The Elephant in the Room: How to Talk to Those Experiencing Grief

Posted on by stilllearning2b

When bad things happen to good people, we’re often at a loss of how to respond and what to say. The loss becomes the elephant in the room – too unwieldy to discuss yet too big to ignore.

Here are some thoughts on how to talk to people who are dealing with loss or tragedy:

 

 

Bringing It Up

Sometimes we hesitate to bring the subject, as though the person has forgotten that their husband has left or their family member has died. You don’t have to worry about saying something that will make them think about something that they’re not already thinking about.

When everybody refuses to acknowledge the loss, it can lead the heartbroken to believe that they are alone in their pain. The mention of it lets them know that they’re not alone in their memories and their suffering.

All that being said, be cognizant about when you bring it up. At work, the person may be doing all they can to hold their grief behind a dam of conviction. And a reminder at that point may breach that wall. Also, be mindful of their response to your words. If they change the subject or shut it down, respect their wishes. If they want to talk, listen.

If you’re the one suffering in silence, let people know if and when it is okay to bring it up.  And if your friends and family cannot talk about it, perhaps it’s time to find a support group of people who can.

 

Speaking About Your Experiences

It’s natural for you to want to share your similar experiences. And there is quite a lot to be said about the power of “me too.” Yet be careful here not to minimize the experience of someone else by implying (or stating outright) that your situation was worse. Also refrain from claiming that you know exactly how they feel. Even if the circumstances are identical, the responses won’t be. Your experiences may allow you to empathize, but that’s a long way from actually being in their shoes.

If you stick your foot in your mouth by complaining about how bad traffic was on the way to their loved one’s funeral, apologize. And then forgive yourself. When we’re emotional, we often respond with nervous energy and a lack of appropriate filters.

If you’re on the other side and somebody says something ignorant to you, try to let it go. They are either trying to connect and they failed miserably or they haven’t experienced anything in the same universe as what you’re going through and they’re clueless.

 

Offering Platitudes

“It’s for the best.”

“God doesn’t give you more than you can handle.”

“It was meant to be.”

Just don’t. I am a huge believer in silver linings, yet there is also a hell of a lot of polishing that has to happen before you can see those. And for those in the midst of grief, there’s nothing shiny about what they’re seeing.

Often what people need more than an assurance that it will be okay is reassurance that it’s okay for them to not be okay right now.

Instead of platitude, offer condolences. Offer thoughts. Offer prayers. And offer to just listen, without judgement.

If you receive some of these platitudes, try to remember that they’re coming from a place of love. Those who care about you don’t want to see you hurt and they’re trying to reassure you (and them) that you’ll make it through.

 

Expecting Them To Be “Over It”

Grief does not speak calendar. They’re not going to be suddenly healed after a month. Or three. Or even a dozen. The pain of loss ebbs and flows, but it is always there like the pools left behind from an outgoing tide.

It’s unfair to expect them to be “back to normal” after a period of time. In fact, their normal may in fact be different now. Be compassionate about where they are in their pain. Accept that they have been changed by their experience and that this is not about making you feel comfortable.

If you’re experiencing people telling you that you should be “over it,” begin by asking yourself if there is any credibility to their claim. It’s easy to become stuck in grief and sometimes this is how others let us know that we need help to keep moving. If this is not the case, read this and try to refrain from punching the person.

 

Accepting Your Own Triggers

Loss has a strange way of bringing up all past losses. When you look at the faces at a funeral, some are crying for the life being honored on that day, some are crying at the remembrance of past losses and many are weeping for both.

Be mindful of your own triggers when helping someone else through their grief. These can be reminders about your past experiences or even triggered fears about what could happen to you in the future. This is one (of so many) reasons that losing a child is so hard – the other parents cannot bear to fathom that loss themselves and so they often create distance from the impacted family.

Be honest about what you’re feeling. If needed, get support for yourself so that you can be present for your loved one.

If you’re the one facing loss, understand that not everybody will be able to be present for you because of their own struggles. It doesn’t mean they care about you any less, it just means they are also wrestling with their own emotions.

 

Overall, the most important thing you can do for somebody else is to simply be there. Letting them know that they are not alone.

Are You Running Towards or Are You Running Away From?

Posted on by stilllearning2b

One of the best leaders I’ve ever worked for told me her greatest lesson about hiring good people –

I only hire people who are running towards something, not those who are running away.

Her words settled into my brain throughout that afternoon and evening. The more I considered them, the more profound and wide-reaching they became.

 

I thought back to my early attempts at dating after the divorce. I was looking for men to distract me, to heal me. To save me. I ended up in their arms as I was running away from my pain and my present situation. I wanted an escape and I was looking for it in dating profiles and arms that looked as though they could protect me from the world.

It didn’t work for long.

Some of the men were also running away. And so we ran into each other. Splat. Soon realizing that we were never a match. Others had fantasies of being the white knight swooping up the distressed damsel and so they stationed themselves to catch ladies running away from their captors. Only they wanted to hold me captive as well.

