Today's Thoughts on Grief and Loss

A dear friend and I were talking about grief today and she asked me the following: "I was thinking, do most people live with these intense feelings and just adjust to them better? Or do some of us have a genetic predisposition to feel things very intensely? It seems like some people just cope better without trying so hard. I don't know. Tired of being tired today. But I do know we'll be ok and keep moving forward. It will all be worth it one day! Trying to find the nuggets of joy in amongst all the struggle is a challenge, but those nuggets are there!"

This was my response: "I think most people try to run from their feelings.  They throw themselves into their work or other activities--some embrace alcohol or drugs--anything to silence their thoughts and to prevent 'alone time' with their brains and their feelings.  Some people compartmentalize their losses and 'lock them away'.  That all leads to its own very real challenges down the line, though.  Repressed grief (and trauma) often emerges in other ways, eating disorders, depression, anxiety, irritability and anger, there are all sorts of heartbreaking ways that it can destroy a person from the inside out. 

Unfortunately, as Americans, we are expected to always put on a happy face and to not talk about things that make others 'uncomfortable'.  Loss, trauma, grief, rape, domestic violence--so many things we are expected to stay silent about for the comfort of others--which is really messed up when you think about it. AND it's super unhealthy.  We are expected to suffer in silence which is really the worst thing that you can do.  People are expected to 'move on', 'get over it', or to simply stay silent to avoid making others uncomfortable--which leads to a huge chain of problems--also, as humans we learn by watching others.  If all other humans hide their grief and traumas, that's what we try to do, too.  It's all so unhealthy.

As a trauma and grief therapist for over 20 years now, I can tell you that I have seen some very heartbreaking things over buried grief and trauma.  It leads to divorce, estranged family members, and other ugliness.  The healthiest thing you can do is to talk honestly about it. Be open about it. And encourage others to be open about their own grief.  It's very healing and healthy to be open about grief and trauma. These things DO need talked about and shared. Consider yourself a pioneer in the journey to healthy loss handling--you will do better than others in this simply because of your openness and honesty.  I see it as a gift when we share these things with others and invite them to be real in their own feelings, as well. The mistake we make is saying that we are doing good and painting on a smile when we are breaking inside.  Sure, others can walk away thinking 'wow, they healed quickly--how nice' but it doesn't help anybody.  

This is also why some folks will run and hide from us after a significant loss or trauma, as well.  When we are in touch with our feelings, sometimes it forces others into feeling their own buried losses.  It is easier for some folks to just stay away from us or to get angry when we are open.  And for folks that have never experienced a deep loss or had trauma--they are super confused by those of us that are open about our feelings--it's so foreign to be 'open'--they will sometimes express anger or stay away because they don't understand and it's uncomfortable.

Hopefully all of that makes sense.  Most people do NOT adjust better--they simply hide their feelings or lock them away.  I can tell you that with many of my therapy folks, I have sessions with them two or three times a week and they would gladly take daily therapy sessions if I offered them.  They spend each of those sessions crying and struggling so that they can put on their 'happy faces' and 'stay strong' for the other people in their lives--whether it is their spouses, their kids (including adult children), friends, coworkers, etc.  I always encourage them to be more open, to allow their grief to be part of who they are, they hurt themselves so much more by putting on these facades and then breaking down in private or with me, as their therapist.

Honestly?  I do it, too.  I cry in the shower where others can't hear. I have learned to sob silently and without outward display--I can cry and cry and cry without the people around me even realizing it.  The guy I was with when my mom was murdered once asked me if I used my mom as an excuse to cry because yes, I cried nonstop and really struggled.  In 2010, which would have been my mom's 60th birthday (she died at age 42), I struggled greatly.  During this time, my dad tried to have me involuntarily committed to a lifelong state hospital as I was seeking a PFA (Protection From Abuse) from an abusive partner.  Part of his justification in having me committed?  Because I 'cry over my dead mom' (this was one of the things that he wrote in the 302 report and the "therapists" there that he reached out to that were part of his attempt to have me committed apparently ALSO felt crying over my dead mom was worthy of lifelong hospitalization--how about that???).  When our mom was murdered, he forbid us kids from talking about our mom--even right after it happened. He woke my brothers up in the middle of the night--they were 9 and 13--told them that her second husband murdered her and then left them alone with their thoughts in the middle of the night, they still had to go to school the next morning.  That was our reality. We weren't allowed to cry or talk about it.  We were taught that tears and grieving were wrong. And this is the message that most of us get throughout our lifetime--feelings are BAD. Grief is bad. Anger is bad. Tears are bad. And then we wonder why America has anger issues and can't get along...

