That first time walking through your neighborhood, or into the grocery store after a loss can feel like walking on the moon or finding yourself inside a Picasso painting. The disorientation and disconnection from the environment are startling. Why is everyone else acting so normal? How can they say, “have a nice day” to me? Don’t they know? Isn’t it obvious?
Loss covers a lot of ground. It can go from becoming an empty nester to relocating to a loved one dying to divorce. It seems to matter very little if we “knew it was coming” or had a chance to “prepare”. We didn’t know. We weren’t prepared. And the loss can hurl us into a new world we don’t want to be in. One that is foreign, unfamiliar, seemingly unwelcoming.
Our minds scream for normalcy, for the comfort of what has been known, for solid ground. Without the possibility of returning to what was, the new feels daunting. And it is new, mostly. That person or job or dog or home that had offered comfort is not there anymore to offer that comfort; and the absence is palpable, leaving us in a disturbed reality. So, what to do?
There are plenty of things we do to get away from our reality – the distractions so readily available to us. The extra drink or puff or scoop of ice cream or time scrolling on the interwebs. There is nothing wrong with watching The Bourne Identity for the 7th time so you don’t feel the present moment. I’m just saying. But, these distractions only work for a little while; because they suspend our relationship with reality, they don’t offer anything, well, real. The real comes from us, from our engagement and connection to ourselves and our real world.
To help set expectations, there is no “quick fix” – no “one off” here. So eat something good for you and rest when you can. You’re going to need your strength. The road in front of you, out of the painting and into this new version of your life, is uncharted territory.
Then, maybe, begin. With one thing, not twelve. One thing that reminds you of who you are. Call someone. Cook something. Walk. Then rest. Then clean or shop or rake leaves or sit – at the park, on the beach, in the woods. The outdoors will be a salve for your ache.
This will be a practice of returning to yourself, time after time, to feel the ground underneath you, to feel steadied. The same patience, grace and care that you would extend to your best friend is maybe something to apply to you right now – you, the being feeling the heavy, weighted pain of the loss, will benefit from the kindness. Now is the time to be generous with that grace and care.
This writing addresses some of the core components of ACT (Acceptance and Commitment Therapy), including:
Acceptance – recognizing what is outside of our control without aggression or struggle.
Present Moment Practice – being fully in and with yourself and your surroundings as they are in this very moment.
Self as Context – recognizing that the “you” of today is not wholly the same as the “you” of the past; that while your essence remains, the qualities and characteristics connected to you are always evolving and changing.
If you’d like to learn more about how these practices can guide you in your living, please feel free to get in touch.
