I was surrounded by family again, after a decade, but I felt so alone. I was so isolated by what had just happened. How could I become a statistic? Less than a year after the wedding, my marriage disintegrated into ashes.
How did I get here?
How much was I to blame for the events that had unfolded?
Those burning questions kept swirling in my head and kept me in a downward spiral back in 2019.
I instantly found myself as part of a ring-fenced group of people: Those who desperately need healing—those who deeply need to grieve but think they are somehow not allowed.
Even though I was in a safe place, the voices began to whisper: “You should have known better. You could have done more. What were you thinking?”
What Keeps People From Grieving
What people don’t think they can grieve:
- Loss of marriage
- Loss of job
- Loss of health
Loss of marriage, a job, or health all can be so easily twisted in our minds to sound like this:
“Surely, I am somehow a participant in the loss.”
“Surely, I am somehow to blame.”
“What if someone found out I was choosing to grieve this?”
“There is just so much more to do.”
“I need to get my life back together. I don’t have time for this.”
It wasn’t just the fear of grief, at the beginning—it was the fear that someone would find out I was actually grieving something that I played a part in.
Within the first few weeks I was back in the U.S., a dear friend experienced the death of her child, and it was a clear confirmation to me that her grief was somehow greater than mine.
Yet, as I sat alone in those early days, the losses began piling up at my feet. It wasn’t just the marriage. I had lost the person I thought would be my greatest cheerleader. I lost the person I wanted to serve in marriage. I lost the opportunity to heal together. I lost the opportunity to grow with someone. I lost the dream of serving the world together.
What You Can Grieve
Over the years, I have found the amount of people who don’t think they have permission to grieve is far greater than I imagined.
They included:
- Spouses whose loved ones are experiencing dementia or Alzheimer’s
- Parents who have lost an unborn child
- Parents who lost a child in a violent crime
- Parents who los a child through suicide
The heartbreaking list goes on and on.
The worst of it may be the unspoken words and glances you experience when you see lifelong friends. Maybe it’s the woman at church who says, “One miscarriage is nothing. I’ve had five, and I’m fine.”
People say and do the most hurtful things when we are in our darkest hour. It often becomes a game of who’s had it harder. At the end of the day, misery often loves company.
But the pain doesn’t go away—it just intensifies.
No matter how much I was choosing to not grieve, my body was saying, “Too bad.” The symptoms of grief begin. I felt nauseated when I took even a moment to think of what my life had become. I had nightmares for months that kept me awake through the night. My back was in agonizing pain as I internalized the anger.
We all know at least the beginnings of how someone grieves the death of a loved one. The same is not necessarily true with these other losses. We have no set ritual. We don’t have a eulogy or a funeral.
It’s no wonder so many of us are flailing around in the experience of grief, not knowing what to do—feeling more overwhelmed by the fear of grief than grief itself.
It doesn’t have to be this way. We all need a safe space to be, to truly experience the emotions of grief, and to create a response that is so unique.
Eventually, I had to give myself permission to experience the loss. What I discovered in the process was unexpected safety and a way forward.