Grief and the Invitation

Each time you experience a loss it is important to grieve the loss. The degree of grief will be proportional to the size of the loss. Some losses are cataclysmic and some may be considered ‘insignificant’. But loss is loss. Each loss produces a sense of grief. In our culture, we can become so accustomed to numbing our pain, we may not even be aware we are doing it. We forget to grieve. Eventually one day our feelings catch up with us and we are confused. What on earth is going on with me?

The cycle that people go through during a change is similar to the grief cycle. Change produces loss. When you transition from one season to another - something is lost in the transition. Even when the change produces a positive outcome, there is still a sense of loss. It is completely natural and normal to grieve the loss of something that you will never gain back.

When you move to another location. You may love the new place, but you left a place full of experiences and memories. You have lost what you once considered home.

I have heard it said that we are the most medicated generation. We medicate on drugs (prescribed and illicit), alcohol, on food, on tv, on exercise, busyness. Anything we can to run away. But you cannot keep running from the very thing inside of you. If you don’t allow yourself the opportunity to grieve. The emotions won’t go anywhere.You will simply store them up one on top of another.They keep building up until there is nowhere else for them to go. Your body is not designed to store pain. Eventually you will breakdown or explode.

You have probably heard of the Kubler-Ross Five Stages of Grief model, designed for patients dealing with terminal illness diagnosis. According to the model; denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance are the five stages people go through when grieving. As it turns out, grief is not actually that straight forward. Not everyone processes grief in a neat five step fashion. What stage are you up to? Why am I not at this stage yet?

Adopting these five stages of grief religiously, people had developed the idea that there is a correct way to grieve. There is not.

I have come to the conclusion that there is no such thing as ‘process’. You know when people talk about being in ‘process’ or going through ‘process’. Good ole process. As if process is some temporary season on the way to achieving wholeness. Once you have reached the other side of ‘process’ you will be complete. I don’t believe that anymore. I used to hold to that idea as a way of getting through trying times. I could tell myself that it’s okay that I have all these feelings, because one day it will all be behind me and I’ll be a complete and whole human being. Just around one more corner, scale one more mountain... and finally nirvana, bliss. I needed to believe this because I am a perfectionist. And if I am in ‘process’ I am not perfect. Damn you ‘process’. We perfectionists honestly believe that perfection is an attainable goal. We believe that perfection makes us worthy of love and belonging. Now this is not true, but that doesn’t stop us from chaining ourselves to the treadmill of impossible attainment.

One of my favourites, Brene Brown says “Perfectionism is not the same thing has striving to be your best. Perfectionism is the belief that if we live perfect, look perfect, and act perfect, we can minimize or avoid the pain of blame, judgement, and shame. It’s a shield. It’s a twenty-ton shield that we lug around thinking it will protect us when, in fact, it’s the thing that’s really preventing us from flight.”

I now believe that life has ups and life has downs. The downs are not ‘process’ but simply a part of life. Process is not a sickness to be healed of or a sin to be delivered from. It is part of the journey. Your story and mine.

Now the reason I am talking about ‘process’ is that we often think of grief as being a process. That one day when we have reached the end of our ‘process’, we will no longer ache or be sad. That grief will be gone and we will once again have fullness of life.

I saw a really good description of grief once. Someone drew a black scribble in the middle of a piece of a white paper. Then the person drew more larger circles around the black scribble. Different colours. Once finished there was a picture of many colours with a small black scribble in the centre. The black scribble represented deep grief over a loss. Grief doesn’t necessarily completely go away. As time goes on and you have different experiences and friendships, you add different textures to the picture The black scribble is no longer overpowering you, but is now part of the rich tapestry of your wider story.

Or I could explain it in terms of Kintsugi. This traditional Japanese art uses a precious metal – liquid gold, liquid silver or lacquer dusted with powdered gold – to bring together the pieces of a broken pottery item and at the same time enhance the breaks. The imperfection isn’t hidden, but becomes part of the beauty of the piece.

I am not saying that you can never experience healing and joy. But minimising/ignoring/blocking certain emotions to hurry up and get happy again is not how to achieve it. (If you think you can, I recommend watching Pixar’s Inside Out for your homework.)

It is wise to acknowledge the sense of loss. To allow yourself to experience the emotions of anger, pain, confusion etc. There is no bypassing these emotions. Even Job’s friends knew to keep quiet and let Job grieve (for a time).

Also, it is good to invite people into the grief. The degree that you share will depend on your relationship and the trustworthiness of the person. Close friends, family members, minister, counselor. The list is entirely up to you.

Find healthy ways to find comfort. Inviting people into your experience provides them with an opportunity to comfort you. Without comfort, it is difficult to heal. Go for walks, watch a funny movie, read a book. Some enjoyable activity that will help ease your heart into healing.

Let me invite you into one of my recent experiences of grief.

Depression is often defined as the refusal to grieve. When I first saw that sentence, I remember being so angry. I thought I have grieved so much, so how can I still feel depressed. Then it hit me. I had stopped inviting people into my grief.

Because I didn’t feel like I could share what had caused my grief, I kept the reason pretty much to myself. I felt like I had to protect people from the pain of seeing the truth that I had discovered. I was in the middle of the pain of it and thought it would be best to protect others from it. Instead of speaking up and out, I helped to hide the mess that needed to be cleaned up. I thought I was protecting others, but in reality I was protecting myself from the potential fallout.

Someone in a position of influence took advantage of the trust that I had put in them and also my desire and willingness to be vulnerable. My own vulnerability was used against me.

The ground felt like it had been torn from beneath me. I felt devastated and lost.

I was betrayed by people who used my vulnerability against me. I had invited people into my pain and now they had disappeared. I became afraid to trust people. I reverted back into my old pattern of trying to deal with my pain on my own. There are less people to trouble that way, less people to not believe me, less people to betray me.

But where does that leave me? Depressed, disconnected and alone.

That sentence that I had read about depression is what people experience when they refuse to grieve? I read it on the third day of January. On New Years Day I spent an hour having an emotional meltdown on a quiet section of the beach. I cried, talked to God and swore (all the best swear words). I was so exhausted from carrying this burden for so long. Feeling immensely powerless and voiceless.

The very next day I picked up a workbook that a year previously I had only gotten three chapters in. I decided to finish the book. Souls Like Stars by Margaret Nagib. The second day was the chapter on feelings and included that infamous sentence.

I knew that I needed to change. I had become someone who was no longer pursuing vulnerability. Hence why I had stopped writing. Vulnerability was dangerous. More dangerous to me that I could have possibly imagined when I first began my vulnerability journey. But I don’t want to be this depressed and disconnected person anymore. And that involves inviting people into my grief. It involves inviting people into my story. It involves disillusionment, betrayal, and forgiveness too.

Forgiveness is in the similar vein as grief. That is why forgiveness often hurts and can feel so costly. Peter Scazzero says, in The Emotionally Healthy Church, that “the process of forgiveness always involves grieving before letting go.” (I will write more about forgiveness later)

I don’t subscribe to the “process that leads to perfection” mythos anymore. I don’t believe that emotional healing looks like a scar less wound. I like the idea that healing looks more like gold sealing our broken places. Not hiding the wound, but instead bringing a beauty to it.

That is how I can find the courage to invite you into my grief dear reader. Could it very well be that there is beauty in my story not despite of my wounds but because of them?