31 Days of Walking with Grief: Others’ and Our Own

Day 10—Denial’s Been Given a Bum Rap 

This is a month-long series to support persons grieving and those who love them.  It includes content from “Sharing Our Stories: A Hospice Whispers Grief Support Workbook” available through Amazon and wherever books are sold.

“Denial ain’t a river in Egypt!” 

“Oh, he’s just in denial…”

“She doesn’t want to hear it.  She’s still in denial.”

We often hear denial, and the persons exhibiting it, spoken of in pejorative terms.  But denial has been given a bum rap. 

As I’ve stated earlier in this series, we sometimes need the emotional airbags of our defense-mechanisms to soften the blow until we’re ready to face the full impact.  Therapists are taught not to push persons further than they ready to go; you don’t open a can of worms they don’t have the emotional resources to manage.

Certainly, there are times when our defenses become maladaptive and no longer serve us; anything taken to an extreme can have an adverse effect.  In those times, more assertive interventions may be needed.  Again, complicated grief and grief vs. depression will be discussed later in this series.

Far too often we speak of denial as if it makes a person weak or immature.  That only brings up more defenses and adds shame on top of grief, which is not fair or productive.  We must find another way.

In Hospice Whispers: Stories of Life, I wrote a story called “Waking Up”, that described a wife who was not yet ready to accept that her spouse was dying, so she kept shaking him when he stopped breathing: 

“He had been home barely more than 12 hours.  He was ready.  She was not.  She was leaning over the bed curiously watching his breathing.  She looked over at me questioningly when I walked back in.  I just breathed and stood at the foot of the bed and waited to see what she was ready to handle…

We were new to each other and I wanted to tread lightly to give her the space she needed to come to terms with what her eyes said on some level she recognized, but they also pleaded for more time to live in the fantasy and not ‘know’ what was happening.” 

I’m grateful for the training that allowed me and my team to sit with patience and compassion through a challenging situation rather than rush this woman too quickly through her denial.  For the sake of her spouse’s comfort, we did gently nudge her in that direction.  Ultimately, however, we let her come to terms with it in her own way as his death naturally unfolded.  With support, she got there.

If we cast judgment on denial, we’ll likely rush them faster than they are prepared to go.  They’ll also sense the judgment and be even further weighed down by shame or resentment.

Find persons who will give you safe space for you to be exactly as you are, where you are, and to find your way in your own time and your own way.  Do not let others rush you.  Do not let others lead you to feel shame or guilt.  Unless what you’re doing is hurting yourself or others, take your time and do what you need.

You deserve it.  Your process depends on it.  When you’re ready, you’ll get there.  Until then, be where you are.  You’re journey will unfold naturally.  As it does, you’re not alone.  

Peace,

Carla    

Rev. Carla Cheatham, MA, MDiv, PhD, TRT has served hospices as a chaplain and bereavement coordinator.  She’s the Section Leader for the Spiritual Caregivers Section of the National Hospice and Palliative Care Organization and an adjunct professor at the Seminary of the Southwest.  Through her Carla Cheatham Consulting Group, Carla provides training and consulting for professional caregivers nationwide.  She is the author of Hospice Whispers: Stories of Life and its companion volume, Sharing Our Stories: A Hospice Whispers Grief Support Workbook.  Her next book, On Showing Up with Suffering: Others’ and Our Own, is set to publish in 2017.     

31 Days of Walking with Grief: Others’ and Our Own

Day 9—The Well-Intentioned But Hurtful Things People Say

This is a month-long series to support persons grieving and those who love them.  It includes content from “Sharing Our Stories: A Hospice Whispers Grief Support Workbook” available through Amazon and wherever books are sold.

In a series of 7 posts I’ve written, called “BE-ing With Suffering” posted through HospiceTimes.com, I discussed the well-intentioned but hurtful things people can say to those grieving.  It was written to help both professional care providers and friends and loved ones know how to show up well for those who are hurting.  (It’s a condensed version of my next book due out later this year on The Art of Showing Up.)

As part of that series, I listed things to and not to say to persons in the midst of grief.  Any time I speak to groups, this particular topic always has a LOT of energy behind it!  Many have been wounded by people who don’t know what to say, so they panic and revert to the clichés, advice-giving, and theologizing they’ve heard their grandparents and parents say:

“Well, at least you had him for 87 years.”

“She’s in a better place.”

“You have to be strong.”   

“Everything happens for a reason.”

“You have to focus on the positive.”

And so much more.

They may also tell us their own story, when we barely have the energy to handle our own.  It’s as if they see someone playing in the grief sandbox and go get their own shovel and pail to join in, needing space to process their own grief.  They don’t realize the boundaries of when it is and isn’t appropriate to do this.  They may think of it as commiserating and making a connection to comfort the person, but it often just overwhelms them, instead. 

So how do we take care of ourselves, protect ourselves from such well-meaning but crappy phrases and stories?  We may understand that they’re just trying to be helpful, though their words are misguided. 