I eventually found the courage to stop running away from my pain. To instead invite it in, curious as to what it had to teach me. I began to find peace with where I was, no longer so impatient to be somewhere else. I knew something was different when I no longer had the same driving compulsion to find a man, to be partnered. I was okay alone.

I slowed, no longer gripped by the anxious energy telling me that I needed to flee.

The whole time, I kept dating. (Even though I was learning how to be with the pain, it was still nice to be distracted!) And a shift started to occur. I stopped focusing so much on my past, on what happened to me and I started taking steps to the future. I began to picture the type of man and the kind of relationship I wanted.

And my momentum began to pick up.

I started to run towards my future.

This felt different than the earlier flight. It wasn’t motivated by fear; it was fueled by excitement.

I was seeking rather than avoiding.

Looking forward instead of backward.

Building the new not escaping the old.

 

What’s your motivation? Are you running away from what you want to avoid or are you running towards what you want to create?

 

 

 

Five Steps to Making a Difficult Decision

Posted on by stilllearning2b
difficult decision

I was twenty-two years old, newly married, a full-time student and a homeowner when my then-husband was laid off from his job. My part-time front desk job and four-year plan to secure a masters degree in physical therapy were suddenly no longer viable options. I needed to act and I needed to do it quickly.

And that’s often how life operates – we are faced with difficult choices under pressure with no clear-cut answers. Here are five steps you can take when you find yourself at a challenging crossroads with more questions than answers:

 

1 – Distinguish your needs from your wants.

This may be harder than it appears at first glance. Our wants often scream louder than our needs and try to convince us that they must be attended to. Conversely, our true needs often wear disguises, afraid to make their presence known.

Wants will often arrive with a more emotional response, picture the tantruming toddler denied their desired treat. Needs are often more practical, less enticing and harder to identify. Think of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs and decide where you need to begin. You may be surprised how often that’s at the first step of having basic physical needs met.

 

2 – Establish your priorities.

This is often the stage where we are subject to undo external influence, where we fall sway to pressure to do things a certain way. Slough off the “shoulds.” Don’t worry about what “looks” right to the outside world. Don’t think about how many Facebook likes your decision will receive. What are your priorities?

What is most important to you may change throughout your life and in different circumstances. Strive to be curious here rather than judgmental. There are no wrong conclusions. By taking the time to identify your priorities, you are more likely to make a decision that honors your core values and beliefs.

 

3 – Identify the options that are off the table.

This step is key. It’s easy to get caught in the trap of wanting things to be different. To feel as though we’ve made a decision yet that decision requires someone or something about the situation to change.

Be honest with yourself. If you can’t directly alter the situation, eliminate that option. Disregard any “solution” that relies on someone else to change in the way you believe would be beneficial. Similarly, exclude any possibility that is anchored in magical thinking. Limit your options to the ones that are really and truly available to you.

And be aware – the ones you have to eliminate are often the ones that seem “easy” and the ones left behind often feel scary and even impossible. That’s often a sign you’re moving in the right direction.

 

4 – Generate a ranked list of the pros and cons of the available options.

Once you’ve whittled down your choices to the ones that are available and have a good chance of meeting your needs, write out the known pros and cons to each decision. Then, rank each potential benefit in the pro columns and each potential consequence in the con lists.

You may find that one choice carries the biggest risks yet also the greatest potential gain. Or, you may find a clear winner where the most impactful benefits are clustered without many significant detractors. We often become so emotionally invested in a decision that we fail to take all of the possible cons into account. This step can provide some needed clarity.

 

5 – Choose one possibility and act.

You’re not looking for the perfect choice here (it may not even exist). You’re seeking the good enough option. Make a choice, shelve the others and make the leap. Make a commitment to invest 100% in your decision for a set period of time. If you give it your all, it has a chance of success. If you only partially dedicate your energy, it will likely fail.

And then at some predetermined juncture, re-evaluate. Is this choice still working? Does it need to be retired or merely tweaked?

 

Here’s how this played out in my life almost twenty years ago:

1 – I need a degree. Stat. One that directly leads to a career with stability and a decent paycheck. I need to find a way to earn more money while I’m completing this degree.

2 – I want to be able to help people and need to know I’m making a difference. I enjoy working with math and science.

3 – My desire to go into physical therapy is no longer on the table. My wish for my (then) husband to have a career in a steady field is out of my control.

4 – Once my lists were made, I could see that some options were riskier than others. And risk was not what I was seeking at that time.

5 – I made the choice to enter into teaching. And apart from a few breakdowns when I’m overwhelmed, it has been a rewarding and stable career that capitalizes on my skills.

 

Big decisions are never easy. Choosing one door often means nailing the others shut. There’s a balance between rushing into action without much forethought and spending so much time debating that you avoid action.

