undone by grief

Every third Monday of the month I run a grief circle at Hopewell House with a dear friend and colleague, Brooke Lesley. Each month we explore a new or familiar face of grief, which is most often guided by the synergy of the group and what already exists in the field. It’s a precious and beautiful and raw experience each time, and I feel tremendous gratitude that I have the privilege to sit among the courage and vulnerability of grief’s expression. 

There are two things that keep coming out of my mouth and continues to find its way into conversation, so I’d like to share them with you as well. 

The role of grief is to become undone.

Grieving is psychic hygiene.

The role of grief is to become undone.

When I first feel into this, into my body, there’s a part that wants to contract. A part that wants to cling to the jagged, fragmented and broken parts, cracked and shattered and threatening to die. There’s an impulse to pull those parts back, to seal up the exposed and fragile, tender flesh that exists beneath. To provide shade and cover from being seen. I can spend, and have spent, great energy on maintaining this containment, by keeping myself small, and yet the natural order of things seems to be to break. I know this is not a novel idea, by any means. I still have found it curious how many times my inner critic admonishes me to “hold it together”, stay in-tact, be chill, be calm - cool - collected, when a lot of the time what I feel is that I’m on the precipice of falling apart. But this surprising thing happens, either by choice or chance, when I just can’t hold the tears back anymore, that grief - by allowing myself to feel more - allows me to deepen, and ground into myself. To tune in better. There’s a way that by becoming undone allows me to let go of the armor and sensitize myself enough to feel deeper meaning and connection. I have to remember over and over again that grief is something that happens to the body, in the body, and is not equivalent to the fleeting changeable weather of emotion. Grieving is a necessary and natural process of being human. And this dovetails beautifully into the next sentiment, which is…

Grieving is psychic hygiene.

It is required of us regularly, especially when we are faced with caregiving or tending, or when witnessing with our eyes and hearts wide open. That in order to become a vessel, and allow grief to move through us without clinging we need to establish practices that help us return to ourselves. Psychic hygiene - to me - feels like soul cleansing and detoxing. Witnessing can be provocative, triggering. It can stir us to action, it can stir us to remember our own pain. These sticky parts that emerge deserve their own witness, their own tears, their own sobs. But they also deserve to be liberated, transformed, composted so that we can continue showing up from our center and not from our triggers. 

A simple ritual I use when I’m in my office is hand cleansing (and sometimes face cleansing) or spritzing hydrosols or essential oil sprays. Another is burning incense, resins, herbs. Breathing practices, like deep inhales with audible exhales, or movement like taking a quick walk, or body shaking or stretching are also very helpful. And then eating food, drinking water, napping, nourishing one’s body are radical ways to come back to yourself. 

By becoming undone, then tending to the part(s) that need to be cared for, we engage in a gratitude practice that keeps us aligned with the sacred. These ritual expressions of love are no small thing. 

And yet, I still cling. That’s what humans do is cling, to the good and the bad to create meaning, to find safety, and safety is often found in the familiar. It’s all a practice. But I’m also learning about trust and giving myself to the deeper well of grief where I find a wider heart hold and more resources than just I can provide to myself and others on my own. 

Please reach out if you are moved to do so. I love these conversations and dreaming new ways into being together. 

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