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The loss of a loved one is terrible, and it can be tempting to do
anything in your
power to avoid the pain. However, says Arleah Shechtman, you must choose
to feel and face your grief. Only then will you truly begin to heal.
This is a reposting of an article I wrote some years ago that I thought was worth doing again.
Arleah
If you’ve ever lost someone you
deeply loved, you know the truth: Our culture doesn’t believe in grief. Sure,
people will come to the funeral, give awkward hugs, and send flowers, but let a
few weeks pass, and you’re expected to “move on” and to get (or at least act)
“back to normal.” For this reason—and because it’s so painful to face the full
brunt of our loss—many of us lock our grief away. We distract ourselves with
work, numb ourselves with drugs (prescribed or otherwise), or maybe just trudge
through the day in a dull state of stoicism.
It’s understandable. Grief sucks.
No one wants to acknowledge—and certainly not feel firsthand—the raw, primal,
out-of-control emotions that come along with great loss. But psychotherapist
and executive coach Arleah Shechtman says that without grief there can be no
healing.
“My fifteen-year-old daughter
Sharon died nearly thirty-five years ago of a drug overdose, and in the decades
since I have learned that grief is an ongoing, never-ending process,” says
Shechtman, author of the new book My
Beloved Child: My journey since the death of my daughter (Fifth Wave
Leadership Publications, 2012, ISBN: 978-1-4750469-9-1, $13.95). “And
I’ve also discovered that you have to make the choice to grieve—not just at the beginning but again and again as
the years go by. Unfortunately, society discourages us from making that
choice.”
Grieving is messy, nonlinear, and
unpredictable. In a society that values “bucking up,” moving on, bringing order
out of chaos, and finding salvation through hard work, this is downright
inconvenient. Plus, as Shechtman has discovered from counseling patients,
people are afraid if they fully experience the crushing pain of loss, they’ll
be totally swamped with unmanageable feelings for the rest of their lives.
“Grief can be delayed through various tactics, but it can’t be denied
altogether,” Shechtman warns. “However, exerting that much control over your
emotions, thoughts, and body is very stressful and will impact your physical health. Even more dire is the emotional
and spiritual stagnation that a suppression of grief causes. When you choose
not to grieve, you will be unable to rebuild a meaningful, fulfilling, and
loving life—which I promise is
possible, even though you will never ‘complete’ the grieving process.”
Shechtman’s book describes in brutal and powerful detail what it’s like
to make the choice to grieve—over and over again. Each chapter describes her
experiences during a given five-year time block, ranging from the first five
years to thirty-five years after the loss. The book is interspersed with her
raw, moving, and beautiful poems, which played a large role in her healing
process. And while it’s written from the perspective of a parent who has
lost a child, its lessons will be invaluable to anyone who has experienced a
loss.
Here, Shechtman offers advice on
how to view and handle grief, and insight as to how facing it can ultimately
help you to heal:
Don’t squelch your
grief. It’s okay if you make other people uncomfortable. Grief isn’t
something we learn. It’s instinctive and primal, and expressing it isn’t
something that you can plan, script, or tone down—nor should you attempt to.
The emotions you are feeling go beyond words, concepts, or thoughts. And only
by fully expressing them can you begin to heal.
“Cry, scream, and allow yourself to ride the waves you’re
feeling,” urges Shechtman. “I remember wailing, keening, and crying many times
after losing Sharon. Years after her death, I found myself screaming and
jumping up and down in anger while visiting her grave. All of these behaviors
transgress the boundaries of ‘polite’ and even ‘acceptable’ behavior, but
believe me, they are necessary—and society’s unwritten rules about the
expression of grief are unhealthy and wrong. Trust your process.”
Grief comes in waves.
Let them happen. They will pass. These waves, which surface at
unpredictable times, are relatively short in duration but may be very intense.
When you ride the waves to the crest and express whatever is there, the wave
will ebb, and you will be able to go on living for awhile. And over time, the
waves of grief happen further apart and are less intense and devastating.
Realize, though, that if you ignore your feelings, you will never experience
“normal,” because your intense emotions will always be trying to escape. The
magic of having your feelings is that there is a beginning, a middle, and an
end, and then you can go on to something else. Not having them, they lay there
like a sour stomach, never quite resolving themselves.
Don’t expect to ever
“get over it.” It’s true that the way you feel and express grief will
change over time, but you will never reach a point where you say to yourself, I’m finished grieving.
Don’t listen when
people try to silence you with a Valium or prayer. The expression of grief is often deeply uncomfortable for others to
witness. And after weathering the initial shock of losing a loved one, as
Shechtman has pointed out, others want the bereaved to “move on,” to adopt a
stoic attitude, or to medicate themselves—anything to avoid being reminded of
and upset by fears they themselves don’t dare to contemplate.
Allow yourself to feel anger. It doesn’t make you a bad person. When Shechtman insists on the importance of expressing your grief, she means anger, too. This is often an especially thorny emotion to process because it involves the need to place blame, which can sometimes fall on the dead person and/or on the bereaved. These expressions of anger are seen as inappropriate and elicit protests such as, “It’s not fair,” “The dead aren’t here to defend themselves,” “They didn’t die on purpose,” “You’re being selfish,” etc.
