When You Are Grieving

“Grief is different. Grief has no distance. Grief comes in waves, paroxysms, sudden apprehensions that weaken the knees and blind the eyes and obliterate the dailiness of life.”

― Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking

Grief is a journey with no real destination. It is also a place we do not know until we find ourselves in it, dazed, confused, angry and sad. We look around trying to learn our surroundings, trying to map the landscape or sketch out the contours of the nearby landmarks. Except as soon as we have a vague sketch, the landscape melts, shimmers and changes into something entirely different. And we are left bereft once more, starting the process anew.

What is grief?

Even attempting to define grief feels slippery, like grasping at air. Some define grief as a reaction to loss that involves emotional, mental, physical and spiritual suffering. Others, when grief is mentioned, immediately list the stages of grief as a way to understand this complicated process.

I am no expert in grief, but then again I don’t believe anyone can really be one. Even after we go through grief once, it is no guarantee it will be similar the next time around. Grief is new each time, because whatever or whoever we are grieving is unique.

I don’t think there is a right or wrong answer to the question of what is grief.

What I have come to know is that grief is pain.

Types of grief

Grief is not reserved for death. While we tend to associate the word grief with someone dying, death is only one catalyst out of many. Grief is a process and an emotion that shows up in any time of transition. It could be moving, losing/getting a job, end of a relationship, kids moving away to college, a dream going unfulfilled, opportunities suddenly lost.

Grief is what we feel when something is lost to us, and in some essential way it may never return.

In many instances it is the finality of the event that makes our knees buckle. Our minds struggle to comprehend the enormity of the loss we are enduring. Our bodies don’t know how to process such an intense and overwhelming emotion.

In times of grief it is very normal to oscillate between feelings of shock, horror, numbness and dissociation, and feelings of rage, anxiety, irritability and desire to run/move/do something.

When your body and mind shift states like that, let them. Your body is desperately trying to process new information that is overwhelming the system. Let it. It can be so hard to let yourself feel whatever comes up, but for grief to move through the body (rather than get lodged in it in problematic ways) we need to allow ourselves to feel it.

While different for everyone, this can look like placing a hand on your chest, closing your eyes and taking five deep breaths. It can look like asking yourself where you feel the grief in your body. It can look like giving over to long, cleansing sobs that escape you, for as long as you need. It can look like screaming, yelling and letting out your rage.

Grief is collective

There is a reason we gather together for big occasions, be they weddings or funerals. Throughout the history of humanity, it was our communities that held us in time of transition. While our current society has been pushing for the move toward independence and individualism, I am here to urge you to do the opposite.

Allow yourself to be in community with others. Let yourself be held. Invite a few close friends to just be with you and your feelings, without expectations. We are not meant to grieve alone. And sobbing while someone is holding your hand or rubbing your back, if that is available to you, can remind your body in that moment that you are not alone. That others are near and that care is at hand.

Body practices

Resmaa Menakem, a somatic abolitionist, therapist, speaker and author of the book My Grandmother’s Hands: Racialized Trauma and the Pathway to Mending Our Hearts and Bodies suggests a number of body practices in his book that could apply to grieving as well:

• Sing out loud, cry, wail, hum. If you have others, do this together as a collective. Let the sounds reverberate through your body, reminding you that you are here and you are not alone.

• Move your body in whatever way you are urged: this can be going on a run, throwing pillows at the wall, shaking vigorously, dancing in whatever way feels good, doing stretches, etc.

• Rock back and forth, whether alone or with others. You can do this while humming or singing. Or if you are with others, holding hands is also an option.

• Breathe deeply and mindfully with others. Close your eyes, and listen to the sounds of others breathing. Try synching up your breath for it to become a collective inhale, and a collective exhale.

To wrap up, I will leave you with one of my favorite poems by Andrea Gibson:

“A difficult life is not less
worth living than a gentle one.
Joy is simply easier to carry
than sorrow. And your heart
could lift a city from how long
you’ve spent holding what’s been
nearly impossible to hold.
This world needs those
who know how to do that.
Those who could find a tunnel
that has no light at the end of it,
and hold it up like a telescope
to know the darkness
also contains truths that could
bring the light to its knees.
Grief astronomer, adjust the lens,
look close, tell us what you see.”