coping strategies – Page 32 – thelifeididntchoose

Repost: HALTing a Grief Spiral

I have to remind myself often of these tips. So in case you do too, here’s the original post:

If you’ve ever been in any kind of counseling or recovery group , you have probably seen or heard this acronym and advice: HALT before you speak.

It’s a great reminder that I should take a moment to consider my frame of mind before I blurt out something that might damage a relationship or wound someone else’s heart.

I had never thought about it until recently, but it is also a great reminder to us who grieve that what we interpret solely as grief (which we cannot control) might be compounded greatly by other things (some of which we can control).

Read the rest here: HALTing a Grief Spiral

Surviving Social Situations After Child Loss

The first three months after Dominic ran ahead to heaven were full of social obligations.

Dominic left us in mid-April. My youngest graduated college five days after we laid Dom to rest. My eldest son graduated as a veterinarian two weeks after that. He married two months to the day from Dom’s funeral.

Friends and family members stepped up and lent a hand. Most people present were very aware of our recent loss and didn’t force small talk. My living children were amazing-flexible, supportive and loving even in their own deep sorrow.

But I’ll be honest, it’s mostly a blur.

I have photographic evidence of each event, but not a lot of personal memories.

Fast forward a few months and there are other social occasions I must attend.

By this time, for most folks, Dominic’s death was an event marked on a calendar they discarded at the end of 2014. For me, it was as fresh as ever and the pain had actually increased as the absolute truth that he was gone, gone, gone was settling in my bones.

Without a thought, people I’d known for years trotted right up and said, “How are you?” They didn’t really want to know.

They were tossing me the conversation ball in the only way they’d been taught to do it.

At that moment, I had a choice: I could give in to my inner child and shout, “How the heck do you think I’m doing???? I buried a child!!!” OR I could extend the grace I long to receive and say something more controlled and measured.

Now, I’m not nearly as grace-filled as I ought to be or long to be, but I did manage to construct some “pre-recorded” answers to that question in a sincere attempt to be kind. They continue to serve me well.

Heres how I do it:

I give an honest, brief response that does not leave room for additional questions. Something like, “As well as you would expect” or “It’s hard, but I’m trying to hold on” or “I’m here” or “Today is a hard day” or “Today is a better day”
I turn the conversation back to them. I might ask, “How are you and your family?” or, if I had information about a specific event or person in their family, “How is so-and-so doing?” or “I heard you had a new grandbaby-tell me about him/her!” It’s absolutely amazing how easy it is to get people to talk about themselves.
If the person is insistent or persistent in questioning me and digging for details I politely say, “I can’t talk right now. I want to be able to enjoy the (whatever event we were attending) as best I can. Sorry.”

I also plan a physical escape route if needed:

Whenever I enter a space, I scout the restrooms and exits so that if I need to, I can leave a conversation usually by saying I need to go to the restroom.
I take note of who’s present and keep an eye out for a safe person I can migrate toward in a crowd.
If it’s a sit-down event I make sure to choose a seat where I can get out without having to depend on anyone else-the end of an aisle, table near the door, etc.
If I feel myself losing control, I try to leave before it becomes obvious to anyone else.

And I come prepared:

I carry tissues,
drink plenty of fluids,
have some aspirin and usually an anxiety pill with me,
wear one of the special pieces of jewelry my children have given me in honor of Dominic and touch it often to keep myself grounded, and
wear comfortable clothes and shoes.

I choose a focal point if I must look in the same direction for a long period of time (like at a wedding) and force myself to consider details so my mind won’t wander as much and possibly take me places I don’t want to go.

I remind myself that when that one person I thought would be there for me and but wasn’t floats up like there’s no rift in our relationship, this is not the time nor the place to correct that.

I smile and wave and preserve the dignity of the situation.

Most of all I try to remember that the people most likely to be insensitive or rub me the wrong way are blissfully ignorant of the weight of the pain I carry. They can’t see the fragments of my shattered heart. They don’t know how much courage it takes to show up.

I thank God they don’t and pray they never do.

Why is Anxiety Part of Child Loss?

It surprised me when I felt anxious after Dominic ran ahead to Heaven.

Not that the doorbell startled me, or that passing the place of the accident was hard nor that hearing motorcycles made my skin crawl.

But that every single day for many, many months anxiety crept up my backbone and made a knot in my neck.

