Grief Graffiti

I recently met someone & we had an instant connection as we found ourselves talking about loss, addiction, meditation & our mutual desire to help others in the form of retreats, etc. He owned locations & I have the experience. He was on a positivity & manifesting kick in his life & that was an instant attraction. In the following weeks we texted often, met multiple times weekly, delving deep into each others lives & our visions for the future. But as time went by I began to resent the constant “positivity” he displayed. His texts were often just “sending positive vibes”, or “only positive vibes today”. I’d see the text some days and cringe. On other days I’d hear myself say “fuck you” aloud & throw my phone.

I know he meant well. I can appreciate that. People who have not dealt with severe, personal grief don’t understand. We don’t need “positivity” reminders so we won’t be sad. We will always be sad, even when we’re being “positive” & “happy”. Well meaning friends feel like they need to cheer us up, or distract us from our grief. There’s this sense that there’s something wrong with sadness, tears, grief. I’ve noticed that when I’m with a group of friends & I speak of my son, or share a memory of him, they get quiet or change the subject. I know they think they’re helping, but they’re not. We want & need to talk about our loved one. We may get teary or cry when we do, but that’s not a negative thing. We need both our grief & our love to be seen, to be acknowledged. We need to know that our friends are safe spaces for us to be authentic & raw.

I long for someone to be strong so I can be soft. I want to be able to crumble, to wail, to scream & lash out, and not have someone pull away or distance themselves. Being single in grief is hard. I’m alone most of the time. Then when I am around people I feel ill equipped to deal with light conversations, small talk. Yet I feel that if I don’t put on a smile, laugh & socialize I’ll be a “Debbie Downer”, persona non grata, and then I’ll just be even more alone.

There’s a term that’s being used more frequently these days: toxic positivity. Wikipedia defines it as: “Toxic positivity, also known as excessive positivity or positive toxicity, is dysfunctional emotional management without the full acknowledgment of negative emotions, particularly anger and sadness. Socially, it is the act of dismissing another person’s negative emotions by suggesting a positive emotion instead.” I’m glad this is being addressed. As much as I am a huge believer in the power of positive thinking I’m also a huge fan of authenticity, something I see sorely lacking in our modern society.

“I’m not a fan of toxic positivity. The way people feel the need to pretend they’re something whole, or too happy to fall, or somehow above depression, anxiety, fear, trauma, etc. Ladies and gentlemen, we’re not doing any of life perfectly. How sick it would be to suppress sadness, thinking it makes you weak. Be sad. Break. Heal the hard way. Learn your lessons. Fall apart over and over, if that’s what it takes. Our muscles tear, in order to heal and grow stronger. These people out here are feigning perfection and “radiating light”, and are admired for being inauthentic. I like the way we break, for real. I like the way your story is messy and bloody and not something you’re proud of. Pride lives in honesty only. Anything less is a fairy tale. Much love. Keep fighting the good fight. I hope these words reach you.” ~J. Raymond

This is why so many of us grievers feel the need to seek out & be with fellow grievers. With them there’s no need to explain ourselves, to apologize, to be “positive” or fake anything. We can just “pour out the contents of ones heart, chaff & grain together, knowing that gentle hands will take it and sift it, keep what is worth keeping, and with the breath of kindness, blow the rest away”. Those are the friendships & relationships I long for, pray for, hold out for.

“I can tell you that I’ve wanted to die at times.

And I know I’m not the only one who’s plunged their trembling hands into the cold bedrock begging to hit bottom,

only to find it goes deeper.

At the end of my rope wasn’t hope, nor silver-lined light, or even laughter.

There was only me standing there alone, wrapped in survival that wasn’t as comforting as I thought it’d be.

Sometimes, the strength we find leaves scars behind.

More thorns than floral.

Sometimes, you make it through to the other side with your pride ripped to shreds.

The dirt beneath your nails serves as a reminder of the hells you once called home.

I’m alive, but it isn’t always glittery.

I’m alive, but there are times I still look over my shoulder and recount the wreckage.

I’m alive, but nobody prepares you for how lonesome these roads will feel.

I can tell you that despite the darkness,

despite the wounds still healing,

despite a heart that’s sometimes too tired to try,

I’m grateful to be alive.

I’m grateful when I’m the color gray.

I’m grateful when my smile seems impossible and sunlight is miles away.

Peace knocks at the same doors I’ve kept locked and closed,

and I’m learning to let it in.

I’m learning to welcome it into a home that’s only known the opposite.

If you’re ever tired of being strong, stop by.

We don’t have to pretend to be intact. We can break together.”

~J. Raymond, “We Can”, From The Kindred Project: Vol. II