When Grief Arrives, You Give In!

Although I so want to write about it, I really do not know what is a good starting point. Is it a good starting point to mention what I said to my therapist about my experience of 2020?  I said how it still scares me. I told a few days ago that I do not have the feeling of "Been there, done that". I do not have the feeling of "Bring it on! I have seen the worst and I am back!" No! I do not feel victorious. I do not feel like a phoenix. When you have an encounter with a wild animal and you are torn into pieces but you some how come out alive and take months/years to finally get back to living the rest of your life, do you think you now have seen it all and think, "Who cares if another tiger leaps at me from the next bush! I have seen it all!! I can get out of it alive again!!"? I doubt that. You probably are too thankful to be alive! You would do anything to avoid another incident like that. 

Let me reiterate. Till now I never think, "I have come back from the bottomless pit so bring it on baby!" I never want to be back there, ever! Am I aware that there is still a possibility of lodging back there? Yes! I am. However, I want to do everything to not to be there, including dusting the darkest corners of myself regularly. 

Let me tell you why I started thinking about the time and my take on it all over again. Yesterday night a dear human being wrote thanking me and said now that they are out of that darkest place, they know they can. They would not lose the track again. I loved the confidence but was scared for the person. I kept reminding the practices. I was assured those will be practiced. My fingers stopped typing, but my heart was not comforted. 

The conversation brought back the memories of the nights I spent dreading the morning and the days I passed thinking the next day would just be the same and the time when I almost scrambled for something to hold on to in the name of hope. I felt totally hopeless. I did not look forward to anything. Anything at all. And this was completely new to me! I always described myself as pathologically optimist before this period. And there I was, sitting blank about the next day. I did not know if the pain would be less the next day and I did not know how! I did not know how long will I have to carry on being hurled into this bottomless pit. I struggled to bear it that day and I did not have a roadmap. I felt desperate! I saw no light at the end of the tunnel. I had to learn to give in. I had to let grief rule. It was so not me to do that!

Let me quote Brené Brown here, who I read quite often (blame it on my affinity towards a fellow student of Social Work). She says, "We can’t ignore hopelessness and despair in ourselves or others—they are both reliable predictors of suicidal thoughts, suicide attempts, and completed suicide, especially when hopelessness is accompanied by emotional pain." And my emotional pain was numbing at that point. No! I did not think of dying by suicide. I did not plan anything. However, I did think dying would be so much easier than living on at that point. And I thought of that many times. I am thankful that I had the intelligence of assessing something big was coming and I was not doing too well and thus creating a professional safety-net in which I could share this. Not a great space, but still a space. And this was of course not a friend. The friends I had thus far were more used to my being strong and were more like my version 2.1. That is, how I was before this period. They could only think of how to solve the issue. They were not comfortable being around my pain and just sitting there with me as I writhed in pain. In their efforts to lessen my pain they at times absolved the abusers of any wilful wrong doing (as if that is any consolation), in other times they said I should have seen the period coming and hence should not be grieving like that. They did not have time for such a prolonged period of grief. They also got angry at their inability to do something (they felt helplessness in reality, but we are more comfortable being "mad" at something) immediately, and in turn on my inability to "move on". 

I was on the other hand in no position make them feel better by feigning "I was better" and I am quite thankful for that. If I could have done that yet again, I would have stayed version 2.1. Had I not been broken so badly, I would not have seen the darkest of the crevices in my mind and I would have remained exactly how some of my friends were to me.  I was exactly that to them and to others in pain. I could listen to people with rapt attention though even before this period of realisation but I was not too kind to repeat stories. I so identify with my younger colleague who 

comes to me often and says, "...but Nayana... they are stuck at the same place. They do not take my advice and then get into the same troubles and come again to relate. What do I say other than '...but you already knew this would happen...I had told you that..' " That was me a few years ago. I told people what to do, how to solve, how to move on. I took great pride in being a problem-solver. To be fair, I told myself exactly the same things, "There is a problem. solve it! Do not sit with it." And to be even fairer, I did not have time to look at my emotional issues. I raised a young child single handedly and remained totally gaslighted by a family which believed (at least outwardly) and showed through their behaviour that nothing had happened to me. To them, it was just my own whim in a way to end my marriage. I do not always blame them. I see the role of social norm too. But I am diverting here.... 

