When it comes to grief, I’m not a therapist first; I’m a survivor. I lost my dad when I was nineteen and my mom when I was twenty-five. I’ve also lost my grandparents, both with whom I was extremely close. Grief has served as the backdrop of my life for over fifteen years now, so it would be unfair to both my clients and myself to leave my story out of my work as a therapist. In fact, the most helpful intervention I have found in my counseling sessions has been just that—letting my grieving clients know that they aren’t alone and that I am walking that same path with them.
Grief can be incredibly alienating and isolating. One major barrier to healing is feeling like you don’t have a safe place to be vulnerable and open. So many times, when any of us disclose our grief to someone else, it isn’t handled in the best way. In my experience, I’ve noticed that our culture treats grief as a burden; therefore, we feel like a burden on an individual level if we expose our grief at a time that isn’t “approved.” Grief is pathologized, meaning that something is “wrong” with someone if they are grieving for an extended period. Most workplaces give employees three days of bereavement leave; that may be enough time just to make funeral arrangements and maybe have a funeral. In reality, grief is a lifelong process; it’s a chronic condition that needs attention and care on a regular basis, probably for the rest of your life. Years ago, we would wear black for an extended period of time—often a year—to communicate to others that we were in a period of grief and mourning. It was a signal: “Handle With Care.” In most cultures, we no longer have a public way of showing this. Loss survivors are vulnerable to others’ lack of awareness and knowledge surrounding grief, and this can lead to an even more difficult grieving process.
An illustration I really appreciate that accurately describes grief is The Ball and the Box. (1)
Grief is like a big ball in a box. There’s a big red button called the Pain Button.
At the beginning of your grief journey, the ball is bouncing around the box like crazy; it’s constantly hitting that pain button and giving you no relief.
As time progresses, that ball begins to shrink. Eventually, it takes longer for the ball to bounce around, hitting the pain button far less
frequently.
Unfortunately, that pain button never changes. It can still hurt just as much, just not as often. Instead of feeling like that button is pressed every five seconds, maybe it gets pressed every six months. Or on certain holidays or anniversaries. It may even catch you completely off guard, at a seemingly random time. The truth is—time does pass. It does get easier to go from day to day in your grief. But when that pain does come, it still really hurts. The ball never goes away, but it does get smaller. When they see this ball-and-box illustration, some people begin feeling for the first time they have language for their grief. They may say things like, “that pain button never really let up today,” or “the ball felt really big today.” It’s helpful to have this language to describe your grief so that you don’t feel so lost within it.
Growing Around Grief
Tonkin’s Model of Grief is another illustration that can be helpful when conceptualizing and giving language to your grief. In the first flower pot, the grief takes up most of the space. As the pot gets bigger, the grief stays the same size. What does this mean? Grief may never change within us, but we grow around it; we get bigger. Our lives and our hearts can grow despite our grief. Eventually, it doesn’t feel like grief is the only thing inside of you anymore. Many other things can take root and grow alongside your grief—joy, love, laughter, and simply feeling alive.
Loss is a tornado—it’s completely out of your control and devastating. It wipes out everything you hold close and familiar. What’s left is a pile of emotional debris, and you probably don’t know where to start. Grief has what I call the “casserole phase”—the period immediately following the loss where it seems that everyone wants to help, to “bring a casserole,” if you will. After that passes, you’re still stuck with the feelings and emotions and the gaping hole that your person or persons left. You’re surrounded by all this debris, and all you’re left with is a bunch of casseroles. Some people are fortunate enough to have a sufficient support network around them, including others who have walked that same grief journey. Others may be completely alone with no one to talk to or to just “get it.” I found the power of counseling when I was in the midst of losing my mom and dad. It gave me tools to use to start working through the piles of feelings I was experiencing. I found this through both individual counseling and a support group. The support group is truly what changed my life, and it’s why I lead loss support groups today. If you’re grieving, don’t feel like you must do this alone. Reach out and feel the power of healing for yourself.
Sources:
- The Ball and Box: https://themighty.com/topic/grief/ball-box-analogy-grief/.
- For more on grief, here is an excellent talk by Nora McInerny. She is a widow who took her grief and made it into something to help others. She runs a non-profit, hosts a podcast, and simply lives to walk alongside others on their grief journey. https://www.ted.com/talks/nora_mcinerny_we_don_t_move_on_from_grief_we_move_forward_with_it?language=en
Sarah Grace Stevenson is a marriage and family therapist in Birmingham, Alabama, USA, specializing in grief and relationships. Through her own personal experience and professional training, Sarah Grace helps others navigate the complex intersection of loss and love.
Featured image by Helena Lopes.
