Do you know how to grieve?
Yes, it’s a skill. Most of us don’t know how to grieve. We find every way we can to numb, to distract ourselves, to run away… or we let ourselves fall into despair because we’ve exhausted all of our resources and can’t help ourselves anymore.
We don’t grieve. We don’t know how…
We’re not taught how! If anything we’re taught not to.
I’m learning how to grieve now. It’s a slow process. A messy journey. There’s no clear guidelines. There’s no right way. I hate this… I can’t achieve this, I can’t perform, I can’t master it. It’s not something we do, it’s something we feel. It’s not glamorous, empowering or fun. It doesn’t look heroic or glorious or important for the rest of the world.
It doesn’t feel good. No, it feels gut-wrenching, heartbreaking, eyes-destroying, it feels like drowning from the inside out after a twisted curse was bestowed on us. It feels like being way too much and having nothing left at the same time. It feels like we’ll never see the sun again. It feels hollow, vertiginous, and bottomless. It feels like an everlasting ending no one will ever write the final word of. It feels like it will never stop.
And then suddenly, it stops... And when it does everything is different.
For at least a few seconds of respite, you can breathe into a space you had forgotten existed inside of you, you can look at the beauty of the world as if it was the first time you remembered it had been there all along, all around you. You don’t need to have anything and you feel like you are everything you need. That all is right again. That it all begins again.
If we don’t grieve, we don’t move on. It’s as simple as that. How interesting, isn’t it? That we were convinced that grieving would keep us stuck, when it’s the only thing that can set us free?
I’m learning to grieve lately… I’m finally in a place where I feel safe enough to do so. I’ve 38 years of heartbreaks to grieve now. It seems impossible, it feels terrifying, and I’m so grateful I can finally allow myself to do so. No matter how slowly. Even if Bully Brain kindly reminds me that, while I’m busy catching up with all those tears I’ve committed to start trying against its will, life will go on and “give me something more to cry about”.
“Leo, we don’t have time to grieve. We don’t have time to heal”. Bully Brain claims. “Don’t try to be free, you never will be; you’re broken. Let me help you forget you’re doomed. Let me bathe you in shame and torture you with a cruel brand of self-control I created especially against you. Let me make sure you never feel good enough ever again, this way you won’t try to escape my influence!--and I’ll be able to keep you safe the only way I know how”.
But Bully Brain and I have developed a good relationship over the years… I know better than yelling back at it to “shut up and let me fly”. I know Bully Brain’s trying to help… in its misguided way. I know the ego’s a terrified little child who needs guidance, love and compassion–not another reactive enemy.
So I explain to Bully Brain why I actually will try to be free… until I am! or until Life says it’s my time to stop breathing down here.
I explain to Bully Brain that we cannot break, because we are not a thing. We are souls who can never be hurt, ruined or permanently scarred at the level of being.
I explain that I will take this time to heal my body and my psyche and that it’s safe to do so–even if it doesn’t feel safe right now.
I explain that there’s always hope, because there’s always another chance, another prayer, another breath allowing us to start again.
And I’m showing Bully Brain how much more delectable, empowering and transformative a bath in compassion is, as compared to the one it had prepared for me in shame. I’m proving to Bully Brain that self-love will get us a lot further than self-control, while allowing us to be a lot kinder. Kinder to this world, kinder to those we share it with, and kinder to our lovely heart.
I reassure Bully Brain that I’m good enough even when I behave at my worst. Because, at the very least, I’m good enough to choose to apologize! and to change my behavior the minute I realize I stepped out of alignment and that someone, something, some part of me, is getting hurt.
And I promise Bully Brain that I’m not trying to escape and leave it all alone in a cold and scary world; I would never! I’m taking Bully Brain with me on this inner journey from Hell to Heaven, from fear to love, from the world we are afraid we’re living in… to the one we actually get to be a part of.
I explain to Bully Brain that it doesn’t have to keep ME safe, I’ll keep it safe. I know how now.
CARE.CHECK:
What is your relationship to grief? Do you fear it? Do you welcome it?
What is your relationship to your struggles? Do you bathe them in light, or chase them into the darkest corners of your body and mind?
What is your relationship to your own Bully Brain? Do you understand its call for love, or do you listen to its fearful attacks?
Do you have any questions for me? If so, please reach out. Grief is only lonely because we’ve misunderstood how important it is to live fully awake in an ever changing world and how precious our tears can be on our way to wholeness and integrity.
With kindness, love and light–because I truly believe they’re our most sacred offering to this world.
Always,
leo