Letter To A Friend #2: On Deep Grief

To read Letter #1 on leaving what is safe, click here .?As a reminder, these letters are an attempt at more meaningful conversation through letters written to my real friends - all conscious leaders in their own way - who are struggling. I hope to offer heart, meaning, and purpose to anyone's work day…?

Dear Sheldon (all names changed),?

I know today is an especially hard day for you. It’s your birthday, yet Ellen is not with you to celebrate. It’s been five months since you lost your wife, and I know that means five months filled with painfully long days. You might even correct me and say five months and seven days. Fair enough.

You know that I understand deep grief. You’ve seen me go through it. You recently said you were sorry, that you didn’t understand what I had been through. But that’s the thing about deep grief. You can’t understand until you have been there. On the other side, though, it does bring some understanding and insight, which I hope to offer to you now.

No one wants advice, so I have a few gentle “permissions” to extend to you. If they don’t fit, or if they are coming too soon, ignore them. I share these with you now because I can see that every so often you are coming up for a bit of emotional air, and that can be the most confusing time of all. Also because this is the time frame when support seems to stop flowing. Everyone has gone back to their own lives and left you to yours.

By the way, I use the term deep grief because while everyone goes through loss at some time in their lives, deep grief is different. It’s usually a combination of things - something sudden and surprising, or compound losses (like losing your wife, but also losing your children’s mother, which is not the same thing even if it is the same person), or the ripping away of a part of life that had become so embedded into your identity that you simply don’t know who you are after. Add to that a greater world in turmoil, everyone’s work changing, constantly adapting to new information and technologies, remembering to feed the dog, and… It can and does feel like chaos upon chaos.?I can see you are in that now.

So, it’s your birthday. Even though every year I tell you I’m glad you were born, I wouldn't dream of saying it today. You might not feel that way this year. Even so, I offer you permission to celebrate in some small way with your children. No one will feel like it, but as you know, normality of any kind keeps a baseline that everyone appreciates in the long run. They might not want more than five minutes with cake, but take whatever time they will give you. You need it, and they need it, know it or not. As for people at the office, they may attempt to recognize your birthday or they may not. Either could upset you and you might not even know why. That’s okay. I’d love to offer you permission to take a “just get through it” attitude. Endure, be awkward, feel the feelings, whatever. It’s okay.

I know it wasn’t long before you were back to work, but I’m sure you still don’t feel fully back. Who cares about hitting your sales targets when it seems the sun has forgotten to shine? But you have bills to pay and children to feed. So you have done what you had to do and are continuing to do it, day after day. Kudos to you. Life doesn’t give us much of a break in deep grief but I can at least give you a little acknowledgment. I’d like to give you permission to accept it and maybe even give yourself a pat on the back. You are doing better than you think.

I was glad to see you still have the family pictures in your office. I’d like to give you permission to someday (whenever that is for you, no rush) add a few more pictures. Recent ones of just you and the kids. Not to replace the family of four that was, but to honor the family of three that is left. I won’t lie, it will cut deep. It will feel like a betrayal. But it’s honest, and sometimes honesty cuts through in a good way - a way you would not have expected. It’s a small symbol of acceptance, of not resisting what is, even though it is not how you want it to be. (You also have permission to mentally curse me for even suggesting it.)

I’m sure by now there have been people at work looking at you as if to say “when is he going to get over this?” They may have said it outright. If not, it often comes around the six-month mark, so be ready. Many co-workers naturally want the old Sheldon back. Well, I am sorry to tell them (and even sorrier to tell you), he isn’t coming back. That Sheldon is no more. You are an “in-between” Sheldon now and might be for a good while before a new Sheldon starts to emerge. (He will, this much I know for sure.) You might not be able to avoid seeing those looks, or hearing those types of comments, but I give you permission to listen to me on this one: There is no rush and no clock that matters beyond the internal one that tells you what you are ready for and when. If anyone challenges that, send them this letter. Or better yet, send them to me directly. On this point, I will fiercely defend you.?

Deep grief turns you inward, which makes outward productivity hard. The creative, insightful work you are known for may not be as sharp as it was - again, it is hard to say how long that will go on. Don’t worry, you have not lost your talent or skill. It’s just fuzzy around the edges, making it harder to see and tap into your normal processes. That fuzziness compounds when you worry about others noticing, which brings on the question of what you’ll do if you lose your job… and what that will do to your kids who have already lost so much… It’s a downward spiral that can suck you in fast.?A small trick I learned was to set a timer and clear out every personal thought. I allowed myself the time set on the timer to have no personal agenda, no swampy feelings, no obligations, and no needs. I turned completely to my work… and you know what? It was a relief. If an hour feels impossible, practice with the amount of time it takes to have a strong mint dissolve in your mouth. Focus on the mint, the sensation, and the beginning, middle, and end of your time with the mint. It may seem silly, but a mint break became a godsend to me.?

One of the hard but good outcomes of a season of deep grief is that it develops compassion. The real, down-to-the-bone kind that comes with zero padding or fluff. Even so, that can be messy at first. I offer you permission to become a blubbering idiot (my words for me) with anyone who walks in with their own deep grief. You may also become angry at others who make a tragedy out of a paper cut. Don’t people know what is worthy of a crisis? Well, no, they probably don’t. Lucky them. I crossed emotional reaction boundaries on both sides more often than I care to admit in my season of deep grief. I offer you permission to simply do your best. Some people forgave me (be quick to own your missteps and apologize - it does wonders) while others wrote me off. In that case, I offer you the permission to say “it is what it is,” to cut your losses and move on.?

When others at work ask how you are, it’s always tricky. I know you have always been someone who values honesty. But how do you delicately say you’re shit and you are afraid you will always be? Those people who understand deep grief will ask how you are today, which is much easier to answer. Even if they don’t, I offer you permission to answer how you are today, and also to try to find something good to add to the difficult realities. “Today is rough, but I slept well last night.” You are not betraying your grief to be partly okay. This also allows others to see that you are more than the grief you are feeling. It helps you and them realize that good things are happening, too.?

One final thing, but maybe the most important. We often ignore their bodies, our feelings, and our intuition, especially at work. In deep grief, that will kill you. I offer you permission to be a whole human, with a body, mind, and spirit. Ask your heart how it is doing and listen for a response. Ask your gut to speak up when something is too much for today. Listen to your intuition if it feels like you should stay home - and let the kids stay home with you - even if you don’t know exactly why and it seems to be breaking the rules. Don’t cut yourself off at the neck. Don’t let deep grief be a mental thing that hangs out only in your head. It’s a whole-body thing, and you need that whole body in on the action to get through it. When in doubt, move your body from here to there and back again. Nothing fancy is required, just move. If you fear you look a little crazy going out for a walk at 2 am, fine. You have my permission to look crazy and I won’t assume it means you are.

I’m sure I could go on and on, but for now, I’ll close with this: There is no doing deep grief right, or wrong, and no faster or shorter way forward. Also, whatever anyone tries to tell you, there is no “method” through the journey. There is only you doing what you need to in your own way. One day, the new Sheldon will again feel passion for - and find meaning in - his contributions. He will have choices about how he shows up at work and what he wants to create next. You don’t have to believe me now. I’ll believe it for you until you can.

With so much love, Robin?

(Dear LinkedIn readers... what would you add in this letter? Comment below. My next Letter To A Friend is written to Jamie, who has just landed her dream job and now feels like an imposter).

I'm Robin Rice, an author, mentor, and senior advisor in conscious leadership. I work at the intersection of our professional lives, personal relationships, and social impact. To see more frequent small posts, please follow me. You can learn more about me at RobinRice.com.