Getting back to my 2020 days of grieving and why I would never dare to go back there... Like Elizabeth Gilbert said, "Grief is a force or energy that can not be controlled. It comes and goes on its schedule. Grief does not obey your plans, or your wishes. Grief will do whatever it wants to do with you, whenever it wants to." I was totally not prepared for anything like that. I, the control freak. I, the meticulous planner. When grief struck me, it struck me so hard that I was left gasping for breath for an indefinite period of time. And the indefinite part was more troubling than the gasping. It felt all pervasive. Everything felt meaningless. Every word felt like a lie. 

I tried to talk to friends. They reminded me that I was strong after all. That did not help! I did not feel strong at all! I wanted to see someone feel the pain. Someone to say, "I feel it! It is terrible! I know how bad it feels! I am around." I heard, "You are such an inspiration to so many. How can

you......." instead. I wanted to scream at the top of my voice, "I do not care! I can't breathe!!" Many of them came close to saying, "I told you so..." or "You already knew the result...." in their efforts to console me. I wanted to throw a bottle of water on them. However good sense prevailed and I talked to some of them how these lines were not helpful. And some of them grew with me in my grief. Bless them! 

Strangely one of the things that kept me floating somehow was my responsibility to make sure all my colleagues received salaries as some donor organisations stopped funding. I supported two of my colleagues ardently to raise funds as they worked towards it. I could take inspiration from their authentic concern. I was there for late night meetings. I was there for writing and rewriting proposals. That responsibility felt real in that unreal time when everything else felt meaningless. We are so much more even in our moments of intense anxiety. I was not only someone scrambling for help. I was helping too. I now think if I would have died by suicide on one of those days, most of you would have written a note expressing shock! I performed my roles well even as I felt that the grief picked my flesh bit by bit every hour of every day. Like a vulture. 

But trust me, I wanted my grief to be seen. I wanted me to be fully seen. And I so agree when Prof Neimeyer says, "Each person's grief is as unique as their fingerprint. But what everyone has in common is that no matter how they grieve, they share a need for their grief to be witnessed. That doesn't mean needing someone to lessen it or reframe it for them. The need is for someone to be fully present to the magnitude of their loss without trying to point out the silver lining." I need(ed) nothing other than someone saying, "I see you grieving." "I understand how hard! I feel it in my bones." 

Is the grief gone? No. It visits me at its will. I know every once in a while I will start breathing shallow at moments, my eyes will tear up, my heart will pound and my head will ask, "What kind of a world is this!" but now I do not try to control it. I let myself feel it. Be with it. Grief is my friendly and not so friendly visitor now.

I often argue there is no hidden life-lesson in grief. Do not try to tell people that they are stronger because of the grief or the trauma. However if I have learnt one thing out of my period of grieving then it is this: when someone shares their pain with me, I do not try to lessen it. I sit there with them with all my discomfort. My brain keeps saying, "..tell him to fix it! You can fix it too. Tell him how!" I don't. I don't point the silver lining. I do not sell false hope. I say, "I know how it feels. It is terrible. I am so sorry you have to face it. Who knows if there will ever be an answer to the questions you are asking now but I know no answer will lessen your pain. Be with it. And I am with you as long as you want me to. To listen. To work together. To stay away for the periods you want me to. I only know life is immensely liveable even with pain, with sadness, with periods of intense grief" 

My grief has curved a new me out of myself and newer versions of older friends who stayed put with me. We are all the same, but just grew together a bit. And I have immense gratitude for it.