Creative ways to explore your grief

People who are grieving often ask, "what should I be doing?" Usually I reject the premise of the question: there's nothing to do except experience your grief. You have to feel your feelings, even (especially) the hard ones.

That being said, I do appreciate the idea that there should be an action that accompanies grief, something to help move through it. There are any number of options in that vein. What follows here is a (small and not at all comprehensive) list of creative ways to experience and honor your grief. If they make you feel weird or too silly, don’t do them! But let me encourage you to consider doing something a little different (and maybe a little weird) in order to give your grief the attention it deserves.

1. Write a letter to your person. It can be about whatever you want: a list of things you miss about them; an update about the family; a rehashing of an old argument. You can write as much or as little as you want. You can burn it after it's done or tuck it away or share it with others. The object here is to connect with the person you love and miss, keeping a part of them alive for yourself.

2. Tend to a plant. I say "a plant" because I have a black thumb, not a green one, so an entire garden feels off-putting to me personally. But maybe gardening is your thing! Take your grief there. Tend to the living, green things; put your hands in the dirt. Talk to the flowers.

3. Write a song or a poem or a haiku or paint a picture. It doesn't have to be Pulitzer or museum-worthy. It doesn't have to be shared with anyone else, though it can be. Again, the only objective is to take some intentional time with your loss and find what’s beautiful in it.

4. Make a shrine. (This is my personal favorite). It can look any way you want. It can be tucked away in a corner or right in the doorway of your home. It can have pictures and ticket stubs or candles and symbols. Spend some time building it and looking at it so you can honor the memory of this person that you love so much. It’s a gift for you both.

Remember, in grief there is no way out but through. You may as well find a way to make the journey a little more interesting. And if you’re feeling particularly brave, share what you’ve created. I, for one, would love to see it.

When grief is bittersweet

I took my daughters on a walk in the woods the other day and happened upon some birds taking a bath in a stream. My very first thought was, “I have to call Mom.” Almost simultaneously, I remembered that I can’t call her; she’s been dead for more than seven years.

But she popped into my head in that moment because she used to tell this story about me waiting next to my grandparents’ birdbath to see the birds. There’s even a picture to commemorate the story: three year old me in a pink winter coat, staring determinedly at the (very empty) birdbath. My mom told me how they tried to convince me that I was too close and the birds wouldn’t come but I waited and waited anyway. She loved telling that story. So when I came upon those robins bathing in the stream while I walked with my own children, I was seized with the desire to call my mother to tell her, I finally managed to catch the birds in the act.

It was sad, obviously, to realize I couldn’t actually call her. But what a lovely moment, to forget for just a split second—to have her be so alive to me still.

This is what I mean when I describe grief as bittersweet. The long, winding road of bereavement is filled with these moments: listening to a song that reminds you of your person; finding their handwriting in an old card; hearing a story you’d forgotten or never known about them. It’s sad, of course, but it’s lovely too, that the person you lost is still with you.

Grief isn’t all sharp edges and painful black holes—though those are part of it. It can also be a gift. Let it be. Let your heart feel full, even if it hurts. Find the sweetness in your grief.

Grief can be complicated

For many of us, grief is straightforward: we feel sorrow and sadness and our loved ones can understand our mourning process. For other people, it’s much more complicated than that. If there are past traumas, if you were estranged from the person who died, if the relationship was challenging or abusive, your bereavement is not a straightforward period of sorrow and sadness. And because your grief isn’t typical, it can feel isolating and confusing.

It isn’t easy to talk about this kind of complicated grief with others, even those who know you well. That old adage, “don’t speak ill of the dead” is deeply ingrained in us. When someone dies, it’s tempting to only view them fondly and warmly; they can’t defend themselves from criticism anymore so the default is to not criticize. But death does not make saints of everyone. Sometimes people are abusive or addicted or they made mostly bad choices, or they were barely present at all. Then, when they die, it’s difficult to find the right words to explain your grief.

The good news is, you don’t have to explain your grief (or lack thereof) to anyone. You don’t have to be sad about someone’s death if ultimately their death is a relief to you. Instead, your grief can be about what you never had from that person, and what they will never be able to repair for you. You can decide how you want to forgive them—if that’s what you want. You can decide how to move forward and how to mourn. Your loss is your own. Your grief is your own. Other people don’t have to understand it or accept it.

Photo by Ian Stauffer on Unsplash

Therapy is work

Sometimes people aren’t ready for therapy. They think they are. They make the phone call, schedule the appointment, show up and answer the first session questions. But then, when the work really begins, it turns out they’re just not ready to do it.

