I’ve created a Self-Guided Grief journey based upon the lessons I have learned along the way on my now grief journey.
It is a compilation of 25 videos that you can watch at your own pace combined with work sheets and resources to help you along the way.
Here is the first video to give you an overview of the course.
Here is a link to register for the course.
https://members.beingwithgrief.com/register/being-with-grief/
Let me know if you have any questions!
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Recently we took a family vacation with our son and his family. We went to northern MN, to the boundary waters. The lake we were at was at the Canadian border. As a matter of fact, the border was in the middle of the lake.
Here are some photos of our trip. I think they speak for themselves.
I also know for a fact that I would not have been able to enjoy it like I did if I had not met my grief the way that I did. (Reason 7, 468 for meeting grief when it arises in you life….:)
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The holiday season can be stressful on it own without the added layers of grief. Grief is a difficult emotion to describe because it is made up of so many other feelings such as sadness, anger, devastation, and so many more. These feelings often show up in different intensities at different times. What helps you cope one time may make you dissolve into tears the next. Having some skills, or some alternative traditions to draw on when you find yourself hit by intense feelings can help you to cope with the holidays. Here are a few that worked for me.
Remember that grief changes with the seasons. What worked this year may not work next year. There is no right or wrong way to meet your grief, no timetable on when you will begin to heal. Give yourself the time you need, honor your own process. Each member of your family will process grief in their own way too. You can let them know their way is ok, sometimes that is all that is needed, to know that however we are processing grief and wherever we are our grief journey is exactly right for us.
I used to think that I would move through each stage of grief progressively. When I completed one stage, I would move to the next, never to return again. Grief is nothing like that. It is messy and chaotic. Especially in the early days, we can be all over the place. I began to think of the stages of grief as aspects of grief. Stages to me suggested a more linear movement. I also realized that when I felt a feeling again after thinking that I was “done” with a certain stage, that when a feeling comes around again, it is a slightly different feeling.
There is also no right or wrong way to grieve. This can take pressure off when we hear things like, “Aren’t you over that yet?” or “It’s time to get on with your life.” And you may feel differently on different days, or times of the year. Listen to your own needs. This may be difficult in the early days of grief when you are still reeling from your loss. This is a time to go slow, don’t try to do too much, be gentle with yourself.
This was a big surprise for me. I never expected to be able to live a meaningful life again after Leah died, let alone find my grief journey to be transforming. It was only after I allowed myself to feel all of my feelings that I was brought to a place off “now what?”
Not because I spent time contemplating what grief would be like, I definitely did not. Yet, I remember thinking that it was not what I expected it to be. This is a good reminder that grief shows up differently at different times of our lives.
Maybe even more so. I think it’s more like grief removed all of the layers of protection I had built up so that my true self is the one who is now living the life she was meant to live.
That is because everyone has their own unique relationship with their loved one. In my own experience, my husband, son and I each had to meet our own grief before we could be of any help to each other on our grief journey. Grief brings up a lot of stuff, feelings, regrets, things we wished we could have said or done. Each of us had our stuff to work through.
Not even me, ok, maybe that’s not completely true, I talk about grief a lot, and I’m more comfortable talking about it now than when grief was new and raw. We don’t want to be vulnerable. Talking about our grief makes us vulnerable. That’s why it’s important to find a safe space with someone you trust before you delve into those difficult and painful feelings.
We often think that grief arises only when we lose a loved one. Maybe you’ve discovered, as I did, that grief visits us many times throughout the course of our lives. Anytime we experience a loss, we experience grief. The loss of a pet, a job, a friend who moves away, the loss of our health, a relationship or divorce, the loss of a dream. These are just a few of the life experiences that we may go through. When we don’t recognize them as grief, they can stay underground and wreak havoc on our health, physical and emotional.
This is one that had me scratching my head for a while. How could grief bring gifts? And who was I to deserve a gift after my daughter died? That was when I still believed at some level that it was my fault, and that not being deserving of gifts was a way to be punished for not keeping her safe. The gifts began arriving when I was able to bring a feeling into my heart. As my heart shifted the feeling, I would receive and insight, as well as a miraculous gift. A phone call from one of Leah’s friend telling us something about our daughter that we didn’t know. A random meeting with Leah’s favorite teacher. A lilac in my mailbox when there was not lilac bush in our neighborhood. Eventually I began view these gifts as blessings and grace, exactly what I needed to continue on my path.
