As you’ve seen, one of my upcoming retreats is focused on resilience—not grief. Still, they’re two sides of the same coin.
Webster defines resilience as, “The ability to recover from or adjust to change or misfortune.”
I don’t know about you, but this definition has warning signs all over it.
I heard a talk recently, and the presenter spoke about what would happen if someone in the room suddenly fell and broke their arm. Instantly, a group of people would most likely run over. They would check to see if the person was okay, stabilize the arm, comfort them as best they could, call for additional resources, and stay with them quietly until extra help arrived.
Now, think about if someone in the audience suffered the death of a parent the previous day, and they were the equivalent of a puddle on the floor. What would the group do in that case?
Did your heart sink when you thought about it?
What first popped into mind?
Maybe it was the one thing you heard over and over again as a child when you were facing a loss.
Was it one of these?
- “It’s okay! Time heals all wounds.”
- “Don’t cry!”
- “She’s in a better place.”
- “Here, have a cookie.”
Let’s take a moment and reflect on how crazy our response to grievers actually is! Here’s the thing: We know how to be there for someone in physical pain. We know how to sit with them, comfort them, and hug them. We can do it for the person with the broken arm just fine.
For any number of reasons, we almost mandate someone who is grieving to “recover from or adjust to a change or misfortune,” and we want them to do it quickly!
And often they do—for us.
But that’s not reality. When someone loses something meaningful to them, we should be there for them in any capacity we can show up. Often, when someone is grieving, we don’t like to touch them with a 10-foot pole out of fear. We’re scared we’re going to say the wrong thing. We fear we’re not the person they need. We are afraid to overstep.
But when it comes to grieving, oftentimes, the person going through it feels alone and likely doesn’t want to be. So in the same way you would be there for someone with a broken arm, try sitting with them, comforting them, and maybe even hugging them. It won’t take the pain away, but at least they know they’re supported.
For years, I was the good little girl with no problems anyone could see. I felt the need to keep the peace for my family. It became easier than focusing on the pain and the misfortune. It was easier for others if I just remained numb, but I wasn’t okay, and there was a little part of me that wanted to be.
I wanted to experience healing. And now, I don’t want resilience for anyone without some measure of healing.
Resilience is possible. True resilience is possible. It’s even more likely when we’re surrounded by support and lean into hope.
But how do we learn to resolve? If true resilience is not just putting on an Academy Award-winning movie for your friends and loved ones, then what is it?
Stay tuned for next week.
And if this topic is fascinating you, as much as it is me, consider joining us for the upcoming resilience retreat. I’ve included the details below.