved ones. I reminded them that being in this space, this “new normal” is uncomfortable. I also most said, And if I had a magic wand, I would take this discomfort away. I stopped myself, and told them what I almost said and then said, The truth is, if I had a magic wand, I would wave it so that everyone could sit in their discomfort and know they are going to be okay.

This isn’t because I’m a sadist.  I don’t get pleasure in causing others pain.

It is because I firmly believe that the majority of our world’s problems are because we absolutely cannot sit in our discomfort. Because we try to stuff down or medicate or blame our discomfort away. Because we are desperate to fix it. Because we cannot stand the dissonance it is trying to tell us about.

But that dissonance, that discomfort? THAT is what brings about change. THAT is what motivates us to look within. That is what gives us the energy to do different.

In grief we are forced to be different, because generally our grief is because of something that was in many ways out of our control. In anger, we are motivated to do and be different.

When someone says something uncomfortable to us, or even says something uncomfortable in our general vicinity, it is an opportunity for us to become curious as to why it is making us uncomfortable. That discomfort is an invitation to explore our Self, our thoughts, our values. It is a chance to dig into who we are, who we actually are compared to who we want to be, and consciously and intentionally decide if we want to do or be different.

This is not to say that people don’t often project their crap onto us. Many do. AND it is still an opportunity to look within and consciously and intentionally decide if what a person said is theirs or ours. AND especially if there is discomfort on our part, or defensiveness, or anger, it is a chance to really deeply look within and examine what that may be about.

I invite you this week, this month, this year, the rest of your life, to settle into discomfort. To allow it to be. To become curious about it, to try to understand it.

I invite you to allow your grief and anger. To let them motivate you to both look within and to be outwardly different from how you have been before.

I invite you to examine your own defensiveness and wonder where it is coming from, what deeper story about your worth is it tied to, and how you can shift from a place of defense to a place of self-exploration and deeper knowing and empathy.

Will you accept my invitation? Together I know we can do this. xoxo

(Today’s post is a revision to a love letter I sent out in July.  Did you enjoy it? Want to read more? Then I invite you to hop on over and subscribe to my weekly love letters right over here.)

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Fluffy Positive Thinking

I’ve been feeling annoyed lately. Like really annoyed. Hell, let’s just name it: I’m angry. Pissed off even. And yes frustrated, disgusted and annoyed too.

Mostly I’m angry though.

I’ve been doing my thing, my work, guiding people to connect to their own embodied wisdom; to shedding their shoulds; to connecting deeply to their whole Self, the Light and the Shadow. I talk about the ebb and flow of this work and how sometimes we are deep in it and sometimes we aren’t. I discuss the importance of rest and replenishing and nourishing and allowing our Self to be.

I talk a lot. I do my best to model this way of being by doing my best to live it myself. Which means sometimes I’m deep in the work and sometimes I’m not, and sometimes I’m deep in my practices and sometimes I’m not and regardless of where I am in my journey or what I am or am not doing, I try to be gentle with me and to allow the space for me to be right where I am.

I’m not perfect. I fail all the time. Well, maybe not all the time, and enough to remember why I have my practices and so I pick them up again and they drop off and so it goes.

I’ve become acutely aware lately of pithy quotes and fluffy positive thinking and this idea that our thoughts create our world and if we only think the right thoughts then all the things will perfect and great.

And it’s pissing me off. And it’s time I publicly call bullshit.

First of all let’s break (ha! I first typed “breathe”!) down this idea of thinking the right thoughts. What the hell are the “right” thoughts? If I have the “right” thoughts that does mean I can magically prevent a loved one from dying? Myself from having cancer? A hurricane from devasting the lives and homes of people I know and love (and even the ones I don’t)? If I think the right thoughts does that mean that life stops and nothing bad will ever happen to me? Will I never trip and break a bone or get in a car accident or catch the flu?

Because if thinking the “right thoughts” means all that, then please, will someone tell me what the Right Thoughts are? What are the exact words I need to be thinking? What is the exact mantra I need to have on repeat on my mp3 player and posted on post-its all over my house?

I’m sure there are plenty who will jump in and tell me what some of my “Right Thoughts” could be. And I also bet they won’t own that and allow themselves to be held accountable for what happens when I do every thing that lets me think the “right thoughts” and then still something bad happens.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m all for gratitude. I’m all for appreciating all that we have. I’m all for seeking and seeing beauty in the world. As long as we don’t shut our eyes to the Shadow, the darkness, to the really shitty parts of being human and living life.

As long as we don’t blame people (and not thinking the right thoughts) for things like cancer and accidents and layoffs and hurricanes, then yes, let’s all do look to the light – BUT let’s not forget for one moment that there is Shadow right behind us and sometimes we need to turn around and have a dance or three with it.

As long as we allow ourselves and others to grieve, to sink into despair, to speak out about how hard life/parenting/partnering/living/being can be.

Also long as we don’t offer “at leasts” and “look on the bright sides” and “silver linings” and the one I hate the most “well if this shitty thing didn’t happen then you wouldn’t have the fabulous life you have today!”

As long as we don’t try to fucking constantly fix it. And by it I mean the dark, the Shadow, the shitty parts of our Self and life.

As long as we can allow ourselves and others to be right where we are, whether that’s in our deepest Shadows or our brightest lights.

Then yes, I’m all for practicing gratitude, seeking beauty, appreciating what we have and who we are.

…

 

Something has shifted in me. Perhaps it’s connecting to the women who came before me and all their (righteous) anger that lives in my bones and muscles and womb. Maybe it’s that I’m going out into the world more, expanding my circles and seeing more and more of this Positive Fluffy Thinking because of it. Perhaps it’s because three different people have mentioned the Law of Attraction to me in the last 48 hours and now my head just wants to explode.

Bad things happen to good people.

Your thoughts do not control reality.

Focusing only on the positive and ignoring and stuffing down the negative only causes imbalance and dis-ease within. It’s makes us ill, physically, emotionally, psychologically, and spiritually.

I invite you to step into your anger. To open your throat to your roars.

I invite you to sink into your grief. To open your self to body-wracking wails.

I invite you to stumble into your sadness. To open your being to your most guttural moans and howls.

I invite you to dance with your Shadow. To wrestle with her. To play with her. To fight with her.

I invite you to acknowledge and accept your darkest self. To allow this part of you to be. She is not all of you. And she is part of you. I invite you to open your arms to her, and to weep together for all that could have been, all that was lost and all that will never be.

I invite you to be fully and imperfectly human. To connect with all your parts and pieces. To love them all: your Light and Shadow. To allow your Self to be exactly where you are, right now.

 

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