Our first response to the overwhelming intense feelings of grief is to push them away, or use a diversion or distraction like food, or TV to take our mind off of our feelings. While these can be helpful, eventually they stop working.
Living close to my son and his family means I get to watch my granddaughter Arya’s growth and development. At a little over 1 year old, she is currently learning to walk. I’ve watched her progress over the last several weeks, first pulling herself up with both hands and walking along from chair to chair, then from chair to wall. She then progressed to pulling herself up and standing without support for a few minutes. She got really fast at traversing the entire perimeter of her house, moving from furniture to wall, and back again.
Last week she began taking 3-4 steps from furniture to wall, falling down many times throughout the day. Each time she fell down, she pulled herself up again, this time with only one hand, and started the process all over again.
By the end of the week she was standing on her own at times, and taking 6-8 steps in the middle of the room. Again, falling down again and again and getting up, each time with a big smile on her face, to try again.
She never stayed down and told herself that she wasn’t good enough to walk, or that she would never get there. She continues to toddle (I now know why children this age are called toddlers!) find her balance and takes more and more steps on her own.
We all were just like Arya when we were learning to walk. We all have that determination and thrill of accomplishment in us.
When we are working toward something and it feels hard, or elusive, and seems like we are never going achieve our goal, remember that childlike drive. What if we would have given up when we were learning to walk? What if we remained crawlers our entire life?
That’s what is happening when we give up too soon as adults. Each attempt to walk gives Arya more information for her to be successful. The same is true for us.
Each time we strive to reach our goals, we gain valuable information about ourselves. Let’s all use that information to continue to become the best possible humans we can be.
After I began helping others to navigate their grief, I thought to myself,
referencing the message I heard shortly after Leah died that said, Losing Leah is too high a price to pay to not live the life you were meant to live.
About this time, I begin to hear that it was time to write my book. I resisted writing it for all kinds of reasons. I told myself,:
I’m not an author,
I can’t write,
I don’t want my vulnerable story out there for anyone to read, and on and on.
I began a writing boot camp to see if I had a book to write. I still doubted myself, and I thought if I wrote a book at all it would be an ebook, and it would live where ebooks live, thereby not being a “real” book because I couldn’t hold in my hand.
The boot camp consisted of writing 1000 words for 10 days, and then sending them each day to my writing coach. After the ten days, we had a phone conversation. He told me, not only did I have a book, my book needed to be a physical book I could put in someone’s hands. There went my ebook idea.
I spent the next 3 months writing my first draft, and then sent it back to him. We had a 2-hour conversation, going over the book chapter by chapter. He helped me to format it so it was cohesive, and gave me ideas on how to flush out each chapter.
I wrote for another 3 months, everyday, writing and editing, again and again. When it felt complete, I found someone to help me edit and self-publish it. This was really happening!
While it was being edited, I did a lot of work to release old beliefs about my value and worth so that I cold talk about my story when my book was ready to publish.
That first year, I took my book on the road and did over a dozen events in Raleigh, where I lived at the time, as well as Chicago and Boulder. After that year, I claimed the fact that I am an author as well as a speaker.
Today, when I pick up my book and read a portion of it, sometimes I wonder who wrote it. In some ways it felt like it came through me. While I was writing it the words flowed easily. I find that is true most of the time when I am writing. I am able to touch a place where my words describe what I am feeling, sometimes before I even know that I am feeling a certain way.
You can find my book here.
It’s a question I’ve pondered for over 20 years, and I’m not sure even now I know what it means.
We hear often that “Time heals all wounds.” Time by itself isn’t the only factor; it’s what you do with that time that makes the difference. If I broke my arm and allowed time alone to heal it, the bones would eventually knit back together. My arm may not be very useful to me. If I had it set in a cast, and then did physical therapy, my arm would then have a better chance of regaining full functionality.