I confess, I have sometimes been one of these people who thought I was ready and then… wasn’t. I have walked into a therapy session, confident in my ability to get down to business, and then discovered it’s actually really hard. And I didn’t always have the bandwidth to do the hard stuff.

There’s no shame in that. It’s just a fact: if you aren’t ready to really look at yourself and do some work with what you find, you aren’t ready to be in therapy.

Notice I wrote that the work is “on yourself.” This is an important distinction: some people come to therapy because they want to change someone else. They want their marriage to get better, their mother to apologize, their best friend to commit to something important. But that’s not what therapy is for. You are the person in the room. You are the one who has to look at your own stuff and figure out what to do with it.

There are a lot of reasons not to commit to that; it’s expensive, it’s time consuming, it’s emotionally taxing. And yet, when you are ready, when you have the time and the resources and the mental and emotional space, it can be life changing. So if you aren’t ready now, take heart: you will be one day. And when you are, you are going to do great work.

When someone we love is suffering

The problem with loving someone—there are many but let’s start with this one—is that sometimes the person you love will suffer. They will have pain or disease or grief or distress and you will not be able to magically take it away from them. Watching someone you love suffer, physically or emotionally, is awful. And yet, it’s part of the whole deal.

Once, after my mom died, I told a colleague, “I just don’t want my brother and my dad to be sad.” I ended up laughing instead of crying because of the way my sweet colleague stared at me and said, “Elizabeth.” It was, in fact, a bonkers thing to say. It was also true. My own grief was hard enough to bear; I couldn’t stand that the people I love were also suffering.

This is a common theme for my clients, whether they are caretakers or bereaved. Their own grief is awful, all-consuming, exhausting; and yet, they cannot bear to think that other people in their life are also having a hard time. Ignoring the grief and pain of others is doable but doesn’t feel great and also can be hurtful to said loved ones. On the other hand, taking on the pain of others also feels awful and doesn’t take anyone’s pain away. So what to do?

The answer, of course, depends: on what kind of day you’re having; on how the relationship usually functions; and on the cues you’re getting from the other person or people. But in general, as I’ve written ad nauseum, our grief is much easier to bear if it’s shared. You are not protecting your loved ones if you deny your grief or theirs. On the contrary, talking about it opens the door gives them permission to grieve with you instead of protecting you.

We don’t want the people we love to suffer but they will; that’s a part of life. And if that’s true, we may as well suffer together.

Say no: Setting boundaries when you're grieving

Therapists love to talk about boundaries and I am no exception. Boundaries are wonderful! There are so few things we can control in our lives; setting limits with others is one of them. That being said, knowing we can make our own rules in this way is easier than actually doing it.

Setting boundaries can be frustrating, to say the least. That’s because most frequently, the response you get from others when you set a limit with them is not ideal. It is not, “oh, thank you for telling me! I will honor your request with good humor!” Instead, setting a boundary or a limit with someone in your life often leads to hurt feelings and frustration. Asking someone to give you space or not bring up a certain topic or whatever can be difficult for a number of reasons: you’ve never said no before; or the situation has been the same for so long, it seems weird to suddenly ask for a change. Likewise, the person who is being asked to step back or stop a behavior often feels defensive: what’s wrong with the way things are? Why are you suddenly changing the game on me?

But life is always changing (which is out of our control) and we need to be able to make changes that suit us (which is in our control). This is especially true when we are grieving.

Grief is exhausting. It takes up so much of our energy, mentally, physically, and emotionally. In a grieving period, we need to be able to tell others (who may be well meaning) what we need. Most often, what we need during our grief is to say no.

I don’t mean you should hide away in a cave until you feel better (though there may be days when that sounds appealing). Rather, I mean you don’t have to go on as if everything is normal. It isn’t, for you. Your life has changed and you need time to adjust and figure out how you want to move forward. People in your life may not understand this; they may want you to show up in the ways you used to, at work, in your family, in your social life. I’m giving you permission to sometimes say no, without guilt. Your grief deserves your full attention. You deserve to honor it by asking for what you need.

Grief before loss: Anticipatory grief

Most of the time, we think about grief in terms of a death loss. After a death, your grief may be all consuming but it’s also clear: someone you love is physically gone and their absence is painful. But sometimes we lose someone before their body dies. That grief—the more ambiguous, murky loss of loving someone who leaves us by degrees—is called anticipatory grief.

Just as it sounds, it’s the anticipation of a loss before the loss itself. Perhaps the person you love is still physically present but they’ve had a major change in their functioning. I don’t just mean dementia, although that has its own devastation. It can also be that your loved one has cancer or ALS or some other illness that is changing their mind and body over months or years. It can be that you’ve lost the person you knew to their addiction or a traumatic brain injury that’s changed their personality. The person you love is technically alive but they aren’t themselves anymore.