Assess your situation. Make your choice. And then take that step with the trust that your decision will lead you the right direction.

The Problem With Doing What You Know

Posted on by stilllearning2b

When I first started teaching math, I followed the general wisdom of the time that the majority of independent practice should take place outside of the limited classroom time.  As I was advised, I took grades on homework completion, quickly glancing at thirty-plus student papers filled with equations before going over the answers.

At that time, if you had asked me which students would be successful in algebra at the end of the term, I would have replied confidently, “Well, the ones who do all their homework, of course.”

I would have been wrong.

Because what I was unaware of at the time is how many of the students were completing their homework, yet because of some critical misconceptions about the topic, did every problem wrong. Even worse, when the class went over the assignment, they discounted their errors as one-time mistakes or simply careless omissions instead of the deeper misunderstandings that they were.

And by asking the students to complete their assignments in the relative vacuum of home, I was providing the opportunity for them to continue to practice the material incorrectly, thus solidifying the errors. Without outside feedback, they lost perspective on their choices and their progress.

Because if we do something enough, we begin to believe it’s right thing.

When the only voice we listen to is our own, we fail to account for our misjudgments and we lose track of improvement. 

When we do only what we know, our established neural pathways and assumptions become deep-worn grooves, lessons practiced and mastered, even if the conclusions aren’t accurate.

It’s easy to operate like those responsible students, dutifully completing every task that crosses our path. It’s easy to believe we’re doing the right thing because we’re doing some-thing. And it’s easy to discount any missteps as purely accidental or careless when they’re really because of some deeper understanding.

Before my first full year of teaching was out, I changed the structure of my class. I gave more time in class for independent practice and I always devised a strategy for students to verify their answers before the bell. I emphasized the importance of mistakes and that refusing to admit one is the worst mistake of all. I focused more on the quality of work completed than the quantity, making deals with the more reticent students that low homework grades could be modified upon successfully mastering a concept on a quiz.

That year taught me the danger of doing only what you know. I initially modeled my classroom on what I had experienced as a student, and the results were suboptimal. My students were practicing the procedures they knew, reinforcing incorrect pathways.

Progress was made only when other perspectives were considered, assumptions were challenged, mistakes were admitted and risks were taken.

Because sometimes the best step to take is the one into the unknown.

When You’re No Longer At Home In Your Own Skin

Posted on by stilllearning2b

It was a snake that first taught me that growth is uncomfortable.

It was a Kenyan sand boa, a small and docile breed, that found its way into my life over twenty years ago. The gentle creature seemed to enjoy being handled and even was tolerant of the inquisitive sniffs and snorts of my over-enthusiastic pug.

All that changed one day when he acquired a defensive posture when I reached into his enclosure to refill his water. Startled, I pulled my hand back and examined him through the safety of the glass. I immediately noticed that his eyes were clouded and his normally striking patterns seemed muted.

I soon realized that the young snake had outgrown his own skin and was making preparations  to shed his restrictive covering. Curious and with a front-row seat of the process, I watched him over the next couple weeks.

And I learned that growth is uncomfortable.

 

The snake’s discomfort was clear. Instead of moving around his enclosure, he alternated between hiding under some debris and attempting to force the old skin off with the help of a rough branch. He refused to eat and he became irritable when stimulated. The translucent eye caps meant that he retained some sense of light and shadow, but he struggled to orient with his compromised vision.

Watching him, I alternated between awe at nature’s solution to a growing body in an inflexible skin and dread that this creature had to endure this experience throughout its life. Growth was inevitable, and with it, discomfort.

Early one morning, I was elated to see the old skin lying across the branch, which apparently had eventually been of assistance. The newly-unencumbered snake luxuriated on his heat rock; he seemed drawn to the warmth more than usual as his new and fragile skin was forming. Later that day, he gladly accepted the offered food, ready to embrace life again.

 

The snake left my life as abruptly as it had entered and I didn’t think of it for many years. Until one day, some weeks after my ex left, when I suddenly felt constricted within my own life. I had grown accustomed to labels and roles that no longer applied. I existed within limitations that had become self-imposed.

At first, I tried to make it work, to try to force myself back to who I was.

But it didn’t work.

I was uncomfortable, fighting against the inevitable and resisting in an attempt to regain some sense of power and control over my life. I found myself continually drawn back towards my old ways of doing things, wanting to turn away from the fear and the pain.

I attempted to avoid the discomfort, to give it a wide birth and fill my sightline with distractions.

But it didn’t work.

I wanted to lash out. I wanted to hide. I wanted to be anywhere but where I was. Anyone but who I was.

I tried to tell myself to snap out of it, to move on already.

But it didn’t work.

And that’s when the image of the snake filled me with understanding. The growth was unescapable and so was the discomfort. Relief was to found not in an attempt to hold onto my ill-fitting skin in desperation, but in finding the courage to let it go.

And the willingness to embrace what came next.