On the word 'grief' as a trigger and invitation
Where you lean is worth reflecting on your experiences, conditioning and beliefs.
“I don’t want that energy here.”
Those words, spoken so brusquely and decisively — a solid shutting down when only seconds before there had been warmth, openness, receptivity — have stayed with me since I heard them a few weeks ago.
Words that stunned though they shouldn’t have.
Words that shut me down, too, given the dramatic shift they brought with them.
I had approached a local art gallery, at the recommendation of someone I trust, seeking to offer a grief space at an upcoming community event. To carve out, amid the merriment of the holiday season, a pause, an interlude, a small respite acknowledging not everyone feels joyful and celebratory — that even the most joyful and celebratory could be carrying heartache and grief.
Because every year, as soon as the commercials, the markets, the light displays, every blaring incarnation of holly-jolly arrive, I think of how tone-deaf such an excess of cheer can feel…when for so many the holidays are the absolute worst time of year. I’m not at all opposed to such festivity, and indeed it reflects the the spirit of just as many while offering balm and buoyancy to heavy hearts, too.
But what I often wonder is why we can’t make room for both the joy and the sorrow bound up in the season. Why the former is elevated to the exclusion of the latter, why these two very natural human experiences exist in silos. I wonder how many people rushing through the flurry of holiday activities, giving their all to inhabit the shine of every bright, beguiling thing might appreciate a moment where they could rest in their truth. Touch the sadness no one asks about. Honor the loved ones whose absence they carry, the losses that stitch their being.
And yet, I also understand the reaction shared when I made my inquiry, even if I wasn’t prepared for the sharp dismissal of it.
In a culture that shies away from grief, what does the word conjure when we hear it? What is the “energy” that elicits discomfort or fear or perhaps taps into the suppressed emotions of grief, causing an immediate turning away?
Maybe some only think of grief as unruly, messy, wild —a shattering continually splintering off shards of anguish and melancholy. Maybe to some it is dark and burdensome, a weight too immense to do more than poke at now and then before scurrying back from its consuming clutches. If we’re busy just trying to survive, if we’ve never known safety and acceptance in expressing our true feelings, if the world as we know it continually stigmatizes and rejects the innumerably unique experiences of grief, then it’s understandable that making a space for grief may feel not only foreign but threatening.
When this otherwise charming and gracious business owner said, “I don’t want that energy here,” I wish I’d asked more questions. Inquired what she meant by her words of instant refusal. Why she assumed that no one would welcome such an offering. Her only addendum to “no” was that alcohol would be available that night, which, to me, suggested a warding off against any potentially chaotic or sloppy grief-induced behavior.
Yet in the last year and a half of holding space for grief through Salt Trails, an interdisciplinary Philadelphia collective making grief public and visible through community rituals, what I’ve seen the most is softness, quietude, reverence, beauty, even celebration. Given a place to speak or name their losses, to have their sorrows held and witnessed, to be with others in a communal honoring of our humanity, what many express is gratitude.
And in the times where Salt Trails or I have offered not ritual but simply an acknowledgement of grief among us — such as the time collective member Meghan Dwyer and I sat in the woods with a sign and flowers for National Grief-in-Public Day — people have engaged at their own comfort level. But even the reluctant may nod their heads in appreciation or share a simple “thank you.”
In one instance, however, when we built and left an altar of natural elements in the park as part of one of our community grief rituals, we found, days later, that every piece of it had been tossed in the trash.
Grief: triggering, alarming, disturbing. Rattling what we try to bury and hide.
Which is why I walked out of the gallery last month taken aback, yes, but also determined and more committed than ever to this work. Because for every person who retreats or shuts down, who is provoked or terrified, there is someone who feels seen. Validated. Relieved to know they don’t have to grieve alone. And someone who maybe, just maybe, slowly begins to find the courage to tend their broken heart.
Upcoming Spaces for Grief Support
To learn more and register for this deep, heart-tending experience, visit here.
To register for this in-person gathering, visit here.
Grief Education Opportunities
I’m honored to be among the guest participants in this course focusing on social, ecological and embodied dimensions of grief for the January 29 session. Registration closes January 4. Learn more here.