People often don't understand grief until it happens to them and then they feel alone with their feelings because their grief looks so different than everyone else's.  It's pretty sad and heartbreaking that we are so apt to run from our feelings and to hide them.  I guess that's why I do try to talk about those things more openly.  And I am so glad and proud to see you openly sharing your grief journey.  If we all chose that path, we could all heal.  Grief is a natural part of life--none of us can hide from it forever. But learning how to share that and be open about it is the best gift you can give others.  I would not be surprised if people begin coming to you for help through their own grief challenges--I am guessing that is already happening--or if you actually end up as a grief counselor down the road--for your church or otherwise.   Helping others also helps bring meaning and purpose to our own losses and traumas and as we heal others, we heal, too. 

That's so awesome that your daughter came to you! This, too, is one of the gifts that we receive when we are open about our grief--we have more communication with those that have passed.  When we close down all of those parts of ourselves, we also close off the ability to get those messages and that's very sad, too.  Grief is hard, my friend.  The deeper the love, the deeper the grief and it will always be a part of us.  You are on the healthiest path of healing and I am so grateful for that. Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise or tell you that you need to 'move on' or any other garbage. There is no 'moving on'--you can only 'move through' grief.  We each handle it in our own way, but I can say that your way is the one that will allow you to feel the best that you are able and that you are moving through your grief in a good way. Don't worry if your path appears different.  Grief looks different for all of us."

And just a general posting/response that also happened, today: "It's definitely been a hard year on so many levels and these past months have been just insane with grief, loss, and struggling. From losing my childhood best friend unexpectedly in October (she was 48) and losing two more very young friends unexpectedly to COVID-19 one was 37, the other was 44, all within four weeks; one of my dearest aunts two weeks after them; the two year anniversary of losing my grandma on 12/14/19 + the three year anniversary of losing one of my dearest friends on 12/20/18 + losing my sweet ferret, Sumo, in-between on 12/18/21; the hard losses that so many of my friends and loved ones are going through right now (losing their parents, children, pets, their homes, divorce, all of the things); trying to cope with my health issues over this past year; the holidays and the normal sad that comes with them--some of you know and understand my absolute hatred of November and my desire to just skip over it on every single level--even if it does include stuffing and pumpkin pie; being a grief and trauma therapist and all of the loss/ grief/ trauma that is happening to my clients and all around us--I'm honestly struggling.

Heck, I'm nowhere near over my losses from this past May. And I am apparently still struggling with the losses from 2016. When I had my doctor appointments at the Cleveland Clinic last week, they asked about the trauma from 2016 and I just burst into tears and couldn't even talk about it--I didn't see that coming and was mortified that I broke into tears like that. I would have expected that more when asked about 2010. The weight of this year and the past months is heavy, indeed. I feel like all I have done this year is cry and these past three months have definitely added some extra blows that I wasn't prepared for and am still struggling with on so many levels.

I don't mean to wallow, I just feel lost in this grief and with it comes so much anger, confusion, and yes, tears. Not to mention, with the loss of my health, I lost so many of my normal coping skills--writing is one of the few that I still have left. As a result, the ugly sometimes comes out as word vomit. Apparently today is one of those days. I apologize for that. This may also be why I haven't been online as much, too. Whatever 2021 has been, I will not be sad to see it go."  

Measuring in "Mom Years"

A dear friend shared this today and it sent me down some weird road of thoughts.  I decided to share them here.  SIDE NOTE: This friend also lost her mother when her mom was 42; my friend was 24 and pregnant with her first/only child at the time and struggled greatly.  We actually met each other exactly one week after her mom died and it may have been the first real healing that I had with my own loss, even though we met seventeen years after I lost my own mom.  We sort of navigated being "motherless daughters" together and she is absolutely one of my closest and dearest friends, to this day.  At any rate, this is what she posted: "I think when someone you love dies, at an early age, you learn how short life is and how precious your time is. I always think I'm terms of how many years till I'm 42...  I don't have much time to waste on temporary people/ situations. Like I realize I could live to be old, but also I could not... anyways I'm officially on one of those self-discovery journeys people have."