We can presume good will on their part, not taking it personally since their words are more about their discomfort and lack of understanding rather than any intention to hurt us.  We may be able to blow it off and move on, especially if we’re rarely going to see them.

Other times, the words may cut too deeply or may come too frequently from someone whom we see often to just let them go, and we find we must speak up and set boundaries for our own sanity’s sake.  Not everyone is comfortable with assertiveness and confrontation and, when we’re emotionally and mentally worn down by grief, it can be even harder.

It can be as simple as saying:

“I appreciate that you want to help.  Words that say this was a good thing actually leave me feeling worse.  Could you please just tell me you love me?”

“I appreciate your trying to connect with me.  I barely have the energy to live with my own story, and I don’t have room to hear anyone else’s right now.  Would you just tell me about the best movie you’ve seen lately, please?”

“I’m betting when you say that, you’re trying to make me feel better.  Saying anything that begins with, ‘Well, at least…’ feels minimizing of my pain.  Please just tell me you’re sorry this hurts.”

Find the words that work for you.  Say what needs to be said with an eye toward helping them show up for you in a better way.  Remember, most often, you want to keep these friendships and, though your anger and frustration are justified, it may feel heightened by your grief and a disproportionate response is not fair to take out on others.

Those who care about you will either be able to hear your boundaries and requests for what you do need, or they won’t.  You get to decide who feels good for you to be around during this time and who does not.  Be kind, but also be kind to yourself by taking good and protective care of your tender heart.  You deserve it!

Peace,
Carla

Rev. Carla Cheatham, MA, MDiv, PhD, TRT has served hospices as a chaplain and bereavement coordinator.  She’s the Section Leader for the Spiritual Caregivers Section of the National Hospice and Palliative Care Organization and an adjunct professor at the Seminary of the Southwest.  Through her Carla Cheatham Consulting Group, Carla provides training and consulting for professional caregivers nationwide.  She is the author of Hospice Whispers: Stories of Life and its companion volume, Sharing Our Stories: A Hospice Whispers Grief Support Workbook.  Her next book, On Showing Up with Suffering: Others’ and Our Own, is set to publish in 2017.     

31 Days of Walking with Grief: Others’ and Our Own

Day 7—The Need to Withdraw

This is a month-long series to support persons grieving and those who love them.  It includes content from “Sharing Our Stories: A Hospice Whispers Grief Support Workbook” available through Amazon and wherever books are sold.

One across-the-board warning sign that someone is not in a good emotional or spiritual place is when they begin to isolate themselves from others.  Cutting oneself off from the support and accountability of community can be indicative of shame, fear, avoidance, and can lead us to lose perspective on the world as we ruminate on our own thoughts without the balance of others’ views.

In this place, we can forget to remember the whole story—we get stuck focusing on the negatives to the exclusion of the love and beauty and care and gifts that still surround us, even when life otherwise feels truly sucky.  As many have said, the mind can be a dangerous neighborhood to walk in alone when it gets dark.

But I’ve learned that there’s a difference between isolating, which is hiding away from and avoiding life, and taking time away to care for our weary souls and fragile emotions.  Whether we call the latter cocooning, nesting, or recharging, sometimes for the sake of balance we need times away; a break from all the external stimulation, distractions, requirements, and any form  of expectations others may have on our time and energy.

As a raging extrovert who has learned to practice regular contemplation, meditation, and silent retreats, I’ve learned the gifts that can be found in such times.  I’ve even come to, believe it or not, crave silence and solitude.  It takes energy to be “on” and engaged.  We can only drive for so long before we must refuel.  No matter how good or healthy or strong we are, we’re also human.

When we’re wounded, mourning, processing trauma, seeking meaning in the seemingly meaningless, it can be that much more important that we a) avoid isolating in our grief and b) take time away to care for ourselves.  It’s a careful balance we must strike.  Here’s how I tell the difference;

If I find myself dodging the people closest to me because I don’t want them to know what’s really going on with me, I’m isolating, and not in a good way.

If I find myself ruminating on and nursing my resentments against and anger with others, refusing to consider the possibility I’ve played a part in a situation, I’m isolating and perpetuating my suffering.

BUT…

If I’m emotionally exhausted and simply don’t have it to give to be around others, make small talk, and pretend to be ok, I’m doing good self-care to take quiet time to renew and recharge.

I once heard a rabbi tell a story of the life cycle of lobsters; when they outgrow their shell, it becomes uncomfortable to be inside it anymore.  So, they cast it off and go hide under a rock for protection, since they’re now completely exposed and defenseless.  They stay there until they’ve formed a new and larger shell that can hold their growing body comfortably.  

Grief can consume our emotional and mental, and therefore physical, energy and resources; it can give us much thinner skin.  We can walk around feeling exposed like a nerve or raw like an open wound.