In some ways, anticipatory grief is even more difficult to deal with than the grief that follows a death. When someone dies, there is a clear date to point to as the “beginning” of your grief. There are milestones to mark: one month without them, six months, a year. When your loved one slowly leaves you, it’s harder to name your grief and figure out how to cope with it.

That naming is the first step. Acknowledging anticipatory grief will help you move through it. Remember, we don’t “get over” grief, no matter what kind it is; instead we learn to grow around it. Rather than trying to ignore it or avoid it, speak it aloud; share it with others; carve out the space and time to honor it. Anticipatory grief is normal, even if it’s hard to wrap your mind around, and it deserves your attention. Reach out for support; you don’t have to do this alone.

How to talk to someone who is grieving

The prevailing reaction from people when I tell them what I do for a living is, “ugh, how do you do that?” Which, I get: listening to people talk about their grief all day sounds like it would be depressing. It certainly can be at times. But it’s also an honor to hear people’s love stories, which is what grief pretty much amounts to: ongoing love for someone who has left us.

That being said, I realize not everyone feels the same comfort when talking about death, grief, and loss. So if you aren’t a grief therapist, what on earth are you supposed to say to someone who is grieving?

First, let me release you from the idea that you are capable of curing someone else’s grief. You are not. Grief does not have a cure, nor does it have an expiration date. This is not to say you should throw up your hands in despair and ignore someone else’s grief entirely. Rather, I want you to let go of the idea that you are responsible for fixing someone’s grief by knowing the exact right words to use on them. There are no exact right words.

There are, however, some less right words. By this, I mostly mean stay away from cliches like “she’s in a better place” or “it’ll be ok.” I know those phrases are tempting to use; they’ve become cliche for a reason after all. But that doesn’t mean they’re particularly helpful. You may sincerely believe in your heart that someone is “in a better place” but you don’t have to say that out loud to the bereaved. Likewise, you don’t have to say that “everything is going to be ok” or that “they wouldn’t want you to be sad.” Again, those things may be true but they aren’t useful to someone who is grieving a loss.

What is useful for grievers is to be truly heard. This means listening without trying to come up with an answer. You aren’t fully listening if part of your brain is working on a response. There’s also no rush to reply immediately with a profound and heartfelt speech. “That sounds so hard,” is enough. Or, “I wish you didn’t have to go through this.” Both of those statements convey that you hear what the bereaved is saying and that you aren’t going to try to convince them of anything. You’re just going to let them be sad. And if they’ve said something that you really don’t know how to respond to, admit that! “I don’t know what to say” or “I don’t know how to help” are both completely reasonable responses to someone’s grief. Sometimes there are no words.

That doesn’t mean we are powerless to help. When someone is grieving, even if you can’t think of the right thing to say, you can sit beside them and help shoulder their burden for a little while. That, I think, is far better than talking.

Grieving together as a family

Grief is easier to navigate when we share it with others.

That’s easy for me to say: I share everything with everyone. I realize not everyone has this particular… gift. For some people, sharing their grief (or any tough emotion) is simply terrifying. It’s not just the vulnerability of talking about their pain with someone; it’s also a fear that the other person won’t be able to handle it. Naturally, we want to protect the people we love from pain, especially if they're also suffering. This is especially true inside families. My clients often tell me that they don’t want to burden others (usually their adult children) with their grief. Their reasoning is, “what if they’re having a good day and I ruin it because I start crying?” To which I respond, yeah, what if they do? What if you both start crying? What if they’ve been waiting for you to bring it up so they don’t have to? What will happen if you share your grief with each other?

For some people, sharing like that is just too big a risk. After all, families are complicated. The dynamics between parents and children and siblings and extended relatives are deeply set over years, sometimes generations. Every milestone, be it a birth, a graduation, a wedding, a divorce, an illness, or (especially) a death impacts each member of the family in a unique way. And because the same loss can be experienced differently by each member of the family, their grief can also be expressed in distinctly different ways.

These different grieving styles can be hard to understand and accept from each other. Some people (myself included) are external processors: we want to talk (and talk and talk and talk) about our feelings. On the opposite end of the spectrum, internal processors need solitude and silence to work through a loss. And of course, a great many people fall in the vast middle between. Different expressions of grief and different expectations for each other after a loss can cause conflict in the family during what is already an extremely difficult time.

