What if Grief was Love?
There are questions that feel like they could end us. But what if there were actually the beginning of a whole new chapter? Here's a gentle invitation to await the answer.
Hello my caring friend,
What is your relationship with sadness? With… grief?
With what’s not working?
With what feels hard or confusing or unnecessary?
Mine needs healing… So I thought I would write to you about it, hoping that what I uncover might resonate for you and validate what you might also be experiencing.
I wrote about my reconection to anger here. It was the very beginning of my journey—or should I say dance—with this energy I had feared and ran away from my entire life. It is still a dance that feels more arduous than fun to me, and yet I’ve begun to feel the love and freedom that anger brings through, for, and even around me.
Anger was never the problem. My misunderstanding of its messages was. My inability to ground and listen prevented me from witnessing the unmet needs and the shattered boundaries that anger was shining upon. The flames of that particular fire felt too overpowering for me to realize that I was not asked to jump in it and burn. I was only invited to marvel at the strength and power of fierce love.
And now I’m learning that grief is not a dark sea I am about to drown in… It’s a sacred body of water willing and able to wash me anew, to shake me until I shed all that no longer serves, and to cleanse me of all this hurt, all this doubt, all these fears, so that all of me can be used for my dream to take root, to grow, to blossom.
I am good at surviving. And I am good at helping others. This is why I loved the idea of a hero journey so much. To be the martyr who endures and triumphs, in the name of others and a cause. That felt like a good use of a broken heart. Back when I believed that hearts and people could be broken. When I believed that, among us, there were those who are meant to feel love and find joy, and those who are meant to compensate for the sins of a species that has lost its way.
I don’t believe any of this anymore.
I believe that we are a drop of goodness in an ocean of infinite love and grace. I believe we are all that we need and that we are made of light—a light that we are meant to bring into this world. I believe that our heart is the strongest part of us and that it cannot ever be broken; it can’t even be wounded or bruised.
It will however be fiercely protected by our entire inner world, because it is the most precious part of us. Our body, our parts, our defense mechanisms, our nervous system are wired to protect our heart first and foremost. And if that means we’re losing access to it? That’s a price that must be paid without a second thought. So our heart ends up surrounded by chains, meant to protect it from everyone, from anything that would try to enter before we’ve made sure that we are 100% safe, that we’re shielded and that we’re whole.
The sad thing is that we can only feel safe and whole when our heart is open and accessible! The sad thing is that we can never feel whole and safe when our heart is shielded. That’s an impossible goal, that’s a hopeless pursuit, you see. That’s neither the way in nor the way out! That’s the reason we feel lost, fragile, alone.
I wrote about this in depth here and this idea that our path has to be dedicated to free our heart, through the chain-breaking process. Because our emotions have been vilified, we don’t let ourselves feel them anymore. So our pains and unprocessed grief are turned into chains locked closely around our hearts that suffocate and shrink, imprisoned by those iron soldiers. Those misguided soldiers who want to protect us from harm, without realizing that their protection is creating the harm in the first place.
And every time a chain breaks, all the sorrow, the aching, the anger, the grief we were trying to escape from is freed in our bodies and we believe that something terribly wrong has happened! But on the contrary, we’re finally feeling what we are meant to feel. We’re letting those fascinating vibrations run through our veins, through our bodies, through our awareness and into our heart, where they can be alchemized into love, into wisdom, into what sets us free.
Grief has a bad rep and is seen at best as a downer, at worst as a killer. Few remember that grief is actually a teacher and more importantly an anchor.
When we anchor in grief, we anchor in our truth. When we anchor in our truth, we anchor in love. Grief is not an obstacle on the way forward, grief is our way home.
Grief is what happens when we feel separated from Love. And grief is not here to drive us off course even more! Grief is here to show us the way back.
I didn’t know that before. I’m learning this everyday now.
And it’s not an easy paradigm shift. It requires trust I’m not sure I have. It requires vulnerability, which is not my favorite brand of magic spells.
It also requires courage and faith... And it requires love.
I wrote about Courage last week. I learned my way into courage the day I realized that Fear is the gateway to it. I didn’t label it as courage though—and I still don’t because, like most of us, I’ve been tricked into labeling bravado and denial as courage, when nothing could be further away from it. So I never feel “courage”—I mostly feel scared—but I’m told times and times again that I embody it. Faith got me through all I went through. I guess it was the gift I received from my fairy godmother on the cold January morning I entered this world. And I’m still learning to understand what Love is, what Love means, what love feels like! But there’s one thing I know for sure, the places where I’ve reconnected with Love the most were places flooded by grief.
So I guess Fear is the lighthouse of Courage… and Grief is the lighthouse of healing.
I was 13 years old when it happened. It was the end of a long school day and I was sitting on a cold metallic bench, wondering if Spring would ever come back, as Winter seemed unwilling to relinquish its grasp on those early days of April. With my green Eastpak at my feet, I was waiting for my best friend, Alice, trying to not think about the ruins that were waiting for me at home. Trying to not believe that one of the most important adults in my life had died a few days ago, that one of my greatest—if not my only—sources of grown-up love had dried up, and was never to flow again. Not even for a minute, not even for a hug. Not even to say goodbye... I’d missed my chance. And I missed her with all my exhausted body. So here I was waiting for Alice to come out for us to take a few steps together before we had to say goodbye, before it all became real again, before I had to go “home”. I felt a smile warm up my face when I saw her, her untied blond hair wrestling with the wind! But I stopped smiling quickly, because her face did not look warm. Her eyes would not meet mine, and she started fidgeting. She had something to tell me, she explained. She was sorry, she wanted me to know that, eagerly. Because she couldn’t be my friend anymore, she finally admitted. Her mum had advised her not to, because “your life is too sad leo, you see, and that’s not good for me.” I don’t remember much after that. I remember the hollowness mostly. I feel it as I write to you now. I feel it as I try to breathe into the experience of that younger part of me, who learned that day that if something horrible happens, you will also get punished for it.