I’ve come to learn that sometimes when I begin to chide myself for “isolating” what I’m actually doing is taking time to rest under the protective shelter of a rock until my outer shell, stripped away by the struggles of life, has regrown.  That’s not hiding or avoiding or isolating or anything pejorative; that’s wise, natural, and healthy self-protection.

So if you, or others, are pushing yourself to get out and about and engage, get still and quiet and listen to your own inner wisdom—are you hiding, avoiding, or isolating in a detrimental way or are you nesting, cocooning, lobster-ing away temporarily until you have what you need to safely re-emerge?

Trust yourself.  Don’t let anyone rush you or, even worse, coerce and shame you into going against what you really need.  Except in extreme cases of clinical depression or complicated grief, which I’ll discuss later in this series, when we are ready we will naturally emerge like the chick from the egg, the child from the womb, the butterfly from the cocoon, and the lobster from the rock. 

After all, there is life out there calling to us to return and not follow the one we love to the grave, forever.  In time, we’ll hear its song and re-emerge.  Until then, may you find comfort in knowing that others across the world join you there and, ironically, you are not alone.  

Peace,

Carla  

Rev. Carla Cheatham, MA, MDiv, PhD, TRT has served hospices as a chaplain and bereavement coordinator.  She’s the Section Leader for the Spiritual Caregivers Section of the National Hospice and Palliative Care Organization and an adjunct professor at the Seminary of the Southwest.  Through her Carla Cheatham Consulting Group, Carla provides training and consulting for professional caregivers nationwide.  She is the author of Hospice Whispers: Stories of Life and its companion volume, Sharing Our Stories: A Hospice Whispers Grief Support Workbook.  Her next book, On Showing Up with Suffering: Others’ and Our Own, is set to publish in 2017.     

31 Days of Walking with Grief: Others’ and Our Own

Day 6—The Many Faces of Grief

This is a month-long series to support persons grieving and those who love them.  It includes content from “Sharing Our Stories: A Hospice Whispers Grief Support Workbook” available through Amazon and wherever books are sold.

It’s important to clarify something as we discuss grief—It isn’t only about the pain of missing someone we love when they die.  Grief comes in many forms, for many reasons, and can look very different in many ways; all of it deserving of support.

Persons may mourn the loss of:

relationship(s)

community

a job

status

an ability

youth

a belief

safety

financial security

a childhood

possibility

potential

future plans

connection

hope

and much, much more.

In one grief group I facilitated there was someone processing multiple losses related to a war; another grappling with loss of ability and career after an injury; another grieving the loss of companionship as her spouse’s dementia left him less and less emotionally available to her; another grieving her own decline in health, loss of independence, and pending death; and yet another grappling with a child’s addiction and all the grief that comes with that dynamic.

Each person struggled with a unique grief, but they still worked well as a group because they could relate to the emotions of sadness, guilt, fear, anger, confusion, uncertainty, etc. and the loss of hope and future possibility and meaning. 

They knew what it was like to feel alone in their feelings and even judged, by their own or even others’ misconceptions about grief.  They were hungry to be heard and validated, affirmed and joined in their pain and they readily gave that to one another.

Victims of trauma, in all of its various forms, may naturally experience various forms of loss.  Grieving the emotional, physical, societal, sexual, and spiritual damage they suffered and the resulting loss of innocence and safety is no small or easy matter.  I’ll write more about the relationship between trauma and grief in a later post. 

Even the experience of one person’s death can vary depending on the relationship, whether it was healthy and whole or broken and contentious.  One parent can have that vast of a difference in their relationship with one child vs. another, even when the children were raised in the same household.  The grief of those two children may look incredibly different when that parent dies, and be hard in their own ways.

The point of all of this is 3-fold:

• Don’t judge your grief, or another’s, as less than important if it isn’t related to a death. Pain is relative.  The worst pain you’ve experienced in the worst pain you’ve experienced, and it hurts.    Loss is loss and change is change and it’s a schmuck-y move to judge the way someone handles their pain.

• Don’t compare your pain with another’s in any other way, especially if doing so encourages you to minimize your experience (or theirs). See #1.    

• Find what works for you in all grief material, even this series, and translate the language to fit your circumstance as much as you need. There’s nothing wrong with that, and it can be a helpful skill to adapt information as much as necessary to suit your particular needs.

Whatever face your grief carries, I hope that you will find for it the compassion and space it deserves, from yourself and from others.

Peace,

Carla    

Rev. Carla Cheatham, MA, MDiv, PhD, TRT has served hospices as a chaplain and bereavement coordinator.  She’s the Section Leader for the Spiritual Caregivers Section of the National Hospice and Palliative Care Organization and an adjunct professor at the Seminary of the Southwest.  Through her Carla Cheatham Consulting Group, Carla provides training and consulting for professional caregivers nationwide.  She is the author of Hospice Whispers: Stories of Life and its companion volume, Sharing Our Stories: A Hospice Whispers Grief Support Workbook.  Her next book, On Showing Up with Suffering: Others’ and Our Own, is set to publish in 2017.