4 Things that Helped on my Grief Journey

A few weeks ago I was asked about some of the things that have helped me the most on my grief journey and this has been on my mind ever since. I so often get really overwhelmed by the archetype of a therapist on social media (despite fully embracing this role, see: TikTok and Instagram) because I KNOW that what viewers and followers really want is a simple plan of action when in reality, the nuance of life’s struggles is really the meat of therapy. Life is so messy and so complicated and I know that even I am personally guilty of only skimming the bullet points of any media consumed in hopes of a step-wise plan for “how to…” I want simple. And friend, if you’ve ever experienced grief of any kind (and I know you have), you know that grief is just not simple. 

This question has me thinking a lot, though. It has me revisiting my own grief journey. Spoiler alert: it’s still not complete. I’m still grieving. I will never be done. Instead, I will simply internalize the newness of life without the ones I've lost as some of the grief becomes less searing. 

I lost my mother when I was 22. I was about to graduate from undergrad and embark on this new journey of post-grad adulthood. That was quickly thrown off course when my world was shattered. I don’t think that anyone’s grief is more significant or heavier than others, but this grief was HEAVY for me. When I say that my world was shattered, it was truly shattered. I am an only child and I grew up with the belief that my job was taking care of my parents, specifically my alcoholic mother. When I had made the choice to go far away for undergrad, I was wrecked with guilt and shame that I had not chosen a more codependent path. And now my “fun” of college was nearing an end and I had decided to move closer to home to take care of my mother. She had recently been diagnosed with breast cancer and was undergoing chemotherapy treatment, which was additionally, made complicated by her advanced cirrhosis from chronic alcoholism. 

So when I tried to get ahold of my mother and was unable to, I was frantic. I collapsed onto the floor in shock and devastating grief. Like someone had punched me in the stomach when I got the call.

Fast forward several weeks later, aimlessly sitting by my aunt and uncle’s pool in Waco, I received a call from one of my best friends from college. She had lost her mother when she was much younger and was currently going through a break up. “You should move to Atlanta!” she said. And so within the next two weeks, my car was packed, my cat was strapped into the front seat, and I was moving to Atlanta. 

Here’s where my real grief journey begins. 

As I’ve been thinking about how to answer the question, “what’s helped me the most on my grief journey?” I am reminded of these four things. 

1. Be messy with grief

   I couldn’t have told you at the time, but my move across the country to Atlanta allowed me to be extra messy. I knew basically one person. I had no job. I had no plan. I was completely untethered. I often think that if one of my clients, deep in grief at a young age, suggested that they were moving across the country to a city they had never been to, with no plan at all, I would do anything in my power to stop them. What an absolutely unhinged idea! But it was one of the best things I could have had. 
   
   I think about this one particular night occasionally. I had made two friends, and the four of us were getting ready to go out. I was getting ready at my friend’s apartment and trying on different outfits and having a COMPLETE meltdown. I couldn’t tell you the exact reason why. If my memory serves me correctly it was about the way my pants were fitting. But it doesn’t really matter. I was just dripping in grief. And instead of trying to make that process clean or linear, I just allowed myself to be extra messy. 
   
   My therapist at that time was a powerfully nurturing older Jewish woman who had explained to me that the standard bereavement period in traditional Jewish culture was a year. This was a relief because I was completely incapacitated for that first year. 
   
   I realize that this is a privilege, but I did not get a full-time job, I did not have to present myself well, and I hardly even made any friends. (Funny enough, one of my best friends to this day was made during my short and grief-stricken time in Atlanta.) I was just messy with grief. 

2. Read this book 

   A good friend from high school gave me the book, “The Year of Magical Thinking” by Joan Didion. There was no way she could have known what a support it ended up being. It felt like I was on a grief desert island most of the time in those first few years. No one I knew could have understood me, I thought. 
   
   And then, I read this book. 
   
   I recently read through some of the Amazon reviews and was so disappointed to read of the readers' accusations of Didion’s privilege. Maybe that’s the case. Maybe I should read this book again with a more critical eye. But I don’t think I will. Because I want to hold onto the memories of feeling so held and comforted and witnessed by this book, late at night, nearly delirious with insomnia, tears streaming down my cheeks. 
   
   I don’t want that memory to be tarnished.
   
   Maybe it’s the book. But maybe it’s ANY book. Maybe it’s the experience of having someone else put into words what you are just too overwhelmed and exhausted to. 
   
   If you hated the book, don’t let me know. I’ll be snuggling up with it mentally for the rest of my days. 
   

3. This grief framework

   One of the associates that I supervise recently told me about a grief framework that I absolutely love. Of course, I didn’t have this framework at the time, but what I loved so much about it was that it wasn’t a linear, step-wise progression for how to move through grief. 
   
   There are plenty of grief frameworks out there; and for me, I often felt like I was grieving incorrectly if I wasn’t going through the steps one at a time. 
   
   If you are like me, grief is chaotic and haphazard, and I couldn’t possibly put an experience in order. 
   
   Enter “Worden’s Four Tasks of Mourning”. This feels like such a compassionate approach to the chaotic nature of grief. 

Task 1: To Accept the Reality of the Loss

Task 2: To Process the Pain of Grief

Task 3: To Adjust to a World Without the Deceased

Task 4: To Find an Enduring Connection With the Deceased in the Midst of Embarking on a New Life

4. And with Task 4, I’m reminded of the final thing that has helped me on my grief journey. A spiritual practice that allows me to feel connected to my mother. 

I heard a thing recently from Joe Dispenza (I have no idea if this is true, but I don’t think I care if it is!), that people were asked to pray over some sick and hospitalized people. One group of hospitalized people were prayed over and one was not. The one that was prayed over had a significantly higher rate of improvement. Here’s the catch: the hospitalized people were hospitalized like 20 years prior. Praying for a group of people now actually improved their chance of recovery 20 years ago. 

Mindblowing.

Again, I have no idea if this is true or if I even did this study justice in my own description. That’s ok. It doesn't really matter to me. Because just the act of believing that time is not linear is a comfort to me. That my mom does still exist in the present moment, even if in my present moment, she has left her body. 

I’m not a spiritual teacher. I would never suggest a specific spiritual practice to my clients (though, we do often talk about spiritual things). But personally, I have found few things as comforting as my own spiritual practice. 

I have allowed myself to open up to feel connected to The Universe. To connect to Source. Which has allowed me to feel connected to my mom, even though she’s not here anymore. That’s deeply comforting to me. 

I could wax poetic about my entire spiritual practice, but I’m not sure I need to or that it would benefit anyone. I think I will just leave you at, it has been personally deeply comforting to me. If you are called to, I invite your own personal exploration of your connection with a spiritual practice. 

So that’s it. That’s a little about my grief journey. It’s probably not transformation in a discrete way. There aren’t any steps to get you un-grief-stricken. Grief doesn’t work that way. Grief is chaotic and messy. It’s OK if you are too.