a formal introduction: Got Grief?
Content Warnings: death or dying, cancer, grief, loss
(Un)surprisingly, my last post about grief was one of the most-read things I’ve written in a while. I say surprisingly, because I didn’t expect anyone to be particularly interested in the things I had to say. I didn’t consider my experiences universal enough for people to relate to or consider the way I wrote about them to be “different” enough to catch anyone’s attention.
I say unsurprisingly though, because human beings tend to have this… morbid curiosity, and I did suspect that if people saw the word “grief” in the title or the tags, that they would want to know just how screwed up I am. (What can I say? I might not have SEO mastered, but I know how to get some clicks y’all).
The other thing I didn’t expect, however, was the outpouring of genuine support that I received as a result of “Grief, Embodiment, and Being in My Body,” which was the first time I’ve written publicly about some of the things in my brain post-the-death-of-my-mom, or at least more widely circulated than my class of eight grad students.
Many people reached out to me — not to say, “Wow dude, you are a weirdo,” like I maybe thought they would — but to share similar experiences, both emotional and physical, and to thank me for putting into words some of the things they had thought in the wake, presence, and bodies of their own grief.
I want to keep writing about this. I think talking about grief is important, both in the general sense of, “This is a thing we don’t talk about enough,” as well as in personal sense of, “Writing reflectively about my own experiences will make me a better person, scholar, human, etc.”
When people talk about grief, it is usually presented in the form of a well-polished TED Talk. A book with a picture of a sad white lady on the cover. Stories and ads from condescending Instagram influencers. Not to say that these depictions are inauthentic, but as someone who has googled, “How to handle my grief,” I can tell you that a lot of things did feel in-genuine. Sooo…
Welcome to Got Grief
In short, I’ve decided I’m going to make my internet fame writing about grief. I’m just kidding. But I do hope to use my thoughts, experiences, and words to put a little good in the world and support others in something that tends to be very isolating.
Important notes about Got Grief?
- All posts will be prefaced with content warnings
- I will only claim my own experiences in these essays
- You do not have to read or agree with them
- I don’t need anyone “checking in” on me because of anything written here; trust me, I’m cool, and unless you’re a person who already checks in, I’m really not looking for randos in my DMs
- If you send me a text message that says “I know you said you didn’t want anyone to check in, but…” with like, a sweating emoji, I will delete your number
- Seriously, I have no problem writing this crap anonymously because I really do want these interspersed musings to be beneficial to other people and not a spectator sport
- I am, however, happy to listen to anyone who wants to talk about their own experiences, responses, questions, or other. Praise is cool too; I thrive on affirmation :)
I once wrote a slam poem titled something like, “What Not to Do When Someone You Know Knows Someone With Cancer.” I wrote it, more than anything, because I was mad. And it sounded like it. It was good advice, but not necessarily tactful.
But, I think if I’m going to try to write about my own grief going forward, I have to acknowledge that a) there will be people who read my work who are not actively grieving and b) for those of us who are, we need to be able to look at ourselves with the same care and kindness care we hope to receive. So I’ve written some slightly modified reminders. I’m going write myself authentically, it only makes sense to offer some sort of guide or guidelines for how I view (my) grief, and to call to mind some values for generous reading.
Megan’s Ground Rules for Loving People Who Are Grieving
- We all cope differently: I can’t take credit for this; the origin of this mantra comes directly from the source of all wisdom, kindness, and grace: My mom. Knowing that the way others wear, process, and experience grief is their own means you can better support and understand them. Knowing that your own grief even might look different day to day can also enable you to be much more kind to yourself. And precisely because we are all different and cope differently, the way the people in your life are handling their “stuff” might not be how you would or how you think they should. Which leads me to…
- Don’t judge other people’s process: It sounds cliche to say, but our snap judgements are just that: Judgements. These judgements are often and likely based on a very limited and privileged view of how the world works. This goes for the things we think about what people are wearing, what they do for a living, how they present their bodies, among a million other things, but it will also affect how you respond to somebody else’s grieving. If you find yourself in this judge-y place, think about where those thoughts are coming from, what a more generous interpretation of that person would lead you to think, and who those original thoughts are helping (probably no one). This also goes for reflecting on your own self. I am my biggest critic for sure and am the first to silently scold myself for crying into the dishes because that one Bear’s Den song is just hitting different today. So, judge less, I guess. Unless (your/ someone els’s coping or grief process is actively endangering yourself/themselves/others, it is their own and theirs alone**.
- Our understanding of others will always be imperfect: As people (and as good people, nonetheless, which I think you all probably are), we want to empathize. We don’t want to feel bad for someone, we want them to know that we are feeling bad with them. This means that we try to put ourselves in their shoes, or even worse connect their hurt to experiences of our own. This is impossible. And important here because I want to be clear that I speak only for myself. That it’s possible that I write some things that you don’t understand. If you see yourself in my posts, great. If you don’t, please refer back to #1 and #2.
Each of these bullet points could serve as their own essay, and maybe someday they will. For now though, these reminders are the basis from which you can expect me to write and serve for a perspective through which I hope to be read.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, content belongs to the reader and the author is dead or whatever, but also I control my own narrative.
Especially this one.
** No matter what problems you’re dealing with, whether it is responding to a death or loss, handling your grief, thoughts of suicide, or if you need emotional support, the Lifeline Network is available 24/7 via phone or confidential text chat through their site.
- National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1.800.273.8255
- Options for Deaf or Hard of Hearing: 1.800.799.488