I can relate.  My maternal grandmother died at 41 (I was ten months old), my mom died at 42 (I was 19).  The running joke (not joke) was that if I made it to 44, I would officially break the cycle (I am now almost 48). 42 was super hard--not because I was aging, but because it really hit home how young my mom was when her life was cut short.  She was just a babe, really--so young. 43 was even harder--I had officially outlived my mom.  To be honest, I never even expected to make it to 40--let alone 48.  But 42 and 43 were so very, very hard just because of the realization of how young she really was when she died.

After reading "Motherless Daughters" by Hope Edelman, it all made sense... Why my mom sort of went "wild" in 1991.  She had just hit 41--the age her own mother died at.  She gave her kids to our dad, she sold everything she owned, and she took off to CA with a 24 year old man that would kill her a year and a half later--it was all so out of character for her and it broke all of our hearts.  "Motherless Daughters went into depth with this phenomenon--I guess it is exceedingly common to sort of "break" the closer we get to the age of their death. It is a documented struggle for most women and for many men when they reach the age that their father passed, as well.  I had no idea.  And neither did my mom--she was just doing what felt right at the time.

Being aware of this phenomenon can help break the pattern.  I was keenly aware as I hit 41 that I may make bad choices, odd choices, or have a "mid-life crisis" of sorts--so I was able to monitor my own activities and keep myself in check.  The truth is it all messes with your head so hard, from so many different directions.  Grief is complicated as it is--add in this junk and you can legit lose your mind.  I don't share these things to suggest that her experience will be the same--I share them because I have stood in similar shoes--it's hard as hell.  And absolutely, it gives you a unique perspective on life--maybe even a better perspective, because you do understand how short and how fleeting it all is.  

I am sharing because my friend is not alone and there are many of us out there.  That was how I measured years, as well--since my mom died, everything in my life has been measured in "mom years".  When I hit 33--I was keenly aware that my mom had three kids at that age and also had a stroke. Even now, when I watch older shows like The Patty Duke show or Bewitched, I automatically do the math and think about how old my mom would have been when each episode aired and what she may have been doing at that age.  When I scroll through movie choices and see the year each one was released--I automatically ask, was my mom still alive? Did she have a chance to see this movie? If it is after her death, I am keenly aware of the movies and shows she would have enjoyed and feel sorrow that she did not have a chance to enjoy them.  I think this is part of grief--I don't know if other folks do it to the extent that I do, but the reality is there isn't a day that goes by without some reminder of what we have lost.  I think the reality is that it never stops hurting--we just learn how to function better as time passes...

Eleven Years Later...

There have been so many good posts, sayings, and such floating around in my Facebook newsfeed lately. I'm going to share a few that especially resonated with me:

When I was going through the PFA process and had hoped for my family's support--primarily my dad's support--I was turned away.  I finally told my dad on April 10, 2010 that until he can actually, TRULY, see me, hear me, and know me for who I am, he can't be in my life (*spoiler--getting to know who I am was apparently too much to ask).  That conversation was also before he did and said some very horrible things that ensured he would never be in my life again--tomorrow is the 11 year anniversary of that trauma and leaving my paternal family behind (there is no maternal family--so in truth, I lost all of my family with that event).  My paternal family didn't truly know me in my youth or as a teen--yet I was so often the scapegoat for the entire family (not just my brothers, but my cousins, too) and they STILL, to this day, believe I am the person that they decided I was 30+ years ago.  The wretched thing? I was never that person then, either.  It's seemingly always been what best fits their narrative of who they want me to be and what works to make them look better as people. A couple of examples--when I lived with my father, the middle brother would frequently do things like staying out all night--I would get grounded, not him.  The reason? I was the oldest and set the bad example.  He would stay out all night, no consequences--but I would get grounded for a week because of what he did--not once, not twice--regularly.  In 2001, a family member left her husband for another man.  Somehow the family turned it into me getting her into drugs and that was why she left her husband--not that she and her husband had marital problems--my family managed to even make things like that MY fault. The funny thing? She didn't do drugs then and neither did I, but somehow it was all still my fault.  This has been my reality for 47 years, so obviously--they should all have less issues with me removed, right? At least that seems logical to me... If I am the problem, and I am removed from the equation, they should all have lovely pleasant lives now.  Even though I have removed myself these past eleven years--it still gets back to me the nasty things said and apparently I am still to blame.  Why would anyone want to go back into that type of relationship?

