Allow yourself to feel it; distract, otherwise

We have all of these stages and we think we understand it, but there’s not a right way to grieve. It’s certainly not linear. I think of time as a spiral, where the same point expands past itself on the next cycle, and grief is no different. Good days, bad days. Joy and rage. So much warmth and so much pain. Once you think you’ve healed, it wells up again and spills over; when it gets so deep you think it’ll consume you, it retracts and peace comes. It’s messy and senseless. Like us.

If you can, allow yourself to feel it. Mourn, rage, cry, shake your fist at the sky. Grief is a powerful transition of states of being. The love you feel, full to bursting, now has no place to go. Turn it inward and nurse your wounds with art that resonates with you. Sad songs help me cry it out. It’s cathartic.

Know that you’re not alone, even if in the cosmic sense. If we’re all connected, I’m grieving with you. This month has been hard. This entire decade, really.

Now, the second option is distraction. If you can find it, something that ignites your passion, gets you excited. Become obsessed with it. Use it as an anchor. A book series, a video game, a hobby. Grief will puncture through this at times, but the anchor will keep you grounded. Keep going.

In the end, it’s all about hope. Here’s my favorite scene from True Detective (linked). After sun falls, in the black of night, the stars come out. I talk to them. Doesn’t matter if they hear me. When my love is so big it hurts, I give it to the stars.

Sending my love to you. I’m rooting for you.