The same is true of grief. If we do nothing with our feelings, stuff them in a drawer and hope they go away, what we may find is they seem to get louder and more intense. All we want is relief from the incessant overwhelming feelings, and for things to be the way they were before we experienced our loss.
Let’s look at the dictionary definitions of healing and heal:
Looking up these definitions sent me down a rabbit hole, looking at definitions of curative, (serving to heal) mending, (an act that mends or repairs) of becoming whole, (comprising the full quantity) etc.
Each definition provides another layer of meaning, yet none fully describes what healing from grief means to me.
With each definition, I became more and more sure that the healing that is described in the dictionary looks nothing like what healing from deep grief looks like. The closest I can come to what healing feels like for me is this. As I began to emerge from the day-to-day fog and shock of my daughter’s death, what I describe as healing came in glimmers of hope.
I can point to these as sign posts along the way like I was reclaiming my life, even though it looked different than it did before. I didn’t experience healing as a linear journey. There were many starts and stops, and sometimes it felt like I was taking one step forward and several backwards. The common ground was continuing to see hope and light, no matter how dim, at the end of the tunnel.
Everyone’s healing journey is unique just like everyone’s grief journey is unique. What is your experience of healing after a loss?
When I saw this question as a prompt my first thought was,
Then I realized that quite often, my first thought is an attempt to avoid a place that feels too vulnerable. I wondered why I felt vulnerable writing about what inspires me.
My biggest inspiration is my family, especially Dan, my husband, Peter, my son, Leah, my daughter, and Arya, my granddaughter. Arya is the newest member of that list at little over 1 year old, and I wanted to go right to her because she is such a delight. I love watching her discover things about her world. I love her unabashed trust in all of us who love her.
I would not be able to appreciate her the way I do without the inspiration of Dan, Peter, and Leah, so before I continue my reflections of Arya, I will start with them.
Dan inspired me from the day I met him. He was the first person who really saw me for who I was, even though it would be many years before I saw myself that way. He was instrumental in helping me to meet that person and grow to appreciate her, and then to love her. He always gave me unconditional love at a time when it was not apparent in my life. He helped me learn to trust myself, and relax into the person I am meant to be. He opened up the door of possibilities before I even knew that there was a door.
As my firstborn child, Peter inspired me to be a better person, and a better mother than I ever thought possible. The sight of this tiny human that blessed our lives over 40 years ago made me appreciate child-like joy through play and discovery.
Leah inspired me to take a stand for myself when I sought a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean) birth. Peter’s birth was a C-section due to complications from a car accident. I wanted a different birth experience with Leah. We educated ourselves about VBAC, and were successful. Leah also inspired me by the way she lived her life. (Although I didn’t see it at the time!) She was intense from day one, and always fought for what she wanted. I later thought that maybe this was because she would be here for such a short time.
My family inspired me throughout my life to follow my own path, and to do my inner work, so that I could provide an environment for them to do the same.
Back to Arya. I know in my heart that if I had not done my own work, the work involved in creating a family that thrives, and the work from my grief journey that I would not have been able to be fully present to the wonder of my granddaughter. I do not have layers of protection around my heart from suppressing my feelings during my life. I learned how to feel all of my feelings, so my heart is open, and from that place I can appreciate my granddaughter with a completely open heart.
The humans that I love the most inspired me to live my best life, to meet the difficulties of my life with grace, to be vulnerable. So there you have it. We don’t like to be vulnerable, and yet that’s what makes us open to love and a worthwhile life.
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I’m often asked how I can be joyful and live the life I am living when I’m doing it without my daughter’s presence in my life.
I will never get over Leah’s death. I’ve had a 20-year inquiry into what healing form her death looks like, and I have a problem wrapping my head around what accepting her death means.
I’ve accepted that she is not here, and that in order to live the life I was meant to live that I had/have to find a way to honor her, and to be the best me that I can be. That has not been an easy road, and it has meant that I needed to learn how to feel my excruciating feelings of grief.
In the early days of my grief journey I used diversion and distraction to keep from feeling my feelings of grief. I thought that if I ate enough chocolate chip cookies, I wouldn’t have to feel the pain of losing my daughter. I thought that those feelings would eventually go away if I pushed them away long enough.
What I found out is that they got louder to get my attention.