I learned that sadness is bad, that day. Not in itself; I never believed that. But I learned that if anyone learns that I have sadness in me, they will leave me. I also learned that everyone I truly loved would leave me, no matter what I said or felt or did. It seemed like the obvious lesson I was meant to learn that year. And I’ve always prided myself on being a good student.
I learned that tears are dangerously off putting, and my mother helped me remember this daily, as she forbade me to cry or to show any sign of grief. If I did, I would not get to attend the funerals. If I did, I would be reminded of what happens when Mommy isn’t pleased. And I didn’t really want to add any more daily pain to my experience... I felt pretty full with sadness already. I felt like I had my share of pain to carry. I wasn’t sure I could take much more. I felt like I was utterly alone and that hope had been murdered in front of me. I felt like no one cared and, in many ways, it was true. No one really cared, apart from those who had made it very clear that they would stop caring, if I started crying.
So I buried all of this where I could. Deep in my body. I buried this, and it only resurfaced when I would drink alcohol or if I had found enough soothing in overworking, oversugaring, masochistic codependent patterns, or by projecting my pain on someone else. Indeed, mourning someone else’s tragedy felt like a great way to make sure that mine would remain concealed, and shamed, exiled in the dark corners of my psyche.
Until very recently, I had not noticed the war that was still raging inside of me, between the waves of grief trying to reach the surface and break free, and all my inner system fighting back with metallic walls, wildfires and a tornado of “doing”—keeping my parts away from any real connection with other humans or with my own soul.
When I started my healing journey, I reconnected with my story first. I started reading the pages of the Book Of Me, and realized that it was not a very happy tale—and that I might need to start paying attention to the devastation, if I ever wanted to rebuild a home for myself. I learned about self-creation. I learned about self-care. I found my way back to singing and that was my saving grace. I started writing again and that became a rainbow I can rest under when it rains. I reconnected to the magic of the world, the sacredness of Nature, the benevolence of Life. I realized I was not alone anymore and I started finding the Earth angels I needed to lean on, while I recovered. I met my closest friends. I met my coach. I met my body. I met my true voice.
And after three years of commitment to chain breaking, I met my heart.
I understand now that the hero journey was not what I thought it would be. It’s not about epic battles and triumphant martyrdom. It’s about ego redesign. It’s about humility, self-care, intentional promises and self-creation. And it’s about grief.
I now need to learn how to grieve. And I need to find the strength to not only do it in hiding.
Last week, I realized that part of the reason why grief is a gateway to healing is because it reunites us with our two foundational human needs. Connection and authenticity. I love the authenticity part, I’m a truth teller. It feels like integrity to me. However, the connection part terrifies me. It’s easier to be authentic on this page or in a song. I can hide into the words, into the notes, behind the fact that through all this you get to know the deepest part of me and yet, it’s not really about me anymore. Once I surrender my experience to Creativity, it’s about our oneness, our shared essence… not about what enlivens or unravels me. It’s about what unites us, not about what individuates me.
And the thing is, I need help! To hold all of this grief… To revisit all that happened, and to make sense of what should never have happened and yet happene—sometimes, often, mostly, daily. I need help to sort through my projections, my ingrained patterns, my trauma bonds and about what, in my story, is who I am not and who I’m meant to finally be.
I need my friends to know me, I need my coach to witness and guide me. I need my parts to know that they can let me know about all of their burdens, and that I will stay here and love them through it. I need them to know that those I surround myself with will never abandon us either! That if they “leave”, it will be because it’s time for us to part, not because something dreadful happened to me, not because I made one mistake, not because I held one unhappy thought publicly.
I need to be able to show this darkness under my skin that I wrote about here, because that’s how people will be able to see the starry night that lies within me.
Last week, I told one of my dearest friends about the fact that I’m hiding my sadness from her and… she didn’t run away! She was relieved. Relieved that I would finally acknowledge it. Relieved that she could tell me that she wants to know about it. That she’s waiting patiently for me to open up, and not planning her exit in case I ever drop a tear.
Two days ago, I told the person I’m closest to that I’m afraid she’ll start resenting me if I don’t stop talking to her about a chainbreaking challenge I’m facing… and she made me promise that I would never stop talking to her about it! She was so compassionate, so loving, so understanding. She didn’t find a reason to hang up the phone, she found a way to stay much longer than anticipated on the phone with me.
And yesterday, when I finally broke down in tears with my coach to tell her that I don’t know how to get through this… she did not only welcome my sadness, she congratulated my tears. She was so kind, so present. She didn’t step away, she leaned in.
So today I write to you about my sadness, because I want you to know that your sadness will always find a place to be accepted, revered, celebrated here.
Because, what if grief was love, my caring friend?
The fiercest love of all.
The love that allows us to see what’s broken, and remember that it does not mean that we’re broken too! No, of course not. It means on the contrary that we’re powerful lovers sent on Earth to repair what needs healing.
Care.Check: What is your relationship with grief? With your tears? With the messy, heavy, chaininducing and chainbreaking part of your story?
Can you take a few minutes to reflect on this? To journal about it? To talk with a trusted friend (or me!) about it?
And can you allow yourself to invite grief if only for a moment, for a heartbeat, for… a tear, to come and whisper to you how much love matters, and how healing grieving can be?
With kindness, love and light—because I truly believe they’re our most sacred offering to this world.
Always,
leo