Dec 2014

It is worth reiterating that grief is just plain brutal, and has honed my life in ways that I often dislike and rail against. However, the alternative of not going on is worse. For me, there were times over these thirty-odd years when I just sat down on the sidelines. I was out of oomph. Slowly, that began to feel like living in a glass jar. I could see and hear everyone and everything, but I could touch no one, and no one could touch me. This was an attempt to feel safe, another bargain. If I just sit quietly, I’ll be fine. Living as if one is in a mayonnaise jar may be safe, but it is very lonely and brittle. Breaking out of that jar required me to get up off the bench and re-engage, which of course meant more pain, more grieving. Each time I have cracked the jar I have found new comfort and joy also. They go together.

There is something about the healing power of grief that is almost mystical. I have witnessed over and over again that every breakthrough my clients or I have ever made is always after some important grief work. The truism here is that if you can’t grieve, you can’t change.

At this Christmas time, I once again find myself wanting to sit on the sidelines and just stop the world.  This is always an indication that something new is brewing and I will have to break out of the mayonnaise jar again. I suppose I am discouraged that my mission seems so elusive and unattainable.  I sometimes feel like an ant at the corner of a huge football field and my job is to take over that field.  It is easy to kick over an anthill.   So, I heave a huge sigh sit for a moment and get up and start all over again, because I believe that creating safe places for people to grieve is important.