I learned that feeling them was the way through, and when I allowed them to be met they quieted down. There are many ways to feel our feelings. My own practice of present moment awareness, Samyama, is what helped me learn to get better at feeling my raw feelings. I could bring one feeling at a time, to my heart, and my heart shifted the feeling. Our hearts are alchemical vessels that can hold whatever we bring to them. As I began to have a greater capacity to feel my painful feelings, I found out that I could also feel joy and happiness to a greater degree. I learned that I can feel joy and pain at the same time.
There are different kinds of clouds, and they always move through. Even dark storm clouds move through. Our feelings are the same. They are not good or bad, they are energy that need to be met and felt, and then they move through too.
When they come back, it doesn’t mean we are regressing. When we are present to our feelings, we realize that the feeling may seem similar to feelings we have had before, yet in this moment it is slightly different. Just like no two clouds are alike.
My grief journey taught me that when we feel the full spectrum of our feelings, we can live a fuller life. When I fully participate in all aspects of my life, does that mean I have healed from the death of my daughter? That is a question that I continue to sit with. Healing doesn’t look like what I thought it would when I considered it early on. That may be a topic for further discussion. What I know now is that when I can bring all of my feelings into my heart, my heart can hold them, and my head doesn’t have to try to figure out what to do with them.
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When I was preparing to move from Raleigh to St. Paul in the fall of 2020, there was a lot of purging of things we no longer needed. Some of these were easy to pack in boxes and take to places that were accepting donations.
In the course of my life I’ve been a somewhat sporadic writer. Early in my journey, I would decide that writing in a journal would help to uncover what I needed to know to work on in myself, and then I could get to the work of “fixing” it. This was all before I found presence as a practice, and before I knew that there was nothing to fix.
I couldn’t just pick up where I left off in an old one because that represented failure to me, I had stopped writing daily in that journal (or weekly, or….) and I needed to find the perfect journal to capture the deepest thoughts that would lead to the transformation that I was envisioning for myself. Inevitably, I would not be consistent with my latest attempt to fix myself, and yet another journal would go into the pile of half started journals.
This was only one place where perfection showed up in my life. I used to think that if I could just “get it right” i.e. find the perfect combination of goals, rules, insights, etc. that I would attain what I was looking for, and I always failed. These attempts of finding the perfect combination of things out there to make me happy; always sent me into a tail spin of self abuse.
If I couldn’t achieve the perfect body, the perfect hair, the perfect disposition; be the perfect mother or wife, how could I be successful?
How could I teach my children?
How could I find fulfillment?
This cycle repeated itself numerous times before I began to unravel perfectionism in my life.
After Leah died, the fabric of my life was ripped apart. My life was cracked open. It was only when I looked at my life from that place that I knew perfectionism was not attainable. At first I thought it was because my daughter died, how could I have a perfect life without her physical presence?
My grief journey took me to the depths of despair. As I climbed out through presence, and my Samyama practice, I began to see that perfectionism is a myth. That there is no perfect place to go; no perfect way to be. I learned that I perfectly imperfect just as I am.
I began to look for answers inside my heart rather than outside myself. My heart would often lead me to a teaching, or teacher, yet the inspiration always came from within. That was not an easy lesson for me to learn. The more present I became, the more I could discern my inner voice. I learned what my intuition felt like in my body. I learned to trust my full body yes.
Do I still try to find the best way to do things? The perfect way? Yes, sometimes I do, and now know that this work is a practice, not a perfect, and I can give myself grace when I find myself heading down that particular rabbit hole.
Living my life in this way has brought more joy into my life, more inspiration, and yes, more happiness and contentment. I’ve loosened my grip on things that I thought were needed to achieve a particular way of living. Now I allow rather than strive so hard to attain something.
When I found them I read a little from a few of them and realized I am light years away from where I was when I was striving for perfection. I toyed with the idea of picking them up and continuing to write from where I am today. That didn’t feel right to me.
Before I moved I held a ritual to burn those journals, as well as other things that helped me along the way in my journey, yet no longer were aligned with where I am today. Burning my journals released more of the hold that perfectionism had on me. I thanked them for serving their purpose when they did.
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