April 22, 2010 was when I discovered that the family's negative perception of me was all much deeper, much worse than I could have ever guessed--honestly, the pain of knowing what they deeply believed about me was all was too much.  Even with 36 years of pain and hurt from them prior to that day--that was the grand finale of what I could handle.  2010 is when it all finally reached a head and I put my foot down and said "no more"--but that's also when my own healing started... Eleven years now, I have been without a "family".  But I am so much better off without the emotional damages keeping them in my life brought.  It's extremely damaging to have a family and parent that make you out to be a villain and the root of all family evils--that has been my role since birth and to this day, I have no idea why.  But I am grateful that I was finally able to walk away.  Obviously, deep scars still remain and probably always will, but my life is much more peaceful now and their absence from my life feels more natural and less painful these days--that's a blessing, too. I missed them terribly in the beginning; I begged them to see things from my perspective--apparently, that wasn't an option and I did finally give up trying.  My entire life had been spent trying to gain their approval, their love, their understanding--simply for them to see me, hear me, and to know me for who I am--not the narrative that they had created.  It's amazing how difficult (and sometimes impossible) it can be to change those family dynamics--especially when you are the only one that seems to want the dynamics to change.

The truth is, there are so many people that will hurt us deeply throughout our life--partners, friends, coworkers, even random strangers--but nothing compares to the pain that our family can cripple us with.  We see other folks with loving, supportive families and we wonder why we can't have that, too.  The unconditional support and love of a family is what we hear about all of our lives--but not all of us have been shown that support and love. As children especially, we internalize it and think that it is because we aren't lovable. So we try harder, we adopt hobbies that they enjoy thinking maybe they will spend time with us, we go out of our way to be the best human we can be, because at some point they may love us, accept us, or even be proud of us.  Many of us become overachievers because just one more accomplishment may be what makes that love and support finally happen--but the flip side is that we can't be happy with any of our own accomplishments when we are doing them for someone else and they don't even care.  It all feels hollow--we are left feeling empty--there becomes a void within us that we struggle to fill with anything (food, sex, material possessions, anything to either help us feel momentarily "full" or to blank out the emptiness and make it hurt less).  This cycle can go on forever and for some folks it goes on until their dying breath.  At what point is it acceptable for us to have had enough?  At what point does the rest of the world understand when we finally say "enough" and walk away? At what point does the world understand that we cannot continue to function with that level of pain?

It's funny, when I was with the PFA-partner, those relationship patterns and dynamics were still playing out on another level.  I gave him everything and tried so hard to make him happy--for him to love me and be happy with me.  He took and took, giving out abuse in return--in my eyes, if I just tried harder it would get better--he would quit hurting me and would love me as much as I loved him.  But it wasn't until he destroyed every shred of my self-esteem, my love for him, and my sanity that I walked away--and just like that, as I was leaving--he suddenly decided I had worth, he suddenly saw me as "his soulmate", he wanted me in his life more than anything--but it was too late.  So very too late.  Too much damage had been done and I had nothing left to give him.  Sadly, I only had value in his eyes after I became unattainable.  But it is funny, how similar those overall dynamics were to the dynamics within my family.  I was enemy number one while I was present and in the relationship with the PFA-ex--after leaving, something was missed about me--I think it was having me as a whipping post; having something/someone to hurt was what he missed most.  The love-blasting only lasted with him as long as he thought there was a chance that I would move back in with him and he would have his "cash cow" back--when he realized that the love-blasting wasn't working, I wasn't coming back, it got even uglier and that's when the PFA process was forced to begin.  

With my family, there was no "love-blasting" after I left--they took it as confirmation that I was all the bad things that they had believed all along with me.  "See? See how horrible she is? Look at what she is doing to her own family!"  It was actually my youngest brother that started with me not existing within the family.  For the next year, my youngest brother withheld my nephews from me, but he did invite my PFA-ex to family events instead. If I was present, my youngest brother actually pretended that I wasn't there--if I spoke, he ignored me--if I looked at him, he looked elsewhere--as far as he was concerned, I did not exist.  He also said and did some pretty terrible things during that time that cut me to the bone.  As for my father, he refused to talk to me about what had happened--he refused to hear how any of it felt for me--he chose to tell me instead that he was the hero of the story and it's too bad I couldn't see that, too.  What choice did they leave me? A person can only try for so long.  It's pretty simple: 

