I've written a lot about grief brain (aka widow brain, aka Grief-Induced Stupidity (GIS)), but it didn't occur to me until just now that it's not only the grieving who experience it. Thanks to the Great American Tradition of Grief, those of you who love someone who's grieving... you experience it too. I know this because of the inadvertently thoughtless things people say to the grieving; GIS is the only possible explanation. Case in point: I'm not even going to link to the site where I found this, because I'm so angry that I don't want to send them any traffic, but this got my anger juices flowing in a BIG way:
Often the pain that wounds us most deeply also leaves the most enduring mark upon us. The shock that becomes the tender, throbbing ache of the heart eventually leads us down the path of enlightenment, blessing our lives with a new depth and richness.
Oh, how I LONG to find the author of this big, steaming pile of horseshit and verbally beat them with a clue-by-four. It's positively appalling, the mental gymnastics that people will go through to find a way to give a faux-spiritual spin to, "Hey, see? It's GOOD that your loved one is dead, because now you'll REALLY appreciate those you love!"
No. Just... no. Suggesting that my husband's death was so that I could be enlightened is beyond ridiculous; suggesting that my life was not already deep and rich is OUTRAGEOUS. It's manipulative tripe, designed to minimize our pain and make the grieving feel like shit if we don't find some silver lining in the storm clouds of our despair. You know: we're supposed to become the Inspirational Widows Who Overcame and Triumphed, preferably with a picture of us either free-soloing El Capitan or crossing the finish line at the NYC Marathon or trekking across Alaska. Because nobody wants to believe that sometimes bad things just happen, and they're awful, and there's no rhyme or reason to them. And NOBODY wants to see us moping around for longer than they deem acceptable.
People, if you ever say this, or any variation of this, to a grieving person live and in person, you're likely to get knocked on your ass. Consider yourself warned(**). And not only will the jury vote to acquit, they MAY actually suggest that you should be knocked on your ass a few more times. THAT'S how horrible a thing to say this is.
Look, I get it: someone you care about is in pain because someone they care about has died. You want to help; you want to ease their pain. You can do neither. Your choices at this point are:
- Be present and allow yourself to truly witness and validate our pain.
- Disappear so as to avoid the discomfort of witnessing the pain of someone whose life has just been ripped to shreds.
- Follow the Great American Tradition of Grief, which is to spew platitudes and cliches that sound as though they should be helpful, but whose real message is, "This is making me really uncomfortable, so kindly feel better or just slap on a happy face and shut up." You may not THINK that's the message you're sending, but I GUARANTEE you, it's the one we're getting.
Option 1 is ideal; Option 2 will leave us feeling abandoned, so that's suboptimal, but it's still better - by a country mile - than Option 3. If you Option 2 me, I'll probably be hurt, but in the long run I'll understand so long as you don't let too much time pass without reaching out. If you Option 3 me once, I'll explain how and why what you said is not helpful, and suggest what you can do instead. If you Option 3 me a second time, you're clearly more interested in making yourself feel helpful than in making me feel supported, so you're cut off.
Try to practice this skill in your daily life; if you master it in less catastrophic circumstances, it won't feel so foreign when you're supporting someone in deep grief. And practicing it is easy, folks, because we ALL complain A LOT, over issues big and small. So, the next time one of your friends starts talking about her sick dog and expressing her fear, resist the urge to jump in with reassurances like, "Oh, he'll be FINE!" Instead, go with something like, "I'm sorry; that must be really terrifying." That's it; acknowledge our suffering. That is literally ALL you need to do. If you want to offer to take on some task that you know we're not up for doing, and you're close enough (both physically and emotionally) to us that it doesn't seem like level-jumping, then that's lovely (but don't be offended if we don't take you up on it), but it really is above-and-beyond. The magic here is in acknowledging and validating our pain.
You can practice this on anything from ridiculous complaints about traffic ("Man, that sucks!") to major life issues like, say, a cheating spouse ("How horrible for you! I'm sure you're feeling just about every emotion there is.")
And after you say these validating, loving things... you listen. You let us talk, and you let us cry if we need to, and you let us scream if we need to. And every now and then, you say those validating, loving things again. Lather, rinse, repeat as needed. And follow our lead: if we don't want to talk, let us not talk. Sometimes, we just want to be alone with our thoughts, or a documentary, or a big bottle of bourbon; don't take that personally.
Most of all: teach these skills to your children! Let's start raising the next generations to support those in grief in a way that will be meaningful rather than harmful. Feeling empathy may be human nature, but we kinda suck at expressing it. Let's change that, shall we?
No, none of this is going to make your grieving loved one feel better; you need to accept the possibility that we may well feel better at some unknown date in the future, but we may equally well be in this same pain for the rest of our lives. So, no - you're not going to make anyone feel better, but you will help us feel SEEN. Those of us who are grieving tend to feel invisible. Feeling seen doesn't lessen our grief, but it does provide a little release valve that eases the pressure, just a tiny bit. Which is why I so appreciate the folks who reach out to me regularly to offer a listening ear, provide one when I take them up on it, and accept it when I say no or don't have the energy to reply one way or the other.
**Disclaimer: I am not recommending nor am I condoning violence. I am simply using a very pointed statement to explain that folks will not look kindly on you for such a statement.
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