Strong heart

Grief keeps coming for me this year. Over and over I’ve been hit with loss: different kinds, different reasons, all painful.

Also this year, I realized that I needed to learn to be fully present with my feelings or die. So when grief hits me, instead of evading it or crushing it down, I have been trying hard to sit with it, to let it move through me at its own pace. This takes discipline. I have a dozen strategies for diverting grief or stopping its flow, and it’s hard not to activate them when my heart feels like it’s being gripped in a vise and I can only breathe in little gasps that feel like stabs.

One thing I am learning is that my heart is strong. While I sit there gasping, thinking “I am actually not sure I can bear this,” my heart is steadily bearing it. It holds the pain and it endures. As I sit here now, on a peaceful day, that same center of feeling in my chest is at rest, undamaged. It holds pain like a sponge holds water, wringing out sobs and tears when it gets too full, and then absorbing more until there’s no more to soak up. And then it quietly returns to its original state.

I always think that I need to protect my body, to avoid pain. I think that pain is the same thing as damage, and try to shield my body even from feeling emotional pain. But this summer I have begun asking my body what she needs from me, and when I have asked in the grips of grief, the answer is never, “Save me from this.” It is, “Be with me through this.” Don’t run away. Don’t suppress.

When I push the grief away, I just move it to somewhere else in my body, a place that isn’t meant to absorb and release it.

And because there’s no way to evade a valid pain without lying, when I push the grief away I spin lies. I lie about what I really want, or about what the future will hold, or about the reality of the past. It becomes harder and harder to know and feel my actual needs and realities, and harder to connect to other people. Every attempt at closeness, every decision I make for my life, has to navigate around the brittle structure of illusions and evasions I’ve built to protect myself from pain.

I’m realizing slowly that none of this is necessary. I am very new to this, and I don’t know if there are limits or actual breaking conditions, but for now I am trying to trust that my heart is strong. It knows how to do this work of holding pain. Instead of tying myself in knots to protect it, I can sit and feel it, and thank it for its work.

3 thoughts on “Strong heart

  1. The part where you say that whenever you ask your brain in your moments of grief what it really wants and it never says “save me” has just changed my life, my perspective has just opened up to new possibilities and thought processes and I just wanted to thank you for putting into words what therapists and many books have tried to get me to understand for years: the brain doesn’t want us to stop the pain with whichever avoidance tools we are all so quick to use, it actually wants you to hold it and just sit with it until it passes. Thank you for your insight!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Started this process literally this week. It’s going to be rough. My partner sent me a copy of “progressing through grief” which is helping me realize how pervasive grief is in my life. And I’m finding when I actually let myself feel the grief of my losses, I can be more present and less afraid of the many good things. Solidarity, this is beautiful, we are unbelievably strong and brave in our vulnerability πŸ’œπŸ’œπŸ’œπŸ’œ

    Liked by 1 person

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