So, this guy considers himself a sort of grief counselor. As far as I can tell, I don't think that he actually has any training in the field. He seems to have suffered a loss himself, and now considers himself some kind of a grief life coach, or some such thing.
In a recent posting, he suggested packing yourself a grief backpack for the journey ahead. This seems to be simply a list of activities or thoughts or, well, I don't know exactly, and I don't think he does either. Most of the tips that are included in this list are fairly problematic. Some of them I simply do not understand at all.
I don't particularly know why, and I'm not sure that this will be helpful to anyone, but an awful lot of the stuff that he lists is given in other suggested grief guides. And an awful lot of it isn't particularly helpful. So I thought that I would annotate his list.
Be kind to yourself
An awful lot of grief guides, and groups, and counselors, suggest being kind to yourself. I'm not exactly sure how this is supposed to work. After all, you are the one who has been hurt, and even damaged. How are you supposed to be kind to yourself? It would be very nice if someone was kind to you, but you may not be in any particular position to help anyone, let alone yourself.
Yes, I can see the point of telling people not to beat up on themselves. After all, you have been hurt. Survivor's guilt to the contrary, the loss that you have suffered is generally speaking not your fault. So, don't beat yourself up. Or, at least, try not to beat yourself up. As I mentioned, survivor's guilt is a real thing. But it's hard to be kind to yourself. Are you supposed to give yourself little treats? After all, you are going to be the one paying for the little treats. And when does a treat come under the category of being kind to yourself, and when does it skip over the line into being self indulgence? Okay, maybe even asking that question, and considering self-indulgence, is not exactly being kind to yourself. But, once again, what the heck is being kind to yourself?
Lean in — then lean out
Since this backpack for the journey is just a list, an awful lot of the items don't necessarily make any sense on first glance. Lean in? Lean into what? So, the obvious answer would appear to be, grief.
Yes, I can see the point of allowing yourself to grieve. You have suffered a loss, you are going to grieve. So, allow yourself to grieve. As previously noted, don't beat yourself up over the fact that you are grieving. You have suffered a loss; you are supposed to grieve. That's the way life works. When I am overcome by a grief burst, even in public walking down the street, I don't particularly try and fight it. I just let the tears come. (This is assisted by the fact that I am the only pedestrian in town, and so, even on the street, nobody is going to ever see me crying.)
I'm not sure if this is what he actually means by lean in, but I suppose it'll do.
And then there is the lean out part. What the heck is that supposed to be about? At some point you stop grieving? That doesn't happen. Well, yes, okay, you do go on living. But you don't know when you are going to stop grieving, and, actually, you never do. Grief doesn't end. Grief doesn't go away. And there are lots of people who say that grief doesn't actually get smaller, it's just that your life gets bigger around it. So, yes, eventually you have to start living life, or just continue living life, and I suppose that might be what is meant by leaning out of grief, but it really isn't helpful, and it doesn't seem to define any particular point at which you switch from leaning in to leaning out.
Form rituals
I'm not sure that this is for everyone. Some people are big on ritual. Actually, we all have rituals. My rituals tend to be more practical, and I wouldn't call them rituals so much as habits. There are certain things in life that I don't want to decide every single time. I don't want to waste time and brain power on making those decisions. So, a lot of people would say that I have a very ritualized morning. I get out of bed, I fluff the pillows, I open the bed bedding to air it out, I read the Bible, I do tai chi, and then I get started on deleting spam, in preparation to reading email. I have a ritual, or a habit, in terms of what I do in terms of morning washing, toothbrushing, and getting dressed. After all, I don't have to decide these things, so I don't waste any brain power on deciding these things. It's a ritual, there's no particular reason to change it, so that's the way I do it.
But this probably isn't what this person meant by rituals. It probably means something along the lines of going to visit the grave. Looking at a favorite picture of the loved one. Contemplating the rock, that would have no meaning for anyone else, but is special to you, because it was special to the loved one. These are probably the rituals, and meaningful rituals, of which this person spoke.
I don't go and visit the grave. It's a long way away now, but even when I was closer, it wasn't something that had any meaning, and I didn't do it very often. I've got the pictures, but pictures never have meant very much to me. I've got the objects, and I keep them somewhat safe, because I have the space, and sometimes I think about them, but, on a ritualized daily, or weekly, or hourly basis, contemplating them doesn't give me any particular comfort or help.
For some people rituals are important. For other people rituals are either unimportant, or simply practical. You need to know yourself whether rituals are important to you.
Tell others what you need
I don't know, for sure, but I think this one is a flat no.
First of all, I am sick to death of all of the people who say "let me know if you need anything." After all, I am the one who is damaged here. Why is it that the entire responsibility, not only of determining what it is that I need, but also of assessing whether or not *you* are able to provide what I need, falls on me? I am the one who is damaged. I am the one who is weak. I am the one who is probably cognitively impaired by this whole situation. Why is it that I need to be the one who does all of the work?
Secondly, I *have*. I have, at various times, told people what it is that I need. Many many times. To many, many people. And, pretty much universally, nobody has given me what I need, or what I asked for. Okay, possibly I am just unlucky. Possibly I am a random outlier. But I strongly suspect not. In my own attempts at volunteering with people who are in similar states of need, I am finding enormous need. And pretty much zero resources to address it. Yes, there are agencies, charities, and societies who work at addressing this field. Pretty much universally they are overwhelmed with the task, and part of the enormity of the task is trying to get any kind of resources. Money is lacking. Volunteers are lacking. When you do get somebody who is willing to sign up as a volunteer, and go through whatever level of training that you can provide, you frequently find that the hours that they are willing to put in are pretty minimal, and that frequently (sometimes after only a few months) they fall by the wayside and you never hear from them again.
And, on the third hand, there is the enormous task of figuring out who to ask for help. By and large, the most common reaction you get from telling people what your needs are is a vague "oh, that's too bad," and a change of subject.
(The second most common reaction is the aforementioned "let me know if there's anything I can do to help.")
Exercise — walk, run, cycle, dance
Well, yes, I can agree with this one, mostly unreservedly. Exercise is, generally, good for you.
After Gloria died I started walking. I can't do any other kind of exercise: I've never been able to do any kind of sport at all. But, after Gloria died I started walking. In my case it wasn't to address the grief, it was, first of all, the fact that the doctors had, for a number of years, asked me to get more exercise, even if it was only walking. The second impetus was that it was painful sitting in that apartment just staring at the twelve walls. (Yeah, it was kind of interesting construction.)
So, yeah, some kind of exercise is good, and walking in particular. Try doing the closest trip, for which you usually take the car, and start trying to do that as a walk. Don't start out with marathons, just start out with a little walk, but try to do it as frequently as possible. Over time, you should probably be able to increase it.
But I suppose I should include two provisos. One is that this, and a few other items on this list, with which I generally agree, are part of the list of things that the counselors, frequently, include in the list of all the things that I'm doing right. And it doesn't actually fix anything. It's really rather depressing that I'm doing everything right, but I'm still depressed.
And there is the recent development that I am, these days, really exhausted. It is getting harder and harder to get out of bed, it is getting harder and harder to get out of the house, it is getting harder and harder to do any kind of activity at all. And so, in an attempt not to just stay home and do nothing, I am driving more these days. Instead of doing those trips as walking. I'm not sure what this means. I'm worried about it, but I'm more worried about not doing anything at all.
Grief cliches (2)
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