In my work with a client recently, we were processing the impact of this virus and the collective, deep, screeching halt that we have all come to as a global community. We were talking about all the work that still needed doing from home and the various projects that they could embark on in light of having all this time. The Zoom meetings! The fitness goals! But after some discussion, there was this mutual realization in the moment that we could give one another permission to stop. To just freaking stop. STOP. Because the REAL work to be done is the work of grieving, and grieving does not require us to be productive.
I’m a psychotherapist, and so it is literally my job to constantly be on to some new self-improvement/inner healing/enlightenment project. Some new book. Some new writing idea. Some new clinical intervention to learn or theory to pursue. And I’m an American, which means that I somehow feel the pressure to be the best! And to do all the things, all the time! And to be on Instagram about it! And live-stream about it! And look, please look at me in my success!!! (more on that here).
This collective pause has brought all of this to the surface for me - the need to strive and to be seen and to know and to take advantage of this time! Keep going! Now’s your chance!
But I’m realizing that grief is not like that at all. And to be quite clear, I am certainly grieving. I’m grieving the daily, overwhelming loss of life. The loss of jobs and financial security around the globe. The loss of my old, familiar patterns. The loss of physical connection.
Perhaps the work that needs doing is learning how to let my body and my brain off the hook. And so, from my own social isolation, here’s what grief has looked like for me:
Grief is sadness and confusion.
Grief is rage.
Grief wears pajamas and no bra.
Grief eats what it likes.
Grief is slow.
Grief is spacious.
Grief is unmotivated.
Grief lacks a schedule.
Grief stops to remember.
Grief is grounded and earthy.
Grief is lost without a map.
Grief likes to go outside. And stay in bed.
Grief gives permission.
Lots of folks are writing about this and these words aren’t novel (see what I did there?). But hopefully, like the conversation with my client, these words help you to simply pause. To allow. To sit. To wait. To practice silence. Here are a couple of articles that perhaps articulate this better than I can from The New York Times and The Chronicle of Higher Education. They helped me work through this in my own head and heart.
There will be an After This. For many of us, there will be time to be productive and strive for success and start new projects. But for now, the task at hand is to mourn the dead. Bake the casserole. Wear the stretchy pants. Cry the tears. Feel the fear. Take it slow. It’s ok.
Give yourself permission.