Stories on Grief — Biayah Life

We all have stories that govern our lives. Some are stories that we tell ourselves. Some are stories we inherit from our families or the culture in which we were raised. Either way, they are things that inform our guilt, our façade, and our actions. Sometimes it’s easy to identify the stories we tell ourselves. We tell ourselves stories about who we are – an artist, a chef, a father, an aunt. Those are often stories about what gives us an identity, and often, there is an actual narrative of how we got there. Other stories are more subtle – how we define success, what being “good” means. A lot of times these stories are intertwined with cultural expectations or religious ties. Often when I’m feeling guilt or inadequacy, these are the stories that I have to address.

We are not islands. We have relationships with those around us, and often our interactions and intentions can become distorted when viewed through the lens of another person. This isn’t bad – it’s simply what happens because our experiences vary. It’s the point of open communication. July has been a month to recuperate, regroup, and reset; it’s been easier to accept what is and give myself the space to rest. I’m thankful that I’m in a place of resting right now because in the last two weeks of July some pretty heavy things happened in my personal life that circle around change and grief. This restful space has given me time to slowly unpack some of my own stories around grief.

If any of these things had presented themselves five, or even two, years ago, I would be a mess – my brain would be swirling with big emotions, misplaced guilt, and I’d be in serious danger of relapsing into maladaptive coping behaviours. Now I see when these big emotions happen and acknowledge them for what they are without having the immediate need to squash them so that they can’t affect me. Previously, my immediate response would be to disassociate. My childhood was tumultuous, and I learned quickly that emotional responses only created more drama in the household. This followed me into adulthood, and it made even small emotions feel very big. Being able to feel and identify my emotions has been a long journey, and it’s been rough.

Grief is a big feel that is pretty all encompassing. It brings up a lot of things that maybe you thought you’d dealt with long ago. What I’ve also found is that grief is something that we as a culture do not actively deal with. We treat grief as if it’s something to cause shame and to be done in isolation. We cover grief with platitudes of, “It’s going to get better,” “I’m sorry,” or “Everything happens for a reason.” We do not acknowledge its necessity and shame those who outwardly grieve. Grief, when left to fester, can cause fear and anxiety, which causes one to isolate more, and then turns into a vicious cycle. The reality is that grief is uncomfortable, and the only way to alleviate that is to let it ride its course. When confronted with another’s grief we try to let it slide away instead of simply being there with the person as a shared witness. I’ve been asked a lot recently what to do when someone else is grieving because of my past, and fairly recent, experiences.

Here’s what I often end up telling people:

Acknowledge the grief, and don’t apologize. Unless you are the direct cause of the grief, you are not the responsible party, and, therefore, don’t need to be apologizing. Apologizing doesn’t acknowledge the grief. As silly as it may sound, acknowledging that the situation is crap is important.
Don’t try to “fix” it. There is literally nothing anyone can do. Instead, allow yourself to simply be there with the person. Reaffirm how crap the situation is as they need it. Let it be silent as they need it. I know that people often asked me what they could do, and frankly, that was wildly frustrating because there wasn’t much anyone could do. It made me feel guilty and uncomfortable because they just wanted to help. What would have been more helpful was that person acknowledging that the grief was there and that they would be there. Greif causes us to sit quietly with our own thoughts, and sometimes it just needs that quiet space with another person standing witness.
Let them vent and affirm their actions. Grief is messy. It’s like a roller coaster – one moment it’s silent and the next it’s loud, and the next it’s questioning every choice made. As witness, it’s okay to cry with them, be silent with them, and affirm the questions. They know they did what they could. Stating the obvious, or rehashing is looking for that affirmation.

A lot of times grief brings us back to stories we tell ourselves. In our grief we question our actions and there is guilt. When the guilt comes, we have to look at why we feel guilt. Personally, I’ve found that the guilt is often misplaced and intrinsically tied to what Becky and I (affectionately) call Dysons. They are the “shoulds” in our lives. Think: I should have been more ____________ (affectionate, caring, successful, a better partner, etc). Shoulds suck. Dysons are vacuums, and vacuums suck, hence, Dysons. The reality is that we all do the best we can with the tools and skills we have. Will you always make the best choice? No. Do you acknowledge that? Yes. Then there is grief. This is why grief is so important. It helps us acknowledge the things in our life. It helps us acknowledge our actions. It needs to be seen.

In our modern culture, we don’t give grief the space it needs. We have removed grieving rituals and ask those grieving to hide it. We act as if it doesn’t exist. We cover it with purchases and food and drink. I propose that instead, we allow grief to be a time of compassionate care. Often those who are grieving aren’t in the headspace to care for themselves. As witness, you can’t take the pain, but you can help them help themselves.

Ensure they are able to take care of basic needs. This is why meal trains exist. The person grieving may not eat a lot, but the point is that it’s something they no longer have to worry about. I’ve also found that making sure that there are plenty of tissues and water constantly available is important. Fold a basket of laundry, load their dishwasher, or take out the trash. These are everyday basics that still need to be done, but aren’t a high priority at the moment.
Encourage them in self-care. Sometimes, that’s really just encouraging them to take showers, put on day clothes, etc. Having moisturizers and lip balms for chapped noses and lips can be helpful. I also like having cooling face masks available. Crying always makes me puffy, so I imagine it’s the same for other. Encourage them to engage in hobbies or games they enjoy. If they want to snuggle in blankets, encourage it. Self-care is very important. When you care for the physical body, it makes taking care of the mental space easier.
Encourage normalcy. The reality is that immediate grief is heavy and large. Normal routines or work check-ins can be comforting. Grief is altering. It’s a type of permanent change, and change is hard. We crave our normal routines and habits. Acknowledging this is okay is important. Our stories can sometimes tell us in those moments that we weren’t enough because we want that normalcy. The reality is that having that bit of normality is necessary so that we can process our grief and move through it.

Grief is powerful. While painful, it can connect us to those we love. By allowing grief to have space, we give ourselves the space to connect with each other in meaningful ways. For the one experiencing the grief, they are allowed to be vulnerable and to receive comfort and care. For the one standing witness, it allows them to give comfort and care by standing watch over the space. We are allowed that space to connect and bond. It shows that we are there when things are hard as well as when things are easy. I don’t know that grief ever goes away – it doesn’t change actions – but it does change. It becomes less acute. It holds less of a grip. I encourage you to examine the things that need space for grief. Allow it to happen – it’s a real thing! Allow yourself to connect and accept it where it’s at. You can’t move past it until you acknowledge that it’s there. I think that at end of the day, it’s a peaceful feeling – something that makes you feel a bit more complete.