What you believe about grief could be getting in the way of your healing

I’d rather be stoic than lose control.

I don’t have time for grief.

I have too many people relying on me to fall apart now.

Letting myself cry means I’m wallowing in my grief.

It’s selfish to take time for myself.

I have better things to do than sit here all day and be sad.

Grief is meant to be kept private.

Expressing my feelings is a sign of weakness.

I’m not helping anyone by being so sad.

One of the things that can keep us stuck in expressing our grief is the stories we tell ourselves about grieving…about what it means to be sad…what it looks like to the outside world if we admit how broken and lost we truly feel…who we’ll be letting down…who might think we’re pathetic, crazy or incapable of functioning if we sit with all our tears. 

Most of us do not have models of healthy grief. All we know is what we’ve seen and experienced, what we’ve taken from the journeys of other grievers about how grief is done. We may have internalized so many messages (the pervasive “men don’t cry” comes to mind) that we don’t realize how they might be sabotaging or keeping us detached from fully processing and integrating our losses.

I invite you to think about the messages you’ve heard about grief and sadness in your life. You may even wish to write them down. When you think about your own grief journey, what do you allow and not allow in the context of these messages? What are the stories you tell yourself when grief wants your attention, when sadness rises, thickens in your throat? Is there a pattern you recognize? Does it feel true to who you are and how you wish to show up to honor your person and your grief?

Who would you be if you gave your sorrow space, chose to walk for however long you needed in its company, let your weeping and your longings be? Would you judge and shame yourself, like you may have seen done to others, or would you extend yourself kindness, hold your grieving body with care, be soft and gentle with the ache, welcome what you need?

Because to do so isn’t indulgence or weakness. It’s not wrong or foolish or self-centered or any of the other things we may be tempted to say.

To acknowledge our grief and the immensity of our loss, and to be intentional with the time we carve out to check in with ourselves, to feel into the heart of our yearning and missing, to presence ourselves in our forever-altered life —that is a gift of self-compassion. 

And it is one every griever deserves, even amidst — and perhaps more especially so — the busyness of life. When the world puts its timestamp on grief, when everything around us seems to suggest the return to familiar rhythms, when our tears and sadness have outworn their welcome among friends, co-workers, even family — staying true to our own unique grief journey is an act of love. We root, foremost, in love for ourselves but also for our person, who will become more connected to us, more woven into our everyday, the greater our willingness to follow our grief, to trust in its wisdom and its healing.