The 7 Stages of Grief | 2017
Grieving the bygone year appropriately and healthily
It occured to me a few days ago that I am an emotional wreck the seven days between Christmas and New Years. Whilst it manifests itself inwardly, rather than outwardly as a raving lunatic, it’s nevertheless a curious emotional state that has only recently come to the forefront of my conscious mind.
And as I reflect carefully, this isn’t the first year; it’s seemingly an annual tradition in the deepest recesses of my subconscious mind (I’d much rather my subconscious pop open a bottle of prosecco and Beyonce her way to the New Year, but apparently this is too much to ask for).
In any case, over the past few days, I’ve had to ask myself the following questions:
- What is it that I’m feeling (what buffet of emotions am I experiencing)?
- Where are these emotions coming from?
- Why now?
These are particularly difficult questions for me since, whilst I feel emotions as viscerally as a child throwing a tantrum in aisle seven, I rarely understand what’s going on or what they mean. I’m like Sheldon from The Big Bang Theory, just substantially dumber.
As my mind quietly played with these three questions over the past few days amidst the frolicking of the holidays, much like a cat with a ball of yarn, I came to a rather peculiar conclusion: I go through the seven stages of grief in the days between the end of Christmas and New Years Eve. Every year.
I know, it’s entirely ridiculous. And nevermind the blessings of the holidays; spending time with loved ones, watching all the Die Hard movies next to a roaring fire, and embarking on a food coma with glutinous abandon and unzipped pants. Where does grief make an entrance, then? Well, a little like this:
1. Shock | What in Hell’s bells! The year is almost gone?
The first stage of grief is shock. It’s usually on Boxing Day that the shock of the soon bygone year and impending new year dominates my heart. Whilst the panic insues a few days hence, the shock is mixed with a sense of deep guilt. Remember that beautiful journal you received this time last year to ensure each of your precious hours was dominated by productivity, success and wildly ambitious goals? You know, the one you painstakingly put together alongside your daily habits — the blank slate that you carefully organised, convinced that this year would be different from previous ones.
Really, the shock here is realising and recognising that we were not super-human in our efforts to change ourselves into the best versions of ourselves. We were just human — with all the follies and inadequacies that come with being human. Part of that, unless you are a trained stoic or monk, is forgetting the impermanence of time and life. I find myself constantly surprised how quickly a year has passed, despite going through this process every year; it’s like an annual amensia. And here, there is grief through shock. Grieving the year and grieving that version of ourselves that did not entirely manifest itself.
2. Denial | Pffft. I still got time…
As the shock dissipates, it is quickly replaced by denial. My thoughts here usually range between “I’ve still got six days to conquer the world, make a million and develop a charitable foundation” to the petulant version of “Pffft, I never wanted to conquer the world, make a million or develop a charitable foundation anyway.” This is usually followed by a mean pout, crossed arms and a wicked eye roll.
It’s not so much that I’m in denial that the year is almost over; rather, I’m in denial of my various failures throughout the year and my inability to successfully manage them in the next six days. It’s a disbelief that I am at this state.
3. Anger | What the hell! STUPID, bloody 2017!
That leads quite naturally to my general state of being: simmering anger. That anger, although it may be misleadingly aimed at the undeserving (I can feel my husband throwing up his arms in knowing despair), is always a reflection on myself. Again, the anger is not with the natural progression of a year gone by, but with the realistic appraisal of the year.
It’s a childish, immature type of anger that is only marginally constructive. If you are negatively motivated (like me) it has some benefits in potentially spurring positive action in the lead up to the new year.
4. Bargaining | Listen, I just need a bit more time…
Bargaining is perhaps the strangest point of this process. Much like bargaining with God over a lost loved one, bargaining with time doesn’t quite work. Neither does bargaining for more opportunities to achieve the goals we set this year. And yet — “Okay, if I can just have this one week, I will definitely conquer the world, make a million and develop a charity. Just give me this one last week.” We all have our own bargaining strategies; each as vulnerable as another.
5. Depression | This is impossible. I can’t win.
Inevitably, following the unrealistic and painful bargaining process, feelings of being overwhelmed may be all consuming. It seems an understandable progression that sadness or depression take hold as one recognises the futility of escaping reality; that despite all good intentions, and 365 days worth of new opportunities, you need more.
More time. More focus. More aggresive patience. More discipline. More resilience. More honesty.
Less whinging. Less drugs of choice (binge watching TV, negative associations, poor diets etc). Less excuses.
And as difficult as this part of the process is, it’s entirely necessary. It doesn’t inherently negate the wonderful experiences, successes and wins of the year; just as this step (in the grieving process) wouldn’t negate the beauty or appreciation of someone’s deceased loved one. Rather, this step is fundamental to the healing process as it forces one to consider some hard truths.
6. Testing | Maybe I’ll just hide. Or make a plan.
As the fog of depression dissolves, it’s time to consider practical and realistic solutions. Again, it’s not possible to arrest time, but it is possible to make a decision: either hide or make a plan. At this point, as the stages of denial and depression are in the rear-view, there is more confidence to:
- Assess the previous year’s objectives against actions
- Identify the wins (actually take time to appreciate them) and how you managed to do so
- Identify the challenges and all out failures; brace yourselves, this is not pretty
If done with an open mind and heart, this becomes a wildly liberating experience, which leads to the final stage.
7. Acceptance | Fine. Let’s look to the future!
Finally, this is when I become a functioning human in those seven days. It’s the point at which I begin to look forward with hope and lessons learned. This is the point at which I can lay the year to rest with a calm soul and a subconscious that doesn’t look like trench warfare. I’ve made an objective assessment of the year, gleaned the lessons that I may take forward, and have hope re-kindled as I look forward to 365 blank slates.
The little excursions to stationary stores also helps! Oh, there’s nothing like the joy of finding a new yearly diary/journal and pens *drools* Don’t judge me. My husband already lives in fear of these shopping jaunts!
Grieving time is a weird thing. But, then again, we’re not really grieving time so much as the bygone version of ourselves in all their imperfections and possible perfections. And, embarked on with our conscious minds, this is seemingly a healthy grieving process.
