Well Acquainted with Grief
One of the hardest parts about grieving my mom was not knowing who I could talk to when I was falling apart. It was surprising to see just how uncomfortable people could get when you said things like “cancer” or “things aren’t going well.” I quickly discovered a new level of emotional labor as I would often begin to worry about how that person would feel after I told them I wasn’t ok. This level of emotional labor was hard enough that as a family, we started vetting my mom’s friends before they could visit or talk with her. We needed them to be in a place where they could take care of their own feelings before seeing her. When others visibly react to you while you’re in a difficult place, you will very quickly mask up in an effort to make that person feel less uncomfortable and this makes it especially difficult to unpack the feelings that need to be expressed.
I’ve seen emotional discomfort do a lot of things to people who want to be helpful but don’t know how. Most often, I see it come out in “fix-it” mode. Because we want to reduce the discomfort in others and ourselves, we can jump to some generalized explanation that we believe should fix how we feel. Unfortunately, grief doesn’t act that way. It isn’t “fixable.” When we quickly spit out well-meaning sayings such as “it will all work out,” or “she’s in less pain now,” we may undermine what is really needed in that moment -even if those statements are technically true. If we’re pushing to fix the situation, we may be simply trying to end our own discomfort. Additionally, our bias towards action can push us to believe that “fixing” something is the only way we can help. When it comes to the hardest stuff, I recommend a different approach to helping.
What is really needed is someone who can lovingly hold space for the person who is grieving. Someone who can sit with them without any judgment while they fall apart. Someone who will not let their regard or belief towards the other person’s capabilities diminish because they see a person who is completely vulnerable and a little bit broken for a while. Someone who has faith and hope in the fact that things will get better and are also ok with acknowledging that for the moment, it just sucks.
In the last couple of weeks, I have been given the opportunity to be a person who holds space for others while they grieve. Honestly, I feel honored to be that person. I’ve noticed that as they are feeling the hardest things, they often apologize for “dumping” it on me. As someone who has been well-acquainted with grief, I don’t feel dumped on at all. Because of my own experiences, grief no longer scares me. I recognize the need to unburden our heaviest things with the hope that someone else can help you carry it. I have been grateful to help carry it. I know from experience that grief comes and goes. I know that when those feelings hit, they won’t last that long if we give them a little breathing room. I’m happy to hold space for breathing room because it does help carry the load for a moment. I’m not certified to help you unpack it, but I’m also not going to be scared away because you’re feeling it right now. I know the power of someone who’s willing to simply sit with another.
With Easter approaching, I find myself thinking of Isaiah describing Christ as a “man of sorrows and acquainted with grief” (Isaiah 53:3). I have heard the phrase often enough and I usually use it to help myself picture the story of the hardships that Christ went through during the crucifixion. However, as I’ve learned to be acquainted with grief, I see more to this scripture. I am now realizing that being acquainted with sorrow and grief—especially if it is in a way that requires a deep wrestling within your soul—qualifies you and increases your capacity to sit with others when they are hurting. (Much like how Christ does for us through the Atonement). I have felt myself softening and my compassion for others increasing. I see strength in the efforts of others that I have not seen before and am grateful for the many individuals who share their stories with me.
As I’ve continued to mine the learnings from my own grief and burnout journey, this latest insight has felt especially poignant. I’ve spent the last 2 years searching for reasons why I needed that I experience. I expect I’ll continue to find more answers. Today, I’m especially grateful for the newfound peace, confidence, and compassion that I feel while holding space for others. It is humbling and an honor to be part of.
Thank you for reading with me today. If you’re grieving, I hope you have someone who will lovingly hold space for your tenderness today. If not, give me a call.