Visit the gravesite
as often as you need to. Gravesites, shrines, and other meaningful
locations are critical to the grieving process. Just as funerals help us say a
final good-bye and make the loss real, gravesites give us a physical place to
remember, grieve, and recover. If your loved one was cremated and the ashes
scattered, you may want to create a memory garden or perhaps a “shrine” in your
home with the person’s photo, a memento that reminds you of her, and perhaps a
candle or religious symbol.
Don’t be afraid to
ask for help. As Shechtman has acknowledged, it’s all too easy to sink into
a private, quiet, internal place that feels safe. The false bargain you’re
making with yourself is, If I don’t think
about her or talk about her, then she won’t be so gone. Asking for and
accepting help is another conscious choice you will need to make. And the
support of other people really does make a difference, says Shechtman. While
she isn’t conventionally religious, she says she felt a persistent sense of
being “held up” by all the prayers, good wishes, and positive vibes sent her
way.
Loving in the midst of grief may feel like a risk. It is. Take it anyway. After experiencing loss, it’s natural to want to do anything and everything in your power to avoid feeling such bitter pain again. You may want to wall yourself off from life, love, and relationships of all sorts. However strong the temptation is, though, please don’t make this mistake. Despite the guilt, anguish, and self-doubt you may feel, make the choice to risk loving again.
“Best—and most surprising—of all was the aftermath of
choosing to love again,” she reveals. “Consciously choosing to lift my eyes, to
see joy and possibilities, to build relationships, and to live instead of dying with my child have resulted in some of the
happiest years of my life. And because I have been in both places—isolation and
community—the contrast is startling.”
Allow new values and priorities to emerge, even if they don’t reflect the “old” you. As you begin to move on and heal from your loss, you will view, experience, and interact with the world in a different way. Shechtman remembers not understanding why she couldn’t be “like everyone else.” “I kept getting pushback for being too harsh or too blunt,” she explains. “I no longer had any tolerance for political correctness, and I considered my relationships to be more precious. I found myself more open with people I cared about, as well as more confrontational and demanding, since I didn’t want to leave anything unsaid or undone ever again. Essentially, I was choosing my values of growth and honesty over comfort. I decided that perfection was no longer a goal; being honest and authentic was.”
Do something
meaningful to memorialize your lost loved one. We have all heard of the
five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.
But according to Shechtman, the progression doesn’t end there. The sixth stage
of grief is called “in memoriam.” It’s the need to do something creative,
useful, and meaningful as a result of an event that once seemed (and might
still seem) meaningless, needless, and/or absurd. For example, you might create
a foundation or support group.
Stay open to the possibility of joy. It will come. While it may be difficult to believe or understand immediately following the loss of a loved one, there is a silver lining to grief. Keeping current with sorrow (i.e., allowing yourself to grieve naturally and whenever you need to) gives you new depths of appreciation for life, joy in small delights, and a richness in relationships you may not have known was possible.
“The biggest surprise I’ve had after Sharon’s death is that
my grieving has opened me up to all that is beautiful and wonderful about this
world,” Shechtman says. “My appreciation for others and their struggles is
greater, and I stop to smell the roses more often—something I call ‘living from
the gut.’ This is the ‘payoff’ for choosing to allow yourself to grieve: After
experiencing the lowest of lows, your soul and your psyche can also stretch to
experience greater highs because the psyche stretches in all directions, much
like a balloon.”
“While I
cannot give you a lesson plan for grieving, I can share my own experiences and assure you that there can still be
hope, healing, and happiness in your life,” Shechtman concludes. “I know it
will be painful, but I hope you will make the choice to fully and naturally
grieve the loss of those you love. It might comfort you to realize that the
life you build from this point on wouldn’t have been possible without the love
you felt—and still feel—for your loved one. In a very real way, he or she is
still a vital part of who you are.”
# # #
About the Author:
Arleah Shechtman, M.S.W., A.C.S.W., is the author of My Beloved Child: My journey since the
death of my daughter. She is
a recognized expert on the impact of the death of a child, on marriages,
families, and individual survivors. For over thirty years, she has helped
parents, siblings, grandparents, and extended family grieve the loss of
children, and guided them on their journeys of recovery. In addition, she has
consulted with healthcare professionals whose practices involve working with
clients who have lost children through illnesses, accidents, suicide, and acts
of crime.
Arleah began her own journey of recovery
thirty-four years ago, after the death of her fifteen-year-old daughter. She
has transformed her own tragedy into a personal and professional mission to
create places and resources where those struggling with the death of a child
can find solace, support, and understanding of their irreparable loss.
About the Book:
My
Beloved Child: My journey since the death of my daughter (Fifth Wave Leadership Publications, 2012,
ISBN: 978-1-4750469-9-1, $13.95) is available at
Amazon.com, the Amazon Kindle Store, and at www.mybelovedchild.net.
