Grief Work

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“I do not believe that sheer suffering teaches. If suffering alone taught, all the world would be wise, since everyone suffers. To suffering must be added mourning, understanding, patience, love, openness and the willingness to remain vulnerable.”  ∼ Anne Morrow Lindbergh

I’ve been feeling dead inside (if such a thing can be considered a feeling) and to me this deadness signifies emotional blockage. I’ve been quietly tucked away in my ivory tower making the most of this Christmas vacation time while my daughter is in Europe. I received an invitation from my family to be with them in Canada, yet as gently as possible, I declined. I know I’d be present only in body and nothing more.

Those struggling to find emotional healing often have limited choices about whom to turn to. Since people are generally threatened by emotional vulnerability, it’s the last thing I'm interested in revealing. As Robert Burney says,

“In this society being emotional is described as falling apart, losing it, going to pieces, coming unglued...”

Imagine someone asking you about your vacation and you reply you spent most of it doing grief work? Grief ...what? 

Whenever I open up to others on this note, a grey mist of discomfort typically sets over their eyes as if I had not responded at all. They fix their gaze into the far distance. This reflex is strongly aligned to society’s emotional dishonesty and insulation. In the same vein, the idea of grief work is just as foreign to the masses. The motto is unanimous “If you have deep pain, get over it. Move on.”


Grief Work
I’ve been listening to Tolstoy’s, “The Death of Ivan Ilyich" where the main conflict of the story deals with society's deep commitment to emotional insulation. Everyone wants the main character (Ivan) to believe he will pull through his sickness when all evidence proves contrary. It's the typical portrait of the denial of anything unpleasant. As one commentator wrote,

“The artificial life is marked by shallow relationships, self-interest, and materialism. It is insular, unfulfilling, and ultimately incapable of providing answers to the important questions in life. The artificial life is a deception that hides life's true meaning and leaves one terrified and alone at the moment of death.”

Burney has much to say on this topic of artificiality and deception. His website allows you to access many articles on the subject. He patiently explains in minute detail that our inner dysfunctionality stems from traumas sustained in childhood as we tried to navigate through a toxic environment of oppression and ignorance. Parents and authorities involuntarily mistreated us because they were mistreated by previous generations.  These unresolved traumas get swept under the rug and therefore interfere with our present adult existence producing codependence, addictions, depression, mental illness and anxiety. Here is what he writes,

"I Truly was able to see and admit to myself that I had been powerless to make healthy choices in my life because the emotional wounds and subconscious programming from my childhood had been dictating my emotional reactions to life, my relationship with myself and life." 

Grief work begins by first understanding intellectually what has gone wrong. Although the information is relevant, it is tedious in its complexity. In the midst of this sea of instruction, Burney shares glimpses of his own childhood trauma. He lowers his guard and opens his heart. He writes,

“By changing my attitudes, I was changing my perspective and giving myself permission to feel the feelings. I was starting to allow them to flow instead of putting all my energy into damming them, suppressing them. That is where the suffering really comes from - denying my own emotional reality.

I learned in childhood, and carried into adulthood, the belief that I am not lovable. It felt like I was not lovable to my mother and father. It felt like the God I was taught about didn't love me - because I was a sinful human. It felt like anyone who loved me would eventually be disappointed, would learn the truth of my shameful being. I spent most of my life alone because I felt less lonely alone. When I was around people I would feel my need to connect with them - and feel my incredible loneliness for human relationships - but I did not know how to connect in a healthy way. I have had a great terror of the pain of abandonment and betrayal - but even more than that, the feeling that I could not be trusted because I am not good enough to love and be loved. At the core of my being, at the foundation of my relationship with myself, I feel unworthy and unlovable.” -- Robert Burney

Burney struck me with the part about spending most of his life alone because he felt less lonely that way. Being around people threw him into conflict not knowing how to connect in healthy ways. Yes. He summed up my life-time struggle in two sentences. The sad part is few people admit being just as lost and resort to cosmetic remedies.
-- Refle