Waves of Grief

I was punched in the gut by grief.

My friend died of a sudden heart attack last month. Nothing makes sense when you get a call like that. I was shocked. I gasped for breath with the phone in my hand—and the world seemed to spin under me. Time was blurry for hours. I felt confused. And then I woke up in a grey fog that lasted weeks.

He’s gone. The reality overwhelms me. Peter was like a father to me and so many others. It’s not fair. Why did such a good man have to die? I keep thinking: “We have more memories to make! I just want more time—another dinner together.” 

We had a small funeral, because of all the pandemic nonsense, and it was limited to only twelve folks. I sniffled and cried my way through the service. Unfortunately, “social distancing” restrictions were already in place, so we strangely embraced the space between us. Dozens showed up in their cars to honor their friend, and several made posters to share comforting words with the family near the graveside. It was a holy and solemn experience.

His death was nearly a month ago, and I still find myself irritable, angry, sad, and deeply rattled by the abrupt tragedy that stole our friend away. I hate death. I don’t understand. And it makes me ask a lot of questions. Why?!

And then—just as I was starting to heal. My phone rang again last Tuesday, and I was side-swiped by awful news again. Another friend had suddenly passed away. The river of grief turned into an ocean.

This time it was a hometown friend. I knew David throughout elementary school, high school, and college. A flood of memories took me under. We used to play baseball together. We stayed at camp together, we saw U2 in concert together, went to church together, and laughed a million times—together. How is he gone, too?

Grief comes in waves. Big and small.

As a Jesus-follower, and church-goer for most of my life—I’ve heard all the verses. I logically and rationally understand with my brain that eternity awaits us. I know I am supposed to cling to hope, (and I’m trying) but the sadness feels heavier right now. It feels black. I’m tired and worn down. Quarantine life has felt like a dream world too. Video sessions are exhausting, and I have tried (without success) to numb my pain. I’m eagerly awaiting a deeper breath.

As a therapist, grief arrives in my office without warning. When someone loses a loved one, it’s chaotic for a while. Every moment is different. There are tears and tissues, cuss words and crying. Old addictions pop up like weeds. And we experience: laughing, anxiety, deep sighs, depression, and the profound beauty of story-telling together.

Grief is messy like finger painting; we use every color of our emotional palette. The more honest and candid we are, the better. And that’s what I’m trying to do. Trying. To. Get. It. Out. 

It is violent. Grief grabs you like a rip tide. Sometimes we think we might drown. We frantically kick with our feet for solid ground—and hope for a small island. A beach with warm sand. Maybe there we’ll discover that His comfort and healing come in waves too. Through tears we’ll be washed, and finally we’ll kneel together on the land of His mercy. With courage, we’ll stand and smile at the sky again. 

Until then, we wait for the tides to change.

My first podcast interview!

I've always wanted to do a podcast, and it finally happened!

It was an honor to be on the Practice of Therapy Podcast with Gordan Brewer. We discussed some important topics like faith-based counseling, caring for pastors and ministers, knowing yourself well, real connections, and the integration of spirituality in the therapy office.

Take a listen here on the Practice of Therapy Podcast. 

Our Emotional Dashboard

The "attention brake light" showed up on my dashboard. It was a foolish-teenager type mistake, but I ignored it and kept driving. In fact, I piloted my 6000 STE Pontiac around for weeks, until my brakes eventually went out. I was completely surprised, not to mention horrified, when I couldn't stop.

My car should have been totaled or worse! Luckily, I walked away safe, and learned to: always pay attention to the alerts on my dash. 

Our emotions are like alerts on the dashboard. We may need a quick oil change, but unless we pop the hood when the red light is flashing, we could put ourselves (or others) at risk. We may not experience the effects of ignoring our emotions immediately, but we can suffer real consequences in our bodies, minds, souls, and relationships--weeks, months, or even years later. 

Emotions don't just go away, they keep blinking

We override our feelings too fast with trite phrases like, "Just don't worry about it," "God's in control!" or "Everything happens for a reason." Maybe we're genuinely trying to trust God or help someone else when we say these things, but these mantras can become spiritual bypasses we use to ignore our painful past or present reality.

All humans get afraid; we feel insecure, hurt, angry, and anxious. Maybe we feel them all at once or maybe we're worn down from pain. I'm not suggesting we explode everywhere, or talk about every little paper cut, but stuffing our emotions won't work either.

Here's what I mean. There is an expression we often hear after seeing an incredible sunset, good film, or concert: "I was so moved by that!" 

Is there something happening in your inner world that makes you want to shout, cuss, punch a wall, or run for local office? Whether your experiences are good, sad, or ugly... they are moving you somewhere.

For example, when you feel lonely do you move more toward isolation and self-pity or authentic connection with others? With hurt, do you move more toward numbing your pain or acknowledging it out loud with trusted friends? If we deny our emotional world a place to exist, that denial can drive us toward addiction, depression, or despair. 

Here are a few thoughts on how you can start tuning in to your emotions

1. Slow down. Leave your "to do list" alone and connect to your heart. Unplug from media and take a long walk. Turn your phone off and go for a scenic drive with the radio off. Or find a beautiful place in nature where your soul can breathe. 

2. Get acquainted with your different emotions; there's more to feel than happy or unhappy. That's a huge start! A lot of times, if we name it (what we're feeling) we can more easily tame it. You could google "emotional wheel images" and expand your emotional vocabulary. Also, Chip Dodd has some incredible thoughts on his website that communicate the benefits (or gifts) of our eight core emotions. 

3. For me, it helps to explore my feelings through journaling. Sometimes I feel emotionally constipated (can I type that? Just did...) and I don't know what the heck I'm feeling. You could write out a list of emotions and confront yourself on a blank page. Okay, self? Am I lonely, mad, sad, glad, shameful, guilty, hurt, or fearful? It can be scary to share honestly (with God and others) about your feelings, but our vulnerability can lead to genuine hope, healing, and build relationships that last.

4. Think about doing a few sessions with a trusted counselor. If you've not done counseling, put it on your bucket list. There are some incredible therapists who are trained to explore these kinds of things. (And to be real, seeing a counselor myself, has helped me become more emotionally intelligent and relationally whole).

5. And, if you've not seen the movie Inside Out, watch it with your family and talk about it.

What's blinking on the dashboard of your soul?