My father says that I am bitter, vindictive, and other lovely things--those are the reasons that he seems to believe that I stay away.  They still don't see how the years of hurts, harsh words, and false accusations were too much. They can't see how the events and the way that they treated me through 2010 and 2011 were the "enough" that I needed to finally walk away from the pain.  Again, they can't see me, hear me, or know me for who I am.  My absence is the only sane option that I can see at this point--it's a matter of self-preservation.  There is no accountability on their end--just me being "too sensitive", "bullshit" being the answer when I have tried to explain how and why I was hurt, or other reasons why my feelings were invalid or wrong.  Throughout my life, attempts to explain my feelings or show them who I am have been met with such resistance that it's really surprising that I even tried for the 36 years that I did.  People don't get to hurt you and then also tell you that you aren't allowed to be hurt by what they did--what reality does that come from?  When they hurt you and then try to tell you that you shouldn't be hurt, it adds another layer of pain--after so long, the layers become too deep and the only choice is to walk away from them and the pain they repeatedly cause you.  I understand that we all need to be the hero in the story, but when we destroy other people to become that hero, we can't be upset when they leave us without looking back.

But this is all another reason that I am so grateful for the others like me out there, the ones that share their story, too--the ones that share the quotes in this post.  Knowing that I am not alone and that there are others out there that "get it" and don't treat me poorly for walking away from my family are a huge blessing.  It gets so exhausting when well-meaning people say "But they are your family, they love you, you have to forgive them, you have to spend time with them..." Those folks haven't walked in my shoes, they have no idea what any of this has felt like from my perspective, they just don't know.  They weren't around for the tears, the heartbreak, they don't hear or see me, either.  To me, the friends that understand and support me in what I had to do are invaluable.  I may not have been able to find the love and support I needed in my birth family, but I have found it in other folks like myself.  And I walk so many of my clients and friends through similar challenges--I have always tried to use my own hurts to help others--it's the only way to turn darkness into light.  I hope they are able to eventually find inner-peace and love, too.  And these days, my accomplishments are for me--nobody else and I no longer keep people that hurt me, no matter who they are. Until then, I have a new goal, myself:

My family doesn't define who or what I am.  Only I can do that.  They can say they know me, they can think they know me--but they don't. They never have.  It isn't that I did not invite them into my life--I did over and over and over--it was all that I ever wanted for so much of my lifetime. It is that they chose not to be here.  These days I am okay with that.  It still sucks on many levels, but overall--I see where I am better off now.  It's not unlike when I finally gained freedom from the PFA-ex and there was nothing in this world that would make me want to go back to that pain and abuse--it is better here where their attempts to hurt me are less like swords and knives, but are more like pin pricks and papercuts...

My youngest brother and I do speak now, but it is still rare.  I think we have mostly moved beyond the events from 2010-2011, but I am not sure that we can ever return to where we were before that.  He was my best friend and I looked at him more like my own child than a brother and his children were my world--now? We still have some good conversations; I think he sees those events more clearly now--he has even apologized on some levels for his parts in it, but he also still struggles with feeling stuck in the middle of the family rift.  These days he lives 1000 miles away, so chances to repair the relationship are much more difficult, as well. I have never even met his 4 1/2 year old daughter; I haven't seen my nephews since January 2014--we have all grown, changed, and are separated on most levels.

As for my dad, he has four kids and four grandchildren, these days.  I live twenty miles away, but it could be on the other side of the planet, at this point.  He did send me a Christmas card in 2020 that was nicer--no lectures, no nastiness--just a simple "Merry Christmas"--I do see that as progress on his part.  He has a son with three grandchildren 1000 miles away; another son 600+ miles away; plus another daughter 350 miles away, but he didn't even acknowledge her when she lived 10 miles away from him--so their nonexistent relationship now is no surprise. He still sees two of us as an extension of himself, but he does seem to be proud of them now; as for the other two of us, one doesn't exist in his eyes at all and I gave up trying eleven years ago.  Again, what were the other options? He stated so many times while we were growing up that if we were fish he would flush us down the toilet, so I guess it is no surprise that we are all so far away physically, emotionally, and in most manners.  While I accept that he may have tried his best to be a father--he reminded us repeatedly that he would have preferred to not try at all.  Maybe sometimes those types of wishes do get answered...