All that being said, none of this has to be avoided or even just endured. Families can shore each other up after a loss and gain new understanding and appreciation for each other. This can be a time to say out loud, “I am having a hard time” without fear of ruining someone else’s day. The fact of the matter is, when someone dies, the people left behind are sad. It doesn’t have to be a secret. In fact, bringing your grief to the other people who love you can increase intimacy and belonging. Understanding that you may be dealing with this loss in different ways—and accepting that no one is right or wrong—can strengthen your family bond. Take this moment to trust yourself (and the people you love) enough to grieve together instead of alone.

Photo by Helena Lopes on Unsplash

Therapists don't give advice

I love advice columns. I always have; even as a kid, they were my favorite part of any magazine. My Google tiles are mostly suggestions for Dear Amy and Dear Abby and Dear Prudence. I have a subscription to the Savage Love newsletter. I am addicted. I love that the problems are concise and (mostly) straight forward and that the answers are the same: here’s what to do!

But as a therapist, I don’t get to give advice. Don’t get me wrong, it’s sometimes tempting to just tell someone what to do. As your therapist, I have the benefit of objectivity; you may not know why you’re having such a hard time but it’s usually rather clear to me. I’m able to clarify and reflect back what you’ve told me so that you can decide how you want to move forward. It’s not advice but a different perspective.

This difference can be a tough distinction for clients to make. Often at the end of a session, my client asks, “so do you have any advice for me?” Of course the short answer is yes! I have very strong opinions about many things! As I said, the temptation to tell my clients what to do is sometimes very powerful. But advice is often best for the person giving it, not the one who receives it. Tempting as it may be, as right as I think I am, therapy is not like an advice column. The goal of therapy is to help my clients come to their own conclusions and make their own path.

You may not get advice in therapy but I think what you end up with is even better: trust in yourself to figure out how to change or move forward or let go. You know the answer; you just need someone to help you see it. Even Dear Abby agrees.

The Grief Wishlist

When my mother was dying, I was pregnant with my first baby. As you can imagine, there were a lot of complicated feelings swirling around: joy and relief (it was a process for me to get pregnant; this was a very wanted kid) mixed with grief and anxiety and also hope that my mom would be alive when the baby came. As close as we were, it was almost impossible for us to talk about the idea of her dying before I became a mother. Mostly we didn’t talk about it at all. Then one day she suggested that I write down a list of questions for her about babies and she would write down the answers. Just in case.

I never did it.

Not because I didn’t want her answers; I wish I could go back in time and write down a hundred questions for her. But at the time I didn’t know what to ask and honestly, I didn’t want to admit to her or to myself that she wouldn’t be with me when I had the baby.

I wish I had written down something.

I’m sharing this story because it is typical of grief. “I wish” can be followed by any number of should have’s or could have’s, if we had only known that the person in question was going to die. I hear it from my clients: “I wish we had spent more time together” or “I wish I was more patient.” The grief wishlist can be unending if we let it be. There is always some regret when we lose someone we love.

The question is, what to do with those feelings? When I hear my clients say they wish they hadn’t spoken sharply to their loved one, or they wish they had been more present, I don’t wave it away and say it doesn’t matter. Instead, we sit together with the sadness and the regret and the guilt. We acknowledge all the things that can’t be fixed or changed once someone is dead. We talk about what the wish really means, which is usually, “I miss this person. I want them back. I wish they hadn’t died.”

Feeling our grief is the only way through it. When you find yourself saying, “I wish” or “I should have,” don’t run from that feeling. Tell someone you trust (ahem, like a therapist!). Write it down. Acknowledge that your grief is complicated and nuanced. Consider your grief wishlist as a tender, loving tribute to the person you miss. Personally, when my grief wishlist feels heavy, I talk out loud to my mom. It’s a private conversation so I won’t share it with you but I will tell you that doing that helps me. There’s something that will help you too; you just have to find it.

Can I swear in therapy?

If you’ve ever wondered if you can swear/curse/cuss in your therapy session, I have great news for you: the answer is (mostly) yes!

I’m not suggesting you walk into your therapy session ready to use every foul or vulgar word you’ve ever heard. But there is evidence—actual scientific research!—that cursing can be helpful when we are in pain. Sometimes other adjectives fail us and the only way to explain how we’re feeling—the depths of pain we find ourselves in—is to switch to the four letter words.

Additionally, therapy is not the place to censor yourself. Therapy is meant to be a safe space to say whatever you are thinking, however it gets best expressed. For some people (myself included), cursing is a key component of that expression. Sometimes the only words that can accurately describe our pain are the “bad” ones. As a therapist, it’s a relief to me when my clients drop a swear word here and there because it shows me that they’re comfortable with me. The relationship between my client and me is the most important part of our work together; being able to express yourself naturally, without apology, is key to the foundation of that relationship.

