Grief

More often than not when we hear the word grief, we assume someone’s talking about death. Less commonly to we refer to all of the bits of life that we have to mourn as we outgrow them by the same name. Our tendency to rename those moments, whether it be having to say goodbye to a friend, leaving a job, moving to a new city, ending a relationship, getting rid of the first piece of furniture you bought, doesn’t downplay the intensity with which we feel them.

I fought my ex-girlfriend for weeks on her idea to rearrange our bedroom. Did I think it would work out better? Yes. Was I itching for change? Absolutely. Did I appreciate that she wasn’t even asking me to help her do it but just to let it happen? So damn much! Was I fixated on the fact that her idea for a new layout left no room for the goofy-looking old lady couch that we bought together at the flea market a few months into her moving in? Absolutely, 100%, my primary concern in the matter. I looked at the couch and remembered excitedly wiggling in the passenger’s seat on the way home, tears welling up in my eyes as I thought about how happy I was to be living that moment.

I was so happy at that moment that I was so worried that letting go of the couch would mean letting go of that feeling, that memory. The thing was, it was already gone and it was time for the couch to be gone from our room as well. Everything eventually has to leave just as readily as it comes. Holding on to things past their expiration date only steals the space meant for new opportunities. I’ve struggled with this a lot in my life, though.

I don’t think I could ever get quite so far as becoming a hoarder, but I can certainly see where they are coming from. Sometimes letting go of something dives far deeper than the object itself. Letting go can feel like giving up, like losing hope. It requires you to turn your back on the familiar and step into the unknown, trusting it will work out. It’s okay for it to be difficult to grieve even the simplest of things. It’s only not okay when you start running from it.

For a long time, I was embarrassed by how deeply I felt. I would only cry behind closed doors and adamantly deny it if anyone heard. Now? If my favorite mug breaks you bet your ass I’m going to be sobbing. If I’m feeling particularly dramatic that day, I might even go so far as to give a speech, put it in a shoebox coffin, and lay some flowers atop the trash as I throw it out. Funerals are for the living, after all. I will grief whatever I need in whatever way feels right at the time.

I remember my grandmother dying and feeling guilty that I didn’t think I was upset enough. Why wasn’t I crying more? How dare my grief not look like those around me! At this point, I realize that with how distant I felt from her and how strange my relationship with her had been, it would have been incredibly disproportionate for me to be crying as hard as my father who had a much more complex array of emotions going on. That’s the thing about grief, it’s a very complicated and very personal process. It’s not going to look the same from one person to the next and is not even worth the comparison.

The more aware you become of what’s happening inside of yourself, the more easily you’ll be able to uncover the personalized process that works best for you. What have you been doing to build trust in yourself? Where is your level of self-awareness? Are you ready to allow yourself the opportunity to lean into your process?