Member-only story
There’s no shame in being a complete mess
Be strong. Don’t make others uncomfortable. It’s time to move on. Or maybe like Princess Elsa in Frozen, you’re urged to “Conceal, don’t feel.”
Whatever sentiment is given, they all mean the same: limit your grief.
I was nineteen when my grandfather died unexpectedly. As a child, I had lived with him on and off, and we had a close relationship. However, after I moved to California at sixteen, we never saw each other again, and his death crushed me with guilt and grief. I sobbed the entire flight from Los Angeles to Detroit, and the flight crew moved me to the empty last row so I wouldn’t disturb the other passengers. At the wake and funeral, I sat numbly and wished that I could hug him again. Thankfully, I was surrounded by others who were also experiencing grief, and we leaned on each other.
However, when I arrived back in LA, that wasn’t the case. My boyfriend of two years picked me up from the airport, and he didn’t ask how I was. Later that night, when the tension of trying to be okay became too much and I sobbed, he chastised me and told me to get over it. My grief upset him, and he wanted me to stop.
He wasn’t my boyfriend for much longer.
For centuries, a long mourning period was normal — often a year and sometimes more.
This is still true in many cultures, but in the modern United States we have this notion that showing grief is a weakness. Bullshit. It takes a brave person to say, “I’m not okay,” and hope that the other person responds with, “I’m listening.” It takes courage to acknowledge you hurt deeper than you knew was possible. And it takes strength to face each day knowing you will probably hurt at some point.
We treat grief as something to hurry through, but it doesn’t march steadily toward a finish line. No, grief meanders, turns backward, and maybe hops forward before sliding back a little. Some days feel okay, and other days feel impossible to get through. It can take days, months, years, or eternity to feel better.
That’s the problem: grief isn’t contained by boundaries.