Not everyone needs to express themselves this way, of course. Personally, I grew up with an Irish Catholic mother who could make a sailor blush if she was really on a streak; cursing was normal in my house. As with all therapy-related topics, your mileage may vary. But if you’re in a room with me and you want to explore your feelings by swearing, go nuts. I’ve heard (and said) all the words before. I may even join you.

Doorknob communications

The first time I heard the phrase “doorknob communication” was from a student I supervised. She was a little shaken when she brought it up, having just had a client confess something major to her at the end of their last session together (get it? The therapist’s hand is on the doorknob when suddenly the client says the most important thing). That original blog post still exists but it was time for an update. Now that I’m in private practice, I have a much deeper understanding of what the phrase means, why it happens, and what it feels like for both therapist and client.

Let’s begin at the beginning: my therapy sessions are 45 minutes long. Both the client and I know that from day one. That being said, the first few sessions we have together can run a little longer. Some people come to therapy ready to absolutely spill their guts; that 45 minutes flies by when someone starts talking and can’t stop until they get the entire story out. A new client is often on the brink of something—the depth of their grief; the physical and mental toll of a lengthy illness; the weight of caregiving—making those first few sessions a kind of stream of consciousness. And it’s quite often that it isn’t until around minute 43 that a client gets to the really juicy stuff.

This is partly my fault: once someone starts to get close to an important point or a long-held secret, I really don’t want to cut them off. But when I don’t, I’m left scrambling at minute 46, telling them that while I appreciate we’ve just opened a door, we have to slam it shut again until next week; our time is up.

Extend your session time, I bet you’re thinking. But here’s the thing about the doorknob communication: it happens right before the clinician wraps up the session, no matter how long the session is. When clients do this, they're giving themselves a way out. If they decide they don’t want to deal with whatever it is, they don’t have to; they haven’t left enough time to talk about it. There’s nothing forcing them to come back next week. For some people, they had to tell the thing and then they have to bail out, like they’re on a sinking ship.

But most people do return (one of my clients warmly reminds me every session to write down where we left off so we can continue in that same spot next time, like one long conversation split up into weekly installments). And as they keep returning and the relationship continues to grow, the doorknob communications lessen. It becomes less scary to say the Big Thing(s) to someone you trust.

So if you are just starting out in therapy and you find yourself only getting to the Big Thing(s) at the end of the session, hang in there. As you get to know your therapist, the harder stuff will come up more easily, leaving you more time to dive in. And, best of all, you get to tackle it together, in however much time it takes.

"I don't know what to say in therapy."

Let me begin with a small personal confession: this is the longest I’ve ever attended therapy as a client.

Maybe that doesn’t seem like such a big deal. But as someone who has made a living explaining why everyone should attend therapy actually, it feels mildly embarrassing, like forgetting the name of an acquaintance at a cocktail party. “Therapy is wonderful!” I’ve told people over and over for more than a decade while also not actually going myself for longer than 3-5 sessions. I’m a hypocrite, is what I’m saying.

I’m confessing my hypocrisy because I suspect a lot of people are like me: an acute crisis or some other event occurs that leads them to a therapist. They attend anywhere from one to maybe even ten sessions. The crisis passes; things get a little better. And they think, “well, I guess there’s nothing else to talk about.” So they stop seeing their therapist.

I hear this from clients sometimes: “I don’t know what else to say.” Or, “I don’t know what to talk about today.” Or, my least favorite, “what do you want me to talk about?” At that last one, I usually smile and reply, “that’s up to you.” I imagine my clients are not fond of this response but it’s the truth! I can’t see inside your brain. You have to tell me what’s in there that you want to explore.

All that being said, I get it: sometimes I struggle with what to say to my own therapist. She asks me how I am and I say, “I’m good!” and then immediately wonder if that means I should stop going to therapy. The crisis that brought me back to the proverbial couch almost a year ago has passed; I am good. But that doesn’t mean there’s no more work to be done.

The other week, when I really did feel ok, I felt myself about to say those dreaded words “I don’t know what to talk about today.” Instead, I told my therapist that sometimes I’m afraid that I won’t have anything to say and she’ll tell me I don’t have to come back. She laughed (kindly but still, she did laugh because it was ridiculous). She assured me that she wouldn’t say such a thing. And that was all I needed to find a new place to begin. The storm that brought me in has passed but now is the perfect time to do some deeper mining: when I feel well enough to really explore the deeper stuff.

So if you find yourself in therapy at a loss for words, that’s ok. In fact, it’s good! It may be the beginning of a new phase of your work in that space. Hang in through the lull and you may find you can feel even better.