It surprised me that I felt like I was literally going to explode. I would walk and walk and walk just to push the negative energy out of my body.

I was also surprised by what seemed to be random triggers-smells, sights, foods, voices, places-that could send me into a tailspin of rapid heartbeat, hurried breathing, sweaty palms and a feeling of abject terror.

I didn’t know it then, but my experience is common.

It shouldn’t be surprising, really.

We all operate in the world as if it is predictable, as if it follows rules. It’s how we stay sane.

If our minds perceived that most of what we experience has at least a small element of the random, we would sit frozen, terrified to move.

Who can live in a world where you never know what to expect?

When Dominic left this life suddenly, unexpectedly and without warning, my sense of safety and order was violated.

The illusion of control was stripped away. The grid through which I viewed the world was ripped to shreds. What I thought I knew about how things worked was proven unreliable.

Truth is, I never really had all that much control, but burying Dominic made that undeniably obvious.

This brutal disruption in worldview created a kind of internal panic.

I wasn’t conciously aware of it at the time because I was overwhelmed with sorrow and the pain of loss. But my mind was trying to wrap itself around a new understanding of how the world works.

I needed to learn to live in a world where I couldn’t predict outcomes, I couldn’t guarantee safety (even if I did everything “right”) and I couldn’t REALLY plan for tomorrow because tomorrow might very well never come.

I had to figure out how to get out of bed instead of cower under the covers. To get in the car instead of stay at home. To continue to love the people God gave me even though they may be taken any time.

Anxiety is an outward expression of the inward reality of this disruptive process. My body was screaming what my mind was silently sorting out.

As I have worked on incorporating my experience of losing a child into my worldview, the anxiety has decreased.

I don’t expect to ever live free of anxiety again-how can I when I know by experience what most people only imagine?

But I’m learning ways to deal with it when it rears its ugly head.

And I’m learning that every time I triumph over it, I’m stronger and better able to do it the next time.

Can’t Fake It Forever

There’s a common bit of advice in grief circles: Fake it until you make it.

It’s not bad as far as it goes and can be pretty useful-especially just after the initial loss and activity surrounding it.

Like when I met the acquaintance in the grocery store a month after burying Dominic and she grabbed me with a giant smile on her face, “How ARE you?!!! It’s SO good to see you out!!!”

I just smiled and stood there as if I appreciated her interest, a deer caught in headlights, silently praying she’d live up to her talkative past and soon move on to another target.

Faked it.

Boom!

BUT there comes a time when faking it is not helpful. In fact, it’s downright dangerous.

Because if I fake it long enough and get good enough at it, I can convince myself that I have done the work grief requires.

Grief will not be ignored forever.

It bubbles up in physical symptoms and sleepless nights. It boils over in anger and impatience and anxiety and nervous habits.

There is no way through but through. It has to be faced head on.

Life circumstances kept me distracted and busy for the first four or five months after Dominic ran ahead to heaven.

I cried, screamed and was heartbroken-I definitely had my moments. But for the most part I functioned at a pretty high level.

It wasn’t until things slowed down that I had my come apart. And it caught me by surprise.

I was forced to sit in silence and face the feelings. I was compelled to hear my heart shatter-over and over again.

I’ve now had 33 months of this burden of sorrow. Almost three years to think about, work on and pray through the pain.

I’m learning to pay attention to my own heartbeat, to my body, to my triggers, to my joy-bringers, my joy-stealers and my limitations. I’m beginning to accept the bellycrawl progress through this tunnel of darkness by focusing on the bright light at the end.

I still fake it sometimes-it’s not worth it to me to get into a long conversation with that person I only see every year or so. Too much time, too much energy and too little reward.

But I’m learning to be more genuine with the people that matter most. I’m learning to be honest about how I feel, what I need and how much I can do.

And I refuse to allow busyness to creep up on me so that I don’t have the time and energy to continue doing the work grief requires.

HALTing a Grief Spiral

If you’ve ever been in any kind of counseling or recovery group , you have probably seen or heard this acronym and advice: HALT before you speak.

It’s a great reminder that I should take a moment to consider my frame of mind before I blurt out something that might damage a relationship or wound someone else’s heart.

So I am learning to apply the HALT acronym to a grief spiral in my own life.

When I feel absolutely overwhelmed and the grief wave is dragging me under I ask myself, “Am I hungry, angry, lonely or tired?”

H-Am I hungry?

Have I eaten something within the past 4-6 hours?
Have I had enough water in the past 2 hours?
Have I eaten too much sugary food today (this can impact blood sugar even if I’m not “hungry”)?
Am I eating a balanced diet overall?
Am I grazing and eating too much?
Do I have an underlying physical condition such as hypoglycemia or diabetes which may impact my ability to think clearly?

Some of us eat our feelings and some of us avoid food when we are stressed. Either can be terrible for health and for mental well-being.

If you have ever been diagnosed as borderline diabetic in the past, intense grief can send you over the edge-request that your primary health provider do an A1-c test, not just measure fasting glucose.

If you don’t feel like eating, make it a non-option. Set an alarm on your phone if you have to and consider food as medicine. If you aren’t fueling your body appropriately, you just simply don’t have the energy to do all the things grief requires.

If you find you are overeating, try to portion out healthy and lower calorie snacks that can help you feel full but are lower in sugar and empty calories. Or instead of eating, try taking a walk or doing a few minutes of impromptu exercise.

A-Am I angry?

Somewhere in life I embraced the idea that anger is “bad”. When I am angry, I feel the anger and also feel guilty for being angry.

Has someone said something that upset me?
Has someone done/not done something that frustrates me?
Am I angry at God?
Am I angry at my missing child for leaving/for choices they made/for not saying “good-bye”?
Am I angry at myself for not protecting my child (even if it was not in my power to do so)?
Am I angry with my spouse or other close family members because they are not grieving in the same way as me?
Am I angry that the world goes on without my child?
Am I angry at friends that haven’t “been there” for me?

Acknowledge your anger.

If it is toward a person, ask yourself if you can bring it to them and mend the relationship. If that’s not an option, think about how you can construct boundaries to limit that person’s impact on your life, at least while you are experiencing the most intense feelings of grief.

If it’s toward God, express it in a journal or aloud or to a safe friend. The Psalms are full of “Why God?”; “Where are You?”; “Why have You abandoned me?”

If your anger is toward your missing child, consider writing your thoughts in a journal or a letter to him or her. Often I find that really all I need is an opportunity to express myself. It doesn’t “fix” things, but it makes them bearable.

L-Am I lonely?

Grief is an isolating experience.

Once the funeral and first few days or weeks pass by, most people around us either don’t think about our loss or don’t recognize its ongoing impact on our daily lives. There have been many days when I have felt very, very alone.

Do I feel isolated in grief?
How long has it been since I was with other people?
Have I called/texted/messaged anyone today?
Has anyone called/texted/messaged me today?
Do I feel like nobody understands me?
Do I feel like God has abandoned me?
Do I feel like I just can’t talk to anyone anymore because of the differences in our experiences?

I have been blessed with some amazing friends who continue to seek fellowship even though it’s been 2 1/2 years since my son left us. And I also joined several online communities of bereaved parents where I can vent my feelings any time and be assured that I am received, affirmed and understood.

I think anyone who hopes to heal after the loss of a child must have a safe someone to talk to. If you don’t have friends or family that can fill that need, consider counseling. There are just some things you have to speak aloud to be able to work out.

T-Am I tired?

Did I sleep last night?
Am I going to bed too late or waking too early?
Am I staying overly busy and running myself down?
Am I getting adequate and appropriate exercise?
Am I taking medication that makes me sleepy/tired?

I know that for many bereaved parents, sleep is elusive. And once asleep, staying asleep is a whole other issue. But without proper rest, you cannot have the resources to do the work grief requires.

If you are consistently struggling with sleeplessness, consider asking your healthcare provider for help. There are a number of natural sleep remedies (melatonin, valerian root, etc.) that may be appropriate. And if necessary, prescription medicine can help break the cycle of insomnia.

None of these things-hunger, anger, loneliness or feeling tired-are the root cause of my grief.

I grieve because my son is gone.

BUT–any of them, or a combination of them-can make me more vulnerable to feeling worse IN my grief.

I cannot control the fact that I am grieving.

I cannot remove the burden of sorrow and pain that losing a child has placed upon me.

But I can make adjustments in my lifestyle or life choices to make it easier to bear that burden